“You’ll see.” A sly smile curved her lips. "Also, since there's so much good food and drinks, I invited some of the single women on the island to help introduce the drinks and celebrate with us."
“Oh really?” Toma straightened.
Reo's mouth twitched.
Even Daisuke lifted an eyebrow with unmistakable interest. “Single women. Interesting.”
God, I love her.
"Let's go." She gestured toward the double doors.
The slave crawled on her left, giving her the three feet of space that I’d nicely requested of him.
On the right, I took her hand. Even though she might have been annoyed with me for whatever she thought I did to him, she threaded her fingers through mine.
Reo moved ahead and gripped the door handle. He looked back at Nyomi, who gave him a nod. Then he pulled the door open.
Light poured through the doorway—warm, golden, impossible—and the sound hit us a half-second later. Jazz music. Laughter. The low hum of a world that had been built just for us, hidden behind these walls, waiting.
But that wasn’t what made me stop walking.
It was what she’d had built in the center of the ballroom.
Holy fuck! TORA!
I actually gasped.
Loudly.
And even though it was loud, no one could hear it over the Claws shrieking, gasping, cheering, and fucking going berserk as they rushed in.
Even Hiro was fucking hooting and hollering.
Oh God! Why would she do that? Now the Fangs are going to want a fucking party! This is never going to end!
Chapter ten
The Ballroom
Kenji
Amelodicsongfilledthe ballroom as the band played along the side. Each musician was clear in the light.
A tall man in a sharp white suit held his trumpet at his side and did not play. The saxophone player in a green suit stood the same way, his instrument lowered, eyes half-lidded but focused.
Both of them were listening to the musician at the center—a woman in a fitted gold dress with a violin tucked beneath her chin. Her bow moved slowly across the strings, drawing out a soft, aching melody that stretched through the room. The sound was smooth, controlled, and emotional, each note carried heart-aching emotion.
I recognized the song immediately, “In the Mood for Love.”
Next to her, a woman dressed in red sat at the piano, her fingers moving lightly across the keys, supporting the violin withquiet, steady notes. Behind them, the drummer in blue pants and silver suspenders kept time with gentle taps on the cymbals, barely touching the snare, and letting the melody lead.
The female bass player stood tall with her upright bass, plucking each string in slow, deliberate pulls that gave the song its weight.
But that wasn’t what had us all in a daze.
Tora. . .you’ve outdone yourself.
My gaze went straight to the ceiling the moment I stepped through the doors.
