Page 108 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Lovely brushwork," she said to no one in particular.

"You are killing me," Matthew's voice was low. Rough. He didn't look at her.

"Oh? Something the matter?"

"That dress…" he groaned.

"You like it? I wore it for you."

"How am I supposed to focus when you look like sin?"

Florence crossed to the other side in front of him. "I thought you were a professional?" She stopped to gaze up at another painting. She heard a grunt from his direction. She looked over her shoulder and dropped her gaze to find a bulge under his trousers.

His eyes were dark and intense.

Florence held his gaze, a satisfied grin on her face. His eyes seemed to blaze.

Then his expression shuttered instantly.

Footsteps approached.

Carrick appeared at his brother's side, champagne glass still in hand, his smile widening as he noticed Florence.

"Lady Florence." He executed a perfect bow. "What an unexpected pleasure. I had heard you'd retreated to the country after your... unfortunate circumstances."

"I found country life tedious, my lord. I prefer the stimulation of society."

"Indeed." His eyes travelled over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "I must say, you look remarkably well for a woman whose marriage ended so... badly." He glanced at Matthew. "My brother has told me all about it. Such a shame. We could have been family."

"Indeed." She tried to keep her voice neutral.

Carrick's smile turned apologetic. "I hope you do not mind that I chose my brother over you."

"It wounds me, but I shall cope."

"He's been invaluable these past weeks. It's wonderful to have family one can rely on." Carrick's hand landed on Matthew's shoulder in a gesture of ownership that made Florence's blood boil. "Blood is thicker than water, as they say."

The bell rang, signalling the start of the performance.

"Shall we?" Carrick offered Florence his arm, his gaze sweeping over her figure once more. "Let us get to our seats. I ensured you were right by my side, my lady."

"How kind." She placed her hand on his arm and let him lead her away.

She didn't look back at Matthew. She didn't dare.

The concert hall fell silent as Julian Cassidy wheeled himself to the grand piano.

He was a striking figure. Dark hair silvered at the temples, sharp features, the kind of presence that commanded attention before he played a single note. Mrs Cassidy sat in the front row, her face serene, her hands folded in her lap.

Florence sat down, acutely aware of the monster beside her, his arm almost touching hers. Matthew stood rigid in the shadows behind them, his gaze boring into her temple.

Cassidy's fingers touched the keys.

The first notes of Beethoven's "Appassionata" filled the hall.

Florence had heard the piece before, but never like this. Cassidy played as though possessed, the music swelling and crashing, fury and tenderness intertwined, building towards a crescendo that felt inevitable. Devastating.

She let the music wash over her. Let it steady her nerves. Let it remind her why she was here.