Page 28 of Soul Food

He shrugged. “I can tell by your expression. You know it too. Sometimes, your body warns you about someone. Other times, you just know in here.” He tapped on his head. His words gave me chills adding to my confusion about Amit. Liam’s serious expression didn’t help things.

“Ruth.” My skin prickled even more when I heardhisvoice right next to us. Liam glared at him openly, but when I glanced up at Amit, his expression was equally dark and disgusted as he focused on Liam.

“Come on, Liam,” Pete said, pulling at his bandmate. It was crazy the way Pete and Steve kept observing Amit. “We’ll catch you later, Ruth.” They walked away, and I was left alone with the president of Black Hearts.

“What was that about?” I asked the moment the fellas were gone. My stomach was in knots, but I was confused and I didn’t like the feeling.

He finally seemed to notice me in the dress, letting his eyes slowly travel over me in the process. His stare lingered on my indecent amount of cleavage before dropping to the slit in my dress. “It was nothing.” His tone was growly like he was pissed.

My stomach dipped into lava becoming a flurry of tingles between my thighs. Amit Kingston had blatantly ogled me, and my body was so responsive to him.

I didn’t believe Amit as he continued scowling in the direction the band took. There was even a slight look of malice on his face. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, his eyes raking over me again.

Heat burned low in my belly. Despite the begrudging look, I felt exposed—more than the scanty job the dress was doing. It was like Amit was undressing me in his head. It was a familiar feeling, but one I hated. I also hated myself for being aroused by this man.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I examined the side of his face until he smoothed out his jacket with his large hands even though nothing was out of place about him except for his hair. His dark strands was out of sync with the rest of him, so unruly, while everything else about him was impeccable. Unlike The Oppressors, Amit was dressed to impress. Even though he wore a suit like every other man in the room, he stood out. “I make donations every year.”

“But this is the only one you’ve attended. You hate how boring these events are.” He stuffed his hands in his pocket.

How did he know that?

My fingernails dug into my palms as I closed my hands into fists. “I guess you’re required to know who attends every year and those who don’t?” Then I tilted my head to the side. “And I don’t find them boring,” I lied only because he unnerved me with how much he seemed to know about me.

“If you say so.” He sighed disapprovingly. “Do you want to sing for them?” He gestured his long, masculine fingers toward the people here, but I already knew what he meant.

My heart stirred because of his suggestion, not him. It was like the man knew what I liked most—singing for an audience being one of them.

Startled, I ran my hand across my chest. Hell, the gesture probably looked like I was rubbing my breasts—not an image I wanted to give this man when I was already daydreaming enough about him, aboutus.“I don’t think my music would be suited for such an event,” I said quickly.

He watched me for another long, uncomfortable moment before his gaze softened a little. “You have a mesmerizing voice and don’t show the true extent of it with the songs you sing.”

Wait… What?

Feeling offended, I flinched as my voice raised. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I meant.” He didn’t waver.

“I don’t think I do,” I told him. “If you have something against my music, then why have my back all these years? If I remember correctly, you were the one stopping bad press, creating new gossip, and shutting shit down when Dark Goddess rumors started running rampant.”

“I have no problem with your songs.” He stated matter-of-factly as he held his gaze firm with mine. “I happen to enjoy your wild style and beautiful performances. You tend to bury your voice inonlyyour signature style and hide your true energy though. Rapping is great and you own it, but you cover up a lot of talent with it.”

Did Amit just compliment me? All of my apprehension evaporated, and my mood lifted. He just voiced what I’ve spent the last few days thinking about. “I…” Glancing up at him, I wondered if I should even mention something so personal with a complete stranger. “Sometimes I want to try something new, but I’m terrified of people not liking it.”

A dark brow raised. “Do they have to like it?”

The president of Black Hearts was asking if I needed my fans to like my music. That was the equivalent of someone asking why you needed to wear a seatbelt in a moving vehicle. Amit was a businessman, he should understand what it meant if someone stopped producing the music their fans liked. You become a has-been, or you fizzle out like Liz James did.

“In the end, it’s the soul that matters,” he added. “Soul food.”

“Soul food?” I scrunched my nose.

“Food for the soul. It’s different for every one. Music is yours, Ruth.” He pulled a hand from his pocket and placed it on my shoulder. For such a big hand, he had a light touch. “I say make it happy.” He took a step, then another, and I knew he was about to walk away from me like he did before.

That throb between my thighs was present again, this time accompanied with a fuzzy, fluid warmth in my chest from our conversation.

“Amit,” I said breathlessly. He paused, tilted his head as he waited for me to go on. “What kind of song does my voice belong to?” That didn’t sound right. I shook my head. “What sound do you think my voice goes with?”

He revealed his teeth as his mouth curved upward, and it knocked me off-kilter. His smile was remarkable. So perfect on his evil face. “It doesn’t belong anywhere, yet it speaks to everything.”

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