Page 60 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
“Perhaps not on purpose, but I don’t see how your presence in my life can bring anything other than pain,” she finished on a whisper.
“Don’t say that,” he admonished, tucking her head against his chest. Yet, an uncomfortable feeling burrowed into his gut. Townsend’s pointed questions from the rally returned to him. He debated if he should tell her what the man had said, but she lifted her head and met his gaze, her eyes searching.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he said with no hesitation, his arms tightening around her.
She held his gaze steadily, as if measuring his sincerity, before she leaned her cheek against his chest. “For just one night, can we forget about everything and everyone outside that door and just…be? Together?”
Resignation smothered him. “Will one night be all we ever have?”
“I fear that may be all I have to give,” she said, her voice gentle.
He stroked her hair before trailing his fingers down her spine, each digit mapping its course. “Just us. Together. Tonight.”
…
If Charlotte had expected Finlay to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bed, divesting her of her clothes with his wickedly skillful hands, she was to be disappointed.
Instead, he slowly released her from his embrace, taking a moment to sweep a lock of hair from her cheek, before he smiled. “Will you play your lyre for me? Is that what you call it?”
Charlotte blinked slowly, arousal making her eyelids feel heavy. “It’s a kinnor.”
“A kinnor?” he repeated, tilting his head to the side in an endearing fashion.
“Yes. It’s a Jewish instrument, similar to a lyre. My father used to play one, and I taught myself to play as well.”
“You taught yourself?” When she nodded, his eyebrows rose even higher. “My mother insisted I learn the piano, and despite twice-weekly lessons with an instructor and an hour practice everyday, I still struggle with scales. I’m impressed.”
She twirled to gather her instrument from the trunk in which she’d tucked it. She stared at it for a moment. It wasn’t pretty. The paint was chipped and weathered in several spots. The pegs were tarnished. Charlotte wondered what Finlay would make of it.
“I’ve never held a lyre—or kinnor—before,” he said simply when she placed it in his hands. He turned it about, studying it from all angles.
“It’s obviously a secondhand instrument.” Her cheeks grew warm at her admission.
He carefully plucked at a string. “But it appears well made. And it’s obvious you’ve taken care of it.”
“I’ve tried,” she whispered.
He extended it to her, his gaze soft. “I’d love it if you’d play something for me.”
Charlotte clutched the instrument to her chest. “I only know simple songs. Songs I remember were played in the synagogue or at home after supper.”
“Those sound like the best kind of songs because they hold meaning for you.”
His words unlocked a deluge of emotions Charlotte had dammed up inside of her. Afraid if she tried to speak she’d cry, she nodded and pulled out a chair, keeping her head bent so he wouldn’t see how precariously she held herself together.
A slight creak alerted her that he’d sat on her bed, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She plucked the beginning cords of an old melody she’d always hummed when she was in need of strength. And as always happened when she played, her surroundings and company faded away, and she gave herself over to the music.
When she finished, she immediately launched into another one, and then another. She lost track of time until a reflection of sunlight from the window slanted across her face and broke her concentration, and she looked up. Finlay sat on her bed still, a look of tenderness on his face as he observed her.
Without a moment’s thought or hesitation, she rose, placing her kinnor on her abandoned seat. She crossed the room to stand in front of him and cupped his cheeks in her hands, rubbing her thumbs against the smooth shaven planes of his skin. He allowed her caresses, his gaze traveling over her face a caress of its own.
“That was magnificent,” he murmured, his breath ghosting across her hands. “You are magnificent.”
Unable to think of a response, Charlotte dipped her head and kissed him.
And oh, what a kiss it was. She felt Finlay in every part of her overheated body. His taste, his smell, his touch, his…essence seemed to invade all of her senses, and she sank her hands into his hair to anchor herself.
