Eventually, he finished, sinking against the bed. He didn't release her, though. His arms snaked around her, pulling her back against him. He moaned a few times, the sound slipping into her ear. Pure music, his song telling her she'd done as well for him as he had for her. Her chest filled with pride that she could please him so thoroughly.

  There were other feelings, too—ones she didn't dare examine too closely. She didn't know him. Wait, that wasn't entirely true. She'd only just met him, but she'd discovered his sense of humor and his gentle nature. And he made a generous and talented lover, not to mention well endowed. Another man might expect a woman to swoon with lust at the mere size of his member. Kurt put in the time and effort to find out how and where she wanted to be touched.

  No, you couldn't have sex like this and say you didn't know each other. She'd need more of him. Soon and often. He had to feel the same way. Didn't he?

  “You're quiet,” he whispered. “Have you fallen asleep?”

  “My brain isn't functioning yet.” That was a lie. She'd been doing quite a lot of thinking for someone who'd been so thoroughly fucked.

  “Nor mine.” He nibbled on her shoulder. “You're quite remarkable.”

  “Me?” She rolled over to face him. “You're kidding, right?”

  His dark gaze settled on her face. “I wouldn't joke about something like sex with you.”

  With her eyes on a level to stare directly into his, the position felt nearly as intimate as when he'd joined their bodies together. Or maybe even more so. This was all so confusing. What had started out as a mere physical pull between them—if you could call that “mere”—had quickly turned into something else entirely.

  “Kurt, I know this is kind of strange,” she said.

  “Strange doesn't begin to describe it,” he said. “I'm normally...well...shy, I suppose.”

  “Reserved,” she corrected. “You're no shrinking flower.”

  “No. No, I'm not.” He lay in silence for a moment, his breath even and warm against her cheek. “I'm beginning to question what I am. I think that's a good thing.”

  “If it feels right to you, you should go for it.”

  He stretched, sighing, and then settled down facing her again. “I never had to worry before about what I should do or how I should feel. I always knew without thinking. Now, I want to question everything.”

  “Everything?” She sure wouldn't want him questioning their involvement...or affair...or friends-with-benefits arrangement. Or whatever was going on between them. “Like what we did a few minutes ago?”

  “That?” He seemed honestly surprised, pulling his face back. “Why would you think I'd have doubts about that?”

  “Well, you said everything.”

  “Casey, Casey.” He tucked her head under his chin and pulled her snug against his body. “You're the firecracker that went off beneath me.”

  “Firecracker? Not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “Why not?” he said. “You were the jolt that got me moving when I'd bogged down.”

  “Does that mean you'll be looking for singing gigs?”

  “Yes, it does,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I'll do that tomorrow. Or today, depending on what time it is.”

  “So you're not going to sit around collecting dividends on the goat cheese.”

  He kind of sputtered for a second. “Dividends?”

  She blushed, but in the dark he wouldn't notice. Unintentionally, she'd finally brought the subject around to the fact that he obviously had money. “I figured your family business must do pretty well.”

  “Ah, because I took you to Marcel.”

  “And your clothes,” she added. “They obviously cost something.”

  “Yes, well...I do have financial resources. From my family, of course. I'll tell you about them some time.”

  His tone suggested that a bit of a complication might lie in that direction. After all, why not tell her right now when the subject had come up?

  Oh hell, she was probably over-thinking this whole thing. He was a nice guy with money. Good looking and a powerhouse in bed. From the sound of things, this wouldn't be a one night stand. What did she have to worry about?

  And right now, everything felt pretty freaking good. She was still in his arms, and he appeared to have no interest in getting up and putting on his clothes. She had a date to hear him sing at some future time, and she'd inspired him to go out on auditions. Mission accomplished, with a little bit of luck.

  Chapter Six

  Masters only gave auditions on the fourth Tuesday of the month, so Kurt couldn’t get a spot for weeks. When he did, he found himself in an empty club with a folder of sheet music in his hand, waiting for the manager and pianist to arrive for his audition. His voice teacher would pitch a fit if he discovered Kurt intended to launch a “career” as a cabaret singer. Signor Rinaldo insisted that the classical repertoire and club singing were two different things, and one didn't throw away a voice like Kurt's on popular music. But Kurt wasn't about to perform at the Met any time soon. If Casey were to hear him sing, it'd be someplace like this.

  So he did his best to remember the sound of masters like Tony Bennett so he didn't come off as a latter day Caruso and hoped for the best.

  Though he stood by the piano in what would look like a casual pose, his heart was hammering in his chest. Nerves, for Heaven’s sake. He was trying something new, where he didn't know all the rules and couldn't control the outcome. And about damned time. At his age, he should be experimenting with life before the responsibilities of his own family tied him down. This was an adventure, something to stir up some adrenaline. Yay him!

  Two men entered, both casually dressed. The slender one with long, dark hair tied at the nape of his neck gave him a mumbled “hello” and then sat at the piano. The squatter fellow wearing a jacket with the club's logo on its pocket took a seat a few tables back from the stage.

  “You're Kurt...”

