The Darkness Within Him: The Untwisted series Read online

  At one point while he played, I caught sight of an ugly scar on his left wrist and frowned: it stood out to me because it was the only part of him that didn’t seem immaculate. Whatever had done that would have caused him serious pain, but I was so absorbed in his beautiful music it didn’t even cross my mind to ask. Not that I would have been brave enough to ask him such a personal question anyway.

  There really was something so attractive about a man who could play the piano well. To be honest, I hadn’t watched any other men play it, but the sight of Nicholas’ fingers striking the keys did disastrous things to my stability and I was certainly grateful to be sitting down.

  What was going on? I’d never felt this sort of instant attraction with a man before. All my previous relationships had always bloomed from friendships and gone from there. They’d been satisfying enough but never magnetic like this. My body seemed to be physically drawn to Nicholas Jackson, and it was all I could do not to reach out and touch him.

  From absolutely nowhere my mind was suddenly filled with the image of Nicholas bending me over the piano and making love to me over the keys. Gasping out loud, I blinked in shock at this errant thought and my blush deepened significantly.

  From this insight you’d think I’m a complete sex maniac, but believe me, nothing could be further from the truth. This was totally unlike me, and as I fought to control the alien thoughts that had taken over my body, I realised if I were to leave here tonight with my dignity intact I needed to get a grip of myself, and fast.

  Finishing his piece, Nicholas turned and looked at me quizzically and with a narrowing of his eyes: a look that even from our short acquaintance I noted he seemed to use regularly. If he was wondering why I was so red he thankfully didn’t ask, but I did see a hint of a smirk tweak at the corner of his mouth, as if he knew exactly what I had been imagining, and I felt my tongue dry up like cotton wool.

  This was awful. I felt so uncomfortable with these peculiar feelings that I was just thinking perhaps I should make excuses to leave when he spoke. ‘Play me something you know,’ Nicholas instructed quietly, and I found myself happy to move on from my crazy fantasy and his silent scrutiny of me, but not happy to embarrass myself by playing in front of someone as talented as him.

  ‘No, I’m really not very good,’ I muttered, staring at the keys and trying to force my heartbeat to decrease. It was definitely time I left.

  ‘I’d like you to play something for me, Rebecca,’ Nicholas repeated. This time his tone was low and silky, and for some reason his words didn’t seem like a request, they sounded like an order.

  Looking across at him, I saw his face was passive but his dark blue eyes were hooded, as if challenging me to say no to him. The effect of his steely gaze was nerve-racking to say the least, and I actually struggled to take in a breath. From nowhere, a shiver of fear ran through me that made my entire body shudder. He really was a very intimidating man, and clearly used to getting whatever he asked for, so with some reluctance I raised my hands and saw his eyebrow tweak when he noticed my trembling fingers.

  ‘Are you nervous here alone in the dark with me, Becky?’ he asked in a tone that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my senses heighten.

  What a strange comment, I thought. Surely only a dangerous person would ask that. Glancing around, I saw to my surprise that the theatre was now deserted and eerily dark. The cleaners had finished and left and the lights were all off apart from the ones above the piano. If it were possible, my heart accelerated even further until my chest actually began to ache.

  Looking back to Nicholas, I straightened my back and swallowed the lump in my throat. Yes, I was nervous, for whatever reason I found the man slightly scary, but he was also sexy as hell, which could go a long way to explaining my nerves. Not that I was going to admit either point to him.

  At last, finding some of my usual confidence, I answered. ‘Should I be?’ I asked with a raise of my eyebrow, my voice thankfully far more bold than I felt.

  Surprising me, Nicholas laughed, a heady sound, before playing a few random chords on the piano and then turning back to me. ‘Diversion by answering my question with one of your own. Very clever, Becky.’ He looked intently at me for a few seconds before almost smiling again. ‘And to answer your question, no, you don’t need to be scared of me. Not in here. Now play,’ he instructed, indicating the keys in front of me.

