The Shy Bride

by Lucy Monroe

  Would Neo Stamos himself be standing there, or his PA? Or maybe a bodyguard, or chauffeur? Did billionaires talk to their piano teachers, or keep underlings around to do that for them? Would she be expected to teach with others in the room? If he had them, where would his bodyguards and chauffeur wait during the lesson? Or his PA?

  The thought of several people she did not know converging on her home made Cass feel like hyperventilating. She was proud of herself for continuing down the narrow hall to the front door of her modest house.

  Maybe he was alone. If he’d driven himself, that opened another host of worries. Would he feel comfortable parking his expensive car in her all too normal neighborhood in west Seattle? Should she offer the use of her empty garage?

  The bell rang a third time just as she swung the door open. Mr. Stamos, who looked even more imposing than he did in his publicity photos, did not appear in the least embarrassed to be caught impatiently ringing it again.

  “Miss Cassandra Baker?” Green eyes, the rich color of summer leaves, set in a face almost overwhelmingly attractive in person, stared at her expectantly.

  She tilted her head back to meet the dark-haired tycoon’s gaze. “Yes.” Then she forced herself to make the offer she would have to any other student. “You may call me Cass.”

  “You look like a Cassandra, not a Cass.” His voice was deep, thrumming through her like a perfectly struck chord.

  “Cass is what my protégés call me.” Although referring to this man as a protégé struck her as decidedly off.

  As if he found the term as incongruous as she, his perfectly formed lips quirked at one side. Though it could not be called a true smile by any stretch. “I will call you Cassandra.”

  She stared at him, uncertain how to take his arrogance. He didn’t appear to mean anything by it. His expression said he believed it was simply his prerogative to call her by the name he felt suited her, rather than the one she used with the few people she had regular, ongoing communications.

  “I believe it will be easier to start the lesson if you let me inside.” His voice was tinged with impatience, but he did not frown.

  Nevertheless, he made her feel gauche and lacking in manners. “Of course, I…did you want to park your car in the garage?”

  He didn’t even bother to glance over his Armani-clad shoulder at the sleek Mercedes resting in her driveway before shaking his head, a single economical movement to each side. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s go inside.” She turned and led the way to the piano room.

  It had been the back parlor when the house was first built in the late nineteenth century. Now it served beautifully to house her Fazioli and practically nothing else. There was a single oversized Queen Anne-style armchair for the use of her rare guests, with a tiny round side table, but no other furniture cluttered the room.

  She indicated the wide, smooth piano bench, the same exact finish as the Fazioli. “Have a seat.”

  He did as she suggested, looking much more relaxed in front of the piano than she would have in his high-rise office.

  A few inches over six feet, he was tall for the bench, and yet he did not look awkward there.

  His body did not have the lithe grace or, conversely, the extra weight around the middle of most male pianists she knew, but was well-honed and very muscular. His hands were strong, with long but squared fingers bearing the wrong calluses for a pianist or a billionaire, if she were to guess it. His suit was more appropriate for a boardroom than her music room, and yet he did not look ill at ease in the least.

  Perhaps the sable-haired, superrich Adonis simply did not have the awkward gene like normal people.

  “Can I get you anything to drink before we begin?”

  “We have already spent several minutes of the hour allotted for this lesson, perhaps you would find it more efficient to dispense with the pleasantries.”

  “I do not mind going a few minutes over so you get your full lesson,” she said, feeling guilty but equally certain she had nothing to be guilty for.

  “I do.”

  “I see.” Strangely enough, his abrupt manner was easing some of her anxiety.

  Or was that simply because he had not brought the entourage she had feared? Regardless, she was finding the new situation much less excruciating than she had anticipated. Her gratitude over that fact made her want to be accommodating.

  So, no pleasantries then. “Perhaps next week, you should forego ringing the bell and simply come inside,” she offered.

  His far too compelling green gaze narrowed. “You do not lock your door?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before informing her, “I flipped the dead bolt when I closed it.”

  No doubt a man in his position would find it second nature to double-lock a door behind him. “I’m surprised you don’t have bodyguards that have vetted the house.”

  Really, really surprised.

  “I do have security but I do not live a sitcom cop show. You were thoroughly vetted before my PA called to schedule the lessons.” He gave her slight frame a cursory perusal. “And you hardly pose a personal threat to me.”

  “I see.” Vague discomfort at the fact she had been investigated settled in her stomach.

  “It was not personal.”

  “Just necessary.” As had been her research of him on the Internet.

  Although, she suspected the background check done on her had been far more invasive. No doubt, he knew her history. He was aware of what her manager termed her idiosyncrasies. And yet, he did not treat her like a freak.

  “Exactly.” He looked pointedly at his watch. Not a Rolex.

  She found that interesting, but didn’t comment on it. He’d made it very clear he was there for a piano lesson, not conversation. Again, his brusque approach was unexpectedly comforting.

  The remainder of the hour went by surprisingly quickly.

