All too soon, the delicious lunch was consumed. She set her fork down, and drank the last of her water.

“But I’ve been going on and on about me. What about you? What are some of the things you’ve worked on?”

Gently, he sang, “Everything’s sweeter in the dark of night. Dark desire. Dark chocolate.”

“Earworm!” she shouted. “I’m going to have that stuck in my head for days, now.”

“I told you the jingles paid the rent.”

“Do you have any idea how many bars of Desire chocolate I scarfed down because of that damn jingle? I’d be in the store, see the candy, the tune would start running through my head, and next thing I knew, I had half a pound of chocolate in my cart.”

His warm gaze stroked her body with admiration. “It couldn’t have been too many bars.”

“That’s why I have to go jogging every morning.”

“Every morning?” Horizontal creases formed across his forehead, even though his raised eyebrows were hidden behind the mask.

“Yeah. The office only opens at nine o’clock. The last place I worked started earlier, and I had a longer commute, so I’m used to getting up at six. I have a nice jog and leisurely breakfast, then shower and dress for work.”

“I never worked a regular schedule,” he admitted. “Sometimes I’d spend all day slaving over a single phrase, twisting and turning it every way possible until it sounded like how I wanted it to sound. And sometimes everything would flow so perfectly, I was done in two hours. That was for home days. During tours, the schedule was more regimented, although still not what anyone would call regular.”

“Tours? I didn’t know composers went on tour.”

“I did.” He stood, and cleared the table. “Speaking of tours, are you ready for your tour of the house, now?”

A shiver rippled over her skin. “Yes.”

Taking her hand in his gloved one, Rikard led her out of the kitchen.

“Hey, your glove’s all wet.”

“Damp, not wet. I washed my hands earlier, before cooking the tuna steaks.”

“With your gloves on? Can you do that?” She hadn’t been paying attention, since she was on the phone at the time, but she’d just assumed he’d taken the gloves off while cooking, then put them back on when it was time to serve the meal.

“They’re deerskin. It’s washable.” They returned to the open entryway, and he led her through the arch opposite the music room. “This is the home theater.”

A huge flat-screen television that was at least four feet across was mounted on the wall. A modular reclining sofa with built-in cup holders and snack tables faced the television. Trim black speakers were mounted in the corners of the room and bolted to the floor. The only other furniture was a wrought iron cabinet, filled two-thirds of the way full with DVDs.

“Do you watch a lot of movies?”

“Not so much now. For a while that was pretty much all I did.”

She nodded. That would be after his car accident, while he was recovering from the injuries that had nearly blinded him. He probably had broken bones, too, and wasn’t supposed to move much.

He turned and led her out of the room, back to the foyer. She followed him up the stairs to the spacious landing. Four doors radiated off it, two before them and two to the sides.

“My bedroom and the master bathroom,” he indicated, pointing to the left-hand door before them. Then he pointed to the right. “The guest bedroom. It shares a bathroom with my recording studio.”

Gayle tensed with anticipation, knowing where the remaining door must lead. Rikard turned her to face the door, and gave her a gentle push forward.

“The playroom. Open the door.”

Unlike the other doors, this one had a heavy silver lock, with an antique key in it. She tested the doorknob, and when the door didn’t move, turned the key. The lock snapped open with a loud click of its tumblers, and the door swung outward.

“I warn you, it was decorated in a fit of self-indulgence,” Rikard cautioned.

She stepped inside, her eyes going wide. Any windows the room had once possessed had been blocked up. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with trompe l’oeil paintings that gave the appearance of being in a rocky cave, softened by sweeps of burgundy velvet. She glanced upward. The ceiling was painted, too. Flickering torches were mounted on the walls, and branches of lit candelabra were scattered around the room. Despite knowing that she was on the second floor of a modern house, her mind insisted she was standing in a cave belowground. Even the air seemed different, cool and damp.

Tags: Jennifer Dunne Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net