Page 41 of Hunted Hearts
Juliette couldn’t remember the last time she sat around doing nothing. She always had some place to be, some interview to give, some phone call to return.
Earlier, she’d contacted Henrik. They talked for a long time about how many stops on the tour needed to be cancelled. He reiterated that her safety came first. And of course he was right. She just…missed her team.
They were family to her. After she got off the phone with Henrik, she tried to video call Rachel, but she was in the gym at the time. Apparently in the few short days they’d been apart, her publicist had enrolled in cycling classes.
Chris was out of town at a hair convention, and Harper was taking a short trip to the beach with friends.
Which left Juliette feeling alone.
So sitting in this beautiful room filled with books and music, with the sun streaming in—and the man who blew her mind earlier—felt like an unexpected escape.
The notes of the first movement faded away. Beside her, Theo relaxed deeper into the cushions and extended his long legs. He’d changed out of the gray sweats, but his worn jeans were just as good, molded to his muscle in all the right places.
And that flannel shirt…
She’d never had a type in men, but if someone had told her three days ago that she’d find a rugged man like Theo irresistible, she would have laughed.
“This isn’t the original version of Mussorgsky.”
He turned his head and looked at her, those gray eyes calm at the moment. She was quickly learning all the different kinds of turbulence in them, from fury to passion.
Her insides quivered, and she tugged lightly at her robe to keep it from falling open again. She’d hurriedly thrown it on over an oversized T-shirt when the commotion over the delivery had dragged her from her room earlier, and now she felt absurdly aware of every inch of herself.
“It isn’t?” His gaze flicked down to her hand, her chest. Heat swirled in the depths of his eyes, making her forget what she was saying. The music filled the room, wrapping around them, as if the whole ranch had shrunk down to this one room, to just them and this strange, unshakable pull between them.
She flicked her tongue over her dry lips. “Um, no. The original was purely written for piano. In 1922, it was performed with a full orchestra, and the violins came in then.”
“I see.” His words seemed layered with meaning, as if his thoughts were as nuanced as his voice.
A heartbeat stretched between them, hovering between the notes of the beautiful music that seemed to be enfolding them in a private cocoon.
“Tell me why you have such special ties to your violin.”
She was staring at his mouth as he spoke, wondering how something so hard could feel so soft on her body.
Dragging her gaze away, she shook herself to clear her wits. “It was my great-grandmother’s instrument. I never got to meet her, but I’ve heard all the tales of what an amazing musician she was. Not so skilled technically, but her heart went into every single note…and people felt it. She believed music wasn’t about perfection, but about connection. About making something beautiful even when everything else was falling apart.”
“You inherited that.”
Her lips parted, her throat suddenly tight with emotion. “I appreciate that so much, Theo.”
Theo stayed silent, his eyes on her, steady but not prying. It made her want to keep talking.
“She fled to England during World War II,” Juliette continued, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “She lost her family, but she was older then, just barely an adult. She found work at an orphanage—mostly cooking, cleaning, tending to the children. Her violin was the only thing she managed to save from her home, and she used it at night during the bombings. When the walls shook and the kids couldn’t sleep, she’d play to calm them, to keep their minds from splintering apart. They said her music could quiet a room even when the world outside sounded like it was ending.”
Juliette’s throat tightened as she drew in a slow inhale. She’d told the story before, but not like this—not when it felt like each word was stripping something bare in front of someone who could actually see her.
“And after the war, she was invited to play for the Queen of England,” she went on, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at her lips. “Not because she was famous or came from money, but because her music reached someone who needed to hear it. Thatviolin became a piece of our family, passed down until it came to me.”
Theo finally spoke, his voice rough. “I figured it was worth a million dollars. Probably insured ten different ways.”
Juliette let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “It is insured. But it’s not about the money. You couldn’t pay me enough to sell it. It’s priceless. Not because of what it’s made of or who crafted it, but because it’s the only part of her I have. It’s my compass, Theo. My reminder that even when everything feels dark, there’s still something worth holding on to.”
Her gaze found his again, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. His expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes—a strength, a glint she couldn’t quite name—that made her chest feel warm and unsteady all at once.
Her breath caught as that unspoken heat stretched between them, leaving her wondering if either of them could keep pretending this was only protection.
Chapter Eight
