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I bob my head up and down. “How about headphones?”
Mine are likely my favorite belongings. I never go out without them. They’re cheap, hardly the best quality out there, but I don’t care: I can listen to music and shut out the world around me.
But in theory, there’s no reason why I should think about them while doing…whatever we’ll be doing.
“Headphones. You like music.”
It’s a statement rather than a question, but I blurt out, “I love music. Voices, especially. A cappella, opera, that sort of thing.”
“You know Marcella Goltz is an opera singer?”
I gasp. “No!”
“She doesn’t sing often anymore, only making an appearance once a year or so, but yes. She’s the voice behind a lot of movies, too. She goes by MarKel.”
My eyes widen. “Marius’s mother isMarKel? You’re shitting me.”
She’s literally the best, and most famous voice out there—in greater part thanks to Hollywood. She’s only ever hired for blockbusters.
“Oh, yeah. The story of how his parents met is pretty wild—and common knowledge in Thorn Falls. Apparently, Eriks attended the opera for business. She was an understudy for Pamina at the time, and the main singer got the flu. So she sang, and Eriks listened, not saying a single word to his client until the end of the opera. And then he got up and left, instead of staying to chat business, completely ruining the deal.”
I blink. “Why would he do that?”
“He informed the theater he would like to speak to the woman who played Pamina. That’s ridiculous, of course; things like that happened in the 50s, not the 90s. Wealthy patrons of the arts or not, people can’t just demand to see the stars. But he did. And when they refused him, he came back the next day. Only, this time, he’d bought the theater.”
I laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“You know Marius. You ought to be able to guess what kind of man fathered him.”
Shit. “What did he do to the poor girl?”
“He brought her flowers and informed her that he was going to marry her.”
This is just too much. “No! He didn’t.”
“That’s how the legend goes.” Rhys shrugs. “You can ask her yourself someday.”
I roll my eyes. Like I’d meet Marius’smother.
And I seriously can’t believe the conversation turned back to fucking Marius. I’m supposed to get fucked, not chat about the man who reduced me to an unstable ball of hormones.
“What do you usually listen to?” Rhys asks.
I’m quick to grab my phone from the pocket of my PJ pants, and scroll through until I can play Specter’s voice—one of the songs I copied from Marius’s exclusive folder. “He’s my favorite.”
As Rhys listens in silence for a few minutes, I realize I’m completely relaxed; more than I have been most of the evening, even before they came back. He’s asked about my passions to make me at ease. Sneaky. And efficient.
“May I?” He extends his hand toward my phone.
I frown, but I hand it to him anyway. “It’s pretty old,” I say, somewhat apologetic.
His fingers fly smoothly over the surface. “It has Bluetooth, that’s all I need.”
He handles the device with more expertise than I would have. A minute later, the low, resonant voice is playing out loud from speakers, the music coming from every direction, infusing the room with sensuality.
“Yes, that will do nicely.” He smiles, satisfied with his work, before sliding my phone back to me across the bar. “Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”
I don’t have to guess what he has in mind. Not with those wicked, piercing blue eyes set on my breasts. I’m suddenly aware that I’m not wearing much; just a flimsy little top and summer PJ pants in fake silky material. My tits are begging for attention. And they have his.
