Page 32 of What He Never Knew

He’s not your wolf. He won’t hurt you.

“Like I was saying,” he continued when I didn’t pull away. “The technique is there. But, with your shoulders tied up to your ears like this, I don’t believe it. And I don’tfeelwhat you want me to feel.”

Gently, he pressed his palms down on my shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the muscles that framed my spine, and I let him guide me until my shoulders were back and relaxed. I somehow felt the weight of his hands everywhere in that moment, like he’d slid them down over my collarbone and ran them the length of my back at once. Without him even instructing me, a long, breathy exhale left my chest, and every muscle relaxed.

“See?” he said, a tone of satisfaction in his voice like he’d made his point.

I couldn’t register much at the moment, other than the fact that someone was touching me, and I was okay with it.

“Stop playing for a moment,” he said, removing his hands.

Chills broke over every inch of my skin at the loss of heat, but I did as he asked, straightening as he took a seat next to me on the bench. And just as quickly as that heat had been stolen, it was back again, his leg just barely grazing mine under the piano. My stallion heart picked up speed again as I stared at that point of contact, nearly racing out of my chest completely before I finally scooted over a few inches, putting space between us.

“Okay, place your hands on the keys like you’re about to play,” Reese instructed, oblivious to my inner freakout.

I did as he said, pulling my focus back to the lesson.

“Now, relax your elbows, like you would if you were resting and not playing.”

I looked down, surprised to see that I was holding my elbows out from my side. When I relaxed, they dropped in, and my shoulders fell with them.

My eyes widened.

“Press your hands on top of this piano,” Reese said, demonstrating with his own massive paws sprawled out on the wood.

His knuckles were white from pressing down, and I copied him, pressing my own hands on the wood.

“Now, release.”

When I did, I felt the ease of tension up to my shoulders again. “Wow,” I breathed.

Reese nodded, hands falling back to his lap. “You’re always going to be battling sore muscles if you don’t learn to relax while you play. If it’s not your wrists, it’ll be your shoulders. If it’s not your shoulders, it’ll be your fingers. Have you ever experienced pain in your right pinky?”

I gaped at him. “Oh my God, all the time, actually.”

He nodded again. “You curl it when it’s inactive instead of letting it rest, and that’s putting too much tension on the muscles keeping it wrapped up like that. It’s like gripping a pencil too tight and writing a two-thousand-word essay.”

I stretched my hands out in front of me, feeling the stiffness as if I really had been gripping a pencil too tightly.

“We can work on that next,” Reese said. “I have some finger exercises, some ways to practice relaxing the muscles you’re not using. But for now, I want you to try that song again, and this time, check in on all of those areas I just pointed out. As you play,activelyrelax your shoulders, your elbows, your wrists. Let them flowwithyou, with the music.” He raised both brows. “Okay?”

He was so close, sitting there on that bench beside me, that I noticed the gold flecks in his otherwise emerald eyes. They’d always seemed so dark to me, like they were brown or almost black. But there they were just a few inches from view now, green and gold and everything I never saw before.

I nodded. “Okay.”

Reese stood, making his way back to the corner, and I felt the loss of his heat like taking a jacket off in the middle of a blizzard. A shiver ran through me, but I ignored it, resting my hands on the keys a moment and mentally touching all the places he’d just pointed out before I began to play.

“Good,” Reese said when I was almost to the chorus. I glanced over to see him nodding, his thumb and forefinger framing his chin as he listened. “Much better.”

There was a knock at the door, and Reese’s eyes darted to it the same as mine. We both glanced at each other, Reese’s brows tugged inward before he pushed off the wall.

“Keep going,” he said, disappearing into the foyer.

I did as he said, mentally checking my shoulders and elbows before ascending into the next verse, but I craned my neck to get a better look when I heard a woman’s voice at the door. I couldn’t stretch back far enough to see who was there without my hands coming off the piano, but I could see Reese, and his hand was gripping the back of his neck like it was the only thing keeping him grounded at that moment.

He stepped back, and I got a flash of a purse swinging through the door before I ripped my gaze away and pretended I hadn’t taken my eyes off the piano. Reese stepped back into the room, and right behind him was a petite little brunette who had to be around his age. She was slight, like a bird, her skin a creamy porcelain white and eyes wide like saucers. Her bright smile doubled when she saw me, and she clasped her hands together, watching like I was what she’d come for.

My eyes found Reese, and he held my gaze for a short moment before clearing his throat and dropping his eyes to the piano.