The Ballerina's Secret
Can he play the music of her heart?Finally landing her dream role, Ballerina Tess Wilde had just got used to hiding her deafness from the world. Determined not to let anything get in the way of success, she can’t help but wish the brooding piano accompanist Julian Shine would leave her alone… Or that she could leave him alone…
Читать The Ballerina's Secret онлайн беплатно
Tessa Wilde had a glittering career in front of her...
And then the accident happened.
Ballerina Tessa Wilde had gotten used to hiding her deafness from the worldâin fact, she had just landed a role of a lifetime.
If only Julian Shine, brooding piano accompanist, would leave her alone. Or if she could leave him alone.
When he played, she could hear...every note. So was it real? Or was it the music of her heart?
TERI WILSON is a novelist for Mills & Boon. She is the author of Unleashing Mr. Darcy, now a Hallmark Channel Original Movie. Teri is also a contributing writer at www.HelloGiggles.com, a lifestyle and entertainment website founded by Zooey Deschanel that is now part of the People magazine, TIME magazine and Entertainment Weekly family. Teri loves books, travel, animals and dancing every day. Visit Teri at www.teriwilson.net or on Twitter, @teriwilsonauthr.
His Ballerina Bride
The Princess Problem It Started with a Diamond
Unmasking Juliet
Unleashing Mr. Darcy
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-07779-8
THE BALLERINAâS SECRET
© 2018 Teri Wilson
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a âLicensed Deviceâ) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ⢠are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
For Julia, Karen, Holly and Laird Joanna Macpherson, the lady laird of Attadale and Attadale Gardens in the Scottish Highlands, where I wrote the first four chapters of this book.
I canât wait to go back.
Contents
The 66th Street station hummed with music on Monday afternoon. Tessa couldnât hear it, but she could feel the notes vibrating beneath her feet, ever so softly, like a whispered invitation to dance.
It had been a long time since Tessa had actually heard music, or anything else. Over a year. She no longer missed the bustle of crowds, the whoosh of trains or the collective rustling of the morning Times in the underground, but thirteen months hadnât been long enough to shake the memory of music echoing off the tile mosaics. Sometimes she still dropped a dollar or two in the occasional violin or guitar case propped open on the gritty concrete floor. The street musician would usually smile in gratitude, and Tessa would smile back. Then sheâd stand and watch the bow slide quietly over the violin strings until the silence grew painful.
Today, the music found her before she even spotted the elderly man wearing a bow tie and fedora, playing the trumpet beside one of the rust-colored pillars on the platform. Before she felt the hum beneath the soles of her shoes. It reached her first by sight. Specifically, by way of the twitch of her dogâs ears.
Mr. B loved music. As a hearing-assistance dog, heâd been trained to alert her to specific soundsâthe telephone, the alarm clock, people calling her nameâbut recognizing music wasnât part of his repertoire. Not intentionally, anyway. As best she could tell, he just enjoyed it.
Oh, the irony.
The ground rumbled underfoot as Tessa followed the little dog down the steps and into the station. Sheâd missed the uptown 1 train by mere minutes, if the near-empty platform was any indication. Other than the trumpet player, she and Mr. B were alone. Tessa gave him a little more slack on his leash, and he trotted straight toward the musician. A jazz player, if she had to venture a guess. He just had that look about him. Maybe it was the bow tie. Or possibly his black-and-white spectator shoes.
