Free Hollywood Dragon: BBW Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance by Zoe Chant Page B

with those, she pulled out the music for Shelley’s aria. Five times through it, and she knew she had it down.
    She looked around the room, wishing that the walls had captured the sounds of JP’s piano music, and that she could somehow move back in time to see and hear him play. What did he express through his music? Was he always so cool and controlled?
    She let herself out, quietly shutting the doors again, and began to pace through the garden when she looked aside at the shell. The temptation to test the sound was so strong. She had been too embarrassed the day before because her voice was cold. But that was no longer true, and she was even alone.
    So she turned left instead of right, and slipped past the rose border into the secluded dell, then onto the stage.
    For a moment she breathed, listening to the faint, slow whisper of air. She listened to her soft footfalls until she knew she was at the perfect spot, then she closed her eyes, lifted her face, and sang.
     
    * * *
     
    The only way JP could stay awake after a night of aerial patrol in his phoenix form was to do a full set of kata.
    He finished and headed back to the house for his shower. He had a long day ahead, beginning with a strategy meeting. Not that they could do much until they found out who they were dealing with.
    Instinct—the metal detectors—that awareness he had sensed in his flight two nights ago—it all pointed to another dragon, one who had sensed the LaFleur hoard.
    You can want it, but you’re not going to get it , he thought. And his mind ran ahead, sorting the day. He knew that Shelley’s family had arrived, and he had promised his help in wrangling the Willis males, but at the same time, his mother and the Consejo insisted on a meeting to go over what little they knew.
    Two steps, and he stopped and swayed, caught by a river of brilliant sound so compelling that he was pulled around by an invisible force as powerful as steel.
    It was her voice, soaring up and up, in the aria “Ruhe Sanft” — sleep in peace —the extraordinarily poignant love aria from Zaide .
    The beauty of Jan’s voice coming so suddenly in the cool hush of early morning was so exquisite it was nearly anguish. The sound shell amplified it perfectly, carrying the soaring notes softly through the still air.
    JP was not aware of his steps until he reached the top of the rise, and looked down into the grassy shelter of the bowl before the stage. She stood alone, papers clutched in one hand as she sang.
    Slowly he approached, drawn almost against his will. He knew he should make a noise—announce his presence—because he was fairly certain she thought she was alone. He loathed men who stalked women for whatever reason, and yet his breath froze in his throat. He could not interrupt that cascade of captivating song.
    She wore something gauzy in shades of pink printed in elegant art nouveau lines that softly fell over her bewitching curves, stopping just above her dimpled knees. Her pretty feet were enclosed in those sexy sandals. She looked like a Botticelli angel standing there with the morning light shining in her pale hair, glowing along the arch of her ear, down her neck and over her rounded shoulder. Except for those spike heel sandals, which ignited thoughts far from angelic. Did she know that?
    When the song ended, and the last exquisite note had died away, she gave a deep sigh, turned—and their eyes met.
    “I apologize,” he said contritely. “But I was walking to the house—the sound amplifies so well—I could not stay away. That was beautiful.”
    Her lips parted, her cheeks flushing. Her hands made a helpless little gesture that caught at his heart as strongly as her music, pulling him up onto the stage. Then she gave him that bright, heart-stopping smile, and took a step, her fabulous hips swaying the soft skirt above those bad-girl sandals . . .
    Oh, yes. She knew.
    He didn’t know what he meant to say, or do, only that his hands came out to touch