him making love to her—taking her virginity—but nothing had ever come of that infatuation. Not one of her few lovers had possessed the soul of an artist. Was that why she was so uncharacteristically fast around Kellen? Was it the spiritual connection between the musical part of their beings that made her want him at any cost, or was it just because he was so damned easy on the eyes?
No, it had to be more than that. She felt him. Even in the dark, she was under his spell, so it couldn't be only his looks.
So how did she get him to move beyond the dead woman who'd been lucky enough to win his heart? She didn't care if Kellen broke his vow to what’s-her-name; his fidelity ran so deep it was a liability. But she did care if her come-ons hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him. She wanted to get lost in him. She wanted him to show her his rope-tying art and how letting go of her control to him could be freeing. She wanted to know all of him—good and bad, spiritual and physical. She wanted him.
So if she had to squirm around on this bench unfulfilled all night, she'd do it. The worst he could do was leave her here alone.
When she reached the end of the piece, she allowed the last note to ring. This was her best work, she decided. Like the melody that had won the Grammy, this composition rang true, as if the notes had always been inside her and had just been looking for an outlet. Kellen had drawn them from her subconscious. She didn't know if he realized his influence.
"Thanks for helping me with the song," she said quietly.
“Is it finished?”
“Mostly.” A bit of that old anxiety twisted in the pit of her stomach. Maybe it wasn’t as good as she thought it was. “Does it sound incomplete?”
"It's perfect," he said breathlessly.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Perfect. That’s what she’d been going for. "I don't think I could have done it without you. Do you want me to give you credit as cowriter?"
"No," he said. "I didn't do anything but listen."
And apparently that was exactly what she’d needed. His presence had helped. The undeniable sexual attraction she felt for him had reached deep inside her and unleashed a daring and incredibly sensual force within her—one she had never recognized existed, but welcomed.
"Dawn," Kellen whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Do you have any rope? Something soft that won't damage your skin."
The surge of moisture between her legs was accompanied by a soft moan. Was he really going to tie her?
"There's a decorative rope along the banister around the upstairs loft," she said. "It has seashells and little red starfish hanging from it, but they’ll come off easily. Will that work?"
"It will have to."
Dawn stumbled as she rose from the piano bench. "I'll get some candles. You get the rope. My bedroom is at the top of the stairs on the right. I’ll meet you there."
"Not on your bed," he said. "On the piano."
Dawn’s womb clenched and her mouth dropped open. A piano didn't sound like the most comfortable place to be tied up or tied down—she still wasn't positive what tying entailed—but it sounded sexy as hell. She bit her lip and nodded, not sure if he could see the gesture in the dark, but if she spoke, she was certain any words would come out as one long moan of longing. Days spent imagining her piano teacher making love to her on the lid of her daddy’s baby grand hadn’t prepared her for the impact of those three words— on the piano —spoken from Kellen’s lips. Like every woman, she’d lusted after men, but not like this. Not with body and mind. Not to this degree. This was completely new for her, and the strength of it made her quiver in places she didn’t know could move on their own accord.
She bumped into him as she attempted to find the kitchen. He caught—and held—her loosely by both arms. She felt his body heat, but he didn’t drag her against him the way she wished he would. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t grab her ass to crush her mound against