Page 69 of Synced to Us

“I’ll show you.”

Turning my back on Mason, I lift my hands and belt out a few notes. Mason gives a few pointers, coming up behind me and humming a few new keys. I like the changes and so does he. He doesn’t have a clue where the melody has come from or why, but he helps me form the corporeal body and soul of Dee with each simple suggestion. I scribble on her music chart, using treble clefs where I didn’t before.

Mason ends up grabbing his bass guitar and we add another layer. For the first time in a long while, we jam, falling into old times, and I spend the rest of the night debating the verse, chorus, and bridge with him, pretending the music is the source of my frustration, and not the muse.

26

Dee

Leave it to Wyn to be running late and not the other way around.

Can you come up? his text says after my car slows in front of McKenna and Mason’s building. Almost ready but need your opinion.

My cheeks tic with an almost-smile at the thought of Wyn turning this way and that in front of a floor-length mirror that can barely contain his size. I’d sent him a text a couple of days earlier with the black tie requirements, hoping he’d get his suits tailored in time. There is no way he could borrow from a lanky Mason.

“I’ll be a moment,” I say to the driver and push open the back door.

The hem of my scarlet red dress whispers against the concrete as I make my way to the building’s lobby, the multitude of skirts flowing in the wind. The breeze picks up the pieces of hair I’d left down, tickling my bare shoulders and back.

The sensation makes me think of Wyn’s fingers trailing down my skin, tracing my spine, and squeezing my ass to drive himself deeper. I have to blink away the sudden assault of delectable images before a flush reaches my cheeks.

Arthur, the complex’s doorman, knows me on sight and nods his hello as I breeze through the doors.

“You’re looking beautiful, Miss Sparrow,” he says. I smile my thanks over my shoulder, keeping my steps smooth and giving no indication my heart’s beating out of my chest.

Unbelievable, how four days without Wyn has come to this. I’m actually nervous to see the man all dressed up and groomed for a formal event. Would he slick his hair back? Or tie it at the nape of his neck? Would he be clean-shaven or scruffy? I imagine the sweet friction of his rough face that reddens my chin, swells my lips, and adds a velvet touch when he moves his head down and finds my—

No.

Daydreaming about Wyn is a dumb waste of time. After tonight, our agreement is largely over, save for a few well-timed phone calls in front of Dennis. Then, it’s up to me whether I want to “end” our engagement amicably while still preventing Dennis from screwing up our latest client, Emerald Spin. The alternative is spending a few more months pretending Wyn’s mine. There aren’t any more firm functions coming up, not until Christmas, and to keep Wyn that long would be the largest span of time I’ve been with a man, whether it be a client or personal. And my heart…

Well, for once, it can’t handle that kind of trickery.

What about Wyn’s family? How will he break it to them? Poor May will be heartbroken. Lucy, too.

Doesn’t matter. What Wyn decides is his business, especially with how he wants to approach his finances. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want me involved.

So STOP making it personal.

My conflicted thoughts bring me one step away from Wyn’s door. I start, wondering how I traveled thirty floors on autopilot. It must still be engaged because I knock before thinking, too.

The door swings open, revealing Wyn in tuxedo pants and…nothing else.

Holy. My. I swallow as subtly as I can so not to show the sheer astonishment that comes from seeing a large, bare-chested, glistening man with damp hair and a line of stubble framing his square jaw.

My nipples peak.

Wyn stiffens in the doorframe, his gaze raking over me. His lips tighten. His knuckles turn white against the door. Eventually, he grits out, “You look gorgeous, gorgeous.”

I aim for an unaffected nod. “Thank you.”

He seems to remember himself and lurches back. “Come in.”

“So what’s the problem?” I spin to face him once I step inside. My skirts float with my movement. Wyn seems mesmerized by the way they settle back against my body.

Could it be? Was Wyn missing my touch as much as I’ve felt empty without his?

“I, uh, couldn’t figure out what color tie to wear.”

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