A Wicked Song

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  His mouth crashes down on mine and there is fire and torment in his kiss. There is hunger. There is so much hunger. Hunger that stirs hunger. I reach for his T-shirt, finding hot, taut skin over rippling muscle. He tugs it over his head and reaches for my blouse and soon his mouth and hands are all over my naked breasts and nipples. It’s a frenzy of touching, kissing. Needing. One minute we’re dressed. The next we’re both naked, no taking turns this time.

  In a blur of passion, we are on the couch. He is sitting against the cushion and I am on top of him, straddling him, sliding down the hard length of him, the Hudson River at my back, the man I know I’m falling in love with in front of me. I roll forward, resting my good hand on his shoulder, while his hand is on my head, dragging my mouth to his, dragging me into the heady rush of his kiss.

  He caresses a path up my spine, fingers splaying between my shoulders, molding me close, the sway of our hips soft and sultry, sensations rocking my body. This is not just sex. This is everything. This is about this bond I share with this man that changes the way two people feel when they are naked. I know this now. I didn’t know before I met Kace.

  Somewhere amid the passion, the hunger shifts and becomes more demanding. I lean back, I ride him, and he watches me, his hot stare all over my body, my breasts. The taut, intense, aroused look on his face empowers me, but while I would rock and ride, he folds me into him, against him, and rolls us to our sides, molding my hips to his hips, and we end in pants and shivers. For long moments, we lay there until I feel the sticky dampness between my legs.

  My lashes pop open. “Kace, I’ve only been on the pill a few days. We didn’t use a condom.”

  He grabs a tissue from the table behind me and slides it between my legs, replacing himself with it, but he stays right here with me. He settles me on my back and him half on top of me. “It’s been days.”

  “One day, Kace.”

  “You’re not pregnant, baby.” He strokes the hair from my eyes. “Do you want kids?”

  “I cannot, I will not bring a child into this world only to tell him or her to hide and look over their shoulder. I can’t do that. I saw how it tormented my mother.”

  “Any child of ours wouldn’t have to hide. I wouldn’t allow that.”

  Our child.

  The words do funny things to my belly.

  “They’d be my ancestry, Kace. We can’t change the risk that comes with that.”

  “But we can. And we will.” He doesn’t give me time to debate. He sits up and takes me with him. “I want to play something for you.” A few minutes later, we’re back to sharing his clothes. He’s in his pants. I’m in his shirt, sitting on the piano bench and he’s holding his violin. “The song your father and I wrote together that I have never played for anyone.”

  His bow begins to move and the magic of his skill and his instrument fills the air. My hand balls at my chest where emotions well. I swear I am instantly back in that field of daisies with my father, the bow in my own hand. I shut my eyes and listen to the song that is a mix of delicacy and fierceness, the same mix of delicacy and fierceness my father called our family. It’s magical and unbidden, tears leak from my eyes and water my cheeks. I can feel my father in the music. I can feel Kace. I can feel my family, my history, my loves and losses, my laughter, and joy.

  When the song is over, I’m standing in front of Kace when he lowers his instrument and his bow. I step to him and wrap my arms around him, tilting my chin up to look at him. “No one plays a Stradivarius the way you play a Stradivarius. I understand what my father meant. You are one with the instrument, a part of it, a part of us. You are the one true daisy in the wind.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The next morning, I wake to Kace’s violin, and with a smile on my face, slippers on my feet, and a pink silk robe to my knees, I head downstairs. Kace is shirtless in sweatpants and for a few minutes, I just stand on the stairs, leaning over the banister, drinking in the sight of his tattooed muscular body, his gorgeous everything, really, while luxuriating in his music. He never looks up, but I know he knows I’m here.

  A few minutes later, I head to the kitchen and make coffee. When the pot is done, he joins me and it feels like the making of a routine. Of course, I won’t be here forever, but for now, it’s wonderful.