  My shoulders were about to relax when my brain grabbed at three of his words. Not in here … what the hell did that mean? That I was safe with him here, but not elsewhere? Why would he say that? Trying to clear his odd comments from my mind, I shook my head and began to play a very simple version of John Lennon’s Imagine, a song I had learnt when I first got my keyboard two years ago.

  ‘Interesting song choice,’ Nicholas said, looking as if he knew exactly what I had been imagining just minutes ago. I blushed crimson as the fantasy flashed in my mind again, but the more sensible side of me thankfully pushed it away so I could concentrate on playing. Finishing my piece, I stared at the keys, too mortified to meet his gaze. This was so awkward; I felt like a teenager again, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all.

  Never in my 25 years had I had such explicit fantasies, not even in my dreams or the privacy of my own bedroom, so why the hell was my mind suddenly giving me them now, as I sat next to Nicholas Jackson? It might have something to do with my recent period of celibacy, or perhaps his sexiness and intimidating persona, which I had to admit was rather attractive, but the timing was certainly inconvenient, I thought, rolling my eyes at my own stupidity.

  ‘What are you thinking, Becky?’ Nicholas asked suddenly, a smile once again evident in his tone but not showing on his lips.

  ‘Nothing,’ I mumbled, shoving my hair behind my ear. Smug bastard, it was almost as if he’d read my frigging mind again. Was I really that transparent or were his comments just coincidental?

  Thankfully, he didn’t push it and instead turned his attention back to the music. ‘Your F-chord is slightly wrong: your first finger is slipping onto the G key and affecting the chord quality,’ he explained patiently.

  ‘Show me your hand position,’ he instructed, so I did. ‘Raise your forearm slightly,’ he ordered. God, he was so bossy. There was no pleasantness in his manner; it was just barked orders. But something in his tone told me I shouldn’t disobey a man like Nicholas Jackson, so I did exactly as I was told and actually found the chord easier to play.

  After I had played my horribly clumsy tune a few more times, he gently closed the lid over the keys, which I took as a hint that our impromptu lesson was over. Thank goodness for that. He was probably sick of my dreadfully slow chord changes by now, and to be honest I wasn’t sure I could take our close positioning for much longer without saying or doing something completely stupid anyway.

  ‘You follow instructions well; you would be a good student,’ Nicholas mused, his eyes still focused intently on mine and now blazing with something that I couldn’t determine. ‘I could give you some lessons if you like?’ he offered, to my complete surprise. ‘For free, of course, as a thank you for getting us spotted and signed.’

  Crikey, I thought, piano lessons from Nicholas Jackson would be amazing: literally learning from the very best. But I hesitated; considering the bizarre reaction in my body since I’d met him, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to spend any more time in close proximity to him … After all, he was scary and intimidating, not forgetting that I’d fantasised about him three times already.

  Quite explicitly, with all the sweaty details still vibrant in my mind.

  I considered his offer. I definitely found him hugely attractive, and there seemed to be some sort of buzz between us that I’d never felt before that would be quite interesting to explore. I tried to weigh it up in my mind. In the short time I’d known him, Nicholas had already fascinated and unnerved me more than any man I’d ever met, plus he’d no doubt be an amazing teacher. My inner conflict was disturbed b
y his voice. ‘Is that your tell?’ he asked, amusement again tinting his tone but not showing on his features. How did he do that? It was like trying to laugh without engaging your cheeks – almost impossible.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I asked, blushing and raising my eyes to his in confusion.

  ‘It appears to me that when you are nervous you tuck your hair behind your ear, Becky,’ he observed lightly, rubbing his hand absently across the piano lid.

  Oh. Did I? I hadn’t even been aware I was doing it. Not wanting him to think I was weak or lacking in confidence, which usually I wasn’t, I sat straighter and forced my hand to stay in my lap and not touch my hair any more, which I suddenly realised it was itching to do. Damn, he was right.

  ‘I have no idea, but I’m not nervous,’ I lied boldly. ‘I’ll accept your lessons, Mr Jackson, thank you.’ Ha, who was nervous? Not me. Well, not much anyway.

