Night Jasmine by Erica Spindler Page A

I’ll be going so you can eat before it gets cold.”
    â€œDon’t go,” Hunter said, catching her arm. She stopped and met his eyes. “I want to show you something.”
    He released her arm and crossed the room to retrieve the music box. As he picked it up, he glanced back at her. Standing in the soft light of his lamp, she looked younger than she was and heartbreakingly lonely. How had he ever let her go?
    Hunter shook his head at the thought. It had been for the best. It still was. Most times, the reasoning of the mind hadn’t a thing to do with the gut. And even less control over it.
    Hunter carried the box to her and held it out. She looked at it, then up at him, surprised. “It’s beautiful.”
    Hunter gazed at her, taking in the features that were unconventionally beautiful—the almost exotically almond-shaped eyes, the nose that turned up on the end, the too-full mouth that had fascinated him endlessly.
    The beauty of the music box, of its belle inside, couldn’t hold a candle to Aimee’s. “Yes,” he murmured. “Beautiful.”
    Her cheeks grew pink. “It doesn’t look like something…you would own.”
    â€œI know.” He smiled, still amazed by his own behavior. “That’s exactly what I was thinking as I shelled out an exorbitant amount of money for it.”
    Aimee reached out and touched the glass lightly. “Just before I knocked, I heard music. This was it?”
    â€œYes.” He wound the key and the melody surrounded them.
    Aimee was quiet for a moment. “Why are you showing me this?”
    He didn’t know, that was the damnable part. Just
as he hadn’t been certain why he’d bought it in the first place. It had just felt like the right thing to do. He wasn’t accustomed to acting on impulse or feelings. He found the fact that he had unnerving.
    â€œBecause,” he answered finally, “it’s one of the things that brought me here.”
    She drew her eyebrows together. “Then I suppose I should despise it.”
    â€œBut you can’t.”
    â€œIt’s too beautiful.” She took the box from his hands and crossed to the light to look at it more closely.
    Hunter followed, stopping directly behind her. If she leaned back just a fraction, she would rest against his naked chest. Even though she held herself ramrod straight, he could imagine the weight of her against him, imagine the feel of her fragrant hair against his fingers.
    He reached around her to touch the box. As he did, his arm brushed against her cheek. “I felt compelled to buy it,” he murmured. “Just as I felt compelled to come here to see you.”
    She looked over her shoulder at him, searching his gaze with her own, her eyes full of questions. She left them unasked and turned back to the music box.
    â€œLook,” he said, touching the dome’s glass. “Night jasmine. In the belle’s hands. The shopkeeper pointed it out. I remembered you telling me about it.”
    â€œYes,” she whispered, looking back at him once more. “I remember, too. It’s potent tonight.”
    â€œYes.”
    Their gazes met and held. The room grew suddenly too warm, too still. The smell of the jasmine surrounded them, almost overpowering in its sweetness. Her lips trembled and she lowered her eyes to his mouth. Hunter leaned toward her.
    Aimee took a step back. “I have to go.” She set the music box on the bed and started for the door.
    He caught her hand. “Stay.”
    She shook her head. “I can’t. I—”
    â€œPlease.” He laced their fingers. “I’ve always hated eating alone. Yet I almost always do.”
    He had her with that. He saw the empathy, the understanding soften her eyes. Still, she hesitated a moment more. “Oliver—”
    â€œIs no doubt asleep. And Roubin is the last person you want to be with right