my eyes. At the first note, I feel the black ribbons dance around me as I play the song from memory. The soft caress of his hands on my skin. The warmth of his breath at my neck. Every moment of the song permanently seared by his imagined seduction that winds around each keystroke. The dream plays exactly as before, every look, every touch. Up until the point when it ends, and I open my eyes to Lucian’s incredulous stare.
“How did you do that?” Disbelief blazes in his eyes while riding the tone of his voice.
“I played it from memory.”
“I literally wrote that minutes before. How could you possibly know the notes?”
“I didn’t know the notes. I can’t read music.”
Frown deepening, he crosses his arms. “How? I’ve heard you play Chopin. Liszt. Bach.”
“All from memory. But I’ve never learned notes.” The awe in his stare is too much, and I shift on the bench. “So … are you going to stand there? Or are we going to figure out these notes?”
He reaches beneath the piano lid for his notebook, and I set my hands to the keys once more. For the next hour, he has me play small segments of the song, while he furiously jots down the notes, capturing every single one. Each time I play, the same images come to mind, making it almost impossible to look at him, for fear he’ll see the desire burning in my eyes. By the time we’re finished, I’ve mentally made love to Lucian over and over again.
He sits beside me on the bench, a partial smile playing on his lips as he stares down at the last page of music. For a man so serious, so focused on business and his work, there is a vulnerability to him in the pride he exudes right now. This is it. His soft spot, where the steel bends around the notes, and the shadows that always seem to follow him dance across the walls. Beneath the leathery skin and hardened bones, this is where his happiness hides.
I finally found it.
“Thank you for this.”
Tucking my hands into my lap, I nod. “It’s a beautiful piece. Would’ve been a shame to lose it.”
“It would’ve.”
“What will you do with it?” I try not to stare at his magnificent hands, the long fingers and perfectly trimmed nails, his skin slightly weathered with age.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” This must be what my high school teacher felt like when I told him I had no plans to follow through with music. I can’t fathom that Lucian would let such a beautiful piece collect dust.
“I didn’t write it to do anything with it. I wrote it to get it out of my head.”
What a wondrous place it must be inside his mind. A dark and wicked place, brimming with the bizarre and peculiar, just like the song.
His eyes finally fall on me, the soft amber glow of his irises eclipsed by shadows. “It reminds me of you.”
The dryness of my throat becomes apparent when I attempt to swallow. “How so?”
“The way it’s haunting. Delicate. Perilous, yet somehow alluring.” Precisely the words I’d use to describe the song. “Annoying as fuck.”
At a burst of laughter through my nose, I cover my face. “I annoy you?”
“Incessantly.”
My laughter wilts to a sigh as his lips snare my attention, lulling me into the memory of being on the rooftop, lying beneath him. The many times I’ve thought about his kiss since that night, tasted the whiskey on my tongue, and have longed to feel the butterflies in my stomach again. The right and wrong waging war inside my head. The lure of it all, so intoxicating, I don’t even realize I’m leaning into him until my lips brush his.
What are you doing! The warning blares inside my head.
His thigh twitches beneath my palm where I’ve unwittingly placed my hand.
Oh, my God.
Mortification washes over me in excruciating colors of red, as I back away enough to see the disapproval darkening his eyes.
He snatches up my wrist from his lap, startling me, and I wonder if he’ll slap me across the face with my own hand. “You misunderstand my intent.”
“I’m sorry.” Cheeks burning with humiliation, I can’t bring myself to look at him. “I thought you …. I mean we …. I thought you wanted …”
“You’re a teenager. Practically a child. I’m a grown man.” The derision in his voice is thick and condescending.
“I’m not a child,” I snap, the distraction of his insult smoldering my embarrassment. “You had no