Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

I blushed. “What?”

“She sent back a crying emoji, so who knows?”

Shalimar leaned my way. “Chef Fournier will be bringing out your food soon. You’ll be seated at that table over there.”

A dark voice with a sensual accent sounded from across the room. “No. She’ll be eating with me.”

My heart boomed.

The voice dripped with authority but was coated in a sensual tone. I hadn’t even turned in its direction because warmth had centered at my thighs.

Please don’t let that voice belong to Jean-Pierre. If it does, then I don’t know how I will control myself.

I had a weakness for accents. When a guy from another country spoke, my panties moistened, and I desperately wanted to throw them at him.

Shalimar shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jean-Pierre. She’s not for sale.”

“I didn’t ask to buy her.” He rose from the table. Tall and towering. He strolled over to me, oozing power. “I only want to talk to her.”

Shalimar stepped in front of me and crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s not here to talk either.”

“Hmmm.” Nodding, he continued, stepped onto the stage, and paused in front of me.

I rose.

“Jean-Pierre, what are you doing?” Shalimar scowled.

“I’m only thanking her for that excellent performance.” He studied me. “You’re an amazing violinist.”

“Thank you.”

Closer, he looked even hotter. The whole face was perfect, even though his nose was the slightest bit crooked, like he’d broken it once or twice. And his eyes were a darker blue, like the ocean surrounding Belladonna right as the sunlight hit it.

With that lovely accent he asked, “You were with the Belladonna symphony?”

“I was.”

He nodded. “I remember you.”

You went to the performances?

Shalimar snorted. “How would you even know that?”

He turned her way and his voice held an edge. “Shalimar, you should go check with the chef. Her food should be out here by now. She has to be hungry.”

I glanced at her.

She gritted her teeth but walked off.

O-kay. I thought she would’ve put up more fight than that.

I turned back to him in shock.

He remained silent as he appeared to drink me in. My gaze dropped to the open collar of his white shirt. The lines of his throat melded with a swell of muscle and disappeared into the soft fabric.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Eden.”

“Why are you here?”

I blinked. “To play.”

“You’re too talented for this place.”

I smiled. “I’m between jobs.”

“Because of the symphony’s end?”

“Pretty much.”

He studied me.

I stirred and tried to fill the silence. “So, you have an interesting accent. Where are you from?”

“Paris, but I grew up in Nice.” For the first time, he smiled in the most delicious way, making my heart do flips in my chest for no reason. “Do you know any French?”

I plan on relearning now, hot guy from France! Stop it. Aunt Celina and Shalimar both said to stay to myself. They didn’t say to flirt with a customer.

I cleared my throat. “I had a few French courses in college. I also stayed in Paris for one summer. Now, I only remember a few things here and there.”

“Tell me something.”

“Vivre sans aimer n’est pas proprement vivre.”

His smiled widened as he recited what I’d said in English. “To live without loving is to not really live.”

I nodded.

“Molière said it. Too bad that’s not true.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t believe in love?”

“I don’t believe in life.”

And…o-kay.

He dug into his pants and pulled something out. In the next movement, Jean-Pierre handed me a folded bill. “Here. That was wonderful playing. I didn’t want you to stop.”

I reached for the bill. As my hand closed around the paper, he slipped his finger along mine—so quick, but warm enough to remember. “Enjoy your evening, Eden. I hope to hear you play again.”

He moved his hand. I held the money. It was a small moment of touching, but I could still feel his finger slip against my skin.

He walked off.

Unable to help myself, I blurted out, “Thank you and…au revoir.”

Oh god! That sounded horrible. Do not try to speak French again.

Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder and licked his lips. “Adieu, ma chérie.”

See! That’s how French should sound. Now what does ma chérie mean again? Cause I’m excited about that part.

Thank God, he walked off, before I decided to propose. Being lonely and broke for several months had my hormones going when a hot guy came around. And with the fact that I was making a little extra cash, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to spend a few minutes flirting with a guy.

Stop. He is a customer at a brothel. Really? Calm down.

I unfolded the money that Jean-Pierre had given me. It was the first time I’d ever seen a thousand-dollar bill. I kept counting the zeroes to make sure I hadn’t gone dizzy.

Now, that’s a tip.

Additionally, there was a piece of paper folded inside.

I pulled it out and read the message.