But it does. It really, really does.
She took a step, considering joining him, then stilled, looking down at the antique key clutched tightly in her hand. Her heart did a quick, painful drop to her knees and she jammed the key in her robe pocket, silently turning away. Her happiness was short-lived lately and a little voice inside her screamed at her to grab some before it was gone.
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Chapter 23
She was dreaming. And dancing. No ... swimming, but it was a dream, so what did she know? The faint haunting blends of the classical piano filtered to her sleepy brain. So soothing. In the pool? No. The ocean. She emerged from the frothy water, naked, walking slowly up the beach. Sand squished between her toes, her hips swaying deeply as her feet sunk into the sand. Ramsey. He was on the beach, watching her, his amber-dark gaze moving over her body so hotly it felt like his hands. Slow, infinitely sensual. Everything about the man oozed sex. Lithely he came to his feet and started toward her, his gait loose-limbed and graceful. He wore those skin-tight knee breeches and looked as he did when she'd first seen him, vulnerable, mysterious— swashbuckling. He reached for her, enveloping her in his embrace. Then he kissed her, slow, old fashioned, rolling and nipping. It was nice to know a man could still pack so much hunger in one kiss. Then his tongue came into play. He made love to her mouth, exquisitely, and Penny melted into the sand, taking him down with her as his kiss went hot and savage and all devouring.
A frown knitted her brow as the vision faded and the music became more prominent. She tried to draw him back into her
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dreams, but failed. Squirming on the couch, she thought of the soft bed upstairs and the man sleeping down the hall. Fabulous dream. Wrapping her robe more tightly, she let the wonderful comforting strands gently brush away the webs of slumber. Radio or CD, she wondered. Opening her eyes, she rolled onto her back and for a moment wasn't certain where she was. The solarium, she realized after her eyes adjusted to the pale light and she recognized the dome shaped ceiling.
She levered herself onto her elbows, frowning. The music was incredibly crisp, clear. She blinked when she heard a flat note, then a replaying. Grasping the back of the couch, she peered cautiously over the cushioned edge.
Her breath caught.
Ramsey.
Where he was seated at the black piano, she could see only to his shoulders, the dim light from the crystal chandelier radiating warm gold prisms that sparkled off his unbound hair. A broad snifter of brandy lay within his reach, the liquid vibrating with each note. He looked like a crazed composer, eyes closed, his head thrown back, the piece brilliant, yet tormented and mysterious. His talent was magnificent and never in her wildest imagination would she have thought he'd like music, let alone know how to play like a concert pianist. Her heart split a little and she let his clear notes seep between the tiny crack as she slowly moved off the couch.
Her movements hadn't drawn his attention and she savored the moment of seeing him so involved. Slowly he tilted his head forward, his long satiny dark hair tumbling across his face, his eyes still closed as the piece became powerful, nearly violent, then abruptly softened. He was lost to the melody, letting it sing through his blood. His pleasure was tangible and she shared it, her body humming as if drugged with mulled wine. There was something to be said about watching a man when he didn't know you were there.
Then his eyes opened and he saw her.
"Don't stop," she said before he could. '*Please."
Ramsey smiled slightly, his entire body jumping to life at just the sight of her. His little sneak looked lovely, all sleep-
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tussled and bloody alluring. His gaze skimmed her flushed face, then moved lower, lingering at her breasts, the delicious bit of cleavage the dark-green satin robe exposed, then dropping to her bare toes afore returning to meet those cat round eyes.
"I was not aware I had an audience."
Penny swallowed. It was wickedly obscene, the way he looked at her. "I fell asleep on the couch." She gestured behind her. "I didn't know you could play."
" 'Tis a great deal of me you do not know, Penelope." His voice was rumbling and diabolic, suggesting there would be pleasure, immense pleasure within the discoveries.
"Who taught—I mean, where did you learn to play?" She moved closer, resting her palm on the gleaming black surface of the baby grand as she rounded the jutting edge to stand close. He looked heavenly, she thought.
