And there, lost to the music, was Devlin. It was a breathtaking sight. His fingers moved dramatically over the keys, seemingly without effort, his shoulders hunched.
He was totally shirtless. And honestly, from this angle I could not tell if he was wearing pants. I could see a glimpse of a definitely hairy leg and bare feet. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Was this some weird musical-slash-sexual thing? Was I being intrusive? I should definitely leave.
Except.
His muscles. My goodness! Ropes of muscles bunched in his back and arms. They flexed and released with every movement. I thought Thor brought the godly muscles, but Devlin could absolutely wield Mjölnir or any other massive hammer. I was intrigued and curious and really, if he didn’t want to be caught naked in his super-secret music lair in the middle of the day by a guest in his house, then he should have locked the door. That’s on him.
I crept closer. Okay, he was wearing jeans. And of course, as always, the bandana and hat were on. Shirt? No. That’s too much commitment, but a hat and bandana … those were essentials, apparently. Today the mask was a solid red and in the dim light it was haunting. He didn’t notice me come in. He was too lost to the music, which was now a dissonant, almost irritating piece that was somewhat reminiscent of Scriabin’s atonal scales.
What would he do if I walked up and took off that mask? Would he be mad? Maybe I was even mad for thinking it. Would he kick me out of the symphony? Would he no longer want to work with me? Why was I suddenly so curious to see what was underneath? It wouldn’t change anything, would it?
Something about the mystery of it called out to the darkest part of my soul—to the part that always got me in trouble.
I moved closer, step by step, soundless in the cacophony. Just a peek. Who was he? What was he trying to hide?
Closer yet. My hand reached out. My heart slammed in tempo with the music.
I grabbed the fabric where it hung loose.
Just a peek. What was the worst that could happen?
Chapter 9
Practice every day; music waits for no one.
DEVLIN
My hand shot out and grabbed hers just as her fingers grazed my neck, where the scarf was tied. The abruptly cut-off notes trembled in the air. Chills shuddered down my skin from the contact and goosebumps spread down my arms and chest.
She gasped and reared back trying to squirm out of my grip, but I didn’t release her. Instead, I twisted my body on the piano bench, bringing her around at the same time so we were face-to-face. Even sitting I was almost as tall as her.
“I’m sorry! I was just—”
“What?” I demanded. “Wanted to see under this? Want to know what sort of freak wears a mask?”
“No! I wasn’t … I wasn’t thinking. I’m still all foggy. I’m sorry!”
I tugged her closer to me so that my face was inches from hers. She was rambling. I’d never heard her talk this much in rehearsal. She always sat quietly, watching me, glancing away any time I focused my attention on her. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth formed a perfect, horrified O shape.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” I said.
“Please. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” I gentled my grip but didn’t let go as she carried on. “I just woke up. I’m in this big, beautiful house without any clue as to why. All while creepy music fills the house all around me. And you’re just down here playing like … like a maniac from a scary movie!” She stopped her rant to press fingertips to her cheeks. “I feel hot. Do you feel hot? It’s definitely hot.” She tugged at the collar of the too-big pajamas I had left for her.
I placed my other hand over her mouth. A headache pulsed at the back of my skull. I had brought her here. That was my choice, yet I was embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable position. What if she saw the truth about me? It was too soon.
“Stop talking,” I said.
Her quick breaths warmed my palm covering her mouth. Her eyes widened at the unexpected contact. Bursts of sensation shot through my body.
I glared hard enough that my annoyance would come across even with my bandana in place. I dropped her hand that had been reaching for my bandana. Holding her hand had unwanted consequences. It was best to avoid touching her at all. I released her mouth too, slowly, in case she started up again. Her full lips closed to suck in her bottom lip, actively fighting the words that wanted to spill out, no doubt.
Her skin was colorless this morning. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, fuzzy on the side she slept on. As I’d checked in on her throughout the night, she’d remained sound asleep in the same exact balled-up position. Her chapped lips and bleary eyes concerned me.
“Did you eat?” I asked her.
She looked at me as though this were some sort of test. After a moment, she nodded.
“And drank some water? You don’t look so good.”
With that, her eyes narrowed, but she held her tongue. Now that she had quieted, the lack of rambling made me feel self-conscious. I didn’t like to be the one required to make conversation. It never came easy for me like it had for Wes. Her silence made me uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable made me angry.
“Are you done pawing at me?” I asked.
She nodded once. So this was the game.
“You can speak,” I said.
“How kind of you.”
I stood to tower over her. “At rehearsal, you rarely talk.”
“I’m respectful.”
Somehow, I doubted that. I saw the looks she shot the clarinetist, Erin. I crossed my arms to mirror her stance.
“Right,” I said.
Her eyes kept darting to my body and after a pointed look she blurted out, “I’m not the one that’s basically naked save for a mask. It’s very misleading. Either be naked or put more clothes on.”
“Am I bothering you?”
“No … I’m not bothered. This isn’t … I don’t care.” With every protest her voice grew an octave higher. “A man’s body. Pfft. It’s whatever.” Her gaze moved from my chest to my face to the ceiling to the piano and back to my chest again in a second. At least some color rose to her cheeks. Maybe that was key. Distraction from the oddness of the situation.
“You seem flustered.” I stepped closer, purposely invading her space.
Even now, as she pretended to metaphorically clutch her pearls, her gaze had trouble staying still. Her tongue popped out to lick her lip and her swallow was audible. I flexed my pecs, a quick jump. Her eyes widened a fraction before refocusing on my face.
“I’m not flustered. A body is a body. My mother is a painter. Naked people constantly traipse through my house.” She frowned as what she said sank in, like she hadn’t meant exactly that. I had to admit, I was having a little fun now.
“Hmm.” I stepped closer. My voice rumbled lower. “You’re totally comfortable?”
“Yup. Mm-hm.” Her focus returned to the ceiling.
I leaned lower. She smelled amazing for having just woken up; like a sun-warmed blanket on a summer picnic.
“And now?” I asked lowering my voice to a growl.
“Well, I mean, typically my personal space isn’t violated like you’re doing.”