An Australian Surrender: Girl on a Diamond Pedestal / Untouched by His Diamonds / A Question Of Marriage. Lucy Ellis
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me tell you something, Noelle. It’s these people—anyone who believes that. They’re the ones who don’t matter.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes stinging with a sheen of moisture, threatening to turn into a source of real embarrassment. She pulled away from him and looked at the stage. There was a piano there. She wondered who was playing tonight.
Her hands itched all of a sudden. Flexed as she thought of playing a slow, smooth song
Because she couldn’t look at Ethan. And she couldn’t think about what he’d just said. It was contrary to everything she’d ever been taught about life. About what was important.
And he was just trying to make her feel better, because who wanted a cranky-looking woman on their arm all night?
A woman, a very young woman in a long red dress, came floating out onto the stage and sat in front of the piano, a string quartet sitting down the stage from her. The first strains of the music started to filter through the room and Noelle closed her eyes. Let them fill her with longing, with an ache that she was afraid would never go away.
“Care to dance?”
She opened her eyes and looked at Ethan, his eyes hot and intent on her. She cleared her throat. “You dance?”
“My mother insisted I learn. And anyway, I found it quite instrumental in picking up women back in the days before my bank balance was quite this healthy. Back in the days when I had to rely on charm and skill to get a date.”
She looked back at the stage, at the performers. She’d always been the one up there. Separate and removed. The mood of the room. A part of the parties, an integral part, but never in them.
“For the press?”
His lips curved up slightly. “Yeah, of course.”
She accepted his offered hand. It was hotter than she’d imagined it would be, his palm a bit rougher. He led her to the dance floor and her heart started tripping on itself. She’d never danced with a man before. She’d never danced. Not even at her own CD-release parties. But she’d even performed at those, even then more the entertainment than the guest of honor. And dancing wasn’t essential to piano, which meant it was a skill she’d never acquired.
“I don’t really know how to dance,” she said, when they stopped at the edge of the dance floor and he pulled her gently into his arms.
“But I do. And you can let me lead.” He laced his fingers through hers and wrapped his other arm around her waist. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he said, his voice soft, enticing.
She obeyed the instruction and immediately had to fight the urge to slide her hand, palm flat, down to his hard-muscled chest. She knew it was muscular because her breasts were crushed against it, her heart raging, and she was certain he could feel it.
She looked back up at the stage as Ethan moved back. She felt it all flow through her, the music and his movements, and her feet seemed to obey the prompting from Ethan’s body. Everything just seemed to work.
“So tell me, why don’t you know how to dance?”
“No time,” she said, her words short and breathless, not from the exertion of dancing, but from being in such close proximity to a man. To this man.
“Ah, right. The drills.”
“Yeah, the drills. They took up—take up—a lot of time.”
“I see.”
“A person can’t be great at everything. You can be great at one thing, if you work at it. If you want it badly enough.” She repeated the words of her former piano teacher, slightly shocked at how quickly the words rolled off her tongue, even after all this time.
“I don’t accept that,” he said, pressing his hand more firmly against her lower back, moving the lower part of her body closer to his. It made her tingle, made her uncomfortable … aware of her breasts. It was the strangest thing. Not completely unpleasant.
“Doesn’t matter whether you accept it, it’s true. It takes hours and hours of dedicated practice to claim proficiency at anything. It takes true commitment.”
“Hmm, commitment I’m not so good with.”
Her pulse pounded harder. He flexed his fingers and the slight motion against her back made a shock of sensation skitter through her veins, lighting up every last part of her body, from her head to her toes and every inch in between.
“Are you sure? Because you asked me to marry you only twenty-four hours after meeting me.”
“Commitment with a catch I can deal with. Commitment with a defined end date, I actually think that’s quite perfect. But then, that’s why I don’t make commitments. Because I know I wouldn’t want to keep them.”
“Well, then your proficiency must be in something other than relationships.”
He smirked. “I have a major in business with a pretty accomplished minor in bedroom skills. And I only claim a minor because you insist a person can’t have a double major in life.”
She felt her face get hot, her blood pounding in her temples. She didn’t know how he could say things like that so casually, like it didn’t mean anything. As if it didn’t throw his mind straight into the bedroom with all kinds of sweaty, half-formed visions.
She’d watched her share of late-night cable when she’d been alone in her hotel room, so she knew what kinds of things he was talking about. And it was making her feel weak and shaky all over.
“What about you? What’s your view on commitment?”
“I majored in piano,” she said, forcing a smile. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
“Yeah, I got that. I see what you were doing there.”
“You’re making fun of me,” she said. But he wasn’t doing it in a cruel way. He was teasing her. She wasn’t sure if anyone had ever really teased her like that. If anyone had engaged her in conversation quite like this. Intimate. Sharing. Strange.
“A little bit.”
He turned away from her and she couldn’t help noticing how striking his face was in profile. Strong nose and square jaw. He was almost too perfect to be real. He was like a man chiseled from rock, only infused with breath and warmth. And a glint in his eye that spoke of sin and pleasure.
“Over there,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “That’s Anita Blaire, she’s the lead writer for the society pages.”
Noelle turned her head slightly and saw a woman craning her neck to get a look at them.
Ethan released his hold on her hand and placed his palm on her hip, sliding it around slowly until both of his hands were rested on the indent in her spine, just above her bottom. He moved his thumb slightly, slowly, his touch edging near intimate territory.
She stiffened, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid she was going to pass out. She swallowed, barely able to finish the job thanks to her suddenly dry throat.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Lean into me.”
She did her best to relax but her muscles were locked up, tense. Not with fear, but with anticipation. She didn’t know what he might do next. Where he would touch her. It made her hot and shivery all over. Like having a fever, one that burned from deep inside her core.
“How’s this?” she asked, her voice a little bit thin, shaky.
“Better,” he whispered, his lips brushing her temple, the slightly intimate caress making her stomach tighten with raw, sexual need. It was different like this. In the arms of a real man, instead of just the hazy fantasy of a dream lover’s caress. Her ideas of desire were all viewed through a Vaseline-smeared lens in her mind’s eye. But this wasn’t obscured or blurred, it was sharp and clear. Almost painful in its intensity.
And