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Show 107 here when she washes." Sharon began unbuttoning her coat. "Here," he said slipping gracefully behind her, smoothly helping her out of it. She was acutely aware of his presence. He was a man very at ease with his body. Carefully he laid her coat over the back of the couch. Sharon nodded at the keyboard, "It's a beautiful thing." "Yes," he said simply, with feeling, "it is." "I didn't know that you played; Roger just told me." "Oh yes. I enjoy it. Do you?" "Some. I'm afraid it's been awhile." "How nice." His face lit up with genuine feeling-to which she found herself eagerly responding. "Do the Bradshaws have a piano?" he asked. "No. I miss being around one. I hadn't realized how much until I saw yours here." "Well, any time you get the itch, come on over-you're welcome to this one." He meant it; it was more than surface politeness, there was an open graciousness in his offer. He was so open, so wonderfully open for a man, so unguarded-and he liked her. She could sense that he liked her. Her previous fears-and resentment-seemed so silly, so unfounded, now. "Roger said that he didn't last long with his lessons." "No." He frowned slightly, "I guess it's the old adage: you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Or play, in this case." "How did you survive those long afternoons," she asked, "when |