"My mother. 'Twas her passion." His tender smile was laced with bitter grief. "She was a lady, proper reared and schooled, yet the pianoforte was her freedom, she claimed. She would have liked to play on this. The tone," he said, looking down at the keys, "is so gloriously rich."
"Pianoforte? This is a piano, Ramsey, a Steinway."
He nodded slowly, but she didn't think it meant anything to him.
"Do you play?" he asked.
"God, no. I'm lucky to bang out scales without sounding like a dying mule."
"Then why own such an instrument?"
One shoulder rose and fell. "Hank plays a little. So I keep it tuned, though it was in the house when I bought it." She watched his long tanned fingers glide over the keys, imagined them on her skin, then quickly blurted, "What's this piece?"
The gray silk robe shifted against his powerful shoulders. "Father called it her Night Song."
"Your mother composed?" Penny was incredulous.
"Aye." Defensive, but soft.
"Why Night Song?" she asked, brows drawn slightly.
His touch on the keys softened, the sound barely audible, but the tone, seductive and beckoning—was there, wafting
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around them. "She played for him, my father. Banishing the little ones to bed, he'd enjoy his pipe and watch her, waiting til it swept her."
She propped her elbow on the surface, cupping her chin. "I'm not sure I understand."
A devilish light flickered in his eyes, utterly mischievous. "I snuck below stairs once," he confided softly, as if someone might hear. "I was ten and two, not a man, but thinkin' I was. She was playing, and Father rose slowly, tapping out his pipe. She smiled at him. 'Twas a smile I'd caught atween them only thrice afore and didn't know what it meant til I'd had my first woman." Penny gave him a speculative look and he wiggled his brows. "Mother ignored him as he stood behind her. Father brushed her hair off her shoulder and kissed the spot and she went into his arms. He made love to her on the parlor floor."
Penny straightened, eyes wide, brows high. "You actually watched them?"
His lips trembled with a smile. She looked so adorably indignant. "Aye."
"Ramsey!"
"I was too scared over getting caught and receivin' the thrashin' I deserved." He shrugged. " Twas wild and swift and over before I realized it." His fingers stilled, the last notes vibrating to silence as he met her gaze. "About like you and I, Penelope."
Her skin fused with soft heat. "That was a mistake." Her mind screamed to retract the words.
He cast her sly look, plunking one key at a time. "Mayhaps a kiss or two could be considered an exercise in poor judgment, Penelope, but the sweet passion you found in my arms, beneath my touch?" He shook his head. "Never."
She drew herself up a little straighter. "Good God, you're arrogant, O'Keefe. Anybody ever tell you that?"
Ramsey thought of Tess and how she'd easily destroyed his finest seductive tactics whilst they dined aboard the Sea Witch.
"Aye, quite bluntly, I'm ashamed to repeat. But I shall take to account the lass was mad with love for another—" he flashed her a rascally grin—"therefore immune to my charms."
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"And you're saying I'm not?"
Ramsey's gaze lowered to her breasts, lingering over the teardrop roundness, and the tiny locket resting atween. Her nipples plumped the satin, and he met her gaze swiftly and smiled, slight and mocking. ' 'Your body knows me well, Penelope, even if
your heart speaks nay."
He continued to play.
"Keep going, Ramsey." She folded her arms petulantly across her middle. "You're digging yourself deeper by the second."
His lashes lowered on a challenging gleam. "Shall I prove you wrong?" Ramsey tried to maintain his composure. But with the evidence of her desire blaring at him like friggin' trumpets, all he could think of was how those rosy crests beckoned for his attention. He could smell the exotic scent of her flesh and grew restless. God's teeth man, yer like a beast seeking to rut and 'tis bleedin' fortunate yer sitting down.
"Presumptuousness is not charm, Ramsey, and you have about as much charm as a Brahma bull."
He chuckled lightly. "And you, love, are transparent as oiled paper—to me," he stressed, giving her a lusty look.
Penny spun about, took a step, then rounded on him. "I thought your kind were all but dead."
