Page 58 of The Darkest Note

I drag Mr. Mulliez to the front of my mind and keep my heart on the mission. How do I use Dutch’s interest in a way that’ll hurt him the most?

I keep chewing on my bottom lip. Since I don’t spend most of my time snatching candy from babies like Dutch does, the ideas aren’t coming as quickly as I thought.

I need to stall for a while longer.

“You should know how important it is to mark your own path,” I say huskily. “After all, you’re a musician too.”

“How did you know that?” He peers closer at me. “You’ve been following my band?”

The air freezes in my lungs when I realize I might have given myself away. If I admit I’ve heard of his band, he might ask me about my favorite song or something. But I haven’t actually heard Dutch play yet.

The rims of my nostrils flare as I think on my feet. “I haven’t.” I reach for his hand and lift it. “You’ve got callouses on the tips of four fingers, but no callouses on the thumb. It’s the mark of someone who spends more hours playing guitar than they do eating and sleeping.”

Fear and something else that I don’t want to name streaks down my spine as Dutch interlocks our fingers.

He leans over. “I’m going to tell you something and I mean this sincerely.”

I shiver. “W-what?”

“I heard you at the showcase and I haven’t been able to get that melody out of my head. I’ve never heard anyone play like that before.”

My gaze lands on his. “I wasn’t playing for you.”

“I know. You weren’t playing for anyone but yourself.”

I shift forward so our faces are close enough that I can see the dark flecks in his golden eyes. “And who doyouplay for?”

His jaw tightens. A thoughtful look crosses his face. “I don’t know. It’s more of a habit than anything.”

That felt real. That felt raw.

I can’t believe Dutch Cross is letting me into his thoughts like this. It feels almost evil to use it. And that just goes to show that I’m not as horrible a person as he is.

I let my gaze linger on his lips. “Music can be so many things, but if it’s a burden, it’s a sign that something’s wrong.”

“Maybe.”

My chest squeezes, hard.

No, I am notconnectingwith the biggest pain in my butt. He will not become human to me.

Dutch steps closer until his sneakers are kissing my boots.Bachhe smells like heaven. It’s pure fabric softer and sandalwood, and if temptation had a scent it would smell like this.

“I know I’m not the only one feeling this,” Dutch says softly, looking both relaxed and intense at once.

“No,” I grab his collar. “You’re not.” Roughly, I drag him closer and smash his mouth to mine.

It’s only supposed to be an angry press of the lips, but the moment the warmth of his full lips soak through to mine, all other thoughts fly out the window.

I’m not only kissing my worst nightmare. I’menjoyingit. It’s sick and twisted and I crave more with a desperation that takes my breath away.

Dutch’s fingers brush my cheek and then slide to the back of my neck, pushing me forward and harder against his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tell me something. Like he’s trying to tell me everything.

The desire inside me twists tighter and tighter. It’s a discordant sound. As messy as the notes I played when I first caught sight of him in the lounge.

I should resist it.

Ihaveto.

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