Page 12 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire (Heart & Soul #2)

Eight

Morning cloaked the theatre in tranquility, curling around Rose like an old friend.

She paused by the controls in the auditorium, turning on the rows of lighting from above so she could see. Even the harsh lights couldn’t dull the nostalgia. Nothing could.

Dust motes danced like tiny stars caught in the stream of light over the stage.

The world outside was just beginning to wake, but within these aging walls of magic and memory, Rose enjoyed the peace and quiet.

She moved along the rows like a ghost, tending each section with a loving hand. She hummed as she swept the rows, slowly working her way to the stage. This time of day had always belonged to her and her grandfather.

Long before the city woke, before the lights rose and the music swelled, these quiet hours were part of their sacred ritual.

They’d hum fragments of the previous night’s melodies, point out the scene that had gone sideways and the line that had unexpectedly soared.

They’d sweep the stage together, trading stories and inside jokes, measuring time not in minutes but in moments.

Now, her grandfather’s voice was only a memory.

She paused mid-sweep, staring out over the stage as the bristles stilled. The silence wasn’t empty—it was filled with everything she missed.

Her gaze drifted to the grand piano at stage left.

It resembled the one in the Beast’s castle—carved scrollwork, rose-gold trim—but beneath the glamour, it was a working instrument. A heavy, beloved thing that had been decorated repeatedly depending on the play.

Her grandfather had tuned it like an altar—devout, precise, and reverent.

Wordlessly, she set the broom aside and walked toward it. Her fingers hovered over the keys, hesitant, trembling slightly. She hadn’t touched the ivory keys since her grandfather’s death—and they felt colder now, heavier somehow.

She sat down slowly, her spine straight, posed like her grandmother had taught her.

She exhaled, her fingers caressing the smooth surface before she began to play.

At first, it was just single notes. Wandering tones that had no place to go.

A tentative smile curved her lips as the notes seeped into her soul, calling to her, awakening her love for music.

Piece by piece, her fingers began to find the notes rising in her mind.

The chords came—tentative, like the start of a thought.

Then deeper, fuller, as an image rose to replace her uncertainty.

Theo.

She didn’t try to stop the memory of him. She let it come—his voice in the dark, his smile when he looked at her like she was the only woman on earth.

Her fingers moved faster, coaxing life into the melody. Not written. Not remembered. Just… hers.

A song just for him.

A song of love and longing.

A world bloomed behind her closed eyes: she and Theo, barefoot in a candlelit ballroom that existed only in dreams. His hand pressed low against her back. Her laughter rose like champagne bubbles as he twirled her under gilded archways. The dark gleam in his eyes before he pulled her close again.

Her lips parted before she realized she was singing, the notes shaping into words she hadn’t meant to release.

Her voice was husky, low, edged with a tremble that made it richer, more human.

She sang of what could never be spoken aloud.

Of wanting.

Of being seen.

Of kisses that didn’t count but felt like a beginning.

Of the fear that what was growing between them might be real?—

—and that it might vanish like all good things in her life had.

Her voice cracked. She faltered, as if the poetic words held an unspoken tragedy.

She thought of Theo pulling away after that kiss, of the way he’d stood so still before turning into the night.

She thought of what it would feel like when he didn’t come back. When she watched him walk away for the last time.

The final chord held beneath her fingers, vibrating with loss and longing. And then it was gone. A breath. A whisper.

A memory already fading.

She bowed her head over the keys. Her hands slipped into her lap, trembling now.

That was the thing about the songs she created.

Her songs were ghosts—haunting for a moment, then gone, forgotten as soon as the echo died. They were just… snapshots that captured her emotions, a fragile thread of her life.

She inhaled slowly, blinking back the burning in her eyes.

She sighed and looked up. Her eyes widened with surprise, and she could feel her cheeks flush.

Theo was standing less than a dozen feet away from her, just beyond the shadows of the side stage.

Her gaze swept over him, unfiltered. A fierce longing to touch him—to taste him—rose like fire in her veins.

When their eyes locked, a deep, sensual awareness rose inside her in response to the look in his eyes.

He looked struck by lightning—stunned, every inch of him alive. His lips were parted, his eyes blazed with raw, unguarded desire.

