Waking Up to You Overexposed - By Leslie Kelly Page 0,50
this one before myself. Judging by the title, Master of the Heated Sands, it’s either about a sheikh in a desert or a pimp in Miami.”
She snickered, opened a box of her favorite candy and popped three of the juicy, colorful little treats into her mouth. “Num num,” she murmured as she chewed, her grin as wide as a kid’s.
He’d never developed a taste for gummy candy, but he couldn’t deny he suddenly wondered how the confection would taste when devoured off Candace Reid’s tongue.
“What?” she asked, obviously catching him in his stare as he returned to the couch and sat down next to her.
“I’m suddenly developing a sweet tooth.”
She clutched the box to her chest. “Mine.”
He snorted a laugh. “You weren’t watching Barney the day they went over that whole sharing thing, huh?”
“Are you kidding? I was forced to share from the minute I drew breath. Madison and I had to split everything fifty-fifty.”
“Your sister?” She’d mentioned Madison, who would be coming in from the east coast this weekend, always speaking fondly of her only sibling.
“Yep. Believe me, I never had a thing to call my own.”
“Close in age, huh?”
Her grin was infectious. “Uh, yeah. You could definitely say that.”
Before she could elaborate, the movie began to play. The image flickered on the screen, grainy and gray, and the credits began to roll.
“Where’s the music?” she asked, looking confused. “Didn’t they always have that really dramatic music underscoring everything?”
“The music wasn’t imprinted on the movie any more than dialogue could be—hence the term silent picture.”
She smacked her palm against her own forehead. “Duh.”
“Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. I asked exactly the same question the first time I watched one of these with my family.”
“Whenever I see clips from these old movies, there’s always music. Where’d it come from?”
“The written score always accompanied the reels when they were sent out to the big movie houses.” He reached for the bucket of popcorn. “In-house organists would play along as the movie ran.”
“Live?”
“Yes. I’ve seen some pictures from some of my great-grandfather’s movie openings. There were huge, elaborate organs.”
“Guess the musicians had to be fast studies.”
“I suspect a lot of it sounded alike.It was the cue to the audience about how they were supposed to feel.”
“Have you ever seen any of those YouTube videos people make with clips of horror movies set to the soundtrack from a comedy? Or vice versa? The music definitely makes the moment.”
“So, should I hum?” he asked with a grin.
“Are you any good?”
“I’m told I have the perfect voice for singing in the shower. Or on a deserted island.”
Laughing, she curled up against him on the couch, watching as the credits finished and the action started. He draped an arm over her, amazed at how natural this was, how laid-back and comfortable. He found her so easy to talk to. There was no pretension with her, no subtext that he’d often experienced with other women, when they’d say one thing but mean another.
Candace was nothing like that. She was honest—refreshingly so—and utterly open.
Except about her secret.
Yeah. Except about that.
Forcing himself not to think about it, he focused on the screen, immediately recognizing his ancestor, who rode in on a beautiful Arabian horse.
“Not exactly politically correct,” he said, noting the heavy makeup.
“Shh.”
“Why do I have to shh when there’s nothing to hear?”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m reading.”
“And you need to hear to do that?”
“Yes, so I can create the voices in my head.”
She sounded a little testy, and he couldn’t resist baiting her. “Hearing voices in your head...do that a lot, do you?”
She sat up and glared at him. “Shut up or I’m going for the pots and pans.”
He held up a self-protective hand before making a zipping motion over his lips.
Leaning over and brushing a quick kiss on his lips, she settled back against him, her arm around his waist, her head tucked against his shoulder. She fit perfectly against him and this little scene of domestic tranquility seemed somehow right, even though it was against everything he’d expected for himself in recent months.
As they watched the story unfold, he found himself getting immersed in it. Something about watching without the music made it more dramatic. It was easier to focus on the images, the way the actors emoted. The plot was easy to follow, and probably typical of the era. Handsome sheikh rescues beautiful blonde American woman from the dangers of the desert and whisks her off to his sensuous silk-swathed palace.