  “Schmidt,” Kurt supplied.

  “Eddie Harris. I manage Masters. That’s Guy at the piano,” Harris said. “What are you going to sing for me today?”

  “I thought ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco.’”

  “This is New York, kid,” Harris said. “No one wants to hear San Francisco.”

  “All right.” Kurt shuffled his sheet music. He'd rehearsed all of the songs at the piano in his apartment that morning, so they shouldn't all look like Sanskrit, but they did. Finally, one caught his eye as something he might remember. “How about ‘Funny Valentine’?”

  “An old classic.” Eddie Harris didn't look impressed but tipped his chair back and yawned. “Sure, kid, give it a try.”

  Kid? Granted, the man didn't know he was addressing a member of the Danislova royal family, but surely, he must show more respect for people who auditioned for him. Kurt wasn't about to tell him who he was calling “kid.” Neither would he give Harris his real name, and asking to be called Mr. Schmidt was too silly. But, he couldn't resist giving Harris the smallest of an imperious glare before handing the pianist the music.

  “Thanks.” Guy didn't take the music but rested his hands on the keys. “I know the tune.”

  Clearing his throat, Kurt turned to face his invisible audience, listened for the introductory notes and then launched into the song.

  After no more than a beat, Harris stood, raising his hand. “Hey, hey, what are you thinking? Does this look like the Met?”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “This is the whole place,” Harris said, gesturing wide with his arms. “Twenty-three tables, from where you stand back to the restrooms. You wanna blow out someone's eardrum?”

  “I suppose I was a bit too loud,” Kurt said.

  “I suppose you could say that.” Harris put his palm to his forehead.

  Guy snickered softly behind Kurt.

  “I'm sorry, but I'm classically trained,” Kurt said.

  “Yeah, yeah, we get your type in here all the time.” Harris said. “Think because they have a voice teacher and are in a chorus somewhere they can get a spot in my club.”

  “I'm sorry if I've wasted your time,” Kurt said. Well, this whole thing had been a fiasco. He'd have to find another venue. New York must have dozens of these clubs and not all of them could have management this rude.

  “Don't get your panties in a twist, kid.” Harris approached the front of the stage. “Just because you can sing doesn't mean you can sing.”

  “You'll excuse me if I point out that doesn't make any sense.”

  Harris glanced around Kurt to Guy. “This one's cute. Old World, you know?”

  “Adorable,” Guy said. “I think I want to date him.”

  “Look...” Harris held up his hands to make his point. “Opera singing is fine, but it's a different animal from jazz or club. You don't bellow, you woo.”

  Guy snickered again. In the race to be the more obnoxious of the two men, Guy had lagged behind, but he'd made up time.

  “Get him a microphone, Guy,” Harris ordered.

  Guy got up from behind the piano and disappeared behind the stage.

  “A place like this is intimate,” Harris went on. “You want everyone at every table to think you're singing to them. Especially the women, if you get what I mean. Good looking guy like you can be a real hit there.”

  “Thank you.” For nothing.

  Guy returned with a microphone and put it in Kurt's hand. As a prince in his country and ambassador to the United Nations, he'd dealt with microphones before, but usually the kind mounted on a podium in front of him. He tapped this one and noted it wasn't on. Good. He didn't need the projection.

  “Now try it again,” Harris said. “This time, make love to the mike. Bring it up to your mouth as though you're going to kiss it.”

  Kurt had done more ridiculous things in his life...most of them in the last few days. He might as well try this one, too.

  “Try it again, Guy,” Harris said. Then he went back and took his seat.

  This time as Guy played the opening chords, Kurt stared at the microphone and imagined himself loving the thing. At the very least, he managed to bring it close to his lips, and when the time came for him to sing, he did so softly.

  Odd how he hadn't really considered the lyrics before. He'd only concentrated on the musical notes. Now the words jumped out at him. “Sweet comic valentine,” and “you make me smile with my heart.” The more he got into the song, the more Casey's image materialized in his brain. The way she'd cock her head when he surprised her with something, the way she threw back her head when she laughed, the expression of utter, sleepy satisfaction after they'd made love.

  All of a sudden, he had a reason to sing these exact words in this exact manner, as if it came from his heart, not his lungs. And he did exactly that, telling the microphone how he felt about her—how she entered his mind first thing every morning and stayed there, even in his dreams. And oddly, his voice cooperated. The tone softened until the sounds came out almost automatically. He was experiencing the song, not performing it.

  “Okay, okay, that's good.” Harris rose again, and Guy stopped playing. For a moment, Kurt wanted to ask him to continue so he could finish his exploration, but instead, he returned from whatever trance he'd been in.

  “What do you think, Guy?” Harris asked.

  Guy shrugged. “He can sing.”

  “Not bad. Not bad at all, kid,” Harris said. “We can't start you as a headliner, but if we need a quick substitute for an opening act, I think I can slip you in.”

  “I was hoping...I'd like to have a definite date.” So, he could keep his promise to Casey that she could see him perform.

  “Sorry. No can do,” Harris said. “Masters isn't some little podunk club. We have a reputation for showcasing the finest. You need to play in the minors before we can kick you up to the big leagues.”

