“Leave your card and show up to Friday night’s event. Buy something. That’s the best way to show intent.”
Buy something, with all the money I do not have, I think, acid biting at my belly. I reach into my bag and pull out my card, setting it on the table in front of him. I can feel Kace’s eyes on my face, burning through me. That’s when he shocks me and speaks to me in Italian: “Cambiano i suonatori, ma la musica è sempre quella.”
It means, “the melody changes, but the song remains the same,” but directly translated it’s: “the players change, but the music is always the same.”
I look at him and I know I shouldn’t respond, I shouldn’t connect myself to Italy with this man, but translation services are on my card. “No,” I answer in English. “The musician, the player, makes all the difference, which is why he should have an instrument worthy of him.” It’s what my ancestor who created the Stradivarius violin believed. It’s why he made the Stradivarius.
I glance back at Mark. “I’ll be there Friday night.”
And with that, I turn and start walking toward the exit.
My eyes open and I am aware now, if not then, that I’d not only confirmed my Italian heritage in that exchange, I’d also made it clear I understood the value of both player and instrument. The question becomes, was Kace confirming my identity in his own mind, or did he already know?
CHAPTER FOUR
The joy of Manhattan.
We end up in standstill traffic a block from my apartment. My lashes lower and I don’t know how when the drive is short, but I must drift off to sleep. I wake to Kace leaning over me, unhooking my belt. “Wake up, baby. We need to get you inside.”
I blink. “We’re here?”
“Yes. We’re here. No thanks to that traffic jam.” He kneels back down beside me. “Where are your keys?”
“My keys?”
“To your apartment.”
“My purse. Oh God, my purse. Where is my purse?” Not sure the last time I saw it, panic takes over and I reach for my hip, and thank God, it’s actually there. “I thought I lost it.” I try to open the zipper, but can’t get my one hand to cooperate.
Kace closes his hand over mine, his touch warm, familiar, intimate. “Can I do it?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”
He kisses my hand and then quickly removes my keys before unhooking my seat belt. “Let’s get you inside.”
I shut my eyes against a wave of sickness. “Can I just stay here in your beautiful car?” I whisper.
“Your big, beautiful bed is a better idea.” He catches my hands. “Let’s get you there now.” Before I can object, somehow he stands and takes me with him. He wraps his jacket around me and I wrap my arms around him, holding on, because well, I really want to hold onto him in all kinds of ways. “My bed is not big.”
“Good,” he says, his lips curving. “I’ll take every advantage I can to hold you close.”
“It’s small, Kace. You’re not small. Maybe we should go to your place?”
“I would like nothing more than to have you in my bed, Aria,” he says. “Tomorrow.” He drapes his arm around my shoulders and eases me out of the way to shut the door. “Right now, we’re staying here.”
I glance at the meter where he’s parked the Roadster. “What about your car?”
“I’ll feed the meter after I get you inside.”
Right, I think. A two-hour meter, but then maybe he’s not planning to stay. I recoil with the idea. Maybe I should want him to leave. I’m conflicted, confused. I just need to be in my bed, no matter its size. He sets us in motion toward my building, and when we reach the door, I key in my security code and glance up at him. “I am not in sound mind right now. You don’t need the keys to get in the building.”
He leans down and kisses me. “Hopefully you do need me.” He doesn’t give me time to reply. He opens my door and we enter the store, where rows of books and collectibles read like a library to a new visitor. “Where’s your apartment?” Kace asks, shutting the door and resetting the alarm on his own.
I point toward the stairs. “But we actually do need the keys to get inside my apartment. And I need to sit a minute.” I motion to a pair of cozy chairs in a small sitting area but never make it there. Kace scoops me up instead.
“What you need is your bed.” The next thing I know, we’re up the stairs at my door and he’s not even breathing hard.
Kace doesn’t even set me down to unlock the door. Somehow he manages to hold onto me and open the door. Only then do I realize how humble my world is compared to his. My bed isn’t the only thing that’s small. My entire apartment is a box. He starts forward, intent to move inside my apartment and I use my foot to halt us right in the doorframe.
“Set me down. I need down.”
“On the bed,” he argues.
“Now,” I insist. “Here. I need down.”
“Aria—”
“Kace.”
His expression darkens, his lips pressing together, but he eases me oh so carefully toward the ground and once my feet are planted on the floor, my good hand plants on his chest. “You can’t come in.”
His hand covers my hand. “Don’t do this. I am not your enemy. I’m—”
“This isn’t about who I am or you knowing it and not telling me,” I say. “I don’t live like you, Kace. I can’t—I just can’t deal with how that makes me feel right now. I should have thought of this, but my brain doesn’t want to work right now.”
His expression softens and one of his hands cups my head while the other settles on my waist. He leans in close, and even in my diminished state, his scent is teasing me again. And how can I not? He smells like spice, the kind of spice a girl wants to press to her nose and just breathe in. “I care about you, not how you live.” His lips caress mine, a feather-light touch that is so very tender. “Trust me. Trust us.”
Those words are far-reaching beyond the moment, they are a star shooting across a dark sky, lighting a path he seduces me down, his path. And for now, it works. “What if I want your money?”
His lips curve, “What if you want my body?”
I laugh despite the screams of my own body. “Kace.”
“Aria,” he murmurs softly and before I know his intent, he’s picked me up again, scooped me into those powerful arms, and walked to my upper-level bedroom, easing me onto the softness of my mattress.
He comes down with me, setting me on the edge of the bed, and easing my purse over my shoulder before setting it on the nightstand. He then leans over me, one hand on the far side of my body. “I’m going to get your medication from the car. Then I’m going to order us food. Are you thirsty?”
“No,” I say softly. “You don’t have to do this.”