Page 54 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Then another. Then years of silence.

He was shrouded in mystery.

Add in his secret home in the heart of New York City and he was a curiosity to everyone. Enough that when he’d showed up at the festival, I’d been intrigued. Then I’d played with him and grew to crave his particular kind of voodoo, even if I didn’t fully understand it.

Finding someone who was just as passionate as me on the piano, mixed with the anger he’d blasted into the keys, had messed me up. The notes he’d played had been harsh and rattling, his voice sandpaper over silk.

He’d created a wildfire in me.

I’d wanted to chase it then and now I was doing it all over again. Even though I knew I was chasing ruin.

Instead of flinching away from me, he reached behind his neck to tug his shirt over his head. His raven’s wing-dark hair fell in disarray around his face and teased his shoulders.

I dragged in a breath.

“Not too late to run, duchess.”

I didn’t look away from the pink, silvery skin. Scars raked over the left side of his neck and shoulder, moved down to cover half his chest, and ended at the top of his ribs. The right side of his body was smooth and perfect.

Was that same war for control at play inside him? Was that why his moods were so damn changeable?

Instead of reaching for what was easy, I ran gentle fingers over the raw, thick skin.

“Does it hurt?”

“Every day.”

My gaze snapped to his. Then there was no time to take anything else in. His fingers were in my hair as he owned my mouth. His tongue was rough and dominant. As if he needed to reach into every corner of me and draw battle lines.

Mark me like he was marked.

He dragged my head back and attacked my throat with his teeth and lips. He pushed at my shirt until it was up and over my head. He shredded the little hooks on the back of my bra, and then my flesh touched his.

Too much. Not enough.

He growled against the sensitive skin between my shoulder and neck, sinking his teeth into me until my knees buckled. He caught me against him and wrapped my legs around his hips. He swung us around until the piano bench was under my ass.

I gasped as he laid me out. This time, we were face to face.

Well, face to thighs.

I lifted my head. “What are you doing?”

“If you have to ask,” he grunted as he lifted my ass and stripped down my pants, “I’m doing it wrong.”

“I’m a bit tall for this bench.”

He glanced up from his task. “We made it work before.”

That we had. Too well.

He knelt between my legs, draping one of my feet over his shoulder to unzip my boot. When he found my fuzzy My Little Pony socks, he gave me a bland stare.

“This was not on my agenda.”

“Obviously.”

Once my boot was gone, he surprised me with an absent kiss on the inside of my thigh before he unzipped the other and tossed them in a pile behind him in the middle of the stage.

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