…Juliette hung up abruptly and Diana stared at her cell phone, somewhat bemused. What the hell was Juliette talking about? Was she actually implying that Diana might be jealous of the man who bed-hopped as often as he changed clothes?

Yet despite herself, a small part of her wondered just what it would be like to go to bed with him, to be made love to by him. How would those strong fingers feel on her flesh as he played her, played with her? She could imagine it, could almost feel it as though he were there right next to her; he would touch her like he touched his piano, intimately, caringly, sometimes roughly, sometimes gently...bringing her to intense heights she'd never before experienced...coaxing a special kind of music from her...