A Wicked Song

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  A waiter appears and with little debate, a wine is chosen and glasses are filled. Mark and Kace then begin talking about the earnings for the last charity auction. Crystal leans in closer to me and wiggles a brow, her gaze flicking to Kace and back. “How’s it going?”

  “Why, what do you mean?” I tease coyly.

  Satisfaction etches her lovely face. “I knew it,” she says as if I’ve just told her I was marrying Kace, which is a crazy thought that comes out of nowhere. And his hand on my leg, I think. His touch is like a drug.

  “Oh,” Crystal says, straightening. “I want to give you this before I forget.” She reaches into her purse and slides a piece of paper across to me. “Those are the wines I have to offer right now and a few I could get if you have a buyer. I’ve listed the prices we’d like to get to keep them off the auction block.”

  I scan the list, excited about the offers. Even if Ed won’t agree to a retainer, there’s enough money here to help with Walker Security fees and carry me for a few months. Well, depending on the fee agreement with Riptide. I’m about to ask when Mark interjects. “Will we be seeing you in California, Ms. Alard?” Mark asks.

  “Aria,” I correct, feeling Kace’s eye on me because I haven’t actually confirmed my plan to go with him. “And yes,” I add, squeezing Kace’s hand and looking at him. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good to know,” he says, softly, a hint of a smile on his lips that melts me right there in my chair before I turn back to Mark. “I didn’t know you’d be there.”

  “Now you do,” he says.

  “Fabulous that you’re going,” Crystal interjects. “And since Mark didn’t explain, we own a gallery with Chris and Sara in San Francisco. We’ll be holding one of the events there.”

  It’s becoming quite clear that the three of them are close friends, but before I can explore that idea, the waiter is already back, urging us to order.

  “The pasta is actually worthy of your visit, baby,” Kace says leaning in close. “You’ll approve.”

  Worthy of my visit. He’s speaking of my heritage and it’s surreal to actually claim that history. It’s good. Everything with this man is damn good. “Spaghetti and meatballs for me then,” I say, speaking to the waiter.

  “We’ll make that two,” Kace chimes in, offering our menus to the waiter.

  Once the waiter departs, Mark’s attention lands on me. “Tell me, Aria. How do you know so much about violins?”

  “Sounds like someone was wrong about a certain violin,” Kace taunts.

  He’s right, of course. Mark was wrong about the violin and he obviously knows. Mark sips his wine and just looks at me. “The violin was a very good knock-off, Aria,” Crystal says. “You actually saved our backsides. Our reputation is everything.”

  “How pissed was your buyer?” Kace asks.

  “He took the violin, at a discount,” Mark states.

  Kace’s lips quirk and he swirls his wine in his glass. “That’s not an answer.”

  “He got over it,” Crystal says. “And you, Aria, are the star of the moment. Mark says you have a client who spent time with the Stradivari family in Italy and he taught you to spot fakes?”

  “That’s correct,” I say, but the bite of a lie to a new friend is a sharp one.

  “Before the family went missing,” Mark interjects dryly. “Which is—lucky.”

  “For you,” Kace reminds him. “She saved your ass, remember?”

  Mark’s staring at me. “Did you know that the daughter of Alessandro Stradivari, the last living ancestor of Antonio, was named Aria?”

  “I did, actually,” I say, having practiced this exact reply with my mother about a thousand times. “My brother is also Gio. Alessandro’s son was Gio.”

  “Really?” Crystal says, leaning closer. “How did that happen?”

  “My mother’s best friend was a violinist, who died tragically before finding any real fame. She was quite obsessed with Stradivarius. My mother named me and Gio after the family to honor her. I admit to having a bit of an obsession myself with the Stradivari because of the names, which is how I bonded so readily with the client who taught me to validate the instruments.”

  “So much so that you did a better job than a woman who makes a living at being an expert,” Mark comments.

