Page 13 of Serving the Maestro

My heart knocked against my ribs as he reached up and tugged his scarf loose, revealing his face—his familiar face. It wasn’t Burton.

No. It was the hot guy I’d been flirting with at the bar.

“No,” he said, his voice as warm and smooth as I remembered. “Although I can’t say I’m sorry to see you.”

I backed up a step.

His lips twitched in a cynical smile as he reached into a pocket.

My chest hurt. I sucked in air and realized that I’d stopped breathing at some point. As I gasped in another breath, he pulled out a keyring and gestured at a door—the one right next to mine. Apartment 1410.

“I just moved in,” he said, his expression neutral. “I thought I’d mentioned earlier that I’m in town for business for the next few months.”

My face burned hot with embarrassment as he unlocked the door. “Oh.”

I couldn’t seem to manage anything else, even a lame apology.

“Good night.” He stepped inside and closed the door, not once looking my way.

Feeling like an idiot, I moved to apartment 1412 and unlocked it.

I hurried inside and bolted the door. My mind was racing. Could all this be a coincidence or was this...hot guy stalking me?

FIVE

TRENT

Although I was still adjusting to the eastern time zone, I woke feeling refreshed.

It probably had something to do with the hot and highly sexual dreams centered around my neighbor—dreams of her naked, except for the scarf I’d been wearing. Draped around her neck, hiding her tits as she sucked my cock, but then, I used the scarf to bind her arms as she bent over in front of me.

Once I’d had her bound, I’d fucked her until she begged me to stop—then begged me not to.

As a result, I’d woken up with a raging hard-on and enjoyed some self-satisfaction.

The music score whispered in the back of my mind by the time I finished showering.

Maybe this change of scenery was all the inspiration I’d needed.

It could be New York in general or the sexy woman next door who’d looked at me last night with slight terror in her eyes mingled with lingering hesitation.

I should probably be more worried by the terror I’d glimpsed in her eyes. I wasn’t, though. I didn’t get off on terror or anything. It was understandable—she was a single woman, and it was kind of weird how we’d been at the theater and was staying in the same building where she lived.

The fear faded pretty fast, and I forced myself to leave before I ended up lost in her big, blue—purple eyes.

One thought had dominated my brain—she hadn’t brought the asshole home or gone with him. Somehow that made me feel good.

I needed to know more about her.

What she liked. What did she do for a living?

And maybe her name.

* * *

“You mean Ms. Moors?”

The doorman glanced around before accepting the hand I offered—and the fifty-dollar bill.

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