“I’m flattered,” he said, catching her small hand in his. “So tell me what you know of our band.”
She shrugged casually. “You play guitar, as does Barack. Syndil plays the drums and just about any other instrument. Desari is your lead singer, and she has an amazing voice. You sing only when the mood strikes you or if a particular song warrants it. My guess is, you both write the lyrics to your songs.” She smiled up at him. “And your music is awesome, although there are a few others who are right up there with you.” She looked down at her fingernails. “Legends.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Who? Name a legend.”
“In what category? I like rock and roll myself.”
“Rock and roll?” There was a slight sneer in his voice. “Who would you consider a legend in rock and roll? Tread carefully, your reputation is on the line.”
“What year are we talking here? In the fifties there was so much going on. If you’re going to be all snobby about modern rock and roll, we can raise the stakes and talk blues or jazz. Surely you’ll admit there are legends in blues and jazz.”
“I’ll concede that point to you, but you can’t start looking in the fifties. The origins of rock and roll began long before the fifties. Have you listened to the tribal music and the original beats coming out of Africa?”
She grinned at him, one eyebrow shooting up. “Surely you aren’t testing me, thinking I don’t know my music history. That isn’t the point. Do you honestly think there aren’t legends from the fifties and sixties?”
“Maybe the Dark Troubadours,” he mused, his black eyes laughing at her wickedly.
“Excuse me, Mr. Legend, what about Louis Armstrong? Do not make the mistake of turning up your nose at him. Muddy Waters, for heaven’s sake, and BB King, he’s awesome. He just has such presence. And Stevie Ray Vaughn. I could name several others.”
“You are only supposed to think of me as a legend.”
He meant to tease her, but as he bent his dark head toward her passionate little face, his gaze found her lips and his heart nearly stopped. He closed the small gap between them, fastening his mouth on hers, taking her breath and giving her air. The earth stopped moving for him. The world dissolved and there was only Corinne in his mind, in his arms. His eyes burned strangely, his body hardened like a rock, his stomach did a curious somersault, and his heart simply melted. There was everything in her kiss. Passion and fire. Exquisite tenderness. A promise. Dayan lifted his head before it was too late to pull back.
Corinne blinked up at him, clearly bemused. “How do you do that?”
“You and I are lifemates…”
“Lifemates?” Corinne echoed. The word was beautiful and implied something permanent and binding. She wondered if it was an interpretation of a term from his native language. She had heard him use the word several times before.
His black eyes moved over her face in a serious, intent study. His gaze was brooding. Incredibly sexy. “Lifemates,” he affirmed. “Married, but more. Married as in an eternal commitment.”
“That’s a beautiful concept, Dayan, but don’t most people think they’ll be married for all time?” His eyes reminded her of a great jungle cat. There was a burning intensity about him when he looked at her. Deep inside her there was an answering need, calling out for him alone.
His hand capturing hers, he tugged gently until her small body was pressed up against his. “You are my lifemate, Corinne. I recognized you the moment I laid eyes on you. I know you are the light to my darkness, that your soul is the other half of my own. Each of the members of my family has found a lifemate. Barack and Syndil were meant for one another. Desari’s lifemate is Julian. Darius has Tempest, and I am amazed I found you. I had no hope that you existed.”
Corinne ducked her head. Dayan believed every word he said. They barely knew one another, yet he was so certain. He almost made her believe they had a future together. She knew better; she knew her heart was deteriorating. Dayan had slowed the inevitable by whatever he had done the night before, but she knew her heart would never last beyond the birth of her child. She was already worn, her heart laboring and her lungs struggling. “I like all of your names,” she said, determined to change the direction of their conversation. “Are they stage names or your actual names?”