Unfinished Business - Nora Roberts Page 0,5

gentleness and the genius, of the compositions. This was what her father had never understood. That she could play for her own pleasure and be content, and that she had hated, always hated, sitting on a stage ringed by a spotlight and playing for thousands.

As her emotions began to flow again, she switched to Mozart, something that required more passion and speed. Vivid, almost furious, the music sang through her. When the last chord echoed, she felt a satisfaction she had nearly forgotten.

The quiet applause behind her had her spinning around. Seated on one of the elegant little chairs was a man. Though the sun was in her eyes and twelve years had passed, she recognized him.

“Incredible.” Brady Tucker rose and crossed to her. His long, wiry frame blocked out the sun for an instant, and the light glowed like a nimbus around him. “Absolutely incredible.” As she stared at him, he held out a hand and smiled. “Welcome home, Van.”

She rose to face him. “Brady,” she murmured, then rammed her fist solidly into his stomach. “You creep.”

He sat down hard as the air exploded out of his lungs. The sound of it was every bit as sweet to her as the music had been. Wincing, he looked up at her. “Nice to see you, too.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Your mother let me in.” After a couple of testing breaths, he rose. She had to tilt her head back to keep her eyes on his. Those same fabulous blue eyes, in a face that had aged much too well. “I didn’t want to disturb you while you were playing, so I just sat down. I didn’t expect to be sucker-punched.”

“You should have.” She was delighted to have caught him off guard, and to have given him back a small portion of the pain he’d given her. His voice was the same, she thought, deep and seductive. She wanted to hit him again just for that. “She didn’t mention that you were in town.”

“I live here. Moved back almost a year ago.” She had that same sexy pout. He fervently wished that at least that much could have changed. “Can I tell you that you look terrific, or should I put up my guard?”

How to remain composed under stress was something she’d learned very well. She sat, carefully smoothing her skirts. “No, you can tell me.”

“Okay. You look terrific. A little thin, maybe.”

The pout became more pronounced. “Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Tucker?”

“Actually, yes.” He took a chance and sat beside her on the piano stool. Her scent was as subtle and alluring as moonlight. He felt a tug, not so much unexpected as frustrating. Though she sat beside him, he knew she was as distant as she had been when there had been an ocean between them.

“You’re looking well,” she said, and wished it wasn’t so true. He still had the lean, athletic body of his youth. His face wasn’t as smooth, and the ruggedness maturity had brought to it only made it more attractive. His hair was still a rich, deep black, and his lashes were just as long and thick as ever. And his hands were as strong and beautiful as they had been the first time they had touched her. A lifetime ago, she reminded herself, and settled her own hands in her lap.

“My mother told me you had a position in New York.”

“I did.” He was feeling as awkward as a schoolboy. No, he realized, much more awkward. Twelve years before, he’d known exactly how to handle her. Or he’d thought he did. “I came back to help my father with his practice. He’d like to retire in a year or two.”

“I can’t imagine it. You back here,” she elaborated. “Or Doc Tucker retiring.”

“Times change.”

“Yes, they do.” She couldn’t sit beside him. Just a residual of those girlish feelings, she thought, but she rose anyway. “It’s equally hard to picture you as a doctor.”

“I felt the same way when I was slogging through medical school.”

She frowned. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and running shoes—exactly the kind of attire he’d worn in high school. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Want to see my stethoscope?”

“No.” She stuck her hands in her pockets. “I heard Joanie was married.”

“Yeah—to Jack Knight, of all people. Remember him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He was a year ahead of me in high school. Football star. Went pro a couple of years, then bunged up his knee.”

“Is that the medical term?”

“Close