“I’m so sorry.”
Her voice was musical. Soft and gentle. Like a cooling breeze sweeping through the room . . . or his mind. She looked genuinely distressed, her amazing eyes expressive, the long lashes sweeping down as color flooded her face.
“One of the Torpedo Ink members told me to come into this room. That I should dance in here.” Her explanation came out fast, the words tumbling over one another and yet at the same time, her tone was lyrical, as if she blended the notes with the universe, unlocking some secret formula that set everything right.
Player could see letters floating in the air, but they were moving away from him. Away from her. The Eastern-themed music didn’t fit at all with the down-the-rabbit-hole nightmare world his mind created when he was so far gone like this. He pressed his palms harder into the door, standing firmly in front of it, more to keep her in now than to keep everyone else out. He recognized that in some way, she was soothing to his fragmented brain and that was a puzzle he needed to solve. Now, he just wanted her to stay and talk.
Her body had been moving when he’d entered and the rhythm of her bare feet, ball to heel, hip dipping low, swaying gently, hands flowing so gracefully all kept time with the earth itself. She seemed to flow gracefully, in harmony with the music, with the earth.
He was a woodworker. A musician. Everything about him had to do with nature and rhythm. At the moment, he was so out of sync with nature, so completely out of tune, but he recognized that she was the most naturally gifted woman, make that naturally gifted person, he’d ever met. He hadn’t known anyone like her actually existed. She could have been born of the earth itself.
It wasn’t just that incredible voice of hers, but her body as well, every movement, no matter how small, flowing and soft. He was mesmerized just by the way, when she spoke to him and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, he felt the heartbeat of the earth like the beat of the Arabic music playing so softly in the background.
“What are you doing?” He made every effort to gentle his voice. It still came out with his rougher rasp, but he didn’t sound like he was going to kill her. That was a plus. “Before I came in. What were you doing?”
The color sweeping up her neck into her face deepened. “Practicing dancing. They said it would be all right to wait in here.”
Player dared to bring one hand up to his neck to massage the tight knots. He tried to breathe through the pain in his head, making it difficult to think straight. His brothers. They must have sent an exotic dancer to his room, thinking he would need some relaxing fun after his long drive. They had no idea the mission had gone to hell and things had taken a turn for the worst. This woman with her beautiful bedroom eyes and thick pelt of glossy hair practicing her craft while she waited for him shouldn’t be wasted. He took another deep breath to try to get on top of the crushing pain.
“Your name?” He managed to bite out the question without sounding like he was going to take a bite out of her, at least he thought he did. She still hadn’t moved. The little ankle bells were very still, as were the ones dripping beneath the golden coins around her hips.
“Zyah.”
She whispered it and her name sounded so lyrical to him that already his mind was working on role-playing with her. How could he not? The setting was perfection. She was a gorgeous belly dancer hired by his brothers. They’d known he would come in tired from the long drive and tense after the mission. She was just perfect to relax him. Where had they found her?
“You’re practicing your dancing?” He encouraged her to talk to him, needing to hear the sound of that musical voice. The tone seemed to find a way into his fractured mind. Each note, each way she framed the pure pitches, along with the movements of her body, seemed to connect, to transfer nutrients to his starved brain cells.
She nodded and again the small movement was accompanied by the shifting of her feet, the ball of her foot to her heel and then the sway of her hip. The little bells at her ankles and hips jingled, blending with the beating of the Dumbek, the Arabic drum that accompanied the music playing. She had such a natural rhythm to her and he felt it from the bare soles of his feet to the already quieting thundering in his head.
“I don’t mind. I didn’t realize you were in here. It startled me is all. It’s crazy out there.” He gestured toward the hallway, hoping she’d choose to stay. To encourage her, he kept his large frame draped against the door.
“Is this your room?”
He wanted to savor the cadence of her voice, that soft lyrical sound that moved around the broken pieces in his head and knitted them back together. With every word she uttered the terrible pounding lessened. “Yes, but it feels like an Egyptian oasis out under the stars in here. I wouldn’t mind playing your prince. I like role-playing.” He flashed her a smile. He’d been told more than once he had a killer smile and could melt the panties off a woman if he tried. He was trying now. “My brothers call me Player.”
Her laughter was a soft melody, playing over his body like the touch of fingers. A slow burn started out of nowhere, a kind of molten lava moving through his veins as if she’d woken a long-forgotten part of him he hadn’t experienced naturally since he was a boy.
“Of course, they do. Why aren’t you at the party like everyone else?” She tilted her head to one side, but as she did, the thick fall of her hair swayed, her abdomen undulated, hips dipping and shifting in a figure eight, bare feet rising and falling, unaware that she had found the perfect heartbeat with her music, the drum and her enticing laughter.
“I’m more of a solitary man. What about you?”
“My dancing isn’t going to work in that crowd.” She laughed again, low and musical, her arms moving gracefully out from her body, a sensuous invitation as she began to dance around the room. “I dance only for my prince, remember?”
Her voice was a blend of smoke, sin and sex. That slow burn in his veins became hotter, the fire pooling in his groin, shocking the hell out of him. He didn’t have natural erections. He was always in control of his body, commanding his own erections. The nearly violent reaction to the sultry tone of her voice was without comprehension. None. He couldn’t conceive of the hot blood pouring into his cock being real. None of this could be real, not if his cock was involved and there was no denying the enormous and urgent reaction to her.
“You have gorgeous eyes.” She did. He doubted if he could make up those eyes of hers. He had a vivid imagination, but her eyes were unusual. They were large, a deep, deep startling chocolate surrounded by dark lashes. He could drown in her eyes, never a good thing for a man like him. He found himself trying to choose the exact color of brown. “Are you wearing colored contacts?” He knew it wasn’t just the deep rich color, but the shape and size of her eyes and the heavy dark lashes surrounding them.
She shook her head and the action set the dark mass of hair flowing in waves around her face and shoulders and down her back. The lights from the candles caught in the glossy strands, highlighting the sheen, allowing him to see the various shades before the silky mass settled, framing her face and that exquisite bone structure.
“No, I inherited my eyes from my grandmother. I was very lucky to get her coloring.”
There was love in her voice when she said grandmother. Her voice had gone even softer. She was capable of wrapping a man in real love, the lasting kind. Where that thought came from, he didn’t know, since he wasn’t altogether certain he believed in love.
“You have unusual eyes as well,” Zyah pointed out. “You have dark hair, maybe not as dark as mine, but your eyes are an unusual shade of blue. Almost like an icy blue.”
When she spoke, her body moved. The movements were subtle, but his mind was so tuned to her, not even the smallest detail escaped him. It was as if those soft, sensual notes were grounded in the earth the way her body movements were. It was true that he had blue eyes, but his hair was light brown with streaks of blond while hers was a rich chestnut color, a glossy, dark mass that added to her exotic, dancer appearance.
“You look like you stepped right out of Egypt or Persia. I’ve traveled to several of the Middle Eastern countries and found them quite beautiful.”