  “Some women would have a problem with me playing in the mornings,” he says accepting the cup of steaming brew I offer him.

  “Smart women would kill to watch you half-naked playing that violin. And I consider myself quite smart right about now. I love it.”

  His eyes burn. “You love it?”

  “I do,” I say freely, sipping my coffee. “Very much, Kace.”

  “I’m glad you do.”

  We sit at the island and review the pictures of the Fetzer violin on my MacBook, both of us studying them in great detail. “It looks good, Kace. It really does.”

  “I’ll talk to Nix.” He grabs his phone and makes the call. A few minutes later, he says, “The lead came to him from a friend of a friend because they knew I was his client. He can’t vouch for our seller, but he’ll help Walker look into him. I’m shooting Blake a text.” He keys in the message and sets his phone down. “We couldn’t even think about going for a few weeks. Not with the California events coming up. Can you buy us time?”

  “He wants this violin to go to you, Kace. He wants the perfect buyer which I’m trying not to think of as convenient. Or too good to be true. You are Kace August. And bottom line: we just need to tell him when we’ll be there.”

  “We’re getting Walker involved. In the meantime, ask when in November or December he can see us.”

  “Okay.” I type a message to the attorney who sent me the photos. “Done.” I close my computer and sip my coffee.

  “Do you have a passport?”

  “Believe it or not I do. My mother believed we needed an escape route out of the country. I know it’s not a logical move for a woman who wouldn’t even get a driver’s license, but it was nevertheless just what she did.”

  “Then we’re set for Italy and Paris.”

  “I can’t believe I might really do this.”

  “But you are,” he says.

  “Maybe,” I say, and I don’t miss the wistful quality in my voice. “It would be crazy to see my home again but painful. Good and bad memories. You know?”

  “I do know. You know I know. I was in Greece when I found out about my sister. I’ve never been back.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “The charity work you do must be hard at times. It must drudge up painful memories of her.”

  "Yeah, but I didn’t save her. I owe her this and more.”

  I rotate more in his direction. “You were a kid. You couldn’t have saved her. You know that, right?”

  “I’m past most of the blame but I knew she was a troubled soul. A good soul, too. Really sweet to the core. She wanted to tattoo because she wanted to express herself artistically like I do. Sadly, Chris could have helped her get a real start, but she was gone when I met him.”

  “You two have a crazy amount in common.”

  “More than you know. His ex-girlfriend, who took her own life, was a tattoo artist.”

  I shiver and run my hands over my arms. “Okay. I just got a chill.”

  “I know. It’s insane. You can see how Chris and I connected.”

  “I can and Sara is pretty wonderful.”

  “Is that right? I didn’t realize you got to know her.”

  “She dove right into the friendship thing. She gave me advice about you, about being with men like you and Chris.”

  He arches a brow. “Like—me and Chris? Meaning what?”

  “Larger than life, Kace. I know you know that’s who you are.”

  “I’m just a man, baby.”

  “That’s what Sara said.”

  “I think I need you to spend more time with Sara. What else did she s
ay?”

  “She said not to question, ‘why me?’ Because there was only one answer. The answer Chris gives her.”

  “Because you’re you, Aria.”

  “Yes,” I say softly. “But you know it’s because you’re you, too.”

  He catches my hands and kisses it, his expression softening, his knuckles brushing my cheek. “Aria, I—”

  His cellphone rings where it sits on the counter next to him and he inhales. “Bad timing,” he says, glancing at the number. “And it’s Jenny, who always means well.”

  “Who loves you,” I say, sipping my coffee, but I burn to know what he was about to say.

  “Morning, Jenny,” he greets, answering the call. He listens a minute and glances in my direction as he says, “Yes. She’s here.”

  And now she knows I stayed the night, I think, but I’m pretty sure she knew anyway, so I just go with it. “Morning, Jenny,” I call out.

