Page 34 of Claim Me

The bottle of scotch was still on the counter and I grabbed another glass, feeling guilty for leaving the other on the table inthe living room. Another chuckle flicked past my lips. She had me thinking about things that had seemed of no importance before.

With the glass poured, I lifted it in a toast to no one, including myself. The sip went down too smoothly. I’d wished for a heavy burn. It had been a long time since I’d taken the life of a man. While necessary and in truth, invigorating, claiming the lives of enemies had felt like an activity left in the past.

The light was on over the sink, the pendant lamp with a crystalline blue shade highlighting the blood on my hands. Well, fuck. That wouldn’t do. I set the glass down with care, worried I’d break the fragile material. With soap on my hands, I ran them under water, washing all ten fingers vigorously.

When the music stopped, I was the one who stiffened, uncertain what to expect.

The overhead kitchen light was flipped on, her appearance creating a wave of desire along with the tension ebbing into every muscle. There’d been an electricity between us since the beginning, an unrefuted crackle of chemistry that even a blind person could sense.

I slowly turned toward her and instantly, her eyes opened wide. Seeing her wary expression, I slowly allowed my gaze to drift to my shirt.

There was no mistaking the dried blood that had soaked through. There was no reason to apologize. If she only knew that I’d just saved her life, she’d fall straight into another debilitating nightmare. In her hand was the notebook, her fingers wrapped tightly around the spine.

While her lower lip quivered, she took her time studying the carnage before lifting her gaze back to mine. “You sent me roses after three different concerts in three different cities. You also sent me gifts, the most beautiful, expensive jewelry I’ve ever seen. The last being the night before Charlie was killed. I did a concert in Los Angeles. That was you, wasn’t it? The man who quoted incredible passages in the hopes they would spark so many emotions deep inside. They did.”

When I didn’t answer her immediately, she flung open the notebook.

“Music creates a powerful moment where nothing in the world matters but the beauty of the creation, the artist the blank canvas. You wrote that one.”

Her lilting voice controlled me, hypnotized me. They were words I’d said to her in the privacy of a note. That she’d kept.

My silence was not a reward nor was it an admittance. It was simply providing her with the time to accept that our lives had inexplicably been intertwined long before.

“Beauty captured in a moment of reverence in the presence of music is breathtaking in a way only those with haunted hearts can truly understand.” Once again, she lifted her gaze, then in a surprise move, took two purposeful strides toward me.

Her eyes opened wide and she lifted her arm, her fingers almost touching my face where Victor had punched me. When she curled her fingers, I could see returning fear.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“What had to be done.”

“To protect me,” she whispered. How the hell was I supposed to answer that?

I took a sip of my drink and I was rewarded with her wrapping her fingers around the glass while touching mine. I didn’t try to stop her as she pulled the drink to her lips. My hand remained next to hers, the light brush of skin on skin creating a need so intense my cock hardened.

As she tilted the glass, her long, thick eyelashes skimmed across her cheeks. I was left mesmerized by the simple act. After she downed the liquid, my balls tightened. I shouldn’t want her this way. I couldn’t think of her as anything but my friend’s sister, my ward.

But my body was betraying my mind. Her nipples were hard, pushing through the thin material of her dress. And her scent of desire was driving me wild.

She allowed me to take the glass, tilting her head. There was such defiance in her that I was blown away by her ability to hold onto her grief while navigating some sense of normalcy.

If you could call our connection normal.

“You wrote those beautiful lines. Didn’t you? I need to know, Kazimir.”

I still didn’t answer, merely placing the glass on the counter. Where was she going with this?

“Didn’t you?” She closed the distance until we were only inches apart. “I know you did. You sent the gifts. Why?”

Sighing, I looked away briefly, an ache in my chest developing.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Did you know who I was?”

“No, I did not.”

“The picture,” she continued. “That’s you with Charlie.”