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I suck in a breath and Kace releases my hand as if he’s telling me that I’m free to follow the burn in my belly. And so, I do. I close the space between me and it, stopping in front of the violin, a work of art, the shiny wood a perfect shade of brown flecked with black. And when Kace steps to my side, I whisper, “It’s a Stradivarius,” incredulous that I am actually standing here with a piece of my history, with a piece of my family.
“It is,” he agrees. “My favorite of the three I own. The other two are locked in a vault. Touch it if you wish. Pick it up and hold it.”
Yes to all the things he has just suggested. I want to pick it up and hold it but I do not. I resist out of sheer conditioning, taught to run from my past, and from anyone who could connect me to that past. And yet here I am, with “the” Kace August and not one, but three Stradivarius violins, within reach.
Kace steps behind me, the warmth of his body sinking into mine before he even touches me. But he does touch me. The instant his hands settle on my waist, I lean into him, welcoming the power of his body against mine. He’s strong, confident, a man who knows his place in this world and I envy this of him. He nuzzles my neck, goosebumps lifting on my nape. “It’s calling you,” he says, his lips brushing my ear, breath a warm fan on my neck. “I can feel it. You want to know if it’s real.”
I’m suddenly not sure if he’s talking about the violin, but I turn to face him, his touch rotating with me. My hands settle on his upper arms, muscles flexing beneath my palms. “Do you really want to know?”
His hand slides under my hair and settles warmly on my neck, his touch dragging my mouth close to his. “Oh yes,” he murmurs, his breath a warm caress on my cheek. “I’ve learned in life that the façade of truth destroys more than outright lies.”
Never have any words hit me deeper, harder, never have they been more real.
“I stayed away from you for reasons that haven’t changed. I’m not a forever guy. I’m not good for you.”
I almost laugh with the truth in those words. I don’t know what he expects from me, but he’s right. He is everything I’ve been warned against which, if I’m honest, only makes me want him more but there is more to this story.
“Nor am I good for you,” I say. “And I, too, have learned a few lessons, like forever doesn’t even exist. And even if it did, it’s too long.”
He pulls back, surprise etched on his handsome face, and something else—there is always something else with Kace that I cannot quite read. I don’t want to read it, either. I don’t want to talk. I push to my toes and dare to be bold when nothing in my life has been bold but death. I don’t want to think about death tonight. I press my lips to his.
For a moment, the briefest of moments, he is stiff, and then there is a low, rough groan that escapes his lips and vibrates against my lips. His tongue licks into my mouth in a sizzling slide that has me moaning. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the connection, and he kisses me as I have never been kissed. He kisses me as if he is claiming me as if I really am his. And tonight, I want to be. Tonight, I so want to be, but his words come back to me, they stab at me.
I’ve learned in life that the façade of truth destroys more than outright lies.
I don’t need another lie in my life. I tear my mouth from his. “I need you to know that I do want to see your violins. Your Stradivarius. I have a personal reason. But that is not why I’m here now.”
“Why are you here, then?”
“Because of you. Because I need to feel what you make me feel.”
“What do I make you feel, Aria?”
“Free. And alive.”
He doesn’t pull back but he doesn’t move. His lips linger above mine, his body close, his breath warm and his scent spicy. Seconds tick by in which I swear I can feel him in every part of me and I crave his kiss. A kiss that has yet to come and I begin to wonder if it will.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
He does kiss me. God, how he kisses me.
His mouth slants over mine, and I swear I feel the deep stroke of his tongue in every part of my body. My nipples pucker. My sex clenches. My body aches. Kace has that power. He kisses me and I melt, as I do now, sinking into the hard lines of his perfect body. No other man has ever affected me this completely, but he does. He owns me with just a kiss, but then, Kace is like no other man I’ve ever known. His tongue against my tongue seduces, demands—and while there was always a reserve to me in the past, a warning playing in my head, there is no part of me that holds back with Kace. I kiss him with abandon, with passion. I kiss him with my own demand, and then he tears his mouth from mine and backs me up until I’m pressed against his grand piano. “What are you doing to me, woman?” he demands, once again.
