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For Chad, Emma and Gene.
October souls gone too soon.
CHAPTER ONE
THEMUSICSLIDover Damon Bradford’s skin like a lover’s caress. He sipped his cocktail, the smooth taste of gin lingering on his tongue. Better to focus on that then the slow, languid heat spreading through his veins as he watched her.
The cellist.
Music had never been an important part of his life. He knew the difference between classical and rock, paid hefty sums for bands and singers to perform at the various functions he hosted throughout the year. But the actual music had always been background noise.
Whereas this...the rich somber notes of her solo rising and falling with perfect precision, the languid tempo encouraging listeners to slow down, to forget the demands of life for a moment...
It was unlike anything he’d ever heard before.
Just like the woman behind the cello was unlike anyone he had ever encountered before.
He would have dismissed her at first glance if she hadn’t been playing. Blond hair wound into a tight bun at the base of her neck. Black dress loose about the torso, sleeves down to her elbows, a full skirt draped over her knees as she cradled the cello between her legs.
Nondescript. Plain. Boring.
It had been her fingers that had first caught his eye. Pale, slender and elegant as one hand moved the bow with exactitude, the other sliding up and down the strings with graceful mastery that made his muscles tighten.
Turned on by a damn cello.
He sipped his cocktail, savoring the flavors of gin and lavender as he waited for the cool drink to calm his errant libido.
No such luck. The music had penetrated his body, piercing through his custom-tailored tuxedo and the calm, collected exterior he usually portrayed to the world. His gaze was drawn back up to her face.
Wide lips set into a heart-shaped face, the sharp cut of her chin at odds with her rounded cheeks.Strikingwas the first word that came to mind. Yet she downplayed her appearance with simple clothes and a severe hairstyle. A woman, he decided as he listened to her coax emotion out of every note, who was trying to keep the focus on her music and off herself.
The rest of the orchestra joined in, the harmony of the four dozen or so instruments filling the ballroom. A volunteer symphony made up of musicians still working toward their big breaks. He’d been hesitant when his event manager, Kimberly, had submitted the entertainment schedule and it included the opening-hour music being performed by the New York City Apprentice Symphony. When he’d questioned her, she had presented it as an opportunity to engage with a community organization.
With one more glance at the woman who had captured his attention, he was suddenly very glad he’d let Kimberly have her way.
Damon tore his gaze away from the cellist and gazed out over the modern ballroom, filled with the richest people in New York City.
The majority of the guests at the annual Bradford Global Gala Fundraiser were there to be seen in their most expensive clothes, enjoy exclusive cocktails, perhaps pick up a new lover or cement a business deal over caviar. A couple were there because they genuinely wanted to see a new wing added to the children’s hospital, the selected recipient of this year’s fundraiser.
But none were there because of the music.
A pity, Damon thought as he watched the crowd of people talking, laughing. Unfortunately, he was more like them than he cared to admit. Not noticing the simple joys around him. Always focused on something else, the next to-do on his never-ending list. He moved from one goal to another with thoroughness and a speed that impressed his employees and clients, irritated his competitors and, most importantly, kept him moving forward.
Never back.
Yet he had found himself at that place he’d heard others mumble and complain about but never thought he himself would end up at—a crossroads. Bradford Global was one of the top manufacturers of a variety of products and was in the final running for a major contract with a luxury European airline. He owned homes on four continents, spoke three languages fluently and was a frequent feature on the covers of magazines likeFortune. Edward Charles Damon Bradford had it all.
So why did he feel so damn empty?
It was a notable lack of pleasure, joy, even a hint of contentment that had driven him to the edge of the ballroom tonight. Restlessness had carried his feet past the people trying to get his attention, past his personal assistant and the event coordinator wanting his input on the décor to the secluded alcove. Boredom had driven him to sit down in one of the two wingback chairs hidden from view of most of the people milling about, his primary view the musicians on the elevated stage. He had wanted different, craved a change, no matter how small.
And he’d found that change sitting toward the back wall of the ballroom with a cello between her thighs, sadness flickering across her face as she tilted her head up, eyes still closed, her body bound to the music she created.
He should stand up, rejoin the crowd. Yes, he’d wanted different, new, exciting. But the lust simmering below the surface for a woman he’d just seen was a little too heated, like a fire about to break free and burst into a raging inferno. Yes, he wanted change.
He also wanted—needed—to stay in control.
He started to stand up, to resume visiting with politicians, billionaires and movie stars. To walk away from the temptation that had unexpectedly wrapped around him and sunk talons deep into his skin.