  He knows, I think, and the truth is, my story might have rolled off my tongue, but it isn’t believable. I suddenly know why my mother said to avoid any connection to our past, which means the violin auction at Riptide. I stand out like a sore thumb.

  Mark’s gaze turns to Kace and then flicks toward the bar. “I see Bigfoot’s following you around. Why?”

  Kace must anticipate me running because he catches my hand. Never in my life have I hated being “the girl who ran” as much as I do now. That’s not who I want to be. That’s not who I feel like right now, either. That’s not the person who honors my brother, who intended to stand and fight, not just for himself, but for me and our family heritage.

  I don’t know what to do about him knowing too much, but I’m not getting up. I’m not running.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Actually, I do know what to do.

  Kace bristles beside me, straightens, and I can feel him about to strike, no doubt in my mind to once again save me, but I beat him to the punch. “Savage is here for me,” I say. “My brother’s missing. Kace helped me make the connection with Walker, who is now helping me find Gio. Which brings me to how I came to that auction at Riptide. I found a letter sent to him by a woman that referenced the violin and the auction house. That’s how I ended up taking the risk to expose myself and come to Riptide.”

  “Sofia,” Crystal supplies.

  “You know her?” I ask anxiously.

  “No, sorry,” she says, “but I remember you asking me about her.” She glances at Mark. “Do you know a Sofia?”

  “No,” he says, his attention settling on me. “Did Gio do business with Riptide?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “The reference to the violin and Riptide gave me reason to believe they’d at least made contact, but I don’t believe you had a Gio or Sofia on the guest list.”

  “Let me just double-check myself,” Crystal says, pulling out an iPad. “I’ll check the guest list right now for Sofia and Gio.”

  “They aren’t on it,” Mark replies with a certainty I don’t question. If he knows, he knows. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t use another name. Do you have a photo of Sofia and Gio?”

  “I’ve never met Sofia, but Gio, yes. Yes, I do.” I grab my phone and key up my photos.

  Crystal reports on her progress. “No luck. Sorry.”

  I slide an image of Gio between Mark and Crystal.

  They both inspect his image and then Crystal glances up at me. “He’s very handsome, Aria. I’d remember him. I’ve never seen him before.”

  Mark smirks. “Yes. He’s very handsome. I’d remember him as well.”

  I blink at Mark and cling to sanity, which means anything besides the discouraging news they’ve just handed me. “Was that a joke?” I ask and glance at Kace. “Did he just tell a joke?”

  “Hard to tell,” Kace replies dryly. “He’s a walking corpse.”

  Mark flicks him a look. “Says a man who hides behind a violin.”

  It’s an interesting comment, one that doesn’t just speak of a deeper friendship between these two than I’d previously recognized. Mark understands Kace. He knows the man beneath the rock star. I wonder how well. His promise that I will run if I know all there is to know about him, has me wondering if any of us fully know Kace.

  “And I do it without a stick up my ass,” Kace replies, his arm settling on the back of my chair. “You should try a few activities without that stick in your ass. For instance, sitting here at this table. I suspect it’s painful.”

  My eyes go wide, but I swear Mark’s lips quirk ever so slightly, as if he’s amused, before he slips back into cold, ha
rd Mark, and looks at me. “Walker runs our security as well. They have access to anything you need that might help, including the handful of approved guests that didn’t show up to the event.”

  “I’ll go down that list myself, too,” Crystal offers, “and see if anyone stands out to me. My assistant, Lori Hamilton, helps out. I’ll discreetly see what she has to offer.”

  Discreetly.

  Because they know who I am.

  We all know they know who I am, and so far, the floor hasn’t opened up and sucked me into a hell of my own making. But Gio is missing, I remind myself. I have to be cautious. The formula would be priceless and for that kind of money, hell might open up and send its own army of demons to collect.

  The food arrives. Italian spices tease my nose, and for a bit, the attention for all of us is on the food. After a taste, which Kace attends to with way too much interest, I grade the pasta as excellent. This earns me his charming smile and a kiss. A few bites in, Kace steals an opportune moment when Mark and Crystal are chatting, and leans in and whispers, “You handled him like the queen you are, baby. Well played. Well played.”

