the lump in her throat. She was just tired.
Yes, that was it.
The last few days with Cat had been harder than she had expected. Cat had responded to Billy a few times, been seen bending to breathe in the roses in her room by Bev and had almost smiled when she’d been shown Kelsey, the horse Lexi had bought for her to ride, but so far, she’d not once ‘seen’ Lexi.
Tiredness was the reason for the strange edginess she felt now. It had to be. And it was just excitement at the thought of working with Daemon that had caused the curling warmth low in her stomach and that strange feeling when they touched: that she already knew him.
It was probably just because she knew his music so well. And also, he’d held her hand captive for longer than was necessary. The familiarity of the gesture unnerved her.
She wondered if he’d done that on purpose. Billy had told her to be careful of his charm. Was this what he meant?
She watched Daemon surreptitiously over the top of her glass as he chatted with Billy and Craig. He was taller than he looked on TV, a good six inches taller than her – and she was no slouch at five foot eight.
Dressed casually in a pair of expensive jeans and a crisp blue shirt, open at the collar and turned up at the cuff, which showed off the lean, long muscles underneath, he seemed relaxed and yet there was an air of something wild about him. It was that indefinable rocker cool. He wasn’t dressed to impress, yet his look would still turn heads.
His dark, shaggy hair had a hint of red in it – natural or dyed? She couldn’t tell – but it was a bit long for her liking, touching his shirt collar and falling over his eyes when he laughed or dipped his head. His lashes were long and so dark it almost looked like he wore eye-liner and mascara, and emphasised the incredible sky-blue of his eyes. Her gaze dropped to the hands he gestured with as he told Billy a funny anecdote about Craig. He had the long, fine fingers of an artist. Yet there was no fragility there. She’d felt the strength of them in his handshake.
There was something incredibly sexy about those hands. She supposed it had something to do with the way they created music.
On the underside of his wrist was a tattoo – a line of what looked like Gaelic writing. She wondered what it meant. On his other wrist was a line of music she recognised as the opening bars of Mozart’s Requiem .
Mozart was her favourite composer and that was the piece that sang most to her soul. Heat washed through her as she wondered why Daemon would have that particular line tattooed on his arm. It was more than sexy, it was . . .
Lexi tore her gaze away as she realised the direction of her thoughts. She hadn’t thought of a man in sexual terms for years. Her psychologist said she had trust issues. After that brilliant diagnosis, Lexi had left therapy. She knew she had trust issues but wasn’t about to discuss why with a complete stranger!
She heard Daemon laugh and looked up. Her gaze collided with his piercing blue eyes. He was sizing her up just as she had been him. She straightened her back and took another bite of her barely touched sandwich, forcing herself to swallow, wishing she’d worn something different, something more . . . shielding than jeans and a T-shirt. Although a suit of armour would probably seem a bit out of place, she almost felt she needed one. She couldn’t help but feel he saw too much. But still, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
He stared back. She didn’t flinch. A lazy smile touched his lips.
Her hand clenched around the glass. Arrogant sod! Who did he think he was, trying out his charm on her? She supposed many women fell for that sincere blue-eyed gaze, the lilting Irish accent and the slightly off-kilter features. But not her. She’d been around too many rocker types trying out their egos to be impressed. He probably didn’t even know what that piece of music on his wrist was. Pretentious git.
She
Yes, that was it.
The last few days with Cat had been harder than she had expected. Cat had responded to Billy a few times, been seen bending to breathe in the roses in her room by Bev and had almost smiled when she’d been shown Kelsey, the horse Lexi had bought for her to ride, but so far, she’d not once ‘seen’ Lexi.
Tiredness was the reason for the strange edginess she felt now. It had to be. And it was just excitement at the thought of working with Daemon that had caused the curling warmth low in her stomach and that strange feeling when they touched: that she already knew him.
It was probably just because she knew his music so well. And also, he’d held her hand captive for longer than was necessary. The familiarity of the gesture unnerved her.
She wondered if he’d done that on purpose. Billy had told her to be careful of his charm. Was this what he meant?
She watched Daemon surreptitiously over the top of her glass as he chatted with Billy and Craig. He was taller than he looked on TV, a good six inches taller than her – and she was no slouch at five foot eight.
Dressed casually in a pair of expensive jeans and a crisp blue shirt, open at the collar and turned up at the cuff, which showed off the lean, long muscles underneath, he seemed relaxed and yet there was an air of something wild about him. It was that indefinable rocker cool. He wasn’t dressed to impress, yet his look would still turn heads.
His dark, shaggy hair had a hint of red in it – natural or dyed? She couldn’t tell – but it was a bit long for her liking, touching his shirt collar and falling over his eyes when he laughed or dipped his head. His lashes were long and so dark it almost looked like he wore eye-liner and mascara, and emphasised the incredible sky-blue of his eyes. Her gaze dropped to the hands he gestured with as he told Billy a funny anecdote about Craig. He had the long, fine fingers of an artist. Yet there was no fragility there. She’d felt the strength of them in his handshake.
There was something incredibly sexy about those hands. She supposed it had something to do with the way they created music.
On the underside of his wrist was a tattoo – a line of what looked like Gaelic writing. She wondered what it meant. On his other wrist was a line of music she recognised as the opening bars of Mozart’s Requiem .
Mozart was her favourite composer and that was the piece that sang most to her soul. Heat washed through her as she wondered why Daemon would have that particular line tattooed on his arm. It was more than sexy, it was . . .
Lexi tore her gaze away as she realised the direction of her thoughts. She hadn’t thought of a man in sexual terms for years. Her psychologist said she had trust issues. After that brilliant diagnosis, Lexi had left therapy. She knew she had trust issues but wasn’t about to discuss why with a complete stranger!
She heard Daemon laugh and looked up. Her gaze collided with his piercing blue eyes. He was sizing her up just as she had been him. She straightened her back and took another bite of her barely touched sandwich, forcing herself to swallow, wishing she’d worn something different, something more . . . shielding than jeans and a T-shirt. Although a suit of armour would probably seem a bit out of place, she almost felt she needed one. She couldn’t help but feel he saw too much. But still, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
He stared back. She didn’t flinch. A lazy smile touched his lips.
Her hand clenched around the glass. Arrogant sod! Who did he think he was, trying out his charm on her? She supposed many women fell for that sincere blue-eyed gaze, the lilting Irish accent and the slightly off-kilter features. But not her. She’d been around too many rocker types trying out their egos to be impressed. He probably didn’t even know what that piece of music on his wrist was. Pretentious git.
She
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