A Daughter's Story

CHAPTER FIVE

WITH HANDS USED to pulling in heavy lobster traps in rapid succession, Chris communed with the ivories. The music his playing sent out into the night was a byproduct—he felt melodies and harmonies and chords more than he heard them. He didn’t understand how it worked—the music and his inner self healing. He didn’t ask. He just presented himself to the keys and played until he knew he was done.

Until he knew he could sleep.

At least, that was how it had always worked before.

So why wasn’t it working?

When midnight passed and he was still driven to play, when the tunes he produced changed from popular ditties to intense renditions of classical masterpieces with a few of his own compositions mixed in, when his fingertips grew numb with pounding, he ordered a fourth drink to help the peace he was seeking find him more easily. To assist the piano in its work.

“You’re here late tonight,” Cody said as he delivered the drink himself. Other than a waitress on the floor and the checker at the door, Cody was the only employee left for the night. The kitchen had been closed for a couple of hours.

“So are you,” Chris said, tipping his glass to the friendly guy. “I’ll bet your wife has a bit to say about that.” About the long hours. The time away.

“As long as I get home in time to crawl into bed with her, she doesn’t complain,” Cody said. “I’m home with her and the kids during the day and now that they’re in preschool we’ve got lots of time just the two of us. It’s nice.”

Chris nodded, one hand on the keys, trying to imagine what it would be like to be home with a wife and kids even for an hour, and coming up blank.

“Who’s the woman?” He’d noticed the woman in the tailored black suit and red silky-looking top over the past few hours and she was something he could converse about, though why he had a sudden urge to hang out with the bartender was a mystery.

“Not sure,” Cody said. “I don’t know her and she hasn’t said much.”

She’d had plenty of male admirers. Chris would guess just about every adult male in the place had given her the once-over. More than once.

“Someone probably stood her up,” he said, taking another sip. The liquor was warm going down. Felt good. “Can’t imagine why, though. She’s a looker.” In a nontarty sort of way. Long legged, and even in the conservative black slacks and jacket her curves caught his attention.

The woman didn’t need jewelry or makeup to call attention to herself. Hell, he’d bet she’d look good in an old robe and shower cap.

But what a shame it would be to hide that head of hair. He couldn’t seem to push away the image of those long dark curls splayed across a rumpled white pillowcase. He sipped again, enjoying the mental image for another second.

“She’s sure been looking at you, man,” Cody said, turning to eye the woman, who was holding her almost-empty wineglass by the stem with both hands.

Chris had noticed. He’d made eye contact a time or two. Had nodded and received a nod in return.

“She been talking to anybody?”

“Nope.”

“No one?”

“Nope.”

“Not even on a cell phone?”

“Nope. No texting, either.”

“An out-of-towner?”

“Here on business? Knows no one? Most likely,” Cody said.

She glanced their way. Held up her glass with a smile that was more shy than flirtatious.

Chris tapped a chord. And taking one more sip of whiskey, he started to play again.

* * *

SHE WAS THE sixth-to-the-last patron in the bar. Two separate tables, a couple at each, were still occupied. And the leathery-skinned woman who still sat at the other end of the bar. The woman talked to pretty much anyone who sat near her, but so far she was alone.

Maybe she wasn’t a working girl as she’d first assumed. Maybe she was the wife or girlfriend of the piano player? Used to sitting by herself all night while her man worked?

Keeping watch over him?

Like she should have kept watch over Rob?

One o’clock in the morning and Emma still had no place to be. Or desire to go.

She couldn’t drive anywhere. That decision had been made with her last glass of wine.

One of the hotels on the block was going to be her accommodation. Didn’t matter which one. They were all nice. All clean. In a safe area. And, because it was fall and not summer, they’d be sure to have rooms available.

Piano man glanced at her. Again. Emma should have looked away. Any other time she would have.

His glance called to her. She heard him. Those eyes said he found her interesting. She told him his music moved her.

He felt her pain. She was aware of his depths.

They were two intense people meeting on a level that no one else could share.

Or at least that’s how she translated their silent communications.

She’d never been intense before. Never even gave herself a chance to see if she could be.

She was different tonight. Allowing herself to just be. Watching, as if from afar, to see who might emerge. Maybe, just maybe, she was finding the person inside of her that she’d kept locked up tight since the day Claire went missing.

And even if this woman was only allowed out of her cage for this one night, Emma was determined to give her life.

So she sipped her wine. And she participated in nonverbal conversations.

