Page 177 of Twisted Knight

Holden

I may not understand or appreciate the music the man before us is creating, but I know Rowan’s expression and that’s all that matters.

Every penny it took to get him here was worth it when I saw the look on her face during those first notes.

The flash open of her eyes. The shocked O of her lips. The way she said my name as she looked at me fleetingly, as if she were afraid if she took her eyes off him that he’d disappear.

And then there were her reactions during the hour he played for us.

For some pieces, a smile was wide on her face.

For others, tears slid silently down her cheeks.

At times, she moved her hands along with his as if she were playing the notes with him.

At others, she closed her eyes, swaying to its melody like she could feel the music weaving deep down in her soul.

I didn’t feel fucking shit.

I take that back. The music didn’t make me feel fucking shit but the woman I still can’t take my eyes off—even an hour after we parted ways with a man she idolizes—sure as shit does.

“You despise classical music—hell, you even made me change the song on my playlist in the jet today when a piece came on—and yet you did that for me?”

I nod. “Mmm-hmm.”

“And you sat through the entire performance without falling asleep?” she asks. That smile hasn’t left her face once since we left the theater.

Not fucking once.

“I feel privileged.” She holds her arms out and twirls on the sidewalk. “I feel loved. I feel…” She stops and looks at me, her eyes alive with fire and her smile burning bright as she steps into me and whispers, “Incredible.” She brushes her lips against mine. The kiss is soft at first. Simple. “You make me feel that way.” Another brush of lips. Then a tug of her teeth on my bottom lip before she looks back at me with tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“It was nothing,” I say gruffly, hating the ball of whatever it is lumping in my throat.

It was just a good deed.

It was just … what, Holden? A way to ease the guilt? A way to show you care when you’re not capable of voicing it? A way to prove to yourself you’re not the bastard you know you are?

A way to leave her with something good from you when you detonate the world all around her?

What the fuck was it? Because those are four very contrasting things.

“It wasn’t nothing,” she says. “It was … you hearing and really listening. It was you understanding something about me that no one else does.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I itch to put my hands on her. To run them up and down her abdomen. But I know if I touch her, I’m not going to want to stop, and standing on the sidewalk of Central Park South isn’t exactly the place to do it.

As it is, I’ve had to deter her from running barefoot in Central Park like she wanted to do five minutes ago.

“Happy early birthday, Sunshine.”

FIFTY-NINE

Rowan

I study Holden through the darkened penthouse where he sits on the outdoor patio. Its glass walls are slid open, allowing the night breeze to blow in right along with the muted sounds of the city far below.

He paints a striking picture sitting there with his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his bow tie hanging undone around it, and a glass of scotch in his hand that’s resting on the armrest.

He’s looking out into the darkness beyond as if he’s contemplating how he’s going to complete his world domination … and still he somehow looks relaxed. More relaxed than I think I’ve ever seen him before. He’s content. Sexy.