3
During the entire two-hour drive from his house to the Portland Philharmonic Concert Hall, Clay listened to their music, having downloaded anything he could find that included violin solos. Of course, over the years there had been many soloists, and he had no idea how long the beautiful violinist had been with them. By the time he’d parked and made his way in, he breathed a sigh of relief at having snagged a seat that afforded him a much better view than the previous weekend. This time, having chosen one in the balcony, he’d be able to find her with ease.
While the sound system in his SUV was excellent, it was nothing compared to the actual music created by the instruments as they weaved their magic amongst those present in the hall. From his vantage point, he could now see the violinist that had captured his attention the week before.
Not usually purchasing a program, something he’d regretted last week when he was unable to discern her name, he made sure not to make the same error. Quietly flipping the pages, he scanned the program but discovered the orchestra members’ names were listed alphabetically by instrument, still not giving him a clue to her name.
Tonight’s concert did not include a violin solo, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her nonetheless. Her body swayed gently as her nimble fingers danced over the strings and the bow in her right hand moved with a fluid motion, eliciting pure sounds. While playing, she didn’t smile, instead focusing on the music in front of her as her eyes darted between the stand and the director.
When the concert was finally over and the members stood, her lips curved into a smile. He wondered if she was pleased with her performance, simply glad the concert was over, or if there was something else in her life that made her happy. Desiring that smile to turn toward him, he made his way quickly to the entrance lobby, determined to meet her tonight.
His observational skills were keen, and soon his gaze found her. Tonight’s long black dress was different from the one she wore last week, and he wondered how many different performance dresses she owned. The square neckline and fitted bodice only hinted at her curves, while the skirt flowed to her low-heeled black pumps. Her hair was once again pulled severely into a bun, and her minimal makeup showcased a pale complexion with just a hint of color on her cheeks and lips.
Approaching with haste, he slowed his steps at the last minute, not wanting to intimidate with his size. She was once again engaged in a conversation, but he stood to the side and waited. As soon as she turned, he stepped closer. Her gaze landed on his chest before her head dropped back and her eyes lifted to his. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her pale, aqua eyes pinned on him. “Excuse me, miss, but I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the concert. Your Bach solo, in particular.”
Her lips curved slowly into a smile, and he was as ensnared by the expression on her face as he had been enraptured by her music.
Inclining her head ever so slightly, she replied, “Thank you, but I didn’t have a solo tonight.”
Now, it was his turn to smile. “That’s true, but I was here last week. I wanted to speak to you after that concert but unfortunately was detained before I was able to fully express my gratitude.”
Her brow lifted and her smile widened. “So, you came tonight just to make sure that you could pass on your appreciation?”
“At the risk of sounding a bit stalker-ish, yes. I try to catch several concerts during the season but definitely was hoping to hear you play again.”
“I’m flattered, and the orchestra certainly appreciates your dedication to the arts.”
Her voice was exactly as he remembered—soft and lyrical.
He stuck his hand out and said, “I’m Clay.”
“And does Clay have a last name?” she asked, her head tilted slightly to the side as she peered up at him.
The motion pushed her chin out, exposing the pale expanse of her neck, making him wonder if it tasted as delectable as it looked. Clearing his throat, he added, “Actually, my name is Hank Claiborne. But everyone calls me Clay.”
“Everyone?”
“Well, my friends. I suppose everyone except my mother.” He shrugged and added, “It’s a nickname from my days in the military.”
She reached out and placed her hand into his much larger one. “Christina. Christina Monroe.”
He wrapped his fingers around hers, just enough to feel the tingle spread throughout his arm while not crushing her hand.
Her gaze dropped to where their hands met before lifting back up to his face. “You have a delicate touch, Mr. Claiborne.”
“I would never crush a woman’s hand in a handshake, but I’m especially careful when greeting someone whose fingers elicit such beautiful music. And please, call me Clay.”
Her smile widened and her eyes sparkled. “Ah, but you said that your friends call you Clay. We don’t know each other well enough for me to take that liberty.”
“I’d love to ask you for coffee, and we can rectify how well you know me.”
“Now?” She blinked as the word held a sense of incredulity.
“There’s no time like the present.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Claiborne, but it’s ten o’clock at night. If I had coffee now, I’d never get to sleep.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday. Can you not sleep in during the weekend?”
“My sleeping habits are not up for discussion,” she said, her eyes twinkling and her lips twitching upward. “Actually, I’m very busy, even on the weekends.” Her top teeth landed on her bottom lip, now snagging his attention as he stared at the reddened flesh. Her delicate shoulders lifted. “Anyway, I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to accept an invitation to coffee.”
Just then, a server passed by with a silver tray filled with champagne goblets. Snagging two, Clay handed one to her. “Well then, if we have drinks now, we can consider this our first date. Then perhaps meeting for coffee would not seem quite so forward.”
She threw her head back and laughed, and his eyes were once again drawn to her neck. In fact, everything about her drew his attention. Her dark hair, pale complexion, blue-green eyes, petite stature—
She clinked the edge of her glass against his and said, “Then here’s to our first date.”
“While it’s not a perfectly planned first date, the fact that I’m in a beautiful place with a beautiful woman sipping champagne makes it perfect.”
“My, my, you do know how to make a girl feel special even in the middle of a crowd of people!” She sipped more. “Do you always come to the concerts?”
“Not always. Sometimes work interferes. But when you’re in season, I try to get to as many concerts as possible.”
She appeared to carefully consider his words. “What work are you in? Or is that too many questions for a first date?”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “I think it’s important to get as much information as possible out on the table for a first date. After all, I know what you do.” He shrugged and said, “I work for a security company.”
“Oh, I remember when a security company was installing the locks on our instrument rooms in the back.”
He smiled and nodded politely.