The Shy Bride (7 page)

“It’s something of an extravagance, but the price and immediate availability are very tempting,” she told him after the initial phone call. “And you’ve got the space in your sitting room.”

Neo’s apartment was huge and although it had obviously been furnished by a professional, it was pretty minimalistic—almost sparse.

“An upright would be considerably less expensive.”

“Yes, but not equivalent in tone or performance. That is your standard by which you judge a monetary outlay, right?”

“More or less. Yes.”

“If you’re serious about learning the piano, you may as well practice on an instrument of true quality.”

“You are seduced by this piano’s pedigree.”

“Maybe a little. A Steinway isn’t to be sneezed at and it really is a bargain.”

“You’re very animated. I like seeing you like this.”

She felt herself blushing.

He shook his head, but smiled. “Is it available to test out like you want?”

“We can go by their showroom and try the piano out today anytime.”

He looked at his watch. “Where are they located?”

She told him the address in west Seattle, which was admittedly closer to her home than his building downtown.

He nodded. “If we go now, we can make it back in time.”

“I thought you took most of the day off?”

“I did, though I still have a meeting later this afternoon.”

“It won’t take that long.”

“I did not think it would.”

“Then what do we have to be back in time for?” she asked in confusion.

“Lunch. It will be ready at eleven-thirty.”

“Isn’t that early?”

“I eat breakfast at six-thirty and you ate only an hour later.”

“I’m surprised your nutritionist doesn’t have you snacking midmorning with a later lunch.”

“Normally, you would be right, but today is special.” Because he was taking it off?

“How did you know I use a nutritionist?” he asked. “I don’t remember mentioning that.”

She shrugged, tucking her cell phone back into her purse. “Lucky guess. Keeping yourself fit would be top priority and what you don’t have time to do yourself, you would pay for.”

“You can’t do business from a sick bed.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can. Furthermore, I’m sure you have.”

“Not as effectively. And Zephyr goes all Greek patriarch on me when he finds out about it.”

“I bet you do the same to him.”

“Naturally. I can take care of whatever needs seeing to, but Zee stubbornly refuses to see that and get proper rest.”

“And he feels the same when you are ill.”

Neo just shrugged.

Cass grinned. “You’re two peas in a pod.”

“We just know who we can rely on.”

“Each other.”

“Yes.”

“No one else?”

Neo didn’t answer, but she didn’t need him to. It was obvious. They were two men who had learned early not to give their trust easily. Which made the fact Neo saw himself as her friend and had offered her a key to the top floor of his building even more amazing.

She could not remember feeling so accepted, not even with her parents. Maybe especially with her parents.

Neo had never been in a store like the one Cass took him to.

It was located in a converted Victorian house. The entire
ground floor had been remodeled into a showroom for the wind instruments and pianos the company sold. The interior designer had done an outstanding job of creating an environment that showed off each instrument to its best advantage. And the acoustics had been enhanced with subtly engineered ceiling panels to maximize the splendor of sound the instruments made.

He was given a sample of the result when Cass picked up a flute, and after wiping the mouthpiece with a cloth provided by the salesman, played a mesmerizing melody that froze Neo in place.

When she was done and put the flute down, he cleared his throat. “I thought you didn’t like to perform.”

She blushed, looking around at the almost empty store. “That wasn’t a performance. It’s only the flute.”

“It was beautiful.”

“Thank you, but I was just messing around.”

Interesting. “I thought you only played the piano.”

“I dabble on the flute, is all. I wanted to learn the guitar, too, but my parents discouraged it.” She brushed her hand over the flute. “They thought I should keep my focus.”

“If that’s dabbling, I wonder what you would have achieved with a little less focus on the piano.”

Cass’s smile was nothing short of beautiful. “Thank you. I love the sounds a flute can make.”

“I think under your hands, any instrument would sound amazing.”

She shook her head. “Flatterer.”

“Not at all.”

“I love music.”

“It shows in your compositions.”

“You really listen to my CDs?”

“All of them. Don’t ask me to pick a favorite though because no matter how many times I listen, that changes almost daily.”

She blushed and turned away, toward the glassed-in, soundproofed room that held the piano they had come in to see.

He followed her. “Surely you are used to such compliments.”

“Actually, no. One of the side effects of my not performing is that I don’t hear from many of my fans. And when I did perform, my father and manager made sure I spoke to the big money music aficionados, but not normal people who listened to my music just to make their day a little brighter.”

“We have already established I do not define normal.”

“But you are nothing like the
patrons
I was told to cultivate, either.”

