An Unexpected Song (2 page)

Eric breathed a sigh of relief and then suddenly chuckled. “Lord, she really knocked you out, didn’t she? I can’t wait for your reactions when she sings your songs. I’ve never seen you like this way before.”

At the moment Jason didn’t want to envision Daisy Justine singing his songs. His reaction had been too strong, completely out of proportion to the situation. How much stronger would he react if he heard that exquisite voice singing his music?

Nonsense! When he met the woman she would probably be as banal and empty-headed as a wax doll and he would have no trouble separating the woman from the song. An odd pang of apprehension shot through him. For some reason he didn’t want to meet Daisy Justine, felt it was dangerous to meet her.

“I’m just tired.” He avoided Eric’s gaze as the waiter set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “I think I’ll let you go alone to her dressing room and handle the offer. I’ll wait backstage for you.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do it.” Daisy felt her throat tighten as she said the words. Lord, it was difficult
to turn Eric Hayes down when the fact that he had asked her at all seemed a miracle.

Eric looked at her in astonishment. “Isn’t the money good enough? We can negotiate.”

“The money’s fine. I’d do the role for nothing to be in a Jason Hayes musical.”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“This is Switzerland, not Timbuktu. Everyone knows Jason Hayes.” That wasn’t quite accurate. Certainly everyone knew the man’s work, but that was all. He was the quintessential mystery man, publicity shy, reclusive, eccentric. On occasion he had been known to miss his own opening night. Daisy turned back to the mirror and started creaming the makeup from her face. “I have the cast albums from every show he’s ever done. His music …” She trailed off and swallowed to ease the knot in her throat. “He’s wonderful.”

“
Night Song
is the best thing he’s ever done. It’s an adaptation of Shakespeare’s
Othello.
It’s been a dream of Jason’s to do the play since we were boys.” Eric’s voice lowered coaxingly. “You’d play Desdemona. It’s the role of a lifetime.”

She wished he’d just be quiet and go away. She didn’t want to hear any more. The role she’d play in that marvelous plot was irresistible: The smoldering obsessive jealousy of the warrior moor that doomed the love he shared with his gentle bride. “I can’t do it.”

“Why not? It would make you.”

She forced a smile. “I’d be a pretty weak person if I let a role make or break me. No, it’s simply that I can’t leave Geneva.”

“You’d rather live here than become an international star?”

“I don’t care much about fame.” She turned to
face him and said gently, “Thank you for making this offer, but I really can’t do it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed. I’m very tired.”

Eric reluctantly rose to his feet. “I wish you’d reconsider. Jason is going to throttle me.”

“I won’t reconsider. Good luck finding your Desdemona.”

Eric shook his head and turned toward the door. “I don’t think Jason will—” He broke off and a moment later the door closed behind him.

Daisy turned back to the mirror and stared blindly at her reflection. She had received wonderful offers before, but never one of this magnitude or allure. A Jason Hayes musical was a singer’s dream. He wrote music that could touch the heart and send the spirit soaring. Dear heaven, she wanted the role.

Well, she couldn’t have it and she had to accept that knowledge with serenity.

Easy words, but they didn’t stop the aching frustration surging through her.

A Jason Hayes musical …

“She turned us down.”

Jason straightened away from the stage door against which he had been leaning as Eric walked toward him. “What?”

“You heard me. She turned the offer down.”

“Offer her more money.”

“She said it wasn’t a question of money. She doesn’t want to leave Geneva.”

Jason muttered a curse beneath his breath. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Eric shrugged. “She seems pretty determined.”

“Maybe she’s just trying to drive up the price.”

“I don’t think so.” Eric frowned. “She’s pretty straightforward. I like her, Jason. She seems the same onstage and off. She has a kind of simplicity, but she … glows.”

“Then we need her for Desdemona.”

“I don’t believe we’re going to get her.”

“The hell we’re not,” Jason said harshly. He felt again that surge of fierce possessiveness he had experienced in the theater. Dammit, he wouldn’t let her walk away from him. “There has to be a way.” He started down the dimly lit corridor. “Wait for me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You’re going to talk to her?”

“No,” Jason said grimly. “I’m going to sign her.”

