When he made a frustrated sound and leaned down to speak against her ear, Mel could only hold her breath, the room pausing around her. “I’m grateful for the way you feel about me, Mel. It’s a beautiful thing. But . . . ah . . .” He seemed to search for the right words. “Now it’s my turn to point out how we were raised. To keep things quiet. Private. I was taught that trusting people, even friends, could ultimately hurt my family, so I’ve probably taken my privacy too far. My romantic life . . . my sex life, I should say . . .” He exhaled hard. “It’s something I keep separate from everything. Everyone.”
Melody’s world shrunk down into that moment, like she’d gone from his big, noisy ballroom to huddling under a blanket fort with him in the dark. What exactly did he mean? How did he keep his romantic life separate? “Beat—”
Trumpets.
So many trumpets blared at once.
They went off in every corner of the ballroom, making it impossible to talk. To hear.
Beat’s lips twisted wryly, mouthing a single word.
Octavia.
Mel quarter turned just in time to watch her mother’s former bandmate enter the ballroom to thunderous applause.
On a throne.
Being carried by four large men dressed as swans.
Chapter Eleven
Beat’s fucking heart was pumping in his throat.
He’d come so close to telling Melody everything. What would have been her reaction? He found himself craving it, even as he stuffed the information back down into its box, sealing the lid shut with a blowtorch. Every eye in the ballroom was on the spectacle taking place in front of them, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Melody to save the world.
Beat, my attraction to you isn’t your responsibility.
Christ, his body disagreed. Vehemently.
His fingertips had no purpose because they hadn’t traced that collarbone. Or the soft swell of her tits. He wanted to drag a hand up her throat, bury it in her hair, and beg her . . .
To withhold pleasure from him.
Until he was fucking shaking.
He wanted to take her into a dark corner and kiss her mouth while she stroked the front of his trousers, but never let him come. It would feel incredible. That wouldn’t be happening, though. He’d been keeping his interests behind closed doors since he turned sixteen.
What would happen if he told her, though? I enjoy being brought to the brink of pleasure and left there. That he refused to let himself be completely vulnerable with anyone—at least at the end of the act? What would she say? What if she trusted him enough to go there with him?
God, she might.
But two things were holding him back. One, he was keeping the blackmail a secret from her. Touching Melody without full honesty between them . . . bothered him. A lot. And two, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold a goddamn thing back from Melody in bed. She wouldn’t just be another partner. There could . . . no, there would be something deeper and more meaningful here than his usual hookup. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to let go with someone like that. Completely. Start to finish. Could he even go there considering the secret he was keeping from her?
Until he figured it out, he needed to keep Melody at a proper distance.
A feat that was growing harder by the second.
And they would be spending a lot more time together.
Beat dragged a hand down his face, lifting it to return a wave from his mother. Despite the golden mask she was wearing, he didn’t miss the way Octavia tilted her head, pinning Melody with an analyzing look. Like she was searching for a resemblance to Trina. Or maybe Octavia was simply stunned to see Melody’s back pressed to his chest, Beat’s hands on her waist. He forcibly stepped back now, suffering through Melody’s resulting shiver.
They weren’t on a date. He needed to stop acting like they were.
Feeling like they were.
Beat’s dates were usually private and had more of a transactional nature.
Finally, the trumpets died down and his mother was helped from her throne by one of the human swans. She noticed the camera hovering at the edge of the dance floor and gave an exaggerated eye roll, before smiling conspiratorially at her rapt audience. “Let the party commence,” she purred, eliciting whistles and applause from the crowd. Someone handed her a glass of champagne in a special golden goblet and off she went, working the crowd like a fairy granting audiences to commoners.
The ballroom eased back into motion, crowds gathering around high-top tables, other couples making their way out onto the dance floor. Now that Octavia had made her entrance, the lights were gradually dimming and the classical music was being replaced with a sexier beat to inspire dancing. Even early in the evening, guests were happy to oblige.
Melody turned, blinking up at him. “Wow. Your mother really just rolled up into this joint like Cleopatra.”
Beat chuckled, a sense of camaraderie he rarely allowed himself to experience making his ribs expand.
Shit. He liked Melody. A lot. And he could tell she wanted to dig into the conversation they’d been having before his mother arrived. It was right there in the slight pinch of her brow. But he wasn’t surprised that she could read his reticence to return there. They had a way of communicating without words.
They shifted at the same time. Regrouped.
“Where is your father?” she asked.
“He waits until the fanfare dies down and then he slips in through the side door, holding a brandy snifter and wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater he can find.”
“You’re joking. Does your mother hate it?”
“On the contrary. She loves it.”
Melody gasped. “Why?”
Beat shrugged. “He lets her shine.”
Whoa. His voice came very close to catching on that last word. It wasn’t unusual for him to talk about the love he had for his parents. But their happiness wasn’t usually hanging in the balance. Or resting on his shoulders, as it were, along with the truth that could destroy them as a family.
As if on cue, his phone started vibrating in his pocket. Of course, it could be his friends watching the live stream and wanting to pepper him with questions, which would only be natural. Intuition told Beat his blackmailer was calling, though. He always seemed to find the most inopportune moments to take a swing at him—and this would definitely be one of them—the gala benefiting the charity he and his parents put so much work and love into.
“Hey, Beat!” called a familiar voice as they passed on the dance floor.
He tore his eyes off Melody and waved at Ursula Paige, an up-and-coming opera singer and one of their past scholarship recipients. “Ursula.” He nodded, quickly shaking hands with the performer’s date. “Happy Holidays. Nice to see you both.”
“I would say it’s nice to see you, too, but . . .” Ursula pulled out her phone and shook it around a little. “I’ve been seeing you. All over the damn place.”
“Right.” Beat breathed a laugh, settled a hand on Melody’s back. “Then I guess you’ve met my . . .” His what? The sentence trailed off into silence, three sets of ears waiting for him to finish. His friend? His costar? His . . . what? “My Melody,” he said, trying to laugh off the blunder.
No one said anything for long, torturous seconds. Melody looked down at her dress.