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He nods and I turn as Kace steps in front of me, his hand settling on the top of the door, successfully caging me between his big body and the car.
“I thought you’d come back by the table,” he says.
“I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Alexander is intruding. You wouldn’t have. And—about Alexander.”
That statement is a stab of reality. He’s not here for me. He’s here because of some battle between the two of them. “What about him?”
“He’s got an agenda.”
I bristle, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I actually thought he came out here for me. And I don’t understand this man or what game he’s playing. “What about you, Kace? Do you have an agenda?”
His eyes darken, burn, heat. His gaze lowers to my mouth and lingers before it lifts. “Yes. I do.” And before I know his intent, he’s stepped into me, tangling fingers into my hair and leaning in close, his breath a warm fan on my lips and cheek. “This,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted to do this every damn second I’ve been with you.”
Instantly I’m melting like chocolate under the hot sun for this man and doing it in the middle of a cold October wind. I sink into him, his hard body absorbing mine. And then he’s kissing me, his tongue licking against my tongue, a delicious caress that tastes of passion and hunger. His hand slides up my back, molding me closer, possession in that touch that should scare me, but it doesn’t. I’m lost in the intensity of my need for this man, a stranger I should resist, but I can’t remember why. Why was I supposed to resist?
A horn honks, and Kace pulls back. “You are my only agenda,” he says. “Don’t forget that.” And then he’s setting me away from him, leaving me cold where I was hot only moments before. “Good night, Aria.” He turns and walks away, leaving me panting and stunned.
What just happened?
“You coming, miss?” the driver calls out.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes. I’m coming.” I climb in the car and shut myself inside.
I’m still loose-limbed and melting for Kace, and yet, he’s gone. He still didn’t even ask for my number. He didn’t try to see me again. I don’t understand. I touch my swollen lips and replay his words. You are my only agenda. Don’t forget that.
I don’t know what that means, but next time, I will resist.
If there’s even a next time.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I arrive at my apartment and our store in the midst of a quiet, cold night and a tingling sensation on the back of my neck that has me quickly sealing myself inside. Once the security system is in place, I rest with my back against the door and stare into the shop, absorbing the utter silence, oddly void of the normal creaks and moans of the old building. It’s too quiet and I find myself rejecting the cold, empty space.
I touch my lips again, the taste of Kace August lingering there, heating the chill in my body and momentarily distracting me from the emptiness of the building, of the night. Part of me welcomes his push into my mind, into my life. The other part is all guilt and torment. Gio is what matters right now, not some rock star violinist who kisses me and leaves again.
“Gio!” I call out and hold my breath, waiting for a response that doesn’t come, except for that of my gut telling me that he’s gone, that he’s not coming back.
I vehemently reject that idea and push off of the door, calling out, “Gio!” as I run through the store. “Gio!” I reach the bottom of the stairs. “Gio!”
On some level, I know that I’m acting crazy, but I don’t care. I’m cracking outside and in, cracking and bleeding. “Gio!”
Driven by fear and adrenaline, I run up the stairs and pound on his apartment door to receive no reply. I lean against the wooden surface and slide down the hard surface to the ground, my briefcase falling to the floor with me. The folder Crystal gave me falls out. I reach for it, that violin Riptide is auctioning off my only hope of finding answers right now. I shrug out of my coat and let it fall to the floor.
On my haunches, I flip through the folder and find the photos, scanning each with frustration. The photo I would need to validate it as real doesn’t exist. Somehow, someway, I have to convince Mark Compton to let me see that violin early without telling him I’m part of the Stradivari family and without alerting anyone else to that fact.
***
I’m up at dawn the next morning with every intention of stopping by Riptide and making my case to Crystal for an early viewing of the violin. By eight I’m dressed in black slacks, a turtleneck, and blazer, with my red-bottomed black heels. By eight-thirty I’m at the coffee shop across the street from Riptide when I call Crystal.