“Miss Justine, I’m Jason Hayes.”

Daisy unconsciously tensed and stepped back from the door. It appeared Eric Hayes had sent in the big gun. “How do you do, Mr. Hayes? I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Evidently not big enough to persuade you to star in my play,” he said curtly as he entered the dressing room and shut the door.

Very big gun. Jason Hayes was nothing like his brother in either appearance or character, and Daisy immediately felt threatened. He was as far from the stereotype of a sensitive musician as one could imagine. Not only was he dark while Eric was blond, Jason stood well over six feet and was as powerfully built as a prizefighter. His skin was tanned to a shade close to bronze, and his features were not conventionally good-looking. His cheekbones were too broad, his brows a black slash over piercing blue-green eyes, his well-shaped mouth too sensual. Othello, she thought
suddenly, and then smiled in amusement at the whimsy. He was probably nothing like Shakespeare’s brooding, possessive warrior. “I meant no insult,” she said gently. “I love your music.”

“And I love your voice.” His sudden smile lit his dark face with warmth, and the air of grimness vanished. “I want it—and I mean to have it.”

“I explained to your brother that I can’t possibly do—”

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

She wanted to star in his play and sing his songs but he couldn’t give it to her. “It’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Personal reasons.”

His gaze narrowed on her face. “A lover?”

She sensed a sudden tension in him that bewildered her. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

“You intend to waste an opportunity like this for an affair?” he asked harshly.

“I didn’t say—” She broke off and said quietly, “People are more important than careers. Love is more important.”

“So saccharine, Ms. Justine. You can’t be—” He stopped, studying her face. “I’ll be damned. You mean it.”

She nodded. “Of course I mean it. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“How rare.”

A luminous smile lit her face. “Perhaps in New York, not here.”

“I’d wager it’s just as rare on this side of the Atlantic.” He smiled curiously. “I believe I’ll have to investigate the phenomenon.”

“I wouldn’t bother. It would be a waste of your
talent. You’d do better to concentrate on your wonderful music. I’m sorry, but I really can’t work with you, Mr. Hayes, and I—”

“Jason.”

She ignored the interruption and started to turn away. “As I told your brother, the question isn’t open to negot—” She broke off as his hand grasped her wrist.

Electricity. Heat. Vibrant magnetism.

She looked up, startled, and saw an expression of shock on his face that must have reflected her own. She felt curiously breathless and was suddenly conscious of how close he was, the heat his big body was emitting, the scent of soap and lime aftershave lotion.

His hand released its grip on her wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you.” His tone was suddenly fierce. “But you were running away from me, dammit.”

She moistened her lower lip with her tongue. “Because I assumed our discussion was over. You made an offer and I refused.”

“It’s not over. It’s only just begun.” He took a step back and obviously tried to temper the fierceness in his voice. “Let me take you out to dinner and we’ll talk some more.”

She shook her head. “It would be futile. I won’t change my mind.”

He gazed at her a moment, his blue-green eyes fixed intently on her face. Then he smiled again, not mockingly or cynically but warmly. “Then I suppose I’ll have to change it for you. I won’t give you up.”

The phrasing was strangely possessive, and she again experienced a great surge of wariness. “You can’t give up what you don’t have.”

“A slip of the tongue.” His eyes twinkled. “Naturally, I meant I won’t give up my Desdemona.”

“Naturally.” She relaxed. Of course that was what he meant. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to go home and get to bed. I live outside Geneva, and it’s a long drive.”

“I’ll take you.”

“No,” she said firmly.

His smile remained in place, but she was conscious of a subtle tensing of his muscles. “I’m not giving up. You were born to sing Desdemona.”

She said with forced lightness, “Perhaps someday you’ll let me star in one of the touring companies here in Europe.”

He shook his head. “I want you to create the role. I want you on Broadway.” He turned and opened the door. “Good night, Daisy.”

He had used her first name, and for some reason the sudden drop in formality added to her uneasiness. “Good night, Mr. Hayes.”

He glanced over his shoulder and again corrected her. “Jason.”

Before she could answer he had shut the door behind him.

“So what do we do now?” Eric asked Jason as he got out of the taxi at the Hilton. “We can’t force her to come with us.”