  Kace winks at me. “Tomorrow night? Hold on.” He covers the phone. “Tomorrow’s Halloween, which I’d forgotten. She wants to know if we’ll come help hand out cookies to the kids, and then we’ll go next door to her favorite diner and eat instead of doing brunch Sunday. They’re headed to the Hamptons.”

  “It sounds like fun,” I say. “I’d love that.” He returns to the call. “We’ll be there. Yes. Yes. I’ll keep her. If she lets me.” He hangs up. “She’s very excited that you’re coming.”

  “I’m excited, too, but that means more cookies. If I keep eating like we’ve been eating, I’m going to need a new wardrobe. I need to workout.”

  “I workout before I play in the morning. Why don’t you get up with me in the morning?”

  “I’d like that,” I say.

  He stands and helps me off my stool. “Let’s go shower and I want to show you something on the way.”

  That something is a rectangle-shaped den-style office upstairs. A modern stainless steel and gray half-moon-shaped desk sits center stage as you enter and to the left is an extended room with rows and rows of books framing two cozy-looking gray chairs to the left.

  He leans on the desk. “You think you can make this work for an office? I know you have business to attend to and that you’re eager to dive into that Riptide offer Mark and Crystal made you. I saw it in your face.”

  “Kace, Mark, and Crystal know who I am.”

  “I know that, which is why I want you to see this.” He snags his phone from his pocket punching keys before he hands it to me.

  I glance at the screen to find a contract. My brows dip and my eyes jerk to his. “This is your power of attorney. Why am I looking at your power of attorney? You are not allowed to die.”

  He laughs. “I don’t intend to. Look at who it’s assigned to.”

  Reluctantly, I eye the document, and then once again my gaze jerks to his. “Mark has your power of attorney?”

  “I trust him and I travel too much not to have someone in place. He knows how to manage financial assets, and he won’t kill me off for my money. He has his own. And if I were to die, he knows who to take care of and how. My point is, I trust him quite literally with my life.”

  “As much as you are worth, some believe I possess a priceless jewel in that formula.”

  “He won’t burn you and neither will Crystal.” He snags my hip and walks me to him, fitting my legs to his. “I know it’s hard to get used to, but you now have a circle of trust filled with friends.”

  “It’s hard to think of that as a real possibility.”

  “It’ll take time and trust is earned.”

  “Trust is earned,” I repeat, and my mind goes to that exchange with Alexander.

  And it’s still on my mind when we head to the master bathroom. Kace reaches for my robe. I press my hand to his, flatten it on my hip.

  “Kace, I need to bring up something awkward.”

  “There’s no such thing as awkward between us. Tell me.”

  “Did you hear what Alexander said to me that day at the shop?”

  There’s a slight hardening of his jaw. “I heard enough.”

  “I told him not to tell me anything.”

  “I know that.”

  “But he did blurt something out. I feel like I should tell you what he said.”

  “What’s between us is between us, not us and Alexander. I don’t want to know.” He turns me, and drags the silk of my robe down my shoulders, tossing it away, and leaving me naked. I am always so naked with this man.

  The next thing I know, I’m in the shower, pressed against the wall, with him buried inside me, and this is not making love. It’s fucking, wild, wicked, wonderful fucking, but it’s fucking. And this is about his secrets. The ones he says will make me run. The ones he says he knows he has to tell me but he’s clearly just not ready.

  But I’m going to have to be. That is clear.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It’s almost ten when I settle in behind the desk in my new office space, my hair smelling like flowers from a perfumed shampoo and conditioner I found in the bags of things Kace bought me. Instead of work attire, I’m in clothes Kace bought for me: a comfy, but figure-hugging pair of black jeans and a teal sweater that I’ve paired with ridiculously expensive but amazing knee-high boots. The outfit feels like fall and fall is here based on the chilly temperatures outside. I love the fall. I used to love the holidays and if Gio wasn’t missing, I think I’d look forward to this season.

