The Prelude (A Musical Interlude Novel) - By Kasonndra Leigh Page 0,22

I knew you would,” I say, holding out my right arm for her to take.

She hesitates and raises her left eyebrow. “No no no. I’m not making this that easy for you.”

I inhale. She’s already figured out a vital part of my personality. That’s never good for the man in the beginning. “I take it Hagar has been most hospitable towards you, yes?”

“Hagar’s great. I don’t think drivers come any more…obedient than him.” She stretches her eyes as she emphasizes her last few words.

“I do believe your boss told me to utilize your expertise whenever I saw fit.”

“Right. Time out, Alek. First, cut out all of the Ms. Angelos. I’m Erin, twenty-one-year-old designer girl from Lafayette, Louisiana. Second, I’m going to play your game, for now. But come Monday morning, I expect to be working on the Mystical line. No distractions or limo rides or fancy dresses to drool over.”

“Got it. Now, I’m starving. Would you like to come inside? Don’t want to catch cold, do you?” I ask as I secure the flower clasp holding the shawl on her arms. I don’t dare touch her skin. But damn if the temptation isn’t almost too hard to resist. I start toward the door, stopping when Erin doesn’t follow me.

“One more question. Something that’s been nagging at me since the showing.” A serious look crosses her face. I can remain calm as long as she doesn’t start talking about pearls set in golden bands.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were the first time we met, the day you came to Black Butterfly?” She stands so close to me. The shadows from the street lights play on her dark eyes. For the first time, I notice the sadness inside them.

What’s your story, Erin Angelo?

“Did you hear me, Alek?”

“You were already suffering from a panic attack. Hell, Erin, you practically begged me to keep your secret. I also thought you already knew who I was.”

“Yeah, but, you still could have just been honest.”

“And you would have literally choked from fear,” I say, in a calm voice. I don’t want her to suffer a setback because she thinks I now view her as incompetent.

She frowns and lowers her head. “You’re probably right.”

“I guess there was a small part of me that wanted you to see me as a guy who came to check on his boss’s new hires,” I say, meaning every word.

“You mean, the great Alek Dostov wanted me to believe he was a normal guy instead of a sought out maestro?” she asks, her lips curling up in a smile.

“That’s right.”

“So not the answer I expected,” she whispers.

“What do you mean? Thought I’d have an arrogant, asshole like reply ready to validate your opinion of me?”

“Kind of, yes. Sorry,” she says, wincing.

“You’re forgiven. I don’t deny what I am.”

With our gazes locked on each other, we’ve now closed the distance between our bodies.

Normally, I wouldn’t even make it into the restaurant at this point in the game. Wrapping a woman up in my charms comes easy, I must confess.

Erin does something different for me, though. Being around her isn’t only about how quickly I can get her into my bed. No. There’s something else, another way she makes me feel, and I don’t have the words to describe the things raging through me. Then again, maybe I do know the exact word. But admitting that I’m caught up in a woman’s spell would be the death of everything I have worked so hard to recreate about myself.

Erin breaks the connection first. “It’s getting chilly. Boy, I can tell August is around the corner.” She takes a careful step back away from me and massages her forearms hidden underneath the shawl.

“Let’s get you inside before you freeze those pretty little fingers off and the Martuccios wind up sending a firing squad out after me,” I tease.

“Nah. No soldiers. They’d probably send the Sicilian Mafia,” she says. I stop walking, right away. I know she’s joking, but hearing the name of the group that has played such a large role in my past still puts me on edge.

She turns around, smiling, and says, “What? I’m only kidding. Lighten up.” I bury my fears and hold out my arm for her to take.

I know she was joking, but her statement hits too close to a memory I don’t care to recall. The mention of the Sicilian Mafia reminds me of a time when I spent a week of my life on the streets of