Page 65 of The Pakhan's Forced Bride

I miss Benedikt.

But I don’t want to leave LA.

Something about Ardalion has tied me to him.

My heart clenches in my chest, an overwhelming surge of emotions rushing through me.

Do I have real feelings for him?

The emotions turn to panic as I become overwhelmed with this realization.

My head starts spinning, and I search left and right for somewhere to have some privacy for a moment. There are people everywhere, so I hurry into the mansion, where it's quiet.

Everyone is outside in the sun, by the pool.

I walk deeper into the mansion, not sure where I’m going, but just needing to move, to get away from things.

I get a fright, sensing someone behind me, but when I spin to look, there isn’t anyone there.

“Jeepers, I need to calm down,” I huff, annoyed at myself as I press my hand over my heart.

I wander into their music room.

There is a grand piano near a high-arching window. I walk towards it, letting my fingers slide softly over the top. The glossed surface doesn’t have a speck of dust on it.

On the wall, there are alcoves, each with a string instrument set into it. A cello, a bass guitar, a violin. I wonder if someone plays all of these instruments or if they’re just for show.

I lift the lid of the piano, touching the ornate keys. Pressing one down, the piano lets off a rich, deep tone.

“What are you doing in here, little bunny?” The smooth, deep warmth of his voice rushes over me as I turn towards him in fright.

“I’m—I’m just looking around,” I answer defensively, quickly closing the piano again.

“Do you know how to play?” he asks.

“No, do you?”

“Almost everyone in my family does. It was a tradition of sorts.”

“Play something,” I insist, unable to picture Ardalion behind a piano.

He sits down, throwing me a wicked smile as he lifts the lid again, brushing his fingers over the pristine keys.

As his fingers move over the white keys, I watch and listen in disbelief.

I don’t know the music, but the melody is beautiful. In an instant, I am transported somewhere magical.

Ardalion seems lost in it, his eyes half-closed as his hands move expertly over the keys.

Emotions well up inside me.

Touched by the music and the sight of him.

His long fingers move swiftly, easily, making me wonder if this is why he’s so good with his hands—if all those years of learning to play the piano taught him other things, too.

Suddenly, there is heat between my legs, my heart racing, and my lips tingling, wanting to feel his kiss.

I bite at my lower lip, trying to fight the urgency of my desire as it floods over me.