“No, none of them became your friend.”

She shook her head. “A Greek tycoon for a friend. Who would have thought it?”

“It only matters that I did.”

“Too true.” She grinned.

“You get letters though,” he surmised, going back to the original topic as they stepped up onto the platform where the baby grand piano rested.

Cassandra slid onto the piano bench, her hands caressing the piano as if it was a dear friend she was meeting for the first time. If that made any sense. “Some. Fans only have my CD label’s address to send them to. Someone there answers fan mail and passes the letters along to me a couple of times a year.”

“I suppose the demand for your music speaks for itself.”

“That’s what I tell myself.”

“Do you miss it?”

She looked up at him, her amber gaze taking his breath away for a second. “What?”

He swallowed, forcing down a reaction that was not acceptable. She was his
friend.
“Performing.”

“No.” She shuddered, a look of true revulsion coming over her features.

“You didn’t enjoy it at all?”

“I hated it. The only thing that kept me sane was the music itself.”

“But—”

“I wanted to be home with my mother, not on the road with my father, or more often with a minder. I knew she was ill and I was terrified every time I left on a trip that I would not see her again.”

“You knew she was dying? At such a young age?”

“Yes.” There was a wealth of pain in that single word. “Like any child, I had my own sense of logic and it told me that if I was there, she could not die. I was wrong.” Cassandra shook herself. “Performing for groups of strangers that were allowed to fawn over the child prodigy afterward, saying things they never would have said to an adult performer, I never forgot how much I hated it. Even after Mom died and my dad travelled with me to all my concerts, my earlier feelings colored the experience.”

“He pushed you to keep performing.”

“Even when Mom got very, very,
very
sick. Just as I’d always feared would happen, she died when I was on tour in Europe. I was seventeen. They didn’t tell me until two days later—my father put me off when I tried to phone her.

She’d been so weak, I believed him when he said she was resting every time I called. I felt selfish asking her to call me, like it would tax her waning strength too much.”

“T
HAT
is monstrous!” Neo wanted to hit something, but there was nothing to hit and no one to yell at for the sins committed against this woman. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“They didn’t want to spoil the last performances on the tour. My father and Bob said I owed
all
my fans the best I was capable of.”

He cursed in Greek. Colorfully.

Cassandra’s lips twisted in a near smile. “Exactly. My father channeled his grief into my career.”

“Where did you channel yours?”

“Into the music.”

“But you hated it.”

“Not the music, just the concerts.”

“So, when he died you stopped torturing yourself.”

“That’s how I saw it. My manager does not agree.”

“Naturally not.”

“Bob thinks I’m hiding from my parents’ deaths by surrounding myself with their things.”

“Isn’t he the one who convinced you to get rid of their personal things?” And why the hell was the man still her manager?

“Yes, not that it made a bit of difference in my desire to go on tour.”

“Not the catharsis he was expecting then.”

“All I know is that the idea of getting on a stage in a packed concert hall makes me want to throw up.”

“Do not worry. I will not ever ask you to play for me and I will ensure Zephyr does not, either.”

Her mood changed with a flash and nothing but pleasure glowed in her lovely amber gaze. “I wouldn’t mind playing for you.”

His knees wanted to give, whether it was from the shock of her offer or the effect her clear happiness at the thought had on him, he did not know. Hiding the momentary weakness, Neo slid next to her on the bench at the Steinway. “You would play for me?”

“What are friends for?” she asked, tossing his own words back at him and making him smile.

“I would like that very much.”

“Then consider it done.” She grinned, all shadows gone from her features for the moment. She tipped her head down and looked at him shyly through her lashes. “I didn’t know if I would want to, but I do. In fact, I look forward to it. I used to really enjoy playing for my parents.”

But no one else, or so her words implied. “I am honored. It is something I will look forward to with great anticipation.”

Smiling, Cassandra concentrated on the instrument in front of her. She looked to check that the door was shut on the soundproof room and then played a short piece, not any
music he recognized, just a series of chords. Her head was cocked as if listening for something he couldn’t begin to hear.

It sounded fine to him. More than fine.

“Well?” he asked, when she sat in silence for several seconds after the keys fell silent.

“Try your scales on it.”

He played the keys as she’d taught him at the first lesson. “Now, try a few of the chords you’ve learned.” He did.

“What do
you
think?” she asked.

“It’s good?” he asked in uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Did the keys feel natural, not clunky?”

He considered and then nodded. “They felt fine.”

