“No idea what you’re talking about.” That tired line had to be worn to the bone by now.
Her hand brushed up under my shirt again, gentle and deliberate. She didn’t stop until she reached my chest, resting her palm over my heart. “The only thing keeping me grounded right now is you. Your calm. Your presence.”
There was nothing calming about her to me. She lit every fuse I had. Made my skin feel too tight. Made me ache to touch, to hold, to lose myself in her.
“Audrey,” I warned again.
“Alejandro.” She breathed out my name, and damn if it didn’t undo me. “Talk to me.”
I couldn’t. Not without giving too much away. Like the fact I’d been drawn to her since the moment we met at Christmas.
She closed her eyes and kept her hand over my chest, as if she could will my heart back to life. “Come back up. Be here with me. Don’t stay buried down there.”
I knew what she meant. Drowning wasn’t always physical. Sometimes it was silence. Memory. Guilt. And I hated that she understood that kind of pain.
“I can’t talk about it. Not yet. I just need ...time.” I waited for her eyes to return to mine. “Play something for me instead?”
Her hand slipped away, sliding down my stomach, before it hit her side. And I could breathe again. Just barely.
“You want me to play the piano for you?”
I nodded, and she stared at me a moment longer before nodding, too. Maybe we both understood this was the only way forward right now?
I followed her down the hall to the small area where the piano waited. She moved to the instrument like it was an extension of her, then ran her fingers over the sleek black surface before sitting.
I circled to the other side so I could see her face as she played.
She touched a single key, then another. A fractured chord echoed, then softened into something raw and beautiful. Her spine straightened, her breath slowing as she lost herself in the music. And I lost myself in her.
She played like she was bleeding emotion through her fingertips. Every note hit something inside me.
When she stopped, I stepped forward, bracing my hands on the edge of the piano, begging, “Again.” The word came out hoarse, broken, and as desperate as I felt.
Her eyes lifted to mine.
Hers shimmered.
Mine burned.
I nearly said it—What are you doing to me?—but she seemed to already know.
She began again without a word, and I moved around the piano, needing to be closer.
I watched her fingers dance across the keys, felt something inside me shift. And then I set my hand over hers, stilling her movement.
She froze and slowly turned her head to look at me.
“Stand,” I said, voice gravelly as I slid my hand to her wrist, gently tugging her up.
The bench scraped back as she rose. I guided her to the side of the piano and lifted her onto it. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and I stepped between her legs, hands planting firmly at her sides. Anchoring myself as she tightened her thighs around me.
And then I kissed her. It wasn’t soft or questioning. It was everything I’d held back last night. Every pent-up feeling I hadn’t voiced.
I groaned and pushed my hands beneath her sweatshirt, searching for skin.
“Please,” she whispered, and that was all it took for me to devour her again.
One hand skimmed up her back. The other slipped beneath her bra, found her breast. Her nipple hardened under my palm.
