She began apprehensively, but before long she couldn’t help but appreciate the music. Wilhelm was superb—his voice rich, clear, and expressive. Masculine and feminine in harmony as tenor and soprano. She felt every bit of the scandal as she drew deep breaths in rhythm with his, engrossed in melding her half of the vibrations to match his, creating a sympathetic whole.
Their voices were ideally matched, and they both knew it, reveled in it. She had never been so attuned to another, enveloped in the unison of motion and perfect sonority. It felt like both a secret and a promise. Her imagination provided the rest.
The applause echoed in her head, sounding distant. She could hardly breathe. She knew she should look away from Wilhelm’s ice-burn gaze; his narrowed eyes and flared nostrils meant he felt the same buzz of arousal. She could not feel more stricken and exposed if she and Wilhelm had just made love on the lid of the piano.