  ‘Call me Nicholas,’ he requested, a smile breaking on his lips – the first time he’d smiled properly all night, and it was just as incredible as I’d thought it would be, instantly sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

  ‘Do you ever use Nick?’ I said casually, feeling sure that a shorter, less formal name might help me see him as a less daunting character, but something dark and unpleasant flickered across his face, making my stomach clench uncomfortably.

  ‘No, call me Nicholas,’ he stated flatly. In the blink of an eye, his earlier smile was erased, leaving no trace of his better mood.

  God, what was I getting myself into?

  Chapter Two

  Being quite a sensible person and thinking myself a good judge of character, I should have seen the warning signs from Nicholas flashing like great big neon bulbs and run away as fast as I could. If I’m really honest with myself, I had seen the signs during our first encounter – in short, he’d been controlling, intense, and formidable – but I’d stupidly ignored them, preferring instead to take a risk and allow myself the chance to experience the thrill of being near such a domineeringly sexy man. And believe me, Nicholas was sexy, his looks, clothing, demeanour … Goodness, even the tone of his voice had got me excited.

  Huffing out an impatient breath, I pushed off the railings and ran a hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. Immediately, I scowled at the stupid nervous habit that I was now fully aware of thanks to Nicholas bloody Jackson. Of course he had spotted it straight away, my little tell, as he’d called it. And he’d been right, I did push my hair self-consciously behind my ears when anxious, which since we’d spilt up seemed to be every frigging five minutes.

  Managing to bring my focus back to the present, I realised I must have been standing on the bridge for at least ten minutes, staring out across the marketplace like a complete loon. Once again I was immensely glad I lived in Camden, where you could look like an idiot and no one cared one little bit, much less commented on it.

  Just as I was downing the dregs of my lukewarm coffee, the sound of a piano hit me again and my whole body tensed in reaction. Closing my eyes, I traced the music to somewhere very nearby, softly mocking me with its notes. Tilting my head, I listened more carefully. The tune kept faltering and repeating as if someone was learning it, or perhaps tuning the instrument as they played. Gripping at the railing with increasingly white knuckles, I tried once again to trace the source of the piano music.

  Looking down the stairs to my left, I saw the wooden façade of a shop I’d never noticed before. Camden Piano Restorers, its aged sign stated. Sitting at an upright piano by the open door was a man, playing the battered old instrument and tuning it as he went. My throat tightened against my will. He wasn’t Nicholas, as my desperate imagination had hoped, and the piano was a far cry from the elegant beauties Nicholas played, but still the coincidence left my mind reeling.

  Finally regaining the feeling in my legs, I pushed off the railing and made my way down the steps past the piano shop toward the canal, making a mental note not to come this way through the markets again. A canal boat was working its way through one of the brightly painted gates and part of me wished I could jump on board and leave my nagging and annoying memories behind and sail away with the occupants.

  Remembering the better times wasn’t going to help me get over Nicholas, but it was all I seemed to do lately. While my body was physically functioning and going through the motions of living and running my bookshop, I couldn’t have been more unproductive if I’d tried. My fluctuating moods made interactions with other people difficult to say the least, so it was just as well I didn’t have a packed social life to rearrange, and thankfully, at work I had my employee Louise to rely on. Since my split with Nicholas, she’d been an absolute legend, keeping the shop running while I tried to get my head back on straight.

  My mind was like a cinema these days, replaying each step of our relationship in high-definition detail, and I was starting to think my subconscious was trying to torture me slowly to death. Pausing by the canal, I placed my hands on the damp stone wall and watched the boatmen tug and push at the locks on the gates. One shouted commands and the other followed them without hesitation – just as I had with Nicholas, I thought with a scoffed, humourless laugh. Even though it had been three weeks now, I could still remember the precise timbre of Nicholas’ voice, his divine fragrance, and even the exact conversations we’d had at my first piano lesson …

  My lessons with him had started almost immediately, three days after our first meeting, in fact, when I set out on foot to work my way to his Primrose Hill address. Of course Nicholas would live in Primrose Hill, wouldn’t he? It’s one of the most sought-after addresses in London and perfectly suited his “only the best is good enough for me” style.