She’d go get her hotel room. As soon as piano man was done for the night. As long as he was going to play for her, she was going to stay and listen.

* * *

CODY WOULDN’T TELL him to leave. Don Carmine, Cody’s boss and owner of Citadel’s, would have his hide if the bartender in any way offended the provider of Citadel’s discounted lobster supply. One of the best deals Chris had ever made—his lobster in exchange for 24/7 use of the baby grand, accomodations across the street when he wanted them, and whatever he wanted to drink. Chris didn’t abuse those privileges.

He didn’t usually stay late, either, but tonight he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Not while the long-legged woman still sat at the bar watching him.

His mystery woman played him just right. She made no demands or requests. Nothing he’d have to reject. She was just there. And she was exquisite.

Chris softened his touch on the keys, caressing them, telling the woman through his playing that she moved him.

He found it curious that she didn’t seem to have much awareness of her effect on other people. He hadn’t seen her so much as make eye contact with a single one of the men who’d been buzzing around her that night.

A woman alone keeping to herself wasn’t so unusual—what struck him was the way her shoulders pulled in slightly instead of squaring off, her air of hesitation, the fact that every time he caught her eye, she always glanced away first.

A glass appeared on the cork-lined black tray sitting on top of the piano, within hands’ reach, as he played. A set of keys followed.

“Lock up when you’re through.” Cody’s words could be heard over the ballad Chris was playing.

He glanced around. The place was empty. The waitress—Beth—and the bouncer at the door must’ve gone home.

His gaze landed back on the woman who was the last remaining customer at the bar.

“She asked if she could stay. I told her it was fine with me as long as it was all right with you.”

Watching the woman, who was watching him, Chris nodded. And as he heard the back door click behind Cody, he started another song.

* * *

SHE COULDN’T SPEND the night in a bar. But what difference would it make if Emma checked into a room, with nothing but her purse, at one-thirty in the morning or three-thirty?

Piano man—Chris, Cody had told her when he’d poured her last glass of wine, on the house—continued to play. But he watched her, not the keys beneath his fingertips.

That was fine. She was watching him, too.

She wondered about Chris’s shoulders, so broad they stretched the long-sleeved white dress shirt he wore. Wondered if playing piano was what he did for a living.

She could have asked Cody.

She hadn’t.

Chris raised an eyebrow to her. She tilted her head.

Her breasts felt twice their size as she sat there, staring at him. Her nipples tingled. She had been freed for the night by wine. And music.

She was dangerous.

In that moment Emma liked the change.

As much as she didn’t want Chris to stop playing, she wanted him to stop even more. He had to at some point.

And when he did, what then?

Would he speak to her?

Or simply motion for her to leave so he could lock up and disappear into the night?

Lifting a hand from the piano keys, continuing his auditory art with one-handed playing, he raised his glass to his lips. Sipped slowly. Her fingers shook on the stem of her wineglass as she also lifted her glass, and folded her lips around the rim.

He put down his glass, and she listened for the message the keys would send out as he returned his hand to them. Soft? Sweet? Intense? Deep, dark chords?

But his right hand didn’t return to the piano. He held it palm up, and folded three of his strong fingers inward. The fourth, his index finger, he crooked, calling to her.

The new Emma, the one who was refusing to go home to her mother’s house, stood. She maintained eye contact. And with desire spiraling in private places, she started toward the piano man with no thoughts of turning back.

CHAPTER SIX

CHRIS HAD NO REAL idea what he was doing. It was late. He had to be on the docks before sunrise—a few short hours away. He’d already missed a day’s catch and couldn’t afford to miss another.

He started to play another song, his fingers moving naturally over the keys, sending a harmonic rendition of “Send in the Clowns” out into the deserted room. With most of the lights off, he could only make out the first circle of tables around the dais. The rest of the space was black.

Except where the track lighting from the bar—lights that were always left on—accentuated the softly sculpted features of the goddess slowly approaching him.

He switched chords and without pause started in on “Seduces Me”—a song written by Dan Hill and made famous by Céline Dion. He’d heard it many times but had never played it before.

The deceptively simple, sexy melody filled the air around them, sending shivers down his spine. The woman faltered a step, but didn’t look away. Neither did he.

When she reached the dais, his gaze landed for an instant on the vee between her thighs, and then immediately rose to meet the questioning but undeniably sultry look in her eye.

