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“Sometimes. It helped that Señor de la Cueva moved here.” Gabriel saw now that his teacher had been at the end of his career. The guitarist had been willing to move out of the mainstream of flamenco in order to retire. Assigning a young man like Gabriel to a stodgy older teacher hadn’t been the best choice. However, it had given him a solid foundation to study with someone of de la Cueva’s stature.
“Bringing him here was your father’s doing,” Luis said.
Shock made Gabriel bang an elbow against his guitar. “My father hates my guitar playing.”
“No, he doesn’t understand it. But he wanted you to have the best possible instructor.”
That made sense. Lorenzo would want his son to be taught by someone prominent, whether he was the best match for Gabriel’s style or not. “I will remember to thank him for that,” Gabriel said grudgingly.
“So, back to your proposal. When will you have it ready for a formal presentation?”
Gabriel had no idea what it would cost or how quickly it could be done. However, he had the king’s interest now. “One week,” he said with a firmness he did not feel.
“Excellent.” Luis picked up his wine and leaned back on the sofa. “I want to be very clear about this. As the King of Caleva, I am enthusiastic about the concept. In fact, I have long wanted to enhance our country’s cultural profile, but”—he waved his hand in a gesture of resigned frustration—“other matters were always more pressing. Fires had to be put out.”
Like the Lily Cabal. Gabriel winced.
“I also needed the right person for the job,” Luis continued. “Someone with both the passion and the artistic chops to convince the best of the best to take a chance on Caleva.” He tilted his glass toward Gabriel. “You are that person.”
Excitement sparked through Gabriel. His uncle thought he could do this. “I am honored by your faith in me.”
“That is how I feel as your king. As your uncle, it brings me great happiness to see the joy in your eyes. This is what you were meant to do for Caleva. You have found the perfect way to help me.”
“How do you always say the right thing?” Gabriel asked as his chest went tight with a roil of gratitude, pride, and anticipation.
“The truth speaks itself,” Luis said.
Gabriel struck a chord on his guitar to punctuate his uncle’s statement. “Not to mention that you have a flair for the dramatic.”
“When you’re king, you’re expected to inject some flair into your pronouncements.” Luis’s lips curled in a self-mocking smile. “It makes them appear weightier. And now that you’ve begun, I would like to hear you play.” His mouth softened into a smile of genuine affection. “I rejoice in your return to music. Talent like yours should not be withheld from the world.”
Gabriel did not bother to argue with his uncle. He had a long way to go, even to return to his level of proficiency before the abduction. However, perfection was no longer his goal. Quinn had shown him how cold and empty that was.
Now he opened the gates of his heart and let the emotions flow out through his fingers.
Gabriel tapped in the combination to open the tall gate into Quinn’s back garden. Mikel had given him instructions on how to sneak in and out to avoid any possibility of being followed by paparazzi. He also left his Spano at the palace and drove a bland, boring sedan. He did all this without complaint. To protect Quinn.
He swung the gate closed, releasing a shower of pink flower petals from the vine growing over it.
“Hola, Gabriel!”
His pulse sped up when he saw Quinn on the stone patio, lifting a beer bottle in greeting. The welcoming curve of her lips made him stride over to brace his hands on the arms of her chair and lean down to kiss her. Her mouth tasted of beer and Quinn, sending an arrow of pure desire down to his groin. “Cariño mío,” he murmured as he kissed the fragrant skin at the side of her neck. “Te adoro.”
“That sounds so much less cheesy in Spanish,” she said, tilting her head to give him better access.
He nipped at her earlobe. “I lay my heart at your feet, and you call it cheesy.” He pulled away so he could see her face with its slim eyebrows, huge brown eyes behind black-rimmed glasses and skin like the richest cream.
She wove her fingers into his hair, sending a ripple of delight over his scalp. “I said it wasn’t cheesy when it’s in Spanish.” Then she destroyed him by saying, “I adore you too.”
“For that, you must be kissed properly,” he said, taking the beer out of her hand and putting it on a side table. Then he cupped her elbows and lifted her out of her chair to hold her against him. The crush of her breasts against his chest and the push of her thigh between his had him devouring her mouth like a starving man who had found a feast. When she ran her hands down his back to squeeze his butt, he moaned against her lips.
She leaned away from him, her skin pink with arousal. “I’ll have to say that more often.”
“Yes, you will. Many times a day,” he agreed. “And I will kiss you twice as often as you say it.”
“Now you’re getting flowery.” She looked at him over the top of her glasses. “I like it.”
“I knew there was a romantic soul hidden deep inside you,” he said.