  I’ve just keyed my MacBook to life when Kace appears in the doorway. He’s freshly shaven in a brown snug T-shirt, with snug faded jeans and biker boots, his dark hair a bit messed up. He looks way better than fall. He looks like everything I ever wanted in a man and didn’t know I wanted until I met him.

  “Mark called,” he says. “He wants to talk. He wants to meet for coffee, just me and him.”

  “About me,” I assume.

  “He didn’t say as much, but I assume so, of course.”

  “Are you going to tell him who I am?”

  “He knows, baby. You know he knows.”

  “He thinks he knows. Are you going to tell him?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  I hesitate, but only a moment. “Whatever feels right. You have my blessing.”

  He pushes off the doorjamb and rounds the desk, leaning over to kiss me. “I’ll play it by ear. How’s your hand?”

  “Good. Really good.” I rotate my chair toward him and indicate my bandages. “I think I can move to a large Band-Aid now.”

  “I’ll grab you some. I need to run to the bank, too. I’ll call you on my way back and bring lunch.” He kisses me again and heads for the door.

  “A salad,” I call after him. “I can’t keep eating pasta and cookies.”

  He pauses at the door and winks. “A salad or I can help you work off some pasta.” He doesn’t give me time to reply. He heads out of the door.

  “You and salad!” I call out. “We’re having cookies tomorrow.”

  “A salad!” he calls back. “I promise.”

  I’m smiling when I dive into my work and start scouring the data Crystal has sent me. She was right when she said that I’d be pleased. There are a lot of items beyond wine to sell and a lot of money to be made. If Ed buys all the wine, it will be lucrative. Enough to pay my bills and pay for part of Walker, if not all. Okay, probably part of Walker. My mortgage was technically due a week ago. I’d really feel more secure if I paid for it and I suspect they are quite expensive.

  For now, that wine makes my first order of business Ed. I dial his number and he answers on the first ring.

  “Aria,” he greets. “Your follow-up to our last meeting is surprisingly slow.”

  I glance at my bandaged hand and use it for what it’s worth. “I tried to slice the top of my hand off. Fortunately, I failed. And fortunately, I’m coming back strong. I managed to gain access to a healthy list of collectible wines.”

  “Am I bidding
against Alexander Voss?”

  “No, you are not, but this is a contract through an auction house. I have to bring in a price that makes skipping the auction process worthwhile.”

  He doesn’t mince words. “Okay then. When can we meet?”

  “When do you want to meet?”

  “Now. I’m in my office at my apartment.”

  “I’m actually around the corner, but I’m not dressed in work attire. If you can live with that, I can head over.”

  “Bring the wine list,” he says. “And I don’t give two cents about business attire.” We disconnect and I dial Savage.

  “Aria,” he greets.

  “I have to run to a client’s offices around the corner. I’m new to this bodyguard thing. I know you said to text you, but I just text and go? It’s okay?”

  “Do your thing. We’ll do ours. Just text us a heads-up on your way out of the door. We have a team watching you.”

  I blink. “A team?”

  “Yes, a team.”

  “I was right,” I murmur. “You’re expensive.”

  “But we rock your world in all the right ways. Text us the address where we’re headed, then when the price is right, come on down.” He says it like I’m on a game show.

  “You have a strange sense of humor, Savage.”

  “Thank you, Aria. Come on down.” He hangs up.

  I text Kace: Going by that client’s place right around the corner to try to sell the wine list Crystal gave me. Savage knows.

  Good luck, baby, he replies. Text me your news.

  I stare down at his message and then type: I appreciate so much right now that you didn’t tell me to be careful.

  He calls me. “I wanted to,” he says when I answer.

  “You wanted to?”

  “Hell yes. It took all I had not to say it. I know Walker says you’re safe, but I’m worried. In case you didn’t notice, you matter to me.”

  My chest does this fluttery thing. “You matter to me, too, Kace.” I sound breathless.

  “Good. Call me after your meeting and maybe we can just meet for lunch.”