“When I was young, I used to sleep out here on the porch so I could hear it. I love the sound of the rain,” Conner admitted.

She sank down onto the wooden planks and looked around at the leaves sheltering the cabin from view. “I’ve always found the rain soothing, but there’s a pattern to the way it hits the leaves that makes it sound different. I can almost hear it set to music.”

Surprise crept into his expression. “I used to think that. I’d lie awake listening and add in instruments to create my own symphony.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

Conner sat beside her, drawing his knees up, back to the wall of the house. He shrugged his shoulders, looking a bit uneasy. He lowered his voice, keeping an eye on the door. “I play a couple of instruments. It was mostly me with my mom. Being alone a lot we read books, did a lot of school-work and we both liked to learn to play whatever we could manage to get our hands on.”

“So your mom played too,” she prompted, surprised that during all their conversations he’d never told her about his mother, his life or his music. Important things. Things a lover should have known. She wanted to look away from him, upset that he hadn’t shared who he really was with her. Their time together had been the most wonderful of her life, yet it hadn’t been real. He hadn’t been real. The man sitting there, slightly uncomfortable, exposing his vulnerable side was the real man. She couldn’t look away though; she was fascinated, once again mesmerized.

Conner was a hard, dangerous man and he carried that aura like a shield around him. He’d always seemed invincible—impenetrable. She’d never seen a chink in that armor until now—this moment. His face was the same. The strong jaw, the scars and weathered lines, the fierce burnt gold of his eyes, the sensual mouth that would drive any woman crazy—all showed a man with absolute resolve. But his eyes had gone different. Softer. Almost hesitant. She couldn’t help but be intrigued.

“Yes, she played,” Conner admitted, his tone dropping even lower. There was a soft note that was all leopard mixed in with his human voice.

Isabeau watched him swallow, his gaze moving over the broad leaves surrounding them, hiding them from the rest of the rain forest.

“She loved the violin.”

“Did you play the violin?” She couldn’t stop herself from learning whatever she could about the real man, not the role he played.