“A baby grand really does have better key play than an upright, but nothing can compare to a concert grand like I have. I’m spoiled, but this is a nice instrument.” She patted the top of the Steinway.

“What you are saying is that it is not as nice as yours though.”

“Buying a Fazioli for a beginner would be an excessive extravagance and you told me you don’t squander money indiscriminately. Besides, their waiting list is a long one.”

“A Steinway isn’t an extravagance?” he asked with a quirk of his lips.

“Not at the price they’re offering it.”

“So, we
are
getting a deal?” he asked, making no effort to hide his relish at the thought.

“I told you we were. A very good one.” She told him how much they would be saving and even he was impressed.

“I knew bringing you with me would be a benefit.”

She laughed and shook her head before playing a simple
children’s tune as if her fingers could not stay still that close to a well-tuned instrument.

He caught the salesman’s eye through the glass and waved the man over.

Neo handed the salesman a black American Express card when he entered the soundproof room. “We’ll take it. You can arrange delivery with my personal assistant. Here is my business card. Call this number and it will go directly to her line.”

“Very good, Mr. Stamos. We’ll arrange a piano tuner to accompany the movers so it is ready for use directly after delivery.”

Cassandra nodded her approval and Neo said, “Fine.”

The salesman left with Neo’s American Express and business cards, but neither Neo nor Cassandra moved to get up from the piano bench.

She brushed her fingertips along the keys. “It’s been a few years since I bought a new instrument.”

“Getting the urge?”

“To replace my Fazioli? Never. But I might be persuaded to buy some new music for my flute.”

“So, you decided you could afford to play a second instrument.”

“I dabble, like I said, but sure, why not? If I can learn foreign languages and make time for Tai Chi, why not play a second instrument as a hobby?”

“Zephyr says I have no hobbies.”

“Don’t worry.” She patted his back consolingly. “You have one now. Playing the piano.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s work on some chords.”

“Here?”

She looked around the soundproof room and the mostly empty showroom beyond. “Why not?”

“Isn’t that like performing?”

“No one can hear us in here.”

“You’re addicted. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You miss your piano?”

“I’ll make a deal with you. You learn two chords and I’ll play a short piece from my newest score for you.”

“Here?” he asked again, inelegantly.

“Where else? It’s soundproof in here and we can close the drape over the window for extra privacy. And we can’t exactly go back to my house.”

“We could, but I’d prefer you not return to the scene of the crime until the last bit of sawdust has been vacuumed up.”

“Scene of the crime is right.”

“Stop whining and show me a chord.”

He couldn’t believe how much he enjoyed learning the chords she wanted to teach him. No one bothered them. Not even the salesman, who came in quietly only to leave the receipt and paperwork for Neo’s purchase on top of the piano, and then left just as quietly.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” he said after playing the chords successfully several times. “Now, it’s your turn to keep your part of the bargain.”

“You got it.” She got up and closed the drape on the window then tugged on the door to make sure it was shut.

She returned to the piano bench. She didn’t ask him to leave it and he was curiously hesitant to do so. So, he stayed.

She started to play a piece he recognized from one of her early albums. It was a particular favorite of his and he sat quietly while she played it
just for him.
It wasn’t a long, or complicated piece, so it was over all too soon, but
he would cherish the memory of that impromptu entertainment for years to come.

She looked sideways at him. “That was just a warm-up.”

She really was going to play a new piece. Again
just for him.
Her fingers danced across the keys, coaxing gorgeous sounds from the Steinway and he knew this new CD would be one of her best yet.

When she finished she looked up at him and smiled. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

He didn’t know if she meant the piano or the piece, but he said, “Yes,” to both. “Thank you.” He looked down at her, hard pressed to refrain from following his gratitude with a kiss.

She tilted her head back and met his gaze, her amber eyes glowing with joy from the music and something he could not define. “You are welcome. That was the first time I’ve ever played in a public place and enjoyed it.”

The showroom wasn’t exactly a concert hall, but he was proud of her for keeping her end of the bargain all the same. “Glad to be of service.”

“You make me feel safe.”

He was lost for words.

She blushed and ducked her head. “Isn’t it about time we got back for lunch?”

“I’m sure it is.” He tipped her face up so their eyes met. The moment was too profound to ignore. “Thank you.”

“I…”

“I have rarely in my life been as honored as I am by your trust in me.” His head tilted forward of its own volition.

She let out a soft puff of air. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

“Not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“We are friends.”

“And friends cannot kiss.” She smiled and pulled her chin from his hand, clearly trying to lighten the atmosphere between them.

He would do his part. “I have never kissed Zephyr.”

