Page 3 of Claimed By Desire

“I was playing loudly.”

“Not that loudly.” He nods at the piano. “Play more for me.”

I let out a bitter, exasperated laugh. Who the hell does this guy think he is, breaking into my apartment, peeping on me while I’m mostly naked, and now commanding me to play?

And the sickest part of all this is, this is the best conversation I’ve had since coming to France.

“Let me get dressed at least,” I say through gritted teeth, shaking my head at the sheer balls on this guy.

“Go ahead.”

“Look away, asshole.”

“I just spent the last five minutes studying your naked body. What’s it matter?”

Five minutes? Jesus fucking H Christ. I turn red with mortification, which only makes him grin even more.

Screw it. I pull my shirt on, aware that he’s getting a nice show of my breasts, but at least I’m totally covered now. I grab the shorts and yank them on, making sure to face him so he doesn’t get to ogle my ass while I do it.

Dressed, mostly, I feel more emboldened.

Though I’m way too aware of my extremely hard nipples. And Alex is too—his eyes move to my chest and he doesn’t look away for several long moments.

“I want to know why my dad sent you,” I say finally, awkwardly crossing my arms.

He turns his gaze back to the piano. “And I want to hear you play more.”

“What is with your obsession right now?”

“It was sad,” he says and looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

I feel stunned and raw. I don’t know why—it’s not like he offered up some deep and moving interpretation of my music—but for some reason, those simple words threaten to break me.

Because he’s right.

Iamsad.

Not in some facile, childish way.

But a deep, terrible sadness, a gray and empty and cold sadness. The sort of sadness that makes everything feel slow, lifeless, and boring.

Except for music.

And except for the way he’s looking at me right now.

Maybe I’m desperate for human interaction, or maybe the last year in relative isolation has totally and completely broken my brain, but I walk over to the bench and slowly sit back down.

“After I’m done, you’re going to tell me why you’re here.” I put my fingers on the keys.

“I’ll tell you,” he agrees, and moves closer. “After you finish.”

There’s a promise in his voice—and a strange little threat.

But screw it. He already saw me naked. It can’t get any worse than this.

I do as he says, and I start to play.

Chapter 2

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