“No.” Jason paid the taxi driver and turned and strode toward the front entrance of the hotel. “But we can find an edge and use it.”

“What edge?”

“Whatever it takes.” Jason entered the lobby. “But there’s no need for both of us to cool our heels here. Take a plane to London tomorrow and
see what you can do about signing Colin Bartlin for Iago. I’ll handle everything here.”

Eric frowned. “You’re sure?”

Jason nodded. “It may take a while to get him. I hear Bartlin’s got a long-term contract with
Phantom.
Why don’t you call Peg and have her meet you there?”

“I may do that.” He brightened and fell into step with Jason as they crossed the lobby toward the bank of elevators. “She’s never been to London, and she needs a break. The kids have been driving her crazy lately.” He pressed the button for the elevator. “If you’re certain you don’t mind becoming involved in the Justine negotiations.”

He was already involved, Jason thought grimly. It wasn’t just the music. He had only touched her and his body was still aching and aroused. She had felt the chemistry, too, in spite of her devotion to that damn lover who seemed to hold her in thrall.

He felt a surge of red-hot fury at the thought and drew a steadying breath. It was only sex. It wasn’t uncommon for a man to feel an obsessive sexual attraction—and control it. There would be no danger to her. He would sign her. They might have a few nights together to rid themselves of their shared lust, then he would go back to New York.

The doors slid open and he stepped into the elevator. “Don’t worry. I have nothing better to do right now. I don’t anticipate any problem with eventually persuading Daisy Justine to sign with us.”

Though it was well after midnight, her father was still up when Daisy arrived at the cottage.
She hadn’t expected him to be asleep, though. Lately he was totally wrapped up in his work. He had gotten into the habit of rising at dawn and continuing to paint until well after midnight.

She shut the door. “Hi, Charlie.”

“Hi,” he said absently.

She shook her head resignedly as she saw his tall, gawky frame hunched before the easel standing across the large room that was their living and studio space. The strong lights picked up the gray streaks in Charlie’s disheveled brown hair and the paint splotches on his favorite blue chambray work shirt. “It’s after midnight. Time for bed.”

“In a minute. I want to get the hue of this bowl just right.…” His gaze narrowed on the canvas. “How did it go tonight?”

“Pretty well. The audience seemed to think I was okay.” She strolled over to the canvas and laid her head against his arm as she studied the painting. “I like this one. That banana looks real enough to eat.”

He grimaced. “As an art critic once told me, I have a great grasp of texture and no grasp of soul.”

“Which just goes to show you what an idiot he was. How can a banana have a soul?”

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought at the time. I remember how outraged I was …” He trailed off as he became lost in his painting again.

“Did you eat supper?”

“What?” He glanced down at her. “I think so. Chili or something.”

“That was yesterday.” Her worried gaze ran over him. He had always been slender, and his tall, spare frame was now growing thinner every day,
she noticed uneasily. The feverish energy he was injecting into his work was taking its toll.

“Was it?” He added a little gray to the cobalt of the bowl containing the fruit. “Well, I’m sure I had something.”

“I’ll make some soup for us.” She threw her purse on the couch and moved toward the tiny kitchenette across the room. “And then we’ll go to bed.”

“After I finish.” He hesitated. “I thought maybe, if you weren’t too tired, you’d pose for a little while for me. The portrait has something—it
feels
good, Daisy.”

“Then why won’t you let me see it?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’m not tired, but you have to rest. You know what the doctor said about—” She stopped. He had turned to look at her and was smiling gently as he slowly shook his head. They both knew it was only a matter of time, but he had made her promise to tell no one and live each minute to the hilt. She didn’t have the right to lecture him about how he should spend his last days simply because she wanted to keep him with her a little longer. She felt the tears rise to her eyes and quickly turned away so he wouldn’t see them. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ll make the soup.”

Charlie worked on her portrait until after three in the morning and stopped then only because Daisy firmly sent him off to bed on the pretext that she was too tired to pose any longer. He carefully draped the portrait before he left the room. After the door of his bedroom shut behind him,
she got up and returned to the canvas of the still life her father had been working on earlier.