Page 3 of Claim Me

No stranger gave such expensive and glorious gifts without requiring something in return. A knot formed in my stomach.

Teresa was right behind me, on her tiptoes to glance over my shoulder. “Oh, my God. Are you kidding me? A ruby and diamond necklace. That must be from Charles. Did he come into some money?”

Frowning, I had to ask myself the same question. He’d sunk every dime into the resort and casino several years before, even using his inheritance to make his dream come alive. Maybe it was doing better than I’d been led to believe.

“No,” I whispered.

“Then maybe from your mystery man.”

What if that was the truth? Who sent a stranger expensive jewelry? The hair on the back of my neck stood up and for some reason, my nipples suddenly ached.

I bit my lower lip as I brushed my fingers across the dazzling jewels. The necklace was spectacular.

“Maybe there’s a note. If they’re from Mr. Dark and Dangerous, I’ll be really jealous.”

“Mr. Dark and Dangerous?” I threw at her.

After placing the box on the dressing table, I peered into the bag. There was a white envelope pressed against the side. I glanced over my shoulder at the door, uncertain what I was anticipating. While my brother adored me and would do everything in his power to protect me while allowing me to pursue my dream, my instinct told me the gift had come from someone else.

The man I’d seen watching me. Three times. The first time I hadn’t been certain, thinking the dark figure remaining in the shadows was just another patron of the arts. But the second time, I’d felt his eyes boring into me. That’s when the fictional, overtly sexy story had been born. With almost no dating experience, the dark fantasy had kept me warm.

This felt more like an obsession and something I should be extremely concerned about.

A lump had formed in my throat as I peeled away the flap, pulling the thick card from inside. As I skimmed the words, I was stricken with a sense of foreboding, which didn’t make any sense. There was nothing overtly dangerous or threatening about the words. In fact, they were hauntingly beautiful.

“Music is the literature of the heart; it commences where speech ends.”

Alphonse de Lamarline

I read the words out loud. What a perfect quote. Nothing threatening. Nothing overt. Just an amazing saying that fit the situation. Yet the ache in my nipples increased. Still trembling.Still breathless. I glanced into Teresa’s face, studying her reaction.

“Wow,” she exclaimed. “That’s beautiful. I didn’t know your brother was a romantic.”

He wasn’t.

I fingered the calligraphy, brushing my fingers across the slight ingrains from a heavy hand. Whoever had sent this to me had written the card himself.

“You really are a lucky girl, or you have a stalker. Either way, how freaking cool. We regroup in fifteen minutes?” she asked. “We’ll go to Jazzy’s tonight for a drink.”

I nodded and read the card again, still caught in the mystery and moment of utter passion, a similar emotion to what I’d felt while playing. Sighing, I glanced at the necklace. The piece must have cost a fortune. Maybe Charles had sensed just how important the solo was, not only to my career, but to the pain I’d felt burning deep inside for so many years. I brushed my fingers across the soft, velvety rose petals, another smile pulling at my lips.

A slight reflection caught my attention and I glanced into the mirror. My brother stood at the door with a bouquet of pink roses in his hand. Pink. Not red. Red like hearts. Red like… blood.

Instinctively, I slipped the card into the bag, pushing it and the velvet box behind the crystal vase. Knowing how protective my brother was, he’d demand to know who’d sent the gift, going to great lengths to find out while causing me significant angst. No, thank you.

Plus, I liked having a sinful secret.

I turned around, smiling. His eyes were full of pride.

Without saying anything, he took long strides toward me, offering the incredible bouquet. “Thank you.” I took a deep whiff. The fragrance was incredible, but not nearly as intoxicating as the others.

“You were incredible. I’m so proud of you,” he said as he looked directly at me, but his eyes wandered almost immediately to the other bouquet. His expression immediately hardened. “Who are those from?” He’d shifted his gaze back to my eyes. Now, all business. Entirely too protective and demanding.

“I’m not sure. An admirer.”

“Who?” His question was a demand.

My nerves were boosted to the very edge.