Rose placed her hand over her thundering heart. Heat poured through her, settling low and throbbing in answer to his silent request.

She didn’t remember rising.

Didn’t remember closing the space between them.

She knew only that her hands reached for him first, her fingers curling in the lapel of his jacket, her chest rising with each shallow breath.

She felt his arms wrap around her, a warm and welcome haven. She breathed in his aftershave, a subtle, masculine fragrance that sent a shaft of need through her. She gave in to the ache, needing to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin, to anchor herself in something real.

Her lips crashed into his, frantic, hungry. This time, the kiss counted.

His mouth was warm, insistent, less a question than an answer.

She kissed him with wild abandon. If there were rules, she was past caring. With her emotions on fire, she wanted to relish the exquisite sensations that sparked to life with his gentle touch.

One of his hands cupped her jaw, his thumb sweeping her cheek before he tangled it in her hair. His other hand swept lower, and he lifted her, pressing her against his body until they were aligned and she could feel his desire.

Their breaths tangled.

The stage disappeared beneath them.

Only the two of them remained, suspended in a world where a kiss was more than a kiss.

The moment Theo stepped into the lobby of The Gerster Theatre, he was met with warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. It also had nothing to do with the theatre itself.

No, the warmth came from knowing that Rose was here.

He smiled politely at the secretary who had opened the door. She stood quickly, flustered, clearly aware of who he was.

“Good morning, Mr. Kallistratos,” she said, smoothing the front of her blouse. “You’re early. Mrs. Devan hasn’t arrived yet, but she texted just a few minutes ago. She should be here shortly.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” he said smoothly. “I don’t mind waiting.”

He leaned against the counter just slightly, letting his presence fill the space—not imposing, but undeniable.

She blinked at him, her cheeks warming as she attempted a smile.

“Actually,” he added, his tone thoughtful, “I wonder… Could Rose show me around while I wait?”

The secretary’s brows lifted, then quickly furrowed. “I—I believe she’s in the auditorium, doing her morning clean. I could go find her for you if you’d like?—”

Theo raised a hand, that quiet, confident charm brushing through his voice like silk. “No need. I’ll find my way.”

Before she could protest, he offered a parting smile and moved down the hallway, his footsteps muffled against the thick carpet.

The grand foyer yawned open ahead of him, all gilded moldings and polished banisters. But his focus was beyond it—through the set of double doors that marked the heart of the building.

From behind them came a soft sound.

Music.

Piano—light, tentative, like a story being whispered instead of told.

He slowed, frowning slightly. Someone else was here.

His fingers brushed the brass doorknob, disappointment creeping in. But the moment he opened the door, that feeling shattered.

There she was.

Rose.

Alone at the piano, a broom forgotten and leaning against an ornate chair. Her head bowed slightly, the light from an overhead spotlight casting a halo over her hair.

She didn’t see him.

And God help him, he couldn’t move.

The notes shifted as he stood at the back of the darkened theatre. Random chords became something deliberate—gentle, aching, full of hope and heartbreak. Then, she began to sing.

Her voice wrapped around him like velvet. It was husky and pure, raw and reverent.

He felt like an intruder—but he couldn’t look away. Every word, every trembling note, sounded like a confession pulled from her soul.

She sang of a man who didn’t really see her.

Of wanting to be seen.

Of a kiss that didn’t count—but had marked her just the same.

Theo swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

She was singing about him.

And she had no idea he was there.

He moved slowly down the aisle, his eyes locked on her. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened with a longing that had nowhere to go.

She was ethereal. Unreachable. Until she wasn’t.

As he climbed the stairs to the stage, his chest ached with something unfamiliar. Reverence. Desire. Love. Not the love he knew from contracts and convenience. This was the love that made a man forget everything else—just to hear her sing for one more minute.

Her voice faltered on the last note. Her hands fell away from the keys.

And then she looked up.

Their eyes collided.

She looked stunned. A delicate blush rose to her cheeks, and her lips parted on a surprised breath, as if he’d been pulled from her imagination.

Theo didn’t speak. Words would have ruined it.

He stepped closer.

His eyes devoured her as she rose gracefully from the piano bench. Her gaze never left his. Her hand lifted as if she needed to touch him.

The tension in his body dissolved when she wrapped her fingers in the lapel of his jacket.