Soulbound
Page 73
Though his heart pounded and sweat bloomed over his skin, he used his charm, giving a wry grin and a small nod as he prepared to do the one thing no one on this earth had seen him do. He gestured toward the fiddle. “May I have a go?”
Awkward silence grew and swelled before the man shook himself out of his gaping stare. The man handed over his fiddle. “But of course, sire.”
Ah, but Eliza May’s expression was rapt now. He gave her a small smile, one that challenged and taunted. He’d been giving her those for months, wanting her to see that his soul and hers were one, and yet now she did not resist. No, she grinned in return, accepting his challenge and acknowledging the taunt.
Anticipation plucked at his innards. Holding her gaze, he tested the strings. Perfect tune. Adjusting his grip, he raised the bow. It held there, and it seemed the room held its breath with it. And then the bow tore across the strings, whipcord fast and violent. From the first note, he poured his soul into the music. No slow dances for Miss May. No peace. No escape.
He did not remember the first time a violin had been placed into his hands. Only that, be it due to a supernatural dexterity or an innate talent, he’d known how to make it sing for him, from Beethoven to Bach. Secret trips to Gypsy camps had taught him other music. The devil’s music, his fellow knights would have called it. But they were long dead by the time he’d learned to play.
Nor would he give up his music. It had been his one true joy. Adam would take on the appearance of another man and play. Play on a corner of Hyde Park, in the crowded bowels of a steamer ship, on the rooftops, wherever he wanted. He relished the anonymity of it, that he could be in the moment without judgment or speculation. But now. Now Eliza danced for him.
Her hands were at her hips, her heels pounding out the rhythm, matching him, pushing him harder. His fingers worked over the strings, his bow white lightning. Blood pumped through him, the music flowing. It was power, lust, the thrill of the chase. His breath quickened. He held her gaze and worked the bow, sweat trickling down his back, his cock hard and his heart racing.
The notes came out sharp, quick, urgent. Only she existed in his eyes. He needed to stop. He pushed it further, his body thrumming with the music, with her movement. He wouldn’t last. Her flushed cheeks, parted lips, breasts bouncing. Faster. Harder. He panted, his vision blurring. Need surged. His arm jerked with the urge to throw the fiddle aside and grab her. The music pitched. Stretched too thin. Worked too hard. He would snap. A string snapped instead.
The awkward note died in the air, and both he and Eliza halted. Her breath came out in rapid bursts, her cheeks glowing from the exertion of the dance. They stared at each other and, for the life of him, he could see no one else but her. And then she moved, making him flinch, making him want to launch himself at her. She beat him to it, her slight body slamming into his, her slim arms wrapping about his neck as she laughed. His hand lifted, hovering at the small of her back, wanting to hold her but not daring to for fear he’d never let go.
“Oh, but that was marvelous,” she said as his blood raced like fire through his veins. Then she pulled him in closer and her warm breath touched his ear, uttering words that had his throat constricting and his vision blurring. “This is life, Adam. Let the past go to the devil. Let yourself live now.”
And so he would.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sweaty and pleasantly warm from the dance, Eliza made her way back from the ladies’ lounge. She’d washed her face and smoothed her hair. The lively sounds of music and dancing still filled the air, and she felt content. For the first time in years, she was happy. The realization stole over her quick as a fox, making her smile.
She’d taken no more than a few steps when a hot hand clamped down on her wrist and tugged. Eliza collided with a solid chest, the scent of spice and clean sweat surrounding her. “Adam.” She laughed up into his face as he wrapped her up in his arms and walked them backwards. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
His smile was sharklike, but when she thought he might answer, he cupped the back of her head and his mouth captured hers. Eliza’s breath hitched. And he took advantage, opening her lips with his, licking with his hot tongue.
“Adam,” she murmured against him, even as she canted her head and sought more. More of his taste. More of his yielding lips.
“Seven…” He kissed her – “Hundred…” His teeth nipped – “Years, love.” Another deep kiss had her knees buckling. He grinned against her mouth, even as he tightened his hold to keep her from falling. Golden, glinting eyes met hers as he pulled back. “Do not expect me to refrain from touching or tasting you every chance I have.”
Her head spun, it felt as though she were falling, yet he was holding her up, holding her against him. They’d stumbled into a private dining room. Her back met with the wall, his mouth hot on hers with messy, frantic kisses, as though he’d been starved and given a buffet. His large palm, so warm and rough with calluses, held her cheek, his thumb sinking into the corner of her mouth as though he wanted to touch their kiss, experience it with every sense.
Breathing hard, her breasts crushed against his, Eliza let him do as he willed. His enthusiasm was heady, erotic. She became languid in the face of it, hot and boneless and wanting more.
