and generally being a dumb teenager. I studied it for eight years. I was actually pretty good. How about you? You weren't exactly detached."
"Piano, all the way to college. I still play, sometimes. If I had the time, I'd start the cello — tonight reminded me why I love that instrument so much."
"Make the time. What's the point of being rich and successful if you can't enjoy it? If I didn't have to work long hours I would definitely fit in more music into my life," she said, and she actually meant it, although she honestly had never articulated that thought before.
Eric was looking startled, and then he started laughing.
"If I'm going to learn the cello, then you have to go back to the violin. You've just admitted you wanted to."
"That's not what I meant," she said, but it was half-hearted because she was actually thinking about violins, and whether her old one was still in her parents' attic.
There was more seafood, more champagne, more talk about music and whether he could learn a new instrument now — Emmy cheerlead in his favor, Eric was more circumspect — as well as the likelihood of her picking up the violin again. Some of the tension of their first encounter had ebbed, no doubt through the twin influence of Bach and the méthode champenoise; Eric was proving funny as well as sharp-witted, and Emmy was at long last letting her guard down.
"So if you had to make a choice, which is your favorite interpretation of the cello suites?" he asked while they dawdled over coffees after a spirited discussion of the relative merits of Yo-Yo Ma, Rostropovich, and Du Pre.
She went for Rostropovich, and he agreed with her. It occurred to her, for the first time, that she actually liked Eric. Maybe they should plan every date around music. It might not even be that difficult to organize.
They stepped out into challenging weather — the rain had picked up in intensity while they were dining, coupled with a buffeting wind that made even walking a few hundred yards unpleasant work. Eric was holding her close, and mellowed by the food, the drink, the music, Emmy leaned into his body, instinctively seeking the warmth radiating from him.
"This time, I'm not letting you go home alone in this godawful weather," he said, steering her towards the car that pulled over at their level.
Emmy would've resisted, but her body betrayed her, too happy to spend longer wrapped in his warmth and to escape being lashed by the wind and drenched by the rain. The car was warm and spacious, its leather seats comfortable, the driver a silent presence behind a glass screen, while Eric was next to her, his arm now slipped behind her shoulder, in a loose familiar hug that neither threatened nor excluded further action.
He smelled masculine and enticing, with a hint of discreet cologne, and when she found herself inhaling deeply, he in turn pulled her in a little closer, until her head was on his shoulder and her whole body tingled with slow-burning arousal. It was both so very wrong and so perfectly right as they sped through the rain-soaked night, the city lights flickering in every puddle and wet surface they passed, the low hum of the engine lulling her into a sensual torpor.
The movement was almost imperceptible, but his hand was suddenly near her face, and his thumb brushed lightly against her full bottom lip, which sent unerring messages of lust through her body. His thumb stroked her mouth two, three times, before she parted her lips, and heard him draw a shuddering breath. Oh. Oh. He was at least as into this as her, clearly.
Next thing she knew his mouth was on hers, his hand sliding to the back of her head as he kissed her tentatively. His lips were warm, soft, and gentle on hers, the kiss light, but it set off a wave of desire rippling through her body, the strength of which shocked her. Eric was obviously holding himself in check — he was taking his time, dropping kisses from one corner of her mouth to the other, feather light touches that were unraveling her entirely. He tasted of bitter coffee and dark chocolate, and somehow these had just become the most delicious and exciting flavors in the world.
His tongue flickered out, sweeping against her lip, electric, and she couldn't contain a whimper of raw need which in turn spurred him on, from tentative to