Page 59 of Pride
“Not that one,” she whispered. “Please.”
Her breath hitched. He hated seeing her slouch because of something he’d done, so he shifted keys and played a version of another Nina Simone song—Feeling Good.
With half his mind on his mate’s reaction, and the other half on the chords, this one played out with fewer errors, and when Alice started singing in a husky voice, a mix of both devil and angel, he forgot about his hands completely. He played on instinct. Together they increased tempo and volume until she matched his gusto with her own. Her voice and his music filled the penthouse with rich, unadulterated sound. She sang the final, long note and he forgot to breathe.
Alice bowed her head, her shoulders shaking. For a moment, he thought she was crying, but when he tipped her chin to see her face, he found another smile so rich and sweet. She took his robotic hand and laced her fingers with his. His robotic hand moved perfectly, no twitch. Her grin widened.
“You…” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You did that on purpose. The song. The singing. All of it.”
She shrugged. “Well, I knew you would try to keep up with me if I sang, so… yeah. I guess I did it on purpose.”
She tried to pull her hand from his, but he clenched, holding tight. Frowning, she met his eyes and tugged again. But he wasn’t letting go.
“No,” he said, searching her face. “It wasn’t just about me. Your singing. It was new. Raw. When was the last time you sang?”
Tears glimmered in her eyes. “Can we talk about that another time?”
He gave a curt nod. If this conversation was bringing her pain, he could wait.
“So tell me this then, why are you refusing my gifts?” He glanced at his oversized shirt on her. “Why are you wearing my shirt instead of your own new clothes?”
Her breath hitched with a breath, defining hard nipples against the fabric.
“Maybe I like the way you smell,” she confessed. “And maybe I kept one thing.”
22
Alice’s heartkicked in her chest as she held Parker’s leonine stare. Her body was in turmoil. Sweet, jittery, aroused turmoil. The butterflies didn’t just flutter; they danced. They sang. They hummed along every line of her body.
He’d played so beautifully, even the beats he’d missed or fumbled. The beauty was in the resilience, the ability to carry on when he’d made a mistake. There had been no hot-headed pride in those moments, he’d only kept watching her sing with awe in his eyes. That awe, that incredible window to his thoughts, had hit her harder than any words or touch could.
So she’d kept singing to see it. Singing for the first time in decades. Singing because Parker Lazarus had developedfeelingsfor Alice. Forher. Not the Sinner, or the fake assistant she pretended to be, or the killer she would become if this family turned dark. But her. The woman who hummed when she was stressed. The one who’d offered to kill for him. The one sitting next to him now, smiling like a stupid teenager at the half naked carved Adonis refusing to let go of her hand.
“What was the gift you kept, Alice?” he asked, voice deep and soft. His gaze burned through the fabric on her body, as if he could see through to the guilty pleasure encasing her intimate skin. She squirmed, her pulse throbbing.
When she’d walked into his closet, only to find it half filled with all the items she’d returned to the personal shopper, she’d forgotten to think. To breathe. To swallow. Then slowly, with careful attention, she’d inspected how each item had been placed with loving care. Shoes on racks. Jewelry in a display case. Clothing on rotating racks. But the pieces that stood out the most were the folded lingerie. An entire wall had been fitted with flat roller drawers. She pulled out each to find different types of lingerie. A red lace bra and panty set. A silk babydoll teddy. A long, purple satin gown.
It had all been too real, and before she gave in to the feelings bubbling in her body, she knew she had to secure this relationship. She would not give her heart over just to see it stomped on if Parker was arrested.
She couldn’t stay the night. She had to get home and plan a way to eliminate the threat against him. Parker was a man who not only lived in luxury, but liked it. He lived for it. And he’d potentially given it all up for her. So she’d hastily put on his shirt, but not before having a moment of weakness and slipping on some lingerie. She wanted to go to sleep that night feeling close to him.
“Alice.” Parker lifted her hand and guided her off the piano bench to stand before him. He pushed her gently, indicating he wanted her to take a step back.
Muscles on his tanned body twitched as he eased back on the bench to assess her, his hands by his side, legs spread wide, eyes intense and full of dark possessive desire.
“Show me,” he decreed.
Alice’s breath caught in her throat. Her nipples peaked, and a rush of desire warmed her intimately between the legs. Parker’s nostrils flared. He inhaled, and a low rumble began at the base of his throat.
“Alice,” he warned. “Show me what you kept.”
She bit her lip to hold her smile. There was something about bringing a man like this to impatience, to hear his whimper of restraint, to see the arousal tenting his boxers—the same hardness he ignored in order to hold her stare. Every muscle in his body was locked and tight. Every line and curve, so damned sexy and powerful. How had she worked so closely with him for so long? Two years torturing herself, pretending to be plain and boring when she felt anything but.
That stare. It made her feel like a queen. Like she was the only person in his orbit.
Maybe that’s what emboldened her to walk her fingers along the hem of her shirt, bunching the fabric in a seductive tease. He broke eye contact and leaned forward in anticipation as inches of her naked thighs were revealed. Another inch. Another inch.
And another.
