She had used her hands when picking up her bacon. Maybe he just didn’t recognize the food. He could be from a foreign country. She could believe that more than Surlock’s being raised by wolves.
She studied him while finishing her breakfast. He held the fork correctly, so he was apparently familiar with utensils.
“You still don’t remember anything?” she asked.
He looked up. “I remember you hitting me over the head with a big stick.”
She cringed. He would have to remember that. She took a drink of orange juice, then studied him some more. His hair was neatly trimmed. She also noticed his fingernails looked as if they were manicured—no ragged edges. That kind of blew her raised-by-wolves theory.
Laborer was probably out of the question, too. Although it wouldn’t be hard to imagine him stripped to the waist, frayed jeans riding low on his hips, his muscles straining as he held a jackhammer in place to break through concrete.
He finished his food and laid his fork across his plate, forcing her to abandon her newest fantasy.
“Would you like more?” she asked.
“No, that was sufficient.”
Now what to do? She drummed her fingers on the table. He needed clothes that fit, but all the stores in town would still be closed. They couldn’t just sit here staring at each other—no matter how tempting the thought.
“Would you like to see the rest of the house?” That would give them something to do before they went to town.
“Yes, I’d like to see how you live.” He stood, but then grabbed the back of the chair.
She jumped to her feet, rushing over to him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I think I stood too quickly. The room spun for a moment. I’m fine now.”
“If you would rather sit, we can.”
“No, I’d like to see more of the house.”
“Okay, but if you get tired, let me know, and we’ll stop.” When he nodded, she pointed toward the door the maid had come through. “That goes to the kitchen, but Ms. Abernathy doesn’t like anyone in there who’s not authorized.”
“Ms. Abernathy was the one who brought me clothes this morning. I can see that she would be ruler of her domain. She has a commanding presence.”
Darcy chuckled. “She does rule with an iron fist, but she takes good care of us.” Darcy opened a set of double doors. “This is what my mother calls the music room. Not that any of us can play.”
There were two sofas in an ice-blue floral print that were more pretty than comfortable. The four arm chairs weren’t quite as bad. Long, ice-blue silk curtains framed the floor-to-ceiling windows. An antique, faded yellow rug with blue accents warmed the room.
Her mother called it her Victorian room and had done a lot of the decorating herself, spending an enormous amount of money on priceless vases and antiques. Darcy’s father had said that if it made his wife happy, then what was the harm? He spoiled them both shamelessly, but they loved him anyway.
Surlock ambled over to the baby grand piano, running his fingers over the keys. “Nice.”
“Do you play?”
“I don’t know.” He pulled out the bench and sat down, testing the keys again.
Suddenly, he began to play a melody she had never heard before. It was absolutely exquisite. She closed her eyes and let the haunting music wash over her. It was powerful and sensuous at the same time. He conjured a whole new fantasy in her mind.
Heat rushed through her. She closed her eyes and let the melody fill her. He stood naked before her, and when she glanced down, she was naked, too. He stroked his hands over her bare breasts. She moaned, arching her back.
The music called to her, exploding inside her. Throbbing vibrations caressed raw, exposed nerve endings. His body pressed against hers. He lowered his mouth, his kiss hot and fiery as he claimed her body as his own. She let him have his way, relishing the feel of his hands stroking her body, bringing her closer to his need.
The music rose to a deafening crescendo. It was all she could do to take a breath. Her chest rose and fell as her body strained for more. She bit her bottom lip; her body quivered with release.
The sounds grew softer as she brought her ragged breathing under control. Calm settled over her. Darcy opened her eyes, and looked around, surprised to find she still stood close to the piano, just behind Surlock, and that she was completely dressed.
Clapping sounded behind them. She turned to look. Ms. Abernathy stood in the doorway, wiping her damp cheeks with her apron. “That was so beautiful. I’ve never heard anything like it in my life. Such a sweet sound.”
Sweet? Had they heard the same music?
A flood of heat rushed through Darcy. She hoped what she had felt didn’t show on her face.
Surlock came to his feet. “Thank you,” he said humbly.
“Was there something you needed?” Darcy asked.
“No, I heard the music and knew it wasn’t you playing. I just thought I’d peek in to see who was making such a wonderful sound.”
She couldn’t fault Ms. Abernathy for thinking Darcy wasn’t the one playing. The help had worn earplugs every time the music teacher came to the estate. Even the teacher had worn them. Finally, Miss Crump had had enough and explained to Darcy’s mother that Darcy was tone deaf. After that, her mother had stopped the lessons.
“I’ll just go back to my work.” Ms. Abernathy left the room.
Yes, please go away. When Ms. Abernathy was gone, Darcy stole a look at Surlock. He studied her as though he knew exactly what she’d experienced, which was completely ridiculous, of course. He couldn’t, could he?
She cleared her throat and kept her expression bland. “You play like a professional.” He was thoughtful for a moment and she wondered if he might have felt something, too.
“Which doesn’t tell me much,” he finally said.
She sensed his frustration. “I’m so sorry I hit you over the head.”
“As you said, I scared you. Even so, I can’t continue to accept your generosity. What if it’s a very long time before my memories return? I doubt you would want me to reside in your guest house indefinitely.”
The way he talked baffled Darcy. He didn’t talk like most people. His speech was more refined, besides the fact he could play like a genius. He was exactly the kind of man her mother would love to see her dating.
Oh, that was a thought. She studied him for a moment. “How would you like a job?”
“A job?”
“You could live in the guest house and work for me, but the arrangement would have to be between the two of us. No one else could know.”
“What exactly would I do?”
“Be my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“You know, like we were dating.”
His forehead wrinkled. It was odd how some things he knew, and other things went right over his head, as if he didn’t quite understand the English language. She was leaning more toward the idea he might be from another country. She was pretty sure Surlock wasn’t an American name—first or last.
“Pretending we were in love,” she said.
His eyes widened. “That would be a good job. Yes, I would enjoy that kind of work.” His gaze roamed over her in a way that only a blind person wouldn’t guess what he was thinking.
“No fringe benefits. It would only be pretend.” She wanted to get that straight right up front.
“I don’t understand ‘fringe benefits,’” he said.
“Then I’ll make sure I explain them very well.”
And then she thought about what she was saying. Had she lost her freakin’ mind? No fringe benefits? She wanted the fringe benefits, dammit!
Of course, he didn’t know what no fringe benefits meant. She didn’t have to tell him it had anything to do with sex. She could lie and say it meant something else.
Her gaze slowly traveled over him.
She wasn’t stupid. The guy was seriously sexy. If he could give her an orgasm while playing the piano, just think how good it would be if they actually had sex.