Page 1 of Prickly Romance

PROLOGUE

SAZUKI

Blindingstreaks of light blast through the windshield, spinning crazily as the car careens across the road.

In the driver’s seat, Akira fights for control of the steering wheel.

A sickening crunch fills the air just as my entire body rattles.

The car falls still.

“Are you alright?” Akira asks, looking over her shoulder at me.

I nod.

Behind us, doors open and slam shut. Moments later, my protection team surrounds the car.

“I am fine,” I say, calming them before they can ask.

“I did not expect a deer to come running across the road.” Akira takes out her phone. “The car is damaged and you do not seem well. I will let Alistair know we cannot attend the gala.”

I ease out of the car, ignoring my aching neck caused from whiplash. “I gave my word. I must be at the gala tonight.”

Akira seems displeased, but she makes the call.

On the way to the event, I bend my fingers and release.

There is no pain.

Not even an ache.

But I am still on edge when I take the elevator and even as we walk closer to the banquet hall.

What would I have done if my hands were injured?

The sound of rich, decadent notes lures me from my thoughts. I stop in the middle of the hallway to listen. The player is not well-versed and yet there is something about the way they interpret the song. It is infused with feeling, a raw, unvarnished composition that’s as arresting as it is unsettling.

“Sir?” My team is waiting for me.

I move into the banquet hall.

Inside, the beautifully dressed crowd is silent. All gazes are affixed to the woman on stage. She is small, dark, and pouring her heart out on the piano.

My piano.

As I watch her—eyes closed and face enraptured, my body recoils. It feels as though she is placing those hot, passionate fingers on my heart. I do not care for the way my pulse quivers. Nor do I care for the burn—a prickly sensation that reminds me I am more than the unfeeling man I have become.

My steps remain strong and sure as I storm to the front of the room along with my team.

At first, we are unnoticed. But it does not take long for a stir of whispers and startled eyes to catch sight of us.

I cross the stage.

My team forms a circle around me and the piano.

The woman’s hands freeze on the black and white keys. She stares at me, fear written in the depths of her big brown eyes.

“W-who are you?”

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