  Despite an entirely different sort of tension the tycoon elicited in Cass.

  Neo did not understand the sense of anticipation he felt Tuesday morning when he woke and realized his second piano lesson would be today.

  Cassandra Baker was exactly as the background check on her had implied she would be. Rather quiet, clearly uncomfortable with strangers and yet something about her charmed him. There were far more important events on his agenda, but his second meeting with the world-renowned pianist who refused to perform publicly was the first one that came to his mind.

  Neo could not believe how much he had enjoyed his time with Cassandra Baker.

  She was no beauty with her mousy brown hair, light freckles and slight build, and she was not the usual type of woman he found entertaining. More the average “girl next door” and he would readily admit he met few of those in his current lifestyle. And he would not have met her without Zephyr’s intervention.

  Zee was also the person to introduce Neo to Cassandra’s music. His partner had given him her CDs for his birthday and Christmas. Neo started out listening to them when working out on the weight machines, then he would play them sometimes when he was working on the computer. Eventually, it got to where he had Cassandra’s music playing pretty much anytime he was home.

  He didn’t concentrate on who the artist was, just played the music off his MP3 player. He hadn’t even recognized her name on the gift certificate for his lessons. Not until the preliminary background report on her came in. That was the first time he realized she composed most of the music he found so pleasing as well.

  And he wasn’t the only one—Cassandra Baker was a top-selling New Age artist. He would not have expected such a popular musician to be so unassuming. Yet she made no effort to allude to her undeniable talent or fame, further cementing her girl-next-door qualities.

  Although undeniably average, her amber eyes were somewhat stunning though, their open and honest expression captivated him and the color was undeniably unique in a way the colored contacts so popular among the artificial beauties he “hooked up” with—Zephyr even h
ad Neo thinking in those terms now—could never be.

  Although she wasn’t a beauty, Cassandra was intriguing and vulnerable. There was just something about the reclusive pianist he liked. Perhaps it was simply knowing that she made the music that he enjoyed so much.

  Whatever the reason, he looked forward to getting to know her better. And when was the last time he had allowed himself the luxury of something so personal not related to sex?

  When he arrived at her house, four hours later, he discovered her door on the latch just as she had said it would be. The evidence of her lax security bothered him, but even more worrisome was the sound of music floating down the hall. She couldn’t possibly know that he had come inside.

  He was frowning when he entered the room she had led him to the week before.

  She looked up from the piano, her fingers going still above the keys. “Good morning, Neo.”

  “Your door was unlocked.”

  “I told you it would be.”

  “That is not safe.”

  “I thought you would appreciate the expediency of getting right to your lesson.”

  Without waiting for her to offer, he took a seat beside her on the piano bench. “You could not hear me arrive.”

  “I did not need to. You knew where to come.”

  “That is not the point.”

  “Isn’t it?” She looked at him as if she truly did not understand his problem. “No.”

  “All right. Shall we start where we left off last week?”

  Neo was not accustomed to being dismissed, in any form. Yet, rather than get angry, he couldn’t help admiring the fact the shy woman had so adroitly shifted focus to the reason he was there.

  Which was not to lecture her about her habit of leaving the door on the latch, he reminded himself.

  He enjoyed Cassandra’s soft voice as she guided him through the day’s lesson. Her passion for her craft was apparent in every word she spoke and the very way she touched the piano they played. A man would give a great deal to be touched by a lover with such intense dedication.

  And his thinking no doubt explained the inexplicable arousal he experienced during something as innocent as piano lessons.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CASSANDRA covered her mouth as she yawned for the third time in ten minutes. She hadn’t slept well the night before each one of Neo’s lessons since the first one five weeks ago. In the beginning, it had been her usual anxiety from inviting someone new into her life, even if it was only for an hour a week.

  But anxiety had slowly and strangely morphed into anticipation. And she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if Neo went out of his way to be friendly. He could not be mistaken for anything but a driven businessman, but she found herself truly enjoying his company. He took his lessons seriously, though it was obvious he did not practice between times.

  His manner could best be described as abrupt, often arrogant. Strangely enough, she discovered a peace in his presence she did not experience with anyone else. She tried to analyze it, but couldn’t come up with a reason for finding his company so pleasurable.

  He’d become less adamant about what she had at first considered the “no pleasantries” rule. He did not complain when she went off on a tangent, discussing her favorite thing—music. He even asked intelligent questions that exhibited both a surprising interest and understanding.

  So, she didn’t feel too worried bringing up something that had been nagging at her since first meeting him. “You drive a Mercedes.”

  “Yes.” It was clearly an invitation to continue as he played the chords she had just shown him.

  “Well, you aren’t wearing a Rolex, but you are wearing a custom-tailored designer suit.”

  “You are observant,” he said with that little twitch of his lips she’d come to crave in some strange way.

  “I suppose.”

  “But I do not see the point.” He gave her a questioning look as his hands stilled on the keys.

