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He slid out of me, leaving me bent and exposed. I dripped below, an excess of wetness I couldn’t hide from him and of my own making. Elsewhere, I noted the sweaty and rather unladylike state of my body.
“I need to feed you,” he said abruptly.
Food. I’d forgotten about lunch, but he was right. My belly rumbled, churning away with hunger.
He helped me stand. The upright position quickly altered my body chemistry. I tottered, a little dizzy and fatigued. Stefan rubbed my back and held me in an embrace. A tiny shiver cascaded over my skin. The room chilled me quickly.
“Go upstairs. Have a shower. Take your time. I’ll cook you lunch.”
I nodded, happy to comply with the suggestion. “Then?” My clarinet lay on the piano, neglected. He followed my gaze.
“Oh. More practice, I think,” he said softly. “But not with that.”
I went rigid, opening and shutting my mouth like a mousetrap on springs.
A grin spread over his face. “That’s a yes, I take it?”
Chapter Five
I held my face under the showerhead. Hot water streamed down my cheeks, splashing onto my breasts. I’d smothered my body in a white foam of shower crème. I peered throu
gh the water droplets at the label. Radox gel. Lavender. Not quite the masculine variety I’d expected. I didn’t find anything else in his vast shower cubicle.
His bedroom appeared simply functional. Situated under a round window, nestled in the upper apex of the gable, sat a king-size bed, upon which I’d placed my discarded clothes. There was a walk-in closet at one end of the room, probably overlooking the garden, and the en suite at the front end complete with corner tub and separate cubicle. Luxurious by my own upbringing.
I took my time and the inevitable happened. Thoughts crept in as the afterglow of two amazing orgasms slipped away. Niggling doubts. I lingered under the hot spray and pondered. Should I go home? Insist that he take me back before he got me all hot and bothered again? So much for improving my clarinet skills—not that he hadn’t—but all the same, I hadn’t come for a fuck.
Yet, it had happened easily. After our little chat in the car with its overtones of hostility, we’d leaped into each other’s arms without hindrance. There existed a physical attraction, strong and magnetic in origin I couldn’t hide the fact that I fancied him terribly. Personality? The jury remained out, sequestered and uncertain. A few brief meetings, mostly involving music and—bam!—we’d fucked like wild animals.
Music. Was it that simple? Had my playing tempted him? Was it possible to capture somebody’s heart so quickly, and merely by choosing a piece which affected me deeply each time I heard it and more so when I played it, especially without an audience.
I’d kept my eyes shut, my back to him. I’d no idea if he’d looked rapt by my rendition of the Mozart concerto.
A small part of me felt used. Had I paid for sex with a well-chosen piece of classical music?
No more seduction by music. We had to talk.
I switched off the shower, draped a bath sheet about my shoulders and stepped into the bedroom.
My clothes had gone.
I’d collected them off the living room floor and laid them on the bed. He’d moved them. I hunted about, expecting to see them on the floor or on a chair. I flung open the closet, a cavernous wardrobe filled with all manner of clothing from casual to formal tuxedo, but not my clothes. A bathrobe hung on the back of the en-suite door, and I hurriedly put it on before charging out of the room.
“Stefan,” I shouted from the top of the spiral staircase. “Where are my clothes?”
On the other side of the vast studio, beavering away in his kitchen lining up pans on the stove and plates on the worktop, was Stefan, clothed in his polo shirt and black jeans.
“Stefan!”
He glanced up, switched off the extractor fan in the hood and cupped a hand to his ear. The smirk on his face told me differently. He knew exactly why I was hollering.
I stomped down the staircase and marched across the space, past the piano. With my hands on my hips, I glared at him. “My clothes?”
“Ah. What have I done with them?” He made a pretense of looking around, even opening a kitchen cupboard and poking around in it.
“Ha ha.” I tapped a bare foot on the floor. “Did you think I might run off?”
“Possibly.” He stood. “No regrets? I mean, if you do, fair enough, but don’t lie to me.”
