AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I slapped my forehead and bounded down the stairs, listening for the sound of anyone in the house when I reached the bottom. At least I knew where the kitchen was. When I made my way into the room, I was shocked and embarrassed that the slight mess we’d created the night before had been cleaned up. In the place of fruit left on the counter, there was a plate of something that looked delicious.
Pastries. And they’d been freshly made, still warm from the oven. Okay, so maybe having someone who could cook around the house would be amazing. I noticed a basket of various Keurig coffee pods and was astounded at the variety. There had to be at least twenty to choose from.
After selecting hazelnut and popping it into the machine, I searched the refrigerator for milk. There was cream. Of course there was. Only the best for a mafia prince. No, he was really the king now since he’d taken over for his father. I was obviously still asleep.
There was one mug on the counter, one in the sink with drops of coffee still inside. Did that mean Arman had left the house? I made mine, grabbing a pastry, determined to find him. As I’d done before, I noticed at least two staff members who scuttled away as soon as they saw me. Maybe they’d been given explicit instructions not to talk to me. That would suck. How would I find out all the things about Arman that I could use to blackmail him without their help?
Maybe all I was trying to do was make light of a strange situation, heaviness weighing on my mind. I wasn’t entirely certain there would ever be full trust with Arman if he continued to hang the life of my parents over my head. It was surreal in a way that few people could tolerate for long.
I was close to falling even harder for the man, the love something I still wanted to deny. I finished the pastry and made my way into the library, fingering the books as I’d done before. Maybe I’d grab one later, enjoying some time to myself. Then dinner tonight. That would be interesting.
My thoughts continued to run fast and furious as I made it past his closed office door, certain I heard his strong, masculine voice behind it. Then I headed to the back section of the house to an area I hadn’t made it to the night before.
There was a lovely sunroom positioned off another set of French doors, another guest suite and one last room. The door was open so it was fair game. When I walked inside, I was taken back to my days of piano and ballet lessons, both of which my mother had insisted on.
The gorgeous Steinway was positioned near a floor-to-ceiling window, music already waiting to be played. There were bookshelves covering one wall, books of piano music positioned just so in them. There were also music textbooks but from years before. Some compilations of piano music were so worn the spines were broken.
And as was expected in a music room, there was a gorgeous loveseat and two chairs, all directed toward the piano, a coffee table in the middle for guests and their listening pleasure. And to finish off the room, there was a bar on the other wall, this one glistening in a deep ebony finish matching the sheen of the baby grand.
I ran my finger across several books of music, selecting one of my favorite classical musicians. It had been a couple of years since I’d played, but it had to be like everyone said. Just like riding a bike, only one with a little rust on it.
After throwing a glance at the door, I placed the coffee mug on the table and scooted across the bench. I found my favorite concerto and began to play. Rusty? Hell, I was falling apart. I laughed and kept up with practicing until finally my fingers were moving with ease, floating across the keys.
How long had it been since I’d truly enjoyed playing? Not because my father had instructed me to keep up with my lessons or my mother had chided me that my sister was a better piano player than I was? Suddenly, the joy was resurrected, the music soothing something deep inside of me. The uncertainty and the fear. Maybe it would be short lived, but that was just fine with me.
I continued, getting lost in the music, feeling freer than I had in a long time. When I was close to the end, I took a deep breath. I was actually feeling the music, living it through my fingers. The moment the piece ended, I held my fingers in place, finally opening my eyes.
To the sound of applause.
I jerked around, fearful that I’d broken some new rule. While the spanking had been enticing the night before, I’d felt it every time I’d rolled over on the sheets. Even this morning, heat remained crossing both sides of my bottom.
“That was beautiful,” Arman said. “I didn’t know you could play.”
“I’m sorry. The door was open.”
He walked inside, close enough I was able to gather a whiff of what had to be shower gel. His hair was still slightly damp, the short-sleeved cobalt blue shirt dazzling against his skin. He lifted my chin with a single finger, taking a deep breath as if ready to consume me all over again. “You did nothing wrong. Perhaps you’ll be an inspiration for Zoe. She often forgets to practice. May I join you?”
“You play?”
“My mother’s influence. She wanted her three rough and tumble boys to be able to converse about music and the opera, ballet and the classics.”
“Please don’t tell me you were required to take ballet lessons. If you tell me yes, you will dance for me.” I found it easier to laugh with him this morning.
His eyes sparkled, a mischievous curve of lips pulling me into the lurid aura of the man. He’d yet to shave, the now three-day stubble sexier than ever. I wanted to slide my fingers back and forth across his jaw.
“I would have put my foot down, my brothers as well. She settled for a couple years of piano lessons for me, drama class for Francois, and Louie was made to join the debate club, which he excelled at.” He cracked his knuckles and I could tell he was trying to figure out a song.
When he started playing, I was no longer surprised at anything he did or excelled at. While he wasn’t a concert pianist by any means, he did pretty well. When I placed my hands on the bottom keys, he grinned without looking at me. As I started playing a duet, he slowly turned his head, studying me intently.
It was as if he was an entirely different man in twenty-four hours. The song was short and by the time I was finished, there wasn’t a part of my body not trembling from the nearness and the heavy set of emotions, the desire that had yet to run its course. I folded my fingers, finally taking a long look at him. It was closer than we’d been when not… fucking. His irises were flecked in shades of luminescent gold, the fresh shower and patches of gray at his temples highlighting that soon his glorious thick hair would be considered salt and pepper.
Gloriously sexy.
Indulgently so.
And the man still managed to take my breath away. The way he was staring at me was even different this morning, as if the game of revenge had taken a back seat to something else, something much more carnal.
“What is it?” I asked, no longer recognizing my voice.
