There it was.
The only piece of classical music he knew by name.
A lump formed in his throat—a lump that grew with each passing beat.
Wanting to hear more clearly, but not wanting to disturb the violinist, he turned the handle carefully and pressed the door open.
An inch was enough to bring the solemn yet haunting music to life.
His chest filled, bittersweet memories engulfing him.
He’d been seven years old when his parents had died. The nights that had followed, before his brothers had been flown back from their English boarding school—he’d been only a year away from joining them there—had left him inconsolable.
Queen Rhea Kalliakis, the grandmother he’d adored, had soothed him the only way she knew how. She’d come into his room, sat on the edge of his bed and played the ‘Méditation’ from Jules Massenet’s Tha?s.
He hadn’t thought about this particular piece of music for over twenty-five years.
The tempo was different from the way his grandmother had played it, slower, but the effect was the same. Painful and yet soothing, like balm on a wound, seeping through his skin to heal him from the inside out.
This one had it—the special, elusive it.
‘That is the one,’ he said, addressing the orchestra directors collectively. His translator made the translation in French for them.
The sharp-faced woman to his left looked at him with a searching expression, as if judging whether he was serious, until her eyes lit up and, in her excitement, she flung the door open.
There, in the corner of the room, her violin still under her chin but her bow flailing in her right hand, stood a tall, lithe girl—woman. She had the distinct look of a rabbit caught in the headlights of a speeding car.
* * *
It was those eyes.
She had never seen anything like them before, nor such intensity.
The way they had fixed on her... Like lasers. Trapping her.
Amalie shivered to think of them.
She shivered again when she stepped out of the theatre exit and into the slushy car park. Keeping a firm grip on her violin case—she really needed to get the strap fixed—she tugged her red-and-grey striped beanie hat over her ears.
A long black car with darkened windows entered the car park and crunched its way through the snow to pull up beside her.
The back door opened and a giant got out.
It took a beat before her brain comprehended that it wasn’t a giant but Talos Kalliakis.
Intense, striking eyes—were they brown?—fixed on her for the second time in an hour. The effect was as terrifying and giddying the second time around. More so.
When the door of the practice room had swung open and she’d seen all those faces staring at her she’d wanted to shrink into a corner. She hadn’t signed up for the audition, but had been told to attend in case the orchestra as a whole was needed. She’d happily hidden away from the action in the room behind the auditorium; there, but not actually present.
Those eyes...
They had rested on her for so long she’d felt as if she’d been stuck in a time capsule. Then they had moved from her face and, without a bonjour or au revoir, he’d disappeared.
There hadn’t been time for her to appreciate the sheer size of the man.
She was tall for a woman—five foot eight. But Talos towered over her, a mass of height and muscle that not even his winter attire could hide.
Her mouth ran dry.
He wore his thick ebony hair slightly too long, messy at the front and curling over the collar of his long black trench coat. Dark stubble, also thick, abounded over his square jawline.
Despite the expensive cut of his clothing, right down to what were clearly handmade shoes, he had a feral air about him, as if he should be swinging through vines in a jungle whilst simultaneously banging his chest.
He looked dangerous. Wildly dangerous. The scar on his right eyebrow, which seemed to divide it into two, only added to this sense.
He also looked full of purpose.
He took the few steps towards her with long strides, an outstretched hand and an unsmiling face. ‘Amalie Cartwright, it is a pleasure to meet you,’ he said in perfect English.
How did he know she was bilingual?
God but the man was enormous. He had to be a good six and a half feet. Easily.
Swallowing frantically to moisten her mouth, Amalie switched her violin case to her left hand and extended her right to him. It was immediately engulfed in his strong, darkly bronzed hand. It was like being consumed by a giant paw. Even through the wool of her gloves she could feel the heat from his uncovered hand.