  Primrose Hill is exactly what its name describes: a hill – more precisely, a large, grassy park containing said hill. Seeing as I was born and bred in the Lake District, hiking my way to the top of the hill is just like coming home for me, and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve packed a blanket and book and headed up there to watch the sunset. An hour on Primrose Hill resets my outlook on life like the “refresh” button on a computer. Regardless of what type of day I’ve had, it never fails to remind me of just how much I love living in the chaos that is London.

  Luckily for me, it is also extremely close to where I live, and after searching out Nicholas’ address on the map, I worked out that it would probably only take me 15 minutes to walk there. Seeing as I didn’t want to arrive for my first piano lesson sweaty and red, I gave myself half an hour and walked at half my usual speedy pace, allowing myself the indulgence of window shopping in several upmarket boutiques along the way.

  When I arrived at Nicholas’ house, I had to check the address three times before I finally believed I had it correct. It was enormous. Practically palatial. Just looking at the stunning frontage of the Victorian townhouse made me nervous. Nervous and hugely envious because the house in front of me, with its gleaming white paintwork, was complete with gorgeous, plant-lined bay windows. Three stories in height, it had perfectly trimmed ivy growing up one side. It was the embodiment of what most people would describe as their dream home, and even without entering, I knew the inside would be just as stunning.

  Funnily enough, as nervous as I was feeling when I rang the bell, my tension was distracted by the total look of surprise on Nicholas’ face when he opened the door. He was dressed in a pale blue shirt and navy suit trousers, and staring at me with apparent shock in those dark blue eyes of his. I attempted a smile as I took in his appearance, but was so nervous I probably just ended up looking constipated. His hair was tousled like last time, and as I saw that peculiar half-smile tweaking the corner of his mouth again like a trademark, I already knew deep down that I was a lost cause.

  ‘Becky, you came. I thought you might cancel,’ he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully before opening the door wider and gesturing for me to enter.

  My heartbeat had rocketed from just the sight of him, but I forced myself to stay calm on the outside. ‘
Why?’ I asked with a frown. Always inquisitive, that was me.

  ‘You said you found me intimidating, I thought you might reconsider having lessons with me here.’ He shrugged, taking my coat and handing it to a man standing behind him who I hadn’t noticed at first.

  ‘This is Mr Burrett; he works for me, keeps my life on track,’ Nicholas explained with another of his almost smiles.

  Mr Burrett smiled at me fully before hanging my coat in a cupboard and then tactfully disappearing. Was he Nicholas’ personal assistant? Or perhaps a butler of sorts? From his smart-suited appearance, it was the only conclusion I could come to. I’d never known anyone with house staff before. How very opulent, not to mention terribly British, I thought, hiding a smirk.

  ‘I do find you intimidating,’ I continued, following him through a minimalistic but beautiful hallway and up a wide flight of thickly carpeted stairs, feeling braver now I knew there was someone else in the house with us. ‘But I’m more than capable of standing up for myself, Nicholas,’ I added coolly, secretly rather pleased by the slightly shocked look on his face. I had decided before arriving that I would be ultra-calm and confident and no matter how much he disturbed my equilibrium I was going to stick to it. Or at least try my best to, I amended, as my pulse quickened when my gaze focused on his long legs and firm behind as I followed him up the stairs.

  Nicholas ushered me into a room on the first floor that I could have easily fitted my entire flat into. Glancing around, it was immediately evident that this was his music room: the space was dominated by a large grand piano and stool that sat toward the back of the room next to floor-to-ceiling picture windows. The only other furniture in the room was a soft white armchair, a solid-looking bookcase, and a desk that was covered in sheet music, most of which appeared to be handwritten.

  Annoyingly, even though Nicholas still made me anxious with his height, looks, and penetrating gaze, my traitorous body was also still drawn to him. I had foolishly thought that maybe just the excitement of meeting him backstage at the theatre had caused me to feel that way last time, but once we were seated at the piano, I definitely still felt the same strange tug of attraction.