His hands slowed and then stilled completely. He moved sideways on the shiny black bench, watching her, waiting to see what she would do. He wasn’t completely sober. He should have stood. Thanked her for her patronage and secured his exit.

But he couldn’t. More important than sleep, more important even than the catch, was knowing what she would do next.

* * *

EMMA TRIED TO think. She stood outside of her body—a spirit in the air above that dais—and she saw someone with a body who looked like hers, wearing her clothes, standing alone with a man she’d never met.

He’d moved over. And was waiting for her.

He was older than she’d first thought—in his late thirties or early forties. His skin was as leathery as the woman’s from the bar earlier that evening. His hands were well worn, too. Rougher than she’d expected for a man who played the piano so beautifully. The dichotomy spoke to her.

Chris was not just a pianist. Emma was not just a safe bet.

She sat down.

* * *

HER BODY WAS warm. Chris’s body buzzed with anticipation.

“What’s your name?” He’d been making eye contact with her all night. Now he looked down at the keys in front of him.

“Emma.”

Her hands appeared on the keys, as well. She had slender fingers. Unadorned, although there was a white band against the tanned skin of her left ring finger.

“I’m Chris.”

“I know.”

He glanced at her. She turned her head. Their gazes were only inches apart now.

“Cody told me,” she explained.

“You hungry?”

She licked her lips. “Not really.”

“Your glass is almost empty, you want more?”

“Okay.”

“The bars are all closed, but I have a room. It’s across the street.”

He didn’t promise to be a gentleman.

“Okay.” Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip. His body thrummed his response.

“You want to join me there?”

He would never, ever force himself on a woman, but he wasn’t about to turn down any opportunities this beauty—Emma—was willing to offer.

“I think I do.”

He had a condom in his wallet. She’d recently had a ring on her finger. Safe enough for him.

“Good,” he said, and lowering the lid to protect the piano keys, he rose, took her hand and led them out the back door.

* * *

EMMA WASN’T STUPID. She knew what she was agreeing to by leaving the bar with Chris. She just couldn’t seem to make herself care.

Because she was numb? Hurt beyond good judgment?

Because she was drunk?

Or because the piano man made her body sing in places a tune had never played?

The warm night air didn’t sober her. Or instill her with any better sense. It caressed her skin, heightening the surreal sense of vibrancy she felt as they walked hand in hand across a quiet street lit with old-fashioned gas lamps.

They reached the other side.

“I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” They were the first words he’d said since he’d locked the door of Citadel’s behind them.

Who was she kidding? This was no love tryst. She didn’t know anything about the man, except that he’d been endowed with a magnificent talent.

“I reserve the right to change my mind.” Emma strove to save herself from the unleashed woman inside of her.

“Of course.”

They stopped on the curb in front of one of the more expensive hotels in the tourist district. The doorman stood alert, in spite of the very early morning hour, appearing eager to be of service to them.

Chris’s eyes were blue. A vivid, bright blue—not the darker hue they’d appeared to be in the shadows of the restaurant. His hair, falling across his forehead, was dark enough to be almost black.

“You want me to walk you to your car?” he asked. His eyes belied the indifference in his voice.

“No!” She was surprised by the vehemence with which she said it. “I just want… I’ve heard stories….”

Words escaped her and she waited for him to get her drift.

He was silent.

“It’s only fair that you know, going in, that I might change my mind. At an inopportune moment.”

He raised one of his strong, gifted hands to her face and ran his fingers through her hair.

“I will stop,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “If at any time, any time, you change your mind, I will stop.”

She believed him. And hoped, God help her, that she wouldn’t want him to.

* * *

EMMA ALMOST GIGGLED as the elevator opened for them upon approach, as though it had been commanded to do so. Surely Chris didn’t have that much power.

Though, judging by the way he made her feel, she couldn’t be sure.

“Not many people going up and down at this late hour,” he said, stepping inside the car.

“I think I’ve had a lot to drink,” she said, grinning at him.

“Four glasses of wine by my count.”

He was counting? She stared at him. He’d been watching her that closely?

“From the moment you walked in tonight, I didn’t notice anything else.”

It was a good line and she was inebriated enough to like it.

“I’m not kidding,” Chris said, his voice deep, a bit husky, reminding her of a well-aged wine. One out of her price league. “I don’t play games with women.”

“I don’t play at all,” Emma said, her voice sounding tiny in the confines of the elevator. “This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this.”

A mood-killer if ever there was one. Yes, she’d discovered new things about herself tonight. But she was still Emma and now she was going to blow this whole thing.

