The Treble With Men (Scorned Women's Society #2) - Piper Sheldon Page 0,20
this all was. Or maybe I understood the weirdness, but I couldn’t stop now.
My only goal was to get closer. I had to find the source of that song. The melody had transformed, coaxing me onward with a staccato beat. Each step seemed to fall in time with the short, loud notes. Cement cooled my feet when I reached the bottom.
Dim light illuminated a long hallway that stretched farther than it had seemed when I’d first descended. The few side doors branching off were locked—I checked. I was being led, called by something that tugged on my chest. Rational thought remained upstairs; now I was driven solely by instinct. Maybe I should have been scared, but I simply wasn’t.
The hall ended with a heavy metal door. Just on the other side, the music rang clearly. I went in.
It was unlike anything I’d ever seen, greater than any rehearsal space. Cavernous and huge. Guitars hung in neat lines along the walls. The ceiling and any unoccupied wall space were covered sporadically in red foam soundproofing panels. A door off to the side looked like it led to some sort of recording booth. Various instruments, some I recognized and some exotic and foreign, were showcased around the room. Thick Turkish rugs lined the floor, stacked and frayed in some spots. It was like a recording studio and rehearsal space made a glorious love child. It was the wet dream of every musician, ever.
In the center of the room, slightly raised on a platform, was a grand piano more beautiful than anything I’d never seen. Glistening black and sleek.
And there, lost to the music, was Devlin. It was a breathtaking sight. His fingers moved dramatically over the keys, seemingly without effort, his shoulders hunched.
He was totally shirtless. And honestly, from this angle I could not tell if he was wearing pants. I could see a glimpse of a definitely hairy leg and bare feet. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Was this some weird musical-slash-sexual thing? Was I being intrusive? I should definitely leave.
Except.
His muscles. My goodness! Ropes of muscles bunched in his back and arms. They flexed and released with every movement. I thought Thor brought the godly muscles, but Devlin could absolutely wield Mj?lnir or any other massive hammer. I was intrigued and curious and really, if he didn’t want to be caught naked in his super-secret music lair in the middle of the day by a guest in his house, then he should have locked the door. That’s on him.
I crept closer. Okay, he was wearing jeans. And of course, as always, the bandana and hat were on. Shirt? No. That’s too much commitment, but a hat and bandana … those were essentials, apparently. Today the mask was a solid red and in the dim light it was haunting. He didn’t notice me come in. He was too lost to the music, which was now a dissonant, almost irritating piece that was somewhat reminiscent of Scriabin’s atonal scales.
What would he do if I walked up and took off that mask? Would he be mad? Maybe I was even mad for thinking it. Would he kick me out of the symphony? Would he no longer want to work with me? Why was I suddenly so curious to see what was underneath? It wouldn’t change anything, would it?
Something about the mystery of it called out to the darkest part of my soul—to the part that always got me in trouble.
I moved closer, step by step, soundless in the cacophony. Just a peek. Who was he? What was he trying to hide?
Closer yet. My hand reached out. My heart slammed in tempo with the music.
I grabbed the fabric where it hung loose.
Just a peek. What was the worst that could happen?
Chapter 9
Practice every day; music waits for no one.
DEVLIN
My hand shot out and grabbed hers just as her fingers grazed my neck, where the scarf was tied. The abruptly cut-off notes trembled in the air. Chills shuddered down my skin from the contact and goosebumps spread down my arms and chest.
She gasped and reared back trying to squirm out of my grip, but I didn’t release her. Instead, I twisted my body on the piano bench, bringing her around at the same time so we were face-to-face. Even sitting I was almost as tall as her.
“I’m sorry! I was just—”
“What?” I demanded. “Wanted to see under this? Want to know what sort of freak wears a mask?”