Read Online The Billionaire's Hotline (Men of the Capital Series Book 1) by Cara Nelson - Free Book Online Page B

was your ordinary demeanor and considered it improper to point it out,” he said coolly, and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Do tell me more about your antics, though.”
    “I said our date was romantic.”
    “That’s it? Your sister may be more exacting than I am.”
    “Never. The omelet was great. Seriously, the best thing a guy’s cooked for me before this was a frozen pizza.”
    “You’re going out with the wrong guys,” he remarked.
    “Not anymore.” Again, the frankness like a slap, reminding him this wasn’t a game, but far too serious.
    “Cello?” He offered.
    She nodded and followed him into what appeared to be an office, lined with books, but dim except for a single lamp. Jasper sat on a low stool, held the cello loosely, and started his bow across it with swift, lively strokes, the low notes long and plaintive. Long fingers pressed the strings at the top while the graceful arc of his arm powered the bow across the body of the instrument.
    For perhaps two or three minutes, she hovered at the door, spellbound, as he played. His eyes fixed on some point on the carpet, head nodding slightly, muscles tensing and extending as his whole body seemed consumed by the music.
    When he finished, he laid the bow aside and stood, gave a jerky half-bow as she applauded. He felt his face flush from the exertion, from exposing himself in this way.
    “Bach?” she inquired, unable to hold herself back. She embraced him, engulfing him in warmth and softness and that tang of apple. She kissed his forehead almost proudly. “Beautiful.” She stepped back and regarded him with new respect.
    “Cello Suite 1, Prelude in G Major,” he said.
    “Was it a competition piece you had to learn?”
    “I didn’t compete. I lacked the necessary skill and discipline,” he said as if reciting a lesson.
    “That did not lack skill, Jasper. So who did you play for?”
    “I told you, my father taught me and I practiced.”
    “Twelve years, and you never gave a recital or played in a contest?” He shook his head.
    “Your father was arrogant,” she said evenly.
    “Yes. I suppose in that way I take after him.”
    “Did you play for—anyone else? Other women?” He shook his head again, a smile curving his mouth, transforming that grave face.
    “Never.”
    “So this was your first time.” She smiled back.
    “I get where you’re going with the whole Virgo metaphor.”
    “I’m jealous of your cello. All those hours alone with you.” She closed the distance between them, standing near enough that she had to look up at him. “You said on the phone you wished you could hold me.” Taking his hands, she put them on her hips and wound her arms around his shoulders, resting her head on his chest. “So hold me tonight.”
    He knew what she expected, but he felt resistant. Perhaps the thrill of the chase had diminished, or perhaps he felt depleted from playing Bach for her, letting her see a part of him no one else had. Jasper’s arms tightened around her and his mouth dipped to meet hers. He felt the tension uncoil, the tightness that came from being away from her, from fighting so hard for control. Hannah felt him relax and burrowed into him.
    “It’s about time you calmed down,” she teased, kissing him. He led her to the couch, pulled her down beside him.
    “I’m tired, but I don’t want you to go,” he admitted.
    “So I’ll stay. Here on the couch or in bed with you?”
    “Couch,” he said decisively. He laid his arm across the top of the sofa so she could scoot closer. He gathered her against him. She pulled a cashmere throw over her legs and made a contented sound high in her throat as she settled in to sleep on his shoulder.
     
    Hannah stirred in the night, a crick in her neck, and when she opened her eyes, disoriented, Jasper stroked her hair soothingly. He was there, solid and strong, beside her. She felt a relief she didn’t dare analyze for fear she’d embarrass herself. He whispered into her hair.