"And that is?"
"A dyed-in-the-wool chauvinist!"
Ramsey frowned, not understanding, then recalled Tess's explanation of the word: A man who thinks first with the contents of his breeches.
He grinned. "A failing only where you're concerned."
"Lucky me," she said flatly and the silence stretched between them, tightening the air.
"Have you opened the trunk, Penelope?"
She drew a sharp breath, startled by the shift of conversation and the aura around him. "No."
His shoulders drooped and he ceased playing. "I thought as much."
"What's that supposed to mean?" But his disappointment was clear.
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Ramsey picked up the snifter, swirled the liquor, then took a sip.
"Well?" she prompted, just noticing his gold signet ring.
Smoothly he drained the brandy, ignoring her presence, infuriating her, and she took a threatening step. He cast her a side glance, arching a brow.
God, she was beginning to loathe that measured look.
"What does it matter whether I open the trunk?"
"It does to the Blackwell who left it to you," he said, carefully placing the snifter on the piano's surface, watching his own movements.
"What about your package? What do you have to do with all this?" She'd heard him say he was a Continental Marine with the confidence of a judge and the impossibility made her feel as if she were being conned.
"I've opened mine." He was still staring at the snifter.
"What does it have to do with my trunk?"
"Naught and 'twas not to me the chest was gifted, Penelope." Edgy, soft.
"And I'm telling you I have no connection to anything as old as that trunk."
His gaze flew to hers, his dark eyes glacial and piercing. "Say naught was familiar to you, woman, and I will believe you are simply insensitive to a dead soul's last wish."
Penny reared back. She'd never heard him speak like that, so wintry, not to her. "Why are you hounding me like this?"
"Tell me!" he demanded, smashing a balled fist onto the delicate keys, making her flinch.
"Yes! Yes! The handwriting. It was Tess's. My Tess." She thumped her chest. "But it isn't possible, don't you see? She was only twenty-five and that thing's been sealed since 1839!"
"Then by Triton's will, woman, discard your fears and for the sake of the smattering of familiarity, go open the bloody trunk!" His anxiousness made his tone harsh and biting, yet she held his gaze, mutiny written in her expression and a sound of disgust snagged in his throat. "I see a coward stands afore me," he hissed, ignoring the burst of hurt in her eyes. "Did this Tess mean naught to you?" He rose slowly to tower over
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her. "Or mayhaps she went to her death because of a friendship she thought she had with you?" His viperous arrows pierced her heart with the accuracy of a cross bow.
''You bastard!" Her hand shot out, cracking against his face with a power that sent his head to one side. Slowly he turned back. She trembled, swallowing repeatedly. "Do you think I don't have a heart to break?" A tortured whisper, her eyes misting. "She was my only friend, Ramsey." The tears came, slow and burdened with guilt and he felt the muscles round his heart clamp like a vice. "For God's sake, we grew up together, we survived together! And I—" A hard shudder raced through her body, her ragged breath choking her words. "Oh God." Furiously she scrubbed her hands over her face. "It should have been me," she moaned, slowly lowering her hands, and Ramsey saw the wall about her crumble. "/ asked her to steal, I changed places with her when those men were chasing her. Jesus—" she tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling—"I might as well have put a gun to her head." Slowly she met his gaze, tears falling. "If I'd been brave like Tess and just taken my shots like I deserved, she'd be alive." Her voice broke. "But she's not. And it should have been me who died!"
"Ah, nay love, nay." His features mirroring her sorrow, he reached tor her. * 'She made her choice freely, just as you did.''
"Don't patronize me," she warned in a bitter rasp, batting away his hand. "I can't take that! God, not from you!" The last an agonized plea before she whirled about to run. Ram grabbed her arm, dragging her back, his eyes fierce-bright as he crushed her to him. She has old shadows, he realized, and 'twere leading her down a path to her own private hell. By God, he wouldn't let it take her.
"Let go, Ramsey, please." She shoved at his chest, turning her face away. Her pulse quickened at the base of her throat. "You don't want to be near me ... I'm poison."