  I smile at the compliment, and shiver with the feel of his fingers on my nape, the touch teasing me in all kinds of ways and places. It amazes me how easily this can make me feel wildly inappropriate at my most tense of moments. I like this about him. I like this about me with him.

  We both twirl pasta around our forks and with his voice still low, for my ears only, he glances over at me. “Based on my present thoughts, you should be blushing right now.”

  I grin and meet his stare, daring to reply with, “You should, too.”

  He laughs, a low, rough, sexy rumble that is almost as perfect as his music. Oh yes. I am feeling so very inappropriate right now. Which of course is exactly when Crystal decides to glance our direction, a knowing smile breaks on her lovely face. She then delicately clears her throat and straightens. “We should talk business before we run out of time.” She checks her watch. “Oh yes. We definitely need to do this now. I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

  “I’m all ears,” I say, sliding my plate aside.

  She picks right up where we left off. “Forty percent of our commission on the wine,” she says. “If that works for you, I’ll email you the structure, but it varies per negotiated terms with the clients.”

  “I need a negotiating tool with a particular client, so even without looking at the structure,” I say, “I can make it work.”

  “I think you’ll be pleased,” she says, “and if this goes well for all parties, Mark and I have a proposition for you. We have clients that need us to move items well before auctions are held. We start mini private auctions by just calling known bidders or even hunting down new bidders. I do that. You do that, too, in your business, which makes us a perfect match. I’d like you to consider doing it for us. As a contractor to start, but we might have a more official, larger idea to discuss as well.”

  “If you do well,” Mark adds. “I’m not convinced anyone can step into Crystal’s shoes. Crystal seems to believe you can.”

  “Perhaps,” Kace says, “because she saved your ass with that violin.”

  “She did,” Mark replies, looking at me. “A feat that should have required years of training, not a crash course with a client.”

  “You know what I love about you, husband?” Crystal asks, glancing up at Mark. “Your extreme arrogance. It’s so powerful. It really turns me on.”

  His lips quirk ever so slightly. “I don’t believe that’s an appropriate topic for the table, but if we must go there.”

  She smirks and looks at me. “What do you say? I could send you a list of items to give this a try.”

  Mark is a jerk. Crystal’s wonderful. Gio’s gone. I have to pay the bills. Opportunity is a blessing. And so I say, “Yes, please. I’ll get started right away.”

  “Speaking of the violin,” Mark comments. “Why did it have your brother’s attention?”

  “It had Sofia’s attention,” I say. “She had my brother’s attention.”

  “That seems too simple,” Mark comments.

  But it’s not simple, I think. Sex and women were always Gio’s weaknesses. I’m about to reply when the waiter offers us dessert and we all decline. Mark reaches for the check and Kace doesn’t fight him. Crystal’s phone buzzes with a text and she gives it a glance and me a grim nod. “Our doorman, Harold, doesn’t remember Gio or anyone named Sofia.”

  Unbidden, another dead-end stabs me with disappointment, but I manage a tight, heartfelt, “Thank you for trying.” I set my napkin on the table. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room before we leave. I’ll just be a moment.” I don’t look at Kace. If I do, I might get outwardly emotional when a quick freshening up will pull me back into check. I stand and catch a waiter. “Bathroom?”

  He points to the back end of the bar, which requires me to walk past Savage. He rotates his stool around in my direction as I approach. “Bathroom,” I tell him but I don’t stop walking, half expecting him to follow. I hurry on my way, cutting past the bar, down the hallway, when Kace is suddenly there.

  He catches my arm and turns me to him, pressing me against the wall, his fingers tangling into my hair. His masculine scent teases my nostrils and his mouth crashes over mine, his tongue doing this deep, seductive lick against mine that melts me in my shoes. The taste of him is passionate, hungry, possessive. I moan with the delicious assault, and when his lips lift from mine, he says, “You okay?”

