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“I’m glad one of us knows. I’m listening eagerly.”
“Control freaks fear what they can’t control, but they also insist on finding a way to control what feels uncontrollable.”
I snort. “I’d have to become the pilot to make that happen and then I’d worry about the engine.”
“You have to find a way to conquer your own mind, not the plane.”
The engine roars to life and I down the drink. “More, please.”
He laughs, and God, the man has such a deep, sexy, masculine laugh. And nice lips. I really like his lips. He unscrews another mini bottle and empties it into my glass. “Talk to me and keep your mind off of the takeoff.”
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll give this a try. When is the show?”
“Seven tomorrow night. And unless you’re in a rush to get home, we can spend some time in Austin on Sunday and fly back late.”
“I’ve never been to Texas. I’d like that.”
His lips curve, his eyes warm. “Then it’s a plan. You and me and Austin.”
“Yes,” I say. “You and me and Austin.”
And oh so easily, Kace August has become exactly that: my plan. But my plan for what? Too much, too soon, I think. Not enough, I amend. I don’t think I can get enough of this man. The plane begins to burn a path down the runway and I set my glass in a cup holder. Kace reaches over and settles his hand on my belly. “Easy, baby. We’ll be up and steady in no time.”
I grab his arm and squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth. We lift off and my gaze lands on his arm and all the colorful red, blue, and green of the musical notes there. My eyes meet Kace’s. “When did you get them?”
“The minute I turned eighteen.”
“The minute no one could stop you.”
“Exactly,” he confirms.
The plane sways left and right. “I could assume they mean your music is a part of you, and you it, but you don’t seem that simple of a man.”
He arches a brow. “Is that right?”
“It is. So, what do they really mean to you?”
“My father was a real estate investor who owned part of an NBA team. He didn’t want his son playing a piece of shit violin when he could be playing sports.”
I twist around to face him, the flight forgotten. “An actual NBA team?”
“Yes. An actual NBA team.”
“My God. How much money do you have, Kace?”
“More than any one man should have, and that’s just how my father liked it. To him, money was power. And he wasn’t wrong. It is. But it’s power that should be wielded with a thoughtful hand, not a whip. He liked the whip. I prefer the thoughtful hand.” His lips thin and he moves on. “As for the tattoos, if I wasn’t going to play sports, he wanted me in a suit in the boardroom. He hated my music and he hated tattoos. The tattoos were a fuck you to him that I ended up liking.”
There is a lot of baggage in everything he just told me, the kind I’m certain this man doesn’t share, but he told me. He told me and I sense he doesn’t want to go deeper. No one understands the point of “enough for now” than me, so I focus on the lighter side of things. I dare to flirt, and I’m not someone who exactly masters that skill, but this is Kace. I’m different with Kace. “I like them, too. They’re sexy like you are when playing your violin.”
His hand covers mine, his eyes warm again, attentive. “I’m glad you think so.” And then he surprises me by giving me more, perhaps because I didn’t try to take it. “My father didn’t agree.”
“Well, if he thought you were sexy, that would be creepy.”
He laughs. “Yes. I suppose that is exactly right.”
“How did your father react?”
“He threatened to disinherit me, but I was his only heir. That wasn’t going to happen.”
“Even after you became such a powerhouse all on your own? Surely he came around.”
“Never.”
“What about your mother?”
“She supported me, but I believe she was afraid my father would leave her if she traveled with me. She let me know how proud she was when she could. I didn’t like how she handled things, but in truth, she’s the reason I played at all. She put a violin in my hand and then convinced my father it would create discipline I’d use in business.”
“You said your father saw money as power. Did the money finally win him over?”
“Yeah. When he tried to pull me from tour and I threatened to use that money to petition for emancipation.”
“Oh my God. What did he do?”
“He backed off. Better a rock star son with money than a rock star son who disowns you. It would have embarrassed him far more than my violin and I knew that because my mother told me it would. I was the misfit who inherited his empire. I’m sure that bothers him even from the grave.”