  It seemed that a substitute spot for someone else would have to do. Unless he found another club, this was the best he could get. Besides, he'd told Casey he'd sing here, so here he would sing. Whenever he got the chance.

  “All right,” Kurt said. “Where do I sign up?”

  “See the girl on the way out and give her your information,” Harris said. “We'll be in touch.”

  *

  Casey had been waiting on the sidewalk outside Masters for the better part of half an hour, and no sign of Kurt. He didn't expect her, but he'd dropped a hint about when his audition would take place. It felt completely normal to show up and see how things had gone, especially because she had some of her own news for him. Inside her overstuffed bag, she'd hidden the first twenty pages of the manuscript she'd started after he'd told her to write something for him. The first original words of her own for months.

  She checked her watch again. If they'd started on time, he'd been auditioning for twenty minutes. Surely, if they hadn't wanted him, they wouldn't be spending so much time with him. They'd simply tell him no, and that would be that.

  A lot of things hinged on this audition, if only symbolically. Their first date was supposed to have been for her to her him sing. They'd skipped that route and probably a dozen more and had gone straight on to bed. If they could retrace their steps to a true getting-to-know-you phase, they could broaden and solidify whatever relationship was growing between them. Then of course, he'd prodded her to write something, so the two things—his singing and her writing—were part of the same whole.

  He appeared finally, wearing a suit and tie again. On him, it looked good, as if he came by his clothing naturally. The jacket did wonderful things for his shoulders and chest and did nothing to discourage her memory of running her palms over his firm abdomen. He was one yummy man, and his smile when he saw her made her melt a little inside.

  He went right up to her and took her hands in his. “Waiting for someone?”

  “Not in particular. I just came by to see if some hunky singer might be coming out of the club.”

  “Find anyone you like yet?”

  She shrugged. “Could be. I was kind of hoping for a goatherd.”

  “Then this is your lucky day.” He put his elbow at her arm. “Where should we go?”

  “How about the park? It's a nice day.”

  “The park it is.”

  They walked along together, his fingers still at her elbow, gentle as ever. Still making her feel like a princess. When they got to the park, they found a hot dog vendor, and Kurt bought their lunch. Eventually, they happened on a vacant bench and sat down to eat.

  “How'd it go?” Casey asked.

  Kurt finished a bite of hot dog and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Fairly well, I think. The manager is under the impression I'm a kid.”

  “You mean like a baby goat?” she asked.

  “More like a baby American, but they took my contact information, and if they have a slot for an opener, they'll let me know.”

  “That's fabulous.” Taking care with her hot dog and the mustard on it, she threw her arms around him. “I can't wait for you to get a shot to show the world what you can do with your voice.”

  “I'm not so sure about the world,” he said. “And I'll have no advance notice when I'm to sing.”

  “That doesn't matter. Masters is a big deal. You'll move up the ranks and then...ta da! Stardom.”

  He finished his hot dog and carefully folded the paper that had held it. “I wanted it to be a special night for us, not rushed and uncertain.”

  After a few weeks of talking together on the phone every day and spending most of their weekends together, she ought to be used to his references to “us” by now, but the word always created a little flutter around her heart. Now this talk about a special night for them—what would have been their first date if she hadn’t fanny dialed him. For once, she could thank heaven for getting clumsy.

  “You can’t control these things,” she said. “Whenever it happens, let me know, and I’ll be in the next cab over.”

  “That means a lot.” He took her free hand in his, so she dumped the rest of her hotdog in the trash container next to the bench to free up her other hand. Who needed the calories, anyway?

  They sat for a moment, staring at each other like two people goofy with love. No surprise, really. With sex like theirs—no, intimacy—emotions got involved whether you’d planned on it or not.

  “I have to tell you, Casey…” His voice trailed off, and he stared down at their intertwined fingers. “You’ve change me.”

  “Hey, I don’t know if I have that much power.”

  “I come from a very old family. Full of tradition.”

  “In cheese making,” she said.

  “Sure. Cheese.” He fidgeted, shifting position a couple of times. “What I mean to say is, we’re usually reserved about things. Decorum, and all that.”

  “That’s why you iron your slacks.”

  “Actually, I have that done.”

  Okay, the final taboo subject. Mentally, she girded her loins and plunged in. “I gather you…your family has money.”

  He smiled. Relieved, perhaps that she’d brought the subject up. “We’re quite wealthy.”

  “That’s great. I’m happy for you.” With any luck that would convey the fact that she didn’t have any plans on turning him into her own ATM.

  “I’ve always had to be very careful because of my station in life. My reputation. You understand.”

  Now, there he had her. Did cheese makers have to worry about what the public thought about them? Maybe his father was the CEO of a gorgonzola conglomerate or something. Still, she’d let it pass.

  “I hope you don’t feel you have to be careful with me.”

  “I don’t. That’s the amazing thing.” His expression brightened into a full-fledged grin. “Ever since I’ve met you, I’ve had one adventure after another. No disasters. The world hasn’t fallen in around my ears.”