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.
“Morning,” she greets. “How’d it go with Alexander?”
“Weird. Can I come by and bring you coffee? I’m right down the road.”
“You will be an absolute goddess if you bring me coffee. I had to come in early this morning.”
Relief washes over me. I have my opportunity. And I like her. A friendly face is welcomed right about now. “What’s your drink?”
“Skinny vanilla latte.”
“And Mark’s?”
“He’s in a meeting. And he’s cut off today. He’s had three cups this morning. Believe me, for Mark, that’s enough.”
“I don’t think I want to know what that means.”
“Exactly,” she agrees.
I laugh, and it’s genuine. There is just something kismet about this new friendship. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
And I am. Exactly fifteen minutes later, I’ve handed off my coat, checked in with Amber at the front desk, and I’m on my way past the receptionist’s desk to Crystal’s office when Kace appears directly in my path. And Lord help me, the man makes black denim and the black leather jacket he’s wearing look like sex walking and walking right for me.
I don’t know what it is about this man, but I’m weak in the knees and my heart is all fluttery. I’ve known good looking and powerful men through my work, but none have affected me like Kace August, who is rapidly approaching. In another two steps, he’s standing in front of me, Mr. Blue Eyes who smells like spice and man in a warm, delicious way.
“Small world yet again,” he says softly.
“I’m not stalking you,” I joke and that’s another thing about Kace. As