  “Yes,” I say, and I mean it. I am okay. The danger was always present, but owning it and who I am feels good. He feels good, too. “I just need a minute to freshen up.”

  He studies me a moment and seems to read that need as real. “Then I’ll see you back at the table.”

  He releases me and then he’s gone, and like his music, he’s left me with the simplistic beauty that is Kace August. He hasn’t told me what to feel, but he made darn sure I felt his presence.

  I head into the bathroom, lock the single-stall room, and stare at myself, guilt stabbing at me. I’m living my life, expanding my horizons, being kissed by a rock star in a hallway, and opening business doors while my brother is missing. Maybe he’s even dead. My phone buzzes with a text message. I pull it from my purse and find a strange number with too many digits. It looks like spam, but I click on it anyway. It reads: Look for the daisy in the wind. Be careful or you’ll end up dead.

  My heart starts to race and my gaze jerks to my daisy ring, a memory piercing my mind. I click on the number, but it’s not a real number at all. I rush to the bathroom door, jerk it open and hurry into the restaurant. Kace and Savage are standing at the bar, and Mark and Crystal appear to have left.

  One look at me and Kace heads in my direction and in a matter of seconds his hands are on my arms. “What is it?”

  “This. Read this.” I shove my phone at him.

  He reads the message and I say, “It’s not a real phone number. And the words, a daisy in the wind, that is something my father—”

  “—used to say,” he supplies, looking up at me, his eyes shadowed. “I know.”

  There is something in his voice, and beneath the shadows of his eyes. Something that radiates and overflows into me, and that I can only describe as tormented.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m the daisy in the wind.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  He’s the daisy in the wind? I blink, confused. “Kace, I don’t understand. You’re the daisy in the wind?”

  His jaw sets hard, the handsome lines of his face drawn tight. “It’s something your father said to me.”

  “Right. It was his saying. We just said that.”

  The muscle in his jaw tenses. “He told me that I am the daisy in the wind. The only true daisy in the wind. He told me never to forget those words.”

  I search his handsome face, now all hard lines and shadows, looking for the answers he’s not gi
ving me. “And you think that’s related to this message?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it means what to you?”

  “I don’t know what it means,” he says. “Not in this moment. Not in this context. I need to think.” He motions Savage forward and I can feel the wall that’s slammed down between us. He’s shut down and I’m more than a little rattled.

  “I need more than ‘I need to think,’ Kace,” I say, rejecting his silence with a hard push. “What do you know that I don’t know?”

  His steps into me, his touch gentle but firm, palm resting on my hip, his voice low, for my ears only. “Let me process, baby. We’ll talk when we’re alone. When we get home.”

  I don’t miss the fact that he’s said when we get home, not when we get to his apartment.

  I know enough about Kace August to know that everything he does has a purpose and he does nothing by accident. He’s reminding me that I belong with him and the fact that he feels that need to do this is as unsettling as his silence. I’m back to, what the heck does he know that I don’t know?

  Urgency bubbles inside me, and I want to push him, but Savage steps to our side, and while I appreciate his protection, right now he’s just plain, big, and intrusive. Kace places a step between us and hands Savage my phone with the text message on the screen. Savage glances down at it and then glances between us. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s something my father used to say,” I offer. “And it means something to Kace. I just don’t know what.”

  Savage’s gaze flicks to Kace and whatever he reads there, he decides not to push him. He returns his attention to my phone, screenshots the message, and sends it to I don’t know who. He then dials his own phone and says, “Adrian, we’re coming out.” That’s it. He disconnects.

  A few minutes later, we load up in the SUV, us in the back, Savage in the front with Adrian. Kace pulls me close, his hand possessively on my leg, but he’s not looking at me or speaking to anyone. I’m not sure what to with that. Clearly picking up on Kace’s mood, Savage operates outside his normal boisterous style. He doesn’t say a word.