Nightsong Read Online Free

keys. The cold familiarity of the machine made her vividly conscious of the unfamiliar tension coiling inside her. Phillip Kessler obviously said what he thought without considering the effect, but Elleny honestly couldn’t blame him for the tight knot in her stomach. Selling Mark’s paintings was a touchy subject, an argument she’d had too many times and could never hope to win. She heard Phillip’s footsteps as he moved to the opposite side of the counter and prepared to be polite no matter what he might say.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I guess I tend to look at everything from the perspective of a starving artist.” He spoke softly, confidingly close to her ear, and caught off guard by his husky voice, she grew still with a warm, rustling awareness.
    “No apology necessary.” She  wondered why she was so quick to reassure him. She tried for a nonchalant tone, knowing that if she turned, if she simply tilted her head to one side, she would see his smile, feel again that stirring of possibilities. “Are you really a starving artist?”
    “That’s what I’m here to find out.”
    Her gaze swung to him then, helpless in her curiosity.
    His lips curved in disarming confidence. “I’ve been told that Cedar Springs abounds with inspiration, and since about eight-thirty this morning, I’ve begun to believe it’s true.”
    There was a definite compliment hidden in the words, a flirtatious light in his eyes, and suddenly Elleny was on the firm earth of reality, mistress of her emotions and of the current situation. “Mornings are lovely in this part of Missouri,” she said, “but nights are better. Thousands of stars, the scent of wind and trees and evening.” A gentle laugh rippled from her throat. “The absolute certainty that everyone in town knows exactly what everyone else is doing. You should find unlimited inspiration in that.”
    “Oh, I do. In fact, I can hardly wait to put it to the test. But first I have to find an apartment that can double as a studio. Did Mark have a workshop in your home?”
    “He used the room above the garage. It’s separate from the house, and he liked to be alone when he worked.” Memory drew a shadowy regret to her eyes. “I always respected his need for privacy, but if I’d had any idea how little time....” She looked down, away from Phillip’s observant gaze, away from the unchangeable past.
    “Could I see it?” he asked with a trace of hesitation. “I know you probably have a sentimental attachment to his studio but would you consider renting it?”
    “I can’t. It’s.... I’m sorry. I just can’t.” Pulling absently at a strand of shoulder-length hair, Elleny thought about telling him the reason, explaining that it wasn’t her attachment to the past that kept the studio closed and barren.
    “I understand.” His hand touched her restless fingers and smoothed the tangled strand of hair. Then, as if he realized that he was overstepping the bounds of their brief acquaintance, he moved back from the contact. For a moment their eyes held, then he broke that contact as well. With a glance around the room, he began buttoning his coat. “I’d better start checking out the apartment leads Dora gave me, even though I’d much prefer to spend the morning with you and your books.” He smiled a slow regret. “It wouldn’t do to keep you from your brisk, January business, but maybe once I get settled, we could have dinner?”
    “Or morning coffee?” The pleasant sensation created by his suggestion swirled lazily in her voice. “I’d like that.”
    “So would I.” He walked to the door, reached for the knob, and Elleny knew she couldn’t let him leave without a more definite invitation.
    “Phillip?” The store telephone shrilled a rude interruption as he turned, and she frowned even as she lifted the receiver. Placing her hand over the mouthpiece, she ignored the caller. “Would you like to come for Sunday dinner? About one