She nods reluctantly. “It’s a start. Now, about personal hygiene and cleanliness-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan. “I’m not a slob, alright? I’ll keep my stuff tidy. Anything else, Your Highness?”
Her lips purse at the sarcasm. “Just one more thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from walking around half-naked. It’s… distracting.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Distracting, huh? Didn’t realize you found me so captivating, Ana.”
Her cheeks flush crimson. “That’s not… I simply meant…”
“Relax,” I chuckle. “I’m just messing with you. In deference to you, I’ll wear pants at all times.”
“Starting now?” Her haughty demeanor has faded, and she sounds almost desperate. I’ll have to remember that I have a secret weapon if future taunting becomes necessary.
“I’ll try to keep the shirt on, but no promises. I get hot when I’m composing.”
Anastasia takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as she visibly tries to regain her composure. “Very well. I suppose we’ve covered the basics. I’ll be in the bedroom working on my symphony. Please try to keep the noise to a minimum.”
As she turns to leave, a thought strikes me. “Hey, Ana?”
She pauses and looks at me, lips pursed in irritation. “Yes?”
“What do you say we call a truce? Maybe grab dinner together later? I make a mean pasta.”
For a moment, surprise flickers across her face, softening her features. Then the mask of cool indifference slides back into place. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Night, but I prefer to dine alone. Good day.”
With that, she sweeps out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my cooling coffee and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
Shaking my head, I drain the last of my drink and set the mug in the sink. This situation is far from ideal, but damned if I’m not intrigued by the challenge. Anastasia Ashcroft might think she’s got me all figured out, but she’s in for one hell of a surprise.
Smiling to myself, I head to my duffel to grab my flute. Time to see just how committed she is to those “quiet hours” of hers. Let the games begin.
Chapter Three
Anastasia
The sharp trill of a flute slices through what little focus I have left. Four days of writer’s block and now this, this Godzilla with a wind instrument. All that noise, all thatskin. I glare at the closed window, as if my disapproval could somehow muffle the sound.
Nyxx Night. Even hisnameoffends my sense of order. Who chooses something that ridiculous on purpose? Probably changed it from Nicholas—or Neil—after deciding vowels were too mainstream. And don’t get me started on that ridiculous blue streak in his hair. He looks like he’s trying far too hard to be “edgy.”
I tap my pen against the still-blank sheet music, my frustration mounting. It’s his fault I can’t compose. How am I supposed to create a masterpiece with that cacophony floating in fromoutside? And let’s not forget his complete disregard of personal space and basic decency. Prancing around half-naked like some sort of… rock star.
Oh, right. He is one.
A particularly complex run of notes catches my attention. Despite myself, I find my head tilting, straining to hear better. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m at the window, easing it open as quietly as possible.
The full force of his music hits me, and at first, I’m appalled. It’s chaos, pure and simple. Notes tumbling over each other in a frenzied rush, no rhyme or reason to their arrangement. But then… something shifts. My ear catches a pattern, then another. The chaos resolves into intricate layers of melody and countermelody, woven together with a sophistication that catches me off guard.
I hate to admit it, but there’s a complexity to his playing that rivals some of the classical pieces I’ve performed. The syncopation, the way he bends notes in ways I never would have considered—it’s… intriguing. Infuriating, yes, but undeniably intriguing.
A small voice in the back of my mind pipes up, one I’ve been trying to ignore since I arrived at this cottage. What if this is exactly what I needed? Not the peace and quiet I thought I wanted, but a jolt to my system. Something to shake up the rigid patterns I’ve been trapped in for years.
Perhaps this was meant to be. Maybe fate has a warped sense of humor. Maybe Nyxx—with all his noise and nerve—is exactly the shock my music’s been starving for.
And don’t get me started on his abs, dammit. Once I found a way to ignore the blue streak and the wild curls and that damnedsmirk, I can’t deny he’s good looking. Hell, who am I kidding? He’s gorgeous. With looks like that, who needs talent?
But he is talented… in his own way,I remind myself. The music drifting in from the yard is irrefutable evidence of that.
The music stops abruptly, and I realize I’ve been standing at the open window, lost in thought. Glancing out, I see Nyxx stretching, his bare torso glistening in the sunlight. I should look away. I should be appalled. Instead, I find myself appreciating the view.
