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She sends a text back: I told Mark we should have it reevaluated at our expense should the buyer wish. Thank you, Aria.
Relieved that I achieved some level of success in protecting them, I head back to the event and the minute I step back in the room, I know Kace is here. It’s insane, but I feel his energy. I swallow hard and just when I would dare a glass of champagne, the crowd parts to him standing in the midst of several attractive women and a man, all of whom appear enamored with him.
And why wouldn’t they be?
He’s Kace August, talented, good looking, and dressed to stand out and perform. He’s in black jeans, a thin soft-looking black leather jacket, and a black T-shirt with a white flag on it that he’s paired with black boots. His spiky longish dark hair is slightly rumpled, his jaw shadowed, and his brilliant blue eyes are suddenly locked on me, a punch of awareness between us that steals my breath.
He excuses himself from the group, dismissing them with finality, and then he’s closing the space between me and him and I can’t seem to walk away. I’ve barely caught my breath when he’s standing in front of me, towering over me, smelling like spice and man—seducing me without even saying a word. And then he does, he speaks. He says one word. My name. “Aria.” And on his lips it vibrates like a musical note that vibrates with a command, and yet purrs with seduction.
In this moment, the room fades, the clink of glasses and hum of voices disappears. There is just me and him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You’re here,” I whisper, despite that being quite obvious.
He reaches up and strokes a lock of hair behind my ear, his touch shivering through me. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“You confuse me, Kace.”
Chris Merit’s wife appears beside us. “They need you for a soundcheck in ten.” She glances at me and she’s incredibly pretty up close and personal, her eyes brown, her skin porcelain. Her smile is friendly. “Hi Aria,” she greets. “I’m Sara, Chris’s wife. We have a seat saved for you up front with me so when you’re ready, find me.”
“Nice to meet you, Sara. Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. Looking forward to chatting. See you soon,” she says, fading into the crowd. Kace catches my fingers at my side and I feel that connection in every part of me, inside and out.
“In case you didn’t figure it out, I got you a seat up front with me.” He kisses my knuckles and unlike the moment Alexander had done the same, I tingle all the way up my arm and across my chest. “Come with me.” It’s somehow a command and yet it’s a question he waits to have answered.
The photo of him with that blonde flits through my mind, a warning, but then I remind myself that we barely know each other. We have no commitment. I can’t even afford a commitment. But Gio isn’t here. I know this. He’s not going to be here, either. Suddenly, I want an escape, even need it for my sanity. I want to do something just because I want to do it. And what I want is to live in the moment for once. I want to live in the moment with this man. I want to watch him play. I want to know him just a little bit. I wet my dry lips, his gaze following the movement, the idea of him kissing me flooding me with heat.
“Come with me,” he urges again when those blue eyes fix on mine, seeming to need my approval in a way I don’t understand. But I like it.
I give a nod.
His eyes warm with his approval, which I hunger for far too much and then he’s leading me through the crowd, murmuring greetings to fans, even sliding his arm around me at one point. We’re huddling together as we clear the crowd and head toward a doorway behind the open bar.
We end up at a door and step into a hallway I didn’t know existed. Kace rotates me and settles me against the wall and his powerful legs frame mine, one of his hands on the wall by my head. The other is at my waist, his touch scorching me. “Crystal told me you thought I was hot and cold.”
My lips part in shock. “You wrote me a song.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“And then you left.”
“I told you I had to leave.”
“You know it’s more than that. You touch me. You leave. You touch me again. You leave. You write me a song. You leave. I—I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“The auction meant we would end up here, tonight, bidding on the same item. That’s complicated and I damn sure didn’t want you to think that I was trying to influence your bid.”