Adam’s lips trailed across her jaw and down to the sensitive skin of her neck. He breathed her in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. “Have you any idea,” he murmured, “what it’s like to touch you?”
Awkward silence grew and swelled before the man shook himself out of his gaping stare. The man handed over his fiddle. “But of course, sire.”
Ah, but Eliza May’s expression was rapt now. He gave her a small smile, one that challenged and taunted. He’d been giving her those for months, wanting her to see that his soul and hers were one, and yet now she did not resist. No, she grinned in return, accepting his challenge and acknowledging the taunt.
Anticipation plucked at his innards. Holding her gaze, he tested the strings. Perfect tune. Adjusting his grip, he raised the bow. It held there, and it seemed the room held its breath with it. And then the bow tore across the strings, whipcord fast and violent. From the first note, he poured his soul into the music. No slow dances for Miss May. No peace. No escape.
He did not remember the first time a violin had been placed into his hands. Only that, be it due to a supernatural dexterity or an innate talent, he’d known how to make it sing for him, from Beethoven to Bach. Secret trips to Gypsy camps had taught him other music. The devil’s music, his fellow knights would have called it. But they were long dead by the time he’d learned to play.
Nor would he give up his music. It had been his one true joy. Adam would take on the appearance of another man and play. Play on a corner of Hyde Park, in the crowded bowels of a steamer ship, on the rooftops, wherever he wanted. He relished the anonymity of it, that he could be in the moment without judgment or speculation. But now. Now Eliza danced for him.
Her hands were at her hips, her heels pounding out the rhythm, matching him, pushing him harder. His fingers worked over the strings, his bow white lightning. Blood pumped through him, the music flowing. It was power, lust, the thrill of the chase. His breath quickened. He held her gaze and worked the bow, sweat trickling down his back, his cock hard and his heart racing.
The notes came out sharp, quick, urgent. Only she existed in his eyes. He needed to stop. He pushed it further, his body thrumming with the music, with her movement. He wouldn’t last. Her flushed cheeks, parted lips, breasts bouncing. Faster. Harder. He panted, his vision blurring. Need surged. His arm jerked with the urge to throw the fiddle aside and grab her. The music pitched. Stretched too thin. Worked too hard. He would snap. A string snapped instead.
The awkward note died in the air, and both he and Eliza halted. Her breath came out in rapid bursts, her cheeks glowing from the exertion of the dance. They stared at each other and, for the life of him, he could see no one else but her. And then she moved, making him flinch, making him want to launch himself at her. She beat him to it, her slight body slamming into his, her slim arms wrapping about his neck as she laughed. His hand lifted, hovering at the small of her back, wanting to hold her but not daring to for fear he’d never let go.
“Oh, but that was marvelous,” she said as his blood raced like fire through his veins. Then she pulled him in closer and her warm breath touched his ear, uttering words that had his throat constricting and his vision blurring. “This is life, Adam. Let the past go to the devil. Let yourself live now.”
And so he would.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sweaty and pleasantly warm from the dance, Eliza made her way back from the ladies’ lounge. She’d washed her face and smoothed her hair. The lively sounds of music and dancing still filled the air, and she felt content. For the first time in years, she was happy. The realization stole over her quick as a fox, making her smile.
She’d taken no more than a few steps when a hot hand clamped down on her wrist and tugged. Eliza collided with a solid chest, the scent of spice and clean sweat surrounding her. “Adam.” She laughed up into his face as he wrapped her up in his arms and walked them backwards. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
His smile was sharklike, but when she thought he might answer, he cupped the back of her head and his mouth captured hers. Eliza’s breath hitched. And he took advantage, opening her lips with his, licking with his hot tongue.
“Adam,” she murmured against him, even as she canted her head and sought more. More of his taste. More of his yielding lips.
“Seven…” He kissed her – “Hundred…” His teeth nipped – “Years, love.” Another deep kiss had her knees buckling. He grinned against her mouth, even as he tightened his hold to keep her from falling. Golden, glinting eyes met hers as he pulled back. “Do not expect me to refrain from touching or tasting you every chance I have.”
Her head spun, it felt as though she were falling, yet he was holding her up, holding her against him. They’d stumbled into a private dining room. Her back met with the wall, his mouth hot on hers with messy, frantic kisses, as though he’d been starved and given a buffet. His large palm, so warm and rough with calluses, held her cheek, his thumb sinking into the corner of her mouth as though he wanted to touch their kiss, experience it with every sense.
Breathing hard, her breasts crushed against his, Eliza let him do as he willed. His enthusiasm was heady, erotic. She became languid in the face of it, hot and boneless and wanting more.
Adam’s lips trailed across her jaw and down to the sensitive skin of her neck. He breathed her in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. “Have you any idea,” he murmured, “what it’s like to touch you?”