If she did, chances were old Emma would win and she’d have to resign herself to a life of safety and security and settling for Robs.

She nearly laughed out loud at that last thought. Robs. Funny word.

But if she succeeded—if she made love with her piano man—she’d be forever changed. She’d no longer be the woman who’d never taken a chance, never faced danger, never had the nerve to do exactly what she felt like doing.

The elevator door slid open and Emma half expected Chris to gracefully bow out of his invitation.

Holding the door open with his body, he lifted her hand until her gaze followed.

“I’m glad you don’t make a habit of this,” he said, the smile in his eyes sending her spiraling as though he’d tipped her over the edge of a cliff. “You want to continue?”

“Yes.”

He guided her through the door, following closely, and when he came up beside her, he wrapped his arm around her waist.

They faced the elegantly appointed room together. And she tingled with anticipation. Not fear.

In that moment, Emma knew that if the night killed her, she’d die having lived.

And she’d prefer that to living her whole life as if she were already dead.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WASN’T SUPPOSED to happen this way.

The words repeated themselves in his mind. He wasn’t sure what they meant. But he heard them.

He probably even believed them. There just wasn’t a damn thing he could—or wanted to—do about them.

“I have a dry white or merlot,” he said as he peered into the stocked refrigerator in the living-room section of his hotel room.

The king-size bed was there, too, in plain view, about ten feet of plush beige carpet away.

Emma sat—still fully dressed down to the low-heeled shoes she wore—on the couch, but based on the stiffness of her posture and the way her gaze kept darting to the oversize armchair next to the couch he had the distinct impression that she’d have been more comfortable in the seat made for one.

He quirked his brow at her. “You ready to say stop?”

“Dry white, please.” Her brown gaze swung to him, and stayed there. Steady and strong.

“I’m glad.” Really glad. Abnormally glad—Chris had never been hard up for women.

He opened the small bottle, emptied it into one of two wineglasses on the bar, opened a miniature bottle of Crown for himself and poured it into a highball.

Handing her the glass of wine, he took a sip of his whiskey and sat down beside her.

The night might be late, but he felt like they had all the time in the world. And if they didn’t, he was going to take it, anyway. This woman, this experience, was not to be rushed.

“You want to know anything more about me?” he asked.

“Yes, but not right now.”

Fair enough.

She didn’t offer him the same privilege. She pushed her hair back away from her face and he saw that white band on her finger again. She’d said she’d never done anything like this before.

“I’m okay if tonight is a rebound for you. But I need to know that you aren’t married. I don’t take what belongs to someone else.”

“I’m not married.”

He felt like grinning. And it wasn’t supposed to happen that way, either.

“Have you ever been married?”

“No.” She glanced away, as though ashamed.

Chris lifted her hand that held the wineglass and brought it to her lips. “Sip,” he said softly. “I haven’t ever been married, either.” Almost didn’t count.

His words brought her gaze back to him. “How old are you?” he asked.

She was of age; he knew that. But he was curious.

“Twenty-nine.”

Younger than he’d expected. Younger than Sara by eleven years.

“I’m forty.”

She had a right to know.

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“That you’re eleven years older than me?”

His age had never been an issue for him before. He simply hadn’t cared to measure life in terms of time. He sipped his drink.

“It doesn’t bother me in the least,” she said, a small smile forming on the lips that had been calling to him all night long. “As a matter of fact, I find forty kind of sexy. You aren’t a kid all filled up with his own sense of importance.”

“I could be an older guy all filled up with my own sense of importance.”

“You could be.” She took a sip of her wine, still smiling. “But I know that you aren’t.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve asked for my permission every step of the way,” she said simply. “If you thought you were life’s greatest gift, you’d be sure you knew what I wanted—which, by the way would be only what you wanted—and you’d have charged forward with the strength of a bull to get it.”

“Apparently you know someone who’s filled with his own sense of importance.”

“I don’t think a girl can escape puberty without meeting one or two or a dozen of those.”

“I wish I could believe you were wrong about that.”

She shrugged. “It’s not all bad,” she said, her gaze dropping to his shoulders—his chest—and lingering there. “Gives you the chance to discern between the good and the bad.”

Which didn’t mean a woman always was able to discern, he guessed, glancing again at that ring finger.

The guy, whoever he’d been, was a first-class fool. To lose a woman like this?

Chris drew himself up with a gulp of whiskey. Whoa. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The words came again.