  “I would have expected you to drive a Ferrari, or something.”

  “Ah, I see.” He smiled.

  Really smiled.

  And everything inside Cass flipped.

  Like kapow to her midsection. This was not good. She’d never had a reaction like this to a student, or to anyone for that matter. But, seriously? His smile should come with a warning label. Something like: One glimpse is fatal!

  “Few people are open enough to admit when they notice what they consider the inconsistencies of the wealthy man.”

  “I don’t do subterfuge well.” She hated social situations to begin with, adding deception to the mix only complicated things to the point of horror for her.

  The smile turned into a full-out grin. “That is good to know.”

  “Is it?” If she’d thought she’d been in danger before, now was absolute Armageddon.

  “Yes. Back to your question. It was a question, was it not?” He spoke with a slight Greek accent she found entirely too delicious.

  She needed to get out more. Yeah. Right. That was so going to happen. She bit back a sigh. Not. Not going to happen and no matter how lovely she found his accent, it hardly mattered, did it?

  It had surprised her at first, but then she’d decided it was to be expected. The information she had found about him online indicated he had left Greece as a young man. However, one article she read said that he spoke Greek with his business partner and had done several property developments in his country of origin over the years.

  “Probably a nosy question, but yes,” she finally answered.

  “I do not mind your kind of nosy. The paparazzi demanding to know the name and measurements for my latest girlfriend is another thing entirely.”

  Heat suffused her neck and cheeks. “Yes, well, I can guarantee you I won’t be asking those sorts of questions.”

  “No, your curiosity is much more innocent.” Which seemed to please him. Odd.

  She certainly didn’t find her own innocence all that pleasing.

  “To answer it, a man does not amass great wealth in a single lifetime by spending his money frivolously. My clothing is necessary to present a certain façade for our investors and buyers. My watch is rated as technically accurate and as sound as a Rolex, but only cost a few hundred rather than several thousand. My car is expensive enough to impress, but not ridiculously so for something that amounts to nothing more than a piece of equipment to get me from Point A to Point B.”

  “Unlike many men, your car is not one of your toys.”

  “I stopped playing with toys years before I left the orphanage I never called home.”

  She’d read that he had lived in an orphanage before leaving Athens. For all that his publicity people allowed the world to know, there was a cloak of mystery around his growing-up years.

  Which was something she could understand. While her official biography for publicity purposes revealed that both her parents were dead, it said nothing about her mother’s protracted illness. Nor did it mention years spent in a house shrouded in silence and steeped in fear of losing the person both she and her father had loved above all others.

  Her father’s death as the result of an unexpected, massive heart attack had made the headlines at the time. Mostly because it had heralded the end of rising star Cassandra Baker’s public performances. Her withdrawal into seclusion had garnered more press than a good, if sometimes misguided, man’s death.

  “Some men try to make up for losing their childhood by having a second one.”

  “I am too busy.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “You did not have a childhood, either.” He said it so matter-of-factly.

  Like it didn’t really matter. And hadn’t she decided a long time ago, that it didn’t? The past could not be changed.

  “Why piano lessons?” she asked Neo, wanting to talk about anything but her dismal formative years.

  “I lost a bet.”

  “To your business partner?” That made more sense than anything she had bee
n able to come up with on her own.

  His brows quirked at her description of Zephyr Nikos. “Yes.”

  “If what you say is true, I wonder how he is rated as being as wealthy as you?”

  “Meaning?”

  “He spent one hundred thousand dollars on piano lessons you don’t want. That sounds very frivolous to me.”

  “I do want the lessons.” Neo looked as if he’d shocked himself with the assertion.

  “That’s surprising.”

  “When I was a youth, I wanted to learn piano. There was no chance then. Now, my time is in even shorter supply than money was to my younger self.”

  “And yet you make the time for these lessons.” She could not imagine her own childhood without her piano to take away some of the pain.

  “Zephyr does not consider the investment frivolous. He believes I need something besides work to occupy my time.”

  “For at least one hour a week.” Though sixty out of the ten thousand and eighty minutes found in a week didn’t sound like much of a relaxing distraction to Cass.

  “Precisely.”

  “Still, he could have gotten you lessons with someone who teaches for a living at a much reduced rate.”

  “Zephyr and I believe in hiring the best people for the job. You are a master pianist.”

  “So I have been told.” Many, many times since she was discovered as a child musical prodigy at the age of three.

  “It is your turn to answer a question for me.”

  “If you like.” And if she could. She braced herself for the question most people asked, and the one for which she did not have an answer anyone had found satisfying thus far.

  “Why do you give lessons to the charity auction every year when you are a career composer and pianist, not actually a teacher?”

  For a moment, she was so stunned he had not asked what everyone else did—why she had stopped performing publicly—that she was stumped for an answer. Finally, her brain caught up with his curiosity and she said, “Many up-and-coming pianists want to study with me. This is the one chance they have to do so.”