Page 76 of Serving the Maestro

The ache in my chest swelled and threatened to explode.

“Trent,” I whispered.

He was already on his feet, coming to me.

Then I was in his arms, my face buried against his chest as the tears I’d been fighting finally fell. I could feel his heart pounding against my cheek, feel the strength of his arms around me, holding on so tight.

Finally, finally, I felt grounded again and connected to the world in a way I hadn’t since waking up Saturday morning to find myself in bed with a man who was all but a stranger.

Shudders wracked me. Trent pressed his lips to my temple and kissed me softly. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. I got you.”

Burrowing in closer, I clung to him. He hadn’t said anything, and I didn’t ask, but somehow, I knew he was aware of what had happened. Maybe I should be embarrassed or ashamed, but in that moment, I was just relieved to have him there. Relieved that I wasn’t alone.

“Don’t let go,” I said, burrowing in even closer. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

TRENT

Once I had Jazz inside her apartment, I scooped her up into my arms and carried her to the couch.

She cried, the sobs shaking her body, and I would have given anything to fix what was hurting her. I couldn’t. All I could do was hold her while she cried through the pain.

Pressing my lips to her temple, I murmured to her without thinking about the words. When she twisted in my arms, I let go.

Was she afraid now? Afraid to be touched after somebody had likely violated her?

But she twisted into me, throwing one leg over mine, so she straddled me. Her hands cupped my face and tugged until I met her eyes.

“Make me forget,” she whispered, pressing her mouth to mine. “Make it all go away for a little while.”

I was gripping her hips. I didn’t remember doing it, but the curves of her body, the heat, everything about her seduced me.

But...

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” As if to emphasize that single word, she shoved her hands into my hair and pulled hard, dragging my head to hers so she could press her mouth to mine.

The kiss she gave me was demanding, fervent with hunger and a blind need to lose herself.

It was the sort of kiss I’d never had from a woman—the demand in it one I’d never expected to find myself responding to.

Pushing up her skirt, I closed my hands over her hips, the sparse layer of her panties an unwanted barrier. Sliding my fingers under the lacy edges along her legs, I whispered, “We should take these off.”

She kissed a line down my neck. “I don’t want to stop touching you to do it.”

The butterfly caresses as she brushed her mouth along my neck were so light, so gentle. How could such a soft touch be so damn arousing?

Shoving my hand into her hair, I fisted and tugged. Her eyes burned with an inner fire as she met my gaze.

“Make me forget,” she said again. Then she kissed me, her lips hungry on mine—but only for a moment. She slid from my lap to kneel on the floor in front of me, her fingers nimble on the buttons of my shirt as she freed each from their moorings, one by one.

I released her hair and caught hold of the couch cushions beneath me, heart hammering against my ribs.

She pressed a kiss to my chest with every button she freed, painting a trail down my body that blazed hotter with every touch. She stopped when she reached my waistband, her path now blocked by my belt and jeans.

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