“Liar.”

That made him reel back. “I have never kissed a man.”

“That whole kissing on the cheek thing you Greek guys do? What’s that?”

“Oh.” Heat climbed the cheeks she mentioned. “That is not the same.” At all.

“No, but it’s still a kiss.”

“You are walking a dangerous path,
pethi mou.”

“Pethi mou?”

“Little one.” His little one, but he didn’t need to tell her that bit.

“I’m not that little.”

“Compared to me?”

“You’re just oversized.”

“I thought that was my ego.”

“O-ho, so you have perturbed a girlfriend, or two.”

“I’ve never had a girlfriend, but yes, more than one pillow-mate has remarked that I have a rather healthy ego.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I will tell you what I tell them—it is deserved.”

“And do they agree?”

“Naturally.”

She bit her lip, looking away from him, that adorable expression he could easily become addicted to on her features. He liked Cassandra Baker shy. He wondered if he should tell her.

Not everyone thought she had to perform publicly to be valuable.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend, either,” she whispered, breaking in to his thoughts.

“Never?” That should not have shocked him, but it did. He had guessed she was a virgin, but to be wholly innocent of male-female games? He could not imagine it.

“Um…no.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine. I’m a real freak, aren’t I?”

“What?” He grabbed her shoulders and made her meet his eyes by sheer force of will. When her amber gaze was looking into his, he said, “You are precious, but are you saying this morning was your first kiss?”

“Well, actually, um…yes.”

Oh, hell, didn’t his libido just love that? “I wish I’d known.”

“Why?”

“I would have made it special.”

“It felt pretty special to me.”

“It could have been better.”

“How?”

“It’s not something I can explain with words.”

“Novelists do.”

“I’m a businessman, not a writer. I’ll have to show you.”

“Here?” she squeaked.

“Yes.” He covered her lips with his before she could get another query out.

Gently. More carefully than he had ever kissed another woman. Even his first time. But damn. The knowledge no other man had done this battered at his vaunted self-

control. However, he would not give in to the mouth-ravaging his own desires demanded.

Her lips tasted every bit as good as they had that morning, but the knowledge they were his and no one else’s added a sweetness he had never once thought to experience. A sweetness so real, he could taste it as certainly as he did the unique flavor of Cassandra’s delicious mouth.

Of their own volition, his arms slid around her, pulling her so close their body heat mixed. She felt right in his arms. Too right. Like she fit exactly as if she had been made to be held exactly as he held her.

He refused to dwell on that sensation of rightness, choosing instead to enjoy this anomalous moment in time. His tongue swept through her mouth, claiming her as only he had ever done.

His body demanded he claim her in other ways. Thankfully they were in a semipublic setting, or he might not have had the strength to deny himself.

This being friends with a woman was harder than he had ever expected it to be.

Her slender fingers tunneled into his hair, short-circuiting rational thought. Cassandra kissed him back with an unfettered sensuality he knew would be a joy between the sheets.

She had never kissed another man, but she knew exactly how to tease his tongue into her mouth. Her feminine instincts were rock solid as she dueled with his tongue while making whimpering sounds of need that drove his libido through the roof and beyond.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

He was seriously considering pulling her under the piano and away from prying eyes when the sound of a near tortured squawk had him yanking his head back.

He reared up and looked around only to see that the door to their soundproof room stood open. The salesman must have thought to speak to them only to get an eyeful when he opened the door.

Through the doorway, Neo could see a young boy blowing determinedly into a clarinet. The source of the awful noise. The child’s mother was staring at Neo and Cassandra with a sappy expression that had Neo jumping off the piano bench.

That woman’s look screamed, “Romance…isn’t that sweet?” He didn’t do romance. Not even for Cassandra.

He put his hand out. “Come. We’ll be late for lunch.”

“Don’t forget your paperwork,” she said, though her eyes indicated she wanted to say something entirely different.

Lunch was a banquet of Mediterranean cuisine. It had started with
fasolada,
the bean soup Cass had always associated with Greece. Then there had been a small salad made up of leafy greens, pine nuts and crumbled feta with a dressing unlike anything she’d tasted before.

“This is amazing,” Cass said as she scooped a bite of the main dish, spinach
spanakopita,
onto her fork. “There’s no way you eat like this every meal.”

“Naturally not. But today I have a guest. My housekeeper was thrilled I told her not to worry about the nutritionist’s directives and to prepare a traditional Greek meal for you. She is from the Old Country and she does not approve of my nutritionist’s directives, to say the least.”