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“Do you honestly believe Vaughn would admit to storing her body in the freezer?”
“Darcy, I’d no idea you were this cynical.”
The complaint hurt, but only because it was true.
By the time they reentered the house from the terrace, all evidence of their small dinner party had been cleared away. The nurse had returned and was fussing over Astrid, but Vaughn quickly intervened.
“Tonight, my daughter needs nothing more than time to appreciate our guests,
” he assured the pretty nurse, but she did not look pleased as she withdrew.
“What’s your favorite piece, Griffin?” Astrid asked.
He moved to her bedside to answer. “I try not to have favorites, because then I play them too often and swiftly tire of them. The opposite is equally true—if I’m not fond of a particular composer, then I neglect his work. Of course, I can then count on being invited to play his most beloved concerto for some prestigious event, and it’s difficult to prepare in time.”
“But you make everything look so easy,” she exclaimed.
“Thank you, but you must remember how many years it took me to reach this level of technical proficiency, and how difficult it is to maintain.”
“I’m so sorry,” Astrid apologized. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
Griffin leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You haven’t in the least. Now let me just surprise you this time.”
Darcy returned to her comfortable chair, but she resisted becoming complacent. Instead, she wondered what had happened to the burly man who’d ridden there with them from the airport. Was he out patrolling the grounds, perhaps hoping they would make a break for it so that he could use them for target practice?
The butler wasn’t heavy, but he looked tough as a whip, and she sure didn’t want to go up against the housekeeper. Or the chef, who was undoubtedly an expert with knives. Antoine didn’t pose any grave threat, nor did the nurse, but that still left Lyman Vaughn, who might use anything from a handgun to high voltage to defeat someone who got in his way.
Her job, of course, was simply to dote on Griffin and let Interpol handle Vaughn, but not even Griffin’s marvelous music could soothe her fears. Fortunately, after paying him a wistful compliment on his second piece, Astrid drifted off to sleep during the third.
Vaughn rose from his chair to lean over the bed, but satisfied she was resting comfortably, he crossed to the piano. “The wire transfer was completed before you left San Francisco,” he assured the pianist. “But this evening you have given my daughter a gift beyond any price. I will be forever in your debt.”
Griffin rose and stepped around the bench. “It was a joy to me as well. I’ll play for Astrid again tomorrow. We can find our rooms, so we’ll bid you a good night.”
“Good night,” Vaughn responded, and he quickly returned to his daughter’s bedside.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring any music,” Darcy offered, believing the question safe to ask while they were still within Vaughn’s hearing. “What if Astrid had requested something you didn’t know?”
Griffin shot her an incredulous glance and taking her elbow, escorted her up the stairs. “There are thousands of pieces of classical music written for the piano and, frankly, a great many deserve to be forgotten. Others are universally loved. Those are the ones I expected her to request, and she did.”
“Has no one ever arranged for a private concert and then asked for a piece you hadn’t played?”
Griffin led her into his room, then paused to turn the key in the lock before continuing on into her room, where he also secured the door. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over the chair at the desk.
“I generally confer with my host on the content of the program so I’ll have sufficient time to prepare, but occasionally I receive a last-minute request for something obscure.”
“What do you do?”
Griffin pulled her close. “I do what women often do with other men—I fake it.”
He nuzzled her throat and tickled, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Obviously over-confidence never poses a problem.”
“No, not when I have such good reason to be self-assured.” He slid his hands to the small of her back and pressed her close to whisper, “You’re doing great.”
His room was decorated in a deep forest green, hers in pale pink. The four-poster bed was covered in a thick pink satin comforter, but even with a charming setting and Griffin in a playful mood, she’d never felt less like making love. She gave his lower lip a playful nip.
“Have you ever had sex on a balcony?” she asked.
“No, but this is the perfect night to begin.” He stepped away to open the french doors to the wrought-iron balcony that ran between their rooms. He drew her outside and tugged on his tie to remove it.
