Page 116 of The Gods Forbid

Of course it was her.

She was the only woman in the world who had hair that bright, who could have possibly commanded a twenty-foot tall painting with just her silhouette.

I would tell her eventually. She could pry it out of me just by smiling at me.

Right now I had bigger issues to confront, because without even realizing it, I started following her to the studio.

That open door had just shattered my self control. Even if this was wrong, even if she would yell at me for this, I had to know. I had to have this piece of her, especially when there were so many I would never get access to.

I looked behind me as I walked the short distance to the studio, as if someone was watching me. The second my foot hit the threshold, I froze in my tracks.

Music was flowing from the back room.

Not just any music. The most beautiful, captivating, intense piano I had ever heard.

I was pulled forward by an invisible force, needing to know who was the source of that sound, whether Persy was simply playing a recording of the song or was pulling the notes from the keys herself.

I moved quietly, if only to preserve the precious moments where Persy didn’t know I’d intruded. She’d walked through my paint studio, which was filled with intentionally covered paintings.

She’d also left the door separating our sides open, which made my sick mind convince itself this was okay even more.

The second I saw her sat on a piano bench in front of a massive, stunning piano, playing music that made my skin feel like it was on fire, I knew that I had severely fucked up.

Because there was no avoiding this anymore.

I was obsessed with her.

I didn’t do things lightly, I never had. It was always all or nothing.

There was no mild interest or passing hobby.

It was pure, distracting obsession or bland, sterile indifference.

And this, this was certainly an obsession. There was no other excuse for the way that she completely commanded my thoughts.

I was in agony.

I was frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but watch her as her fingers flew over the keys. She was focused, either failing to realize I was standing there or not paying me any mind, so I stared. I took in as much of her as I could.

The slope of her back, held straight and proud. The curve of her shoulders, the soft skin curving over her bones and muscles, practically begging me to smooth my lips over every inch of it.

And fuck—her hair. If the Fates had any influence on my life, they had chosen her hair specifically to torture me. They took the very core of my power, sunlight itself, and spun it into long, soft strands that hung around her shoulders and down her back just begging to be tangled through my fingers.

I couldn’t see her face, not while her delicate chin was dipped and her eyes were narrowed in focus on the piano, but I had it committed to memory. I didn’t even have to close my eyes to conjure up the perfect bow of her lips or the shape of her cheekbones or the structure of her brow.

And those fucking beautiful gray eyes. Gray should have been my least favorite color—arguably dull and uninteresting. But on her, framed in those dark lashes, it was the most complex, gorgeous color I’d ever seen.

Maybe I’d show her one day, but it took me hours to get that color right, mixing paint over and over again until I felt like it resembled her. I still hadn’t perfected it.

How did one replicate a storm cloud breaking with the relief of bright light?

But for now, I was content to watch her hands move. The song she was playing was chaotic, moving between slow, soft chords and dramatic, heavy moments that I felt right in my chest.

It was extremely difficult, and yet Persy didn’t look strained at all. Her breathing was even, the muscles in her back calm. By the time she reached the crescendo of the piece, and the image of her fingers deftly working the keys were making my stomach tight with desire, I was practically panting.

The second she was done, breathing heavy, I could tell she noticed my presence. She stilled, breathing in deep, while her fingers rested over the piano.

And when Persy folded her hands in her lap and looked over her shoulder at me, I moved before I could think twice. I was lunging for her, but my brain snapped into focus at the last second. The only thing I could do to hide the fact that I was seconds away from tackling her to the ground was head for the piano bench.