Page 41 of Black Tie Billionaire
“Can I say something without breaking the tenuous bonds of our truce?” he asked, cocking his head to theside.
She wanted to duck her head and avoid his piercing contemplation. It cut deep. Exposing her. Even with the distance of the breakfast bar separating them, she had the sudden urge to lean back, insert more space between them.
But she remained seated and met his gaze. “Sure.”
“I would’ve never pegged you for someone who enjoyed getting their hands dirty in a kitchen. I know youhelped your friend out that day in the food truck, but I thought that was a fluke. What you did in there—” he dipped his head in the direction of the kitchen “—was skill. And spoke of someone who really enjoyed it. You’re a walking contradiction.”
“So your all-knowing file didn’t include that information?” she mocked. Picking up her wineglass, she sipped the moscato, silently debating howmuch to tell him. Then, before she could make up her mind, her mouth was moving. “My mother loved to cook. We had a personal chef, but when Dad wasn’t home, she’d commandeer the kitchen and cook for all of us. She would let me help, and some of my happiest memories are of the two of us preparing a pot of gumbo or baking a quiche. I learned to cook from her, but I also inherited my love of it fromher.”
God, where had all that come from? Embarrassment rose in her, swift and hot.
“Anyway, now your dossier is complete,” she added flippantly. “I’ll clean up.”
She rose from her chair and, grabbing both their plates, circled the bar and headed toward the sink. As she set the dishes in it, a long-fingered hand settled over hers, stilling her movements.
“She would’ve been proudof you,” Gideon murmured in her ear. Heat from his body pressed into her side, her shoulder. “Now, go relax. You did all the work, the least I can do is clean up.”
Her first instinct with Gideon was always to defy his orders. She wasn’t a puppy. But this time, she accepted his offer and slid from between him and the counter.
Coward.
Maybe.
Okay, definitely. But his unexpected displaysof tenderness and the potent, dark sexuality that he emitted like pheromones combined to undermine every guard she’d erected since that night he’d so coldly rejected her after giving her devastating pleasure.
She went in search of the restroom, and after locating it and washing her hands, she continued her tour of his place. At least the downstairs. A formal dining room. A bedroom done insoft blues and cream. Maybe this was where his sister, Olivia, slept when she came over; he’d said the T-shirt and leggings he’d given Shay were hers. Until that moment, she hadn’t even known he had a sister. But he didn’t offer more information, and for the sake of their temporary cease-fire, she didn’t ask.
Another bathroom. A study. A den.
She paused at the open door of that last room.With its two couches, love seat, numerous end tables, large coffee table, massive television screen mounted above the fireplace, this space appeared more lived-in than the rest of the penthouse.
She glanced behind her, but the hallway remained empty.Just a peek, she promised herself, then she’d leave. Moving into the room, she stroked a hand over the leather couch that bore a distinct imprintin the middle cushion.
Must be where Gideon sat the most. She could easily imagine the man she’d spent this evening with—in his black, long-sleeved, V-neck sweater, black jeans and bare feet—relaxing in this room. Feet up on the table, remote in hand, scanning through the no-doubt-numerous channels before deciding on...what? Funny. She knew how he had sex, but had no clue about his favoriteTV shows or movies.
For some reason, that struck her as sad.
It also lit a hunger to discover more about him. Some things they’d shared in the blackout, but not nearly enough to satisfy her curiosity. What was his favorite color? His favorite band? Snack? Boo—
Oh God.
Breath trapped in her throat, she crossed the room toward the instrument that had captured her attention. No,instruments. Plural. A glossy black stand with padded interior cradled six guitars. She knew nothing of guitars, but she could tell the three acoustic and three thinner, sleeker electric guitars had to be expensive. And obviously well cared for.
A flutter tickled her stomach, launching into a full-out quake. She reached a slightly trembling hand toward the guitars.
“Do you play?”
Shewhipped around, guilt snaking through her. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, backing away from the instruments. Damn, she was a sneak. And not even a good one. “I didn’t mean to snoop, I...” She paused and inhaled a deep breath. “I was taking a self-guided tour of your house and saw the guitars. They’re beautiful,” she whispered. “I don’t play, but obviously, you do...?”
He nodded, crossed theroom on silent bare feet and halted next to the stand.
“For years,” he said, brushing an affectionate stroke over the gleaming wood of an acoustic guitar. Her thighs tightened, the touch reminding her of how he’d caressed her skin. A lover’s familiar caress. “We didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up. But when I showed an interest and aptitude for guitar, my mother somehow managedto scrape enough together for lessons. I didn’t find out until I was a teenager, but my father played the guitar, too. I don’t remember it, but I like to think I inherited my love of music from him, as you did cooking from your mother.”
“Will you—” She broke off. God, she was pushing her luck. From his explanation, she sensed he didn’t share this part of himself with many people. It didn’tline up with the image of ruthless business tycoon. But in this moment, she wanted to see his clever, talented fingers fly over those strings. To witness him coax beautiful music from that instrument. To watch him lower that damnable shield and let her in. “Will you play for me?”
He stared at her, and her heart thudded against her rib cage. Finally,finally, he dipped his chin and reachedfor the acoustic guitar on the far end. He almost reverently lifted it off the stand and carried it to the love seat. She trailed behind him, not saying anything. Afraid if she uttered a word, he might change his mind. Once he perched on one end of the small love seat, she sank to the other.
Propping the instrument on his thighs, he plucked a few strings, turned the knobs at the top. Oncehe seemed satisfied, he cupped the neck, fingers at the ready there. And the other hand hovered over the big, rounded body.
