Page 51 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

Now, that sounded familiar. Where had Ezra heard that before? In a movie? Had he said it?

“I know it’s silly,” she went on. “It’s just flowers. But that’s what’s great about being a business owner: you can have silly ideas, and no one can tell you no.”

“Nothing silly about it,” he said. “‘It’s just flowers’ is the same as ‘it’s just music.’ Neither has to mean anything. But in the right hands? Skilled hands? It can mean everything.”

Ricki nodded. As they walked, he stole a glance at her. She chewed a bit on her bottom lip, lost in a private thought. The sun beamed onto her hair, reflecting glimmers of auburn. She was breathtaking. Suddenly, he forgot what he was so frightened of.

“Too bad it’s the last time we’re speaking,” she finally said. “You saw me work, but I’ll never get to watchyouwork. The little bit you played downstairs at Bar Exquise was a tease. I wanna hear the rest.”

“You want to see me play?”

“Of course I do. I’m curious.”

He shook his head, a playful gleam in his eye. “Nah.”

“Excuse me? Why?”

“Because I don’t do that. It’s cheap.” He gave her a slight grin. It was cocky as hell, and he knew it.

“Cheap ’cause you think it’ll make me easy.”

“Cheap ’cause I know it will.”

Ricki stopped walking and met the challenge in his eyes. Boldly, she took a step closer.

“I did like you watching me,” she said, her voice husky.

Ignoring every alarm going off in his brain, Ezra said, “What game are you playing?”

“The same one you are.”

“This isn’t a game. I’m not toying with you, Ricki. That’s why I’m here. I owe you the truth.”

“No, youaretoying with me,” she said. “You have been since we met. And I just wanted you to feel what I feel.”

“How do you feel?”

She closed her eyes, her lashes fanning out over her flushed cheeks. When she finally gazed up at Ezra with a defenseless vulnerability, it sent him reeling.

“I feel besotted,” she whispered.

Ezra forced himself to stand in place. He knew that if he got closer, if he grazed her skin, touched her, kissed her, then he would never stop.

“Besotted,” he repeated, his voice twisted with inexpressible want. “Ricki. You didn’t know? I feel that, too.”

She stared at him, unblinking. And then a fiery rebellion flared in Ricki’s expression.

“Then, let’s make a gentleman’s agreement,” she said. “Whatever your big, nonnegotiable secret is, don’t tell me now. Tell me tonight. Let’s just have one day together to do whatever we want. And then you’ll tell me, and it’ll all be over.”

“But then at least we’ll have today…,” he said.

“Exactly,” she whispered. “Say yes.”

Hadn’t he said yes already?

He’d said yes every night as he gazed at her portrait before drifting into fitful sleep.

He’d said yes when he asked to see her today.

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