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The artist in her had been stifled, the dreamer left adrift in a sea of rationality.
Just for tonight, she wanted to indulge the romantic side she hid behind walls constructed of black clothing and old wounds. The same desire that had made her say yes to a dance with a stranger had guided her feet into the park as her heart cried out for the magic of a walk among the budding trees and lantern-lit walkways.
But the brooding man at her side wouldn’t see the magic. No, he struck her as the kind of man who would be more comfortable with facts, numbers and reports.
What did he do for a living, she mused, as he stalked alongside her. Dressed in a tailored suit and a guest at one of the most prominent fundraisers of the year, he was most likely a somebody with a capitalS. He was an intriguing mix of contradictions: proper in his expensive tux, yet rakish with those top buttons undone. Arrogant in his overall demeanor, but kind enough to walk a virtual stranger through Central Park at night instead of enjoying cocktails and hors d’oeuvres at a fancy gala.
Don’t get too involved, Grey.
Except he made it very hard to keep her mind from wandering to what-ifs when he insisted on doing nice, if misguided, things like walking her to the subway.
His dark, brooding handsomeness, coupled with that slow-burning smile he’d tossed her way a couple times, didn’t help, either.
“Can I at least know the name of my knight in shining armor?”
Several seconds passed before he finally said, “Damon.”
The name conjured up a smoky ballad, one simmering with repressed power and raw strength.
“Reminds me of the little boy from that horror movie.”
Damon’s chuckle rippled across her skin. “Are you calling me the son of the devil?”
“I don’t know you well enough to know that.”
Although with the way he tempted her, she could easily picture him in such a role.
“And you?” When she looked up at him, he arched one brow. “Who am I escorting?”
“Evie.”
She went with the name Constanza had called her for years. Something kept her from divulging her full name, from sharing even more of herself with this man who tied her up in knots.
“Where do you live, Evie?”
She rolled her eyes at his persistence. “I never answer that question on a first date.”
She winced.Not a date.
“Do you go on many first dates?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“I’m usually practicing, auditioning or performing.” She lifted her cello case up. “Constance is my only love.” She looked over to see Damon’s lips quirk up.
“Constance?”
Words rested on the tip of her tongue, words to honor the woman who had become her mother. How Constanza had grown and sold geraniums on the fire escape to help pay for Evolet’s first cello. The husky, delighted laugh when Evolet had played her first piece. The hands crinkled like paper as they’d wiped away Evolet’s tears after her first failed audition.
But she stopped herself. It wasn’t just that she’d already shared so much with a man who had made it clear he was sharing nothing. Thinking of Constanza trapped in the nursing home, succumbing to the illness of her own mind as disease slowly leeched away what little she had left, made Evolet want to scream and rage at the world. It had given her the one thing she had wanted more than anything—a family—and was now cruelly snatching it away.
“My adoptive mother. Her name is Constanza.”
“It looks heavy.”
“It is, but I’m the only one who carries it.” She hurried on before he could press her for details. “What about you? Any lonely hearts waiting for you back at the gala? Perhaps two,” she added impishly, even though she didn’t like the image of the redheaded woman’s hand on Damon’s arm nor the jealousy that curled low in her stomach.
