King of Pride (Kings of Sin, #2)(13)

Yesterday, I’d played like no one was watching. Today, I played like the whole world was watching, except it wasn’t the whole world. It was one man.

I finished the étude, frustration chafing beneath my skin. Kai watched me without a word, his expression unreadable save for a tiny pinch between his brows.

“You distracted me,” I said before he could state the obvious.

The pinch loosened, revealing a glimmer of amusement. “How so?”

“You know how.”

The amusement deepened. “I was merely sitting. I didn’t say or do a single thing.”

“You’re sitting too close.” I cast a pointed glance at the sliver of black leather seating between us.

“It’s an obvious intimidation tactic.”

“Ah, yes. The secret art of sitting too closely. I should contact the CIA and inform them of this groundbreaking tactic.”

“Ha ha,” I grumbled, my ego too bruised to make way for humor. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be instead of bothering an innocent bystander?”

“I have many other places to be.” A brief light illuminated the shadows in his eyes. “But I chose to be here.”

His words sank into my bones, dousing the flames of my disgruntlement.

The light flared, then died, submerged once again beneath pools of darkness. “How did you learn to play so well?” Kai switched topics so abruptly my brain scrambled to catch up. “Most obligatory childhood lessons don’t cover such difficult pieces.”

Pieces of memories spilled into my consciousness. A golden afternoon here, an evening performance there.

I kept them locked in a box whenever I could, but Kai’s question pried it open with distressingly low effort.

“My father was a music teacher. He could play everything. The violin, the cello, the flute.” A familiar ache crept into my throat. “But the piano was his first love, and he taught us from a young age. My mom wasn’t a music person, and I think he wanted someone else in the family who could connect with it the way he did.”

Vignettes from my childhood floated to the surface. My dad’s deep, patient voice guiding me through the scales. My mom taking me shopping for a new dress and my family crowding in the living room for my first “recital.” I’d stumbled a few times, but everyone pretended I hadn’t.

Afterward, my father swept me up in a huge hug, whispered how proud he was of me, and took all of us out for ice cream sundaes. He’d bought me a special triple scoop of chocolate fudge brownie, and I remembered thinking life couldn’t possibly get any better than that moment.

I blinked back a telltale sting in my eyes. I hadn’t cried in public since my dad’s funeral, and I refused to start again now.

“ ‘Us.’ You and your siblings?” Kai prompted gently. I didn’t know why he was so interested in my background, but once I started talking, I couldn’t stop.

“Yes.” I swallowed the swell of memories and marshaled my emotions into some semblance of order. “I have four older brothers. They went along with the piano lessons to make our dad happy, but I was the only one who truly enjoyed them. That was why he let them off the hook after they learned the basics but continued teaching me.”

I didn’t want to be a professional pianist. Never had, never will. There was a special magic in loving something without capitalizing on it, and I was comforted by the idea that there was at least one thing in my life I could turn to with no expectations, pressures, or guilt.

“What about you?” I lightened my tone. “Do you have any siblings?”

I knew little about Kai despite his family’s notoriety. For people who’d built their fortune on dissecting the lives of others, they were notoriously private themselves.

“I have a younger sister, Abigail. She lives in London.”

“Right.” An image of a female version of Kai—cool, elegant, and decked out head to toe in tasteful designer clothing—flashed through my mind. “Let me guess. You both also took piano lessons growing up, along with violin, French, tennis, and Mandarin.”

Kai’s lips curved. “Are we that predictable?”

“Most rich people are.” I shrugged. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said wryly. “There’s nothing more flattering than being called predictable.”

He shifted in his seat, and our knees brushed. Lightly, so lightly it barely counted as a touch, but every cell in my body tensed like I’d been electrocuted.

Kai stilled. He didn’t move his knee, and I didn’t breathe, and we were tossed back to the beginning of the night, when the latch of his arms around my waist conjured all sorts of inappropriate thoughts and fantasies.

Tangling tongues. Sweat-slicked skin. Dark groans and breathy pleas.

The point of contact between us burned, taking our easy banter and condensing it into something heavier. More dangerous.

A blanket of static settled over my skin. I was suddenly, intensely aware of how we would look to anyone walking in. Two people crowded on the same bench, so close our breaths merged into one. A deceptively intimate portrait of rules broken and propriety discarded.

That was how it felt. In reality, we weren’t doing anything wrong, but I was more exposed in that moment than if I were standing naked in the middle of Fifth Avenue.