He clamped a hand to the back of her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Then I shall drink a draught of your venom," he said and crushed her mouth beneath his, his kiss relentless and desperate, yanking passion from her cool figure, her tainted heart. It tore at him to see her like this. 'Twas not her hand in
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Tess's disappearance that haunted her so deeply, gave her such a low opinion of her worth, and he was determined to find the source and destroy it. Yet if loving her body be the only way to reach her heart, then so be it.
But she fought him -still and he refused to yield, his free hand sliding down her spine, roughly molding her trim hips, grinding her to his throbbing warmth, then skimming up and around to shape her satin covered breast. Her body softened against him. With deepening circles his fingertips worked her nipple to a tight throbbing pebble, and he absorbed her quick hot shudder.
She clung to him, gripping his silk lapels. It was happening again, she thought as he pushed her robe aside, his callused palm closing over her bare breast. He wields his power. And I can't fight it. She wanted to lash out at him, scream at the awful way he spoke to her, but she couldn't think of anything except the heady feel of his hands, his taut body against hers and how desperately she wanted to lose herself in him. With Ramsey, she could do it, leave pain and sorrow behind and be primal, wicked. Then she was, yanking open his robe to slide her hands over his chest, shape his coin-flat nipples, then smooth the ridged plains of his stomach to his arousal. The air left her lungs. He was brick hard.
"Ramsey?" She flexed against him.
He didn't speak, yet twisted around, pushing her down onto the piano. The disjointed keys sent a broken chime into the air. He kissed her savagely, wedging atween her thighs, and her legs immediately wrapped around his hips. His fingers found her, wet and hot and incredibly snug. He thrust deep inside and she gasped against his mouth, caught the satisfied look in his amber eyes. He'll pay for that arrogance, she thought, plowing her fingers into his hair, holding him while she blistered his mouth with flowing erotic strokes. The ivory keys bit into the soft flesh of her buttocks, yet she was blind to it, clawing his powerful shoulders. A delicious burn radiated through her body. Sinful. Luxurious. He made a hungry sound, nuzzled her throat and his fingers pushed, retreated. Again and again. He touched the tender core of her and Penelope threw her head
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back, satiny red hair splaying across the gleaming black surface like spilled wine. She was on the edge, ready.
>
And she took his breath away.
Ramsey wanted this as much as she, wanted the sweet explosion that came when their bodies melded and the incredible peace he knew he'd feel after. Yet he would trade it all to climb into her heart and push her secret pain out, taste them, know them like his own.
"See how you come alive in my arms, love," he murmured against her throat, lightly stroking her. "Why only here?"
"Shh, Ramsey, please." She drew him to her mouth. "I don't know. I don't care." She pulled frantically at the silken ties of his slacks.
"Do you want me truly?"
"Do you want me?" she countered, her breathing labored.
He held her gaze, his voice somber, reverent. "Aye, lady heart, always."
For a heartbeat everything inside her and around her froze, her gaze searching his features. "Then love me." She freed him into her palm, gasping at the incredible heat of him. His erection bucked in her hand, her legs pulled him closer and she guided him to the source of her need.
Eyes locked. And he plunged hard, driving her briefly off the keys.
"Oh—God!"
Her body grabbed him, wet velvet sliding, and Ramsey didn't think he'd last long enough. Too hard. Too hot. Her fingers stole over his ribs, grasping his sides, urging him, and he gave, clamping onto her hips and sinking deeply. He moved in desire's erotic symphony, the crescendo swiftly climbing. She demanded more, thighs clenching, her head thrown back. Ramsey laved her throat, her smooth shoulder, curving his long body and closing his lips over her nipple, drawing it into his mouth. He sucked hotly and she drove her fingers into his hair. curling her hips in sensuous little tucks. He felt her storm eruption like cannon fire. Her hoarse cry spilled first and he received it into his mouth, his kiss keeping her pleasure within him, secret and hidden, then the exquisite tightening of woman-
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