Wreck the Halls

And it wasn’t merely that being honest released the pressure she’d been housing in her chest for a decade and a half, but she trusted Beat. Trusting Beat was like a built-in mechanism she couldn’t remember being installed. For some reason, that faith in him had always been there. Maybe she’d been born with it.

“Okay, here’s the truth. I don’t date very often. Lately, not at all. You understand what it’s like to grow up with a famous parent, you never know if someone is in it for you. Or if they just want a good story. ‘I dated Trina Gallard’s daughter.’ You know?” They were moving, but not really. Swaying to the swelling of strings, without bothering to turn in a circle. Beat was staring at her mouth, as if concentrating hard on the words that were coming out—and she couldn’t have imagined a better reaction to what she was saying. Listening. He was listening. “When I met you a million years ago, I was right in the middle of a hard time. I was just this awkward presence bumbling around, being nothing like my badass mother. I was a disappointment. But you treated me like . . . a person. A real person who was going through the same thing as you. Or have I overblown the whole thing in my head?”

“No,” he said, voice rusted. “You haven’t.”

Relief grew like branches in her veins, straight into her fingertips where they rested on his broad shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Jesus, Mel. You have nothing to thank me for.”

“Okay.” They were being careful to keep their bodies a centimeter apart, but her nipples were slowly drawing into tight points, as if attempting to reach out and brush his chest. His firm hands gripped her waist, thumbs resting on the points of her hips. She had to bite her tongue to keep from requesting that he dig them in. Just once. Just so she could know what it felt like. But that wouldn’t be right. “Beat, my attraction to you isn’t your responsibility.”

When he made a frustrated sound and leaned down to speak against her ear, Mel could only hold her breath, the room pausing around her. “I’m grateful for the way you feel about me, Mel. It’s a beautiful thing. But . . . ah . . .” He seemed to search for the right words. “Now it’s my turn to point out how we were raised. To keep things quiet. Private. I was taught that trusting people, even friends, could ultimately hurt my family, so I’ve probably taken my privacy too far. My romantic life . . . my sex life, I should say . . .” He exhaled hard. “It’s something I keep separate from everything. Everyone.”

Melody’s world shrunk down into that moment, like she’d gone from his big, noisy ballroom to huddling under a blanket fort with him in the dark. What exactly did he mean? How did he keep his romantic life separate? “Beat—”

Trumpets.

So many trumpets blared at once.

They went off in every corner of the ballroom, making it impossible to talk. To hear.

Beat’s lips twisted wryly, mouthing a single word.

Octavia.

Mel quarter turned just in time to watch her mother’s former bandmate enter the ballroom to thunderous applause.

On a throne.

Being carried by four large men dressed as swans.





Chapter Eleven




Beat’s fucking heart was pumping in his throat.

He’d come so close to telling Melody everything. What would have been her reaction? He found himself craving it, even as he stuffed the information back down into its box, sealing the lid shut with a blowtorch. Every eye in the ballroom was on the spectacle taking place in front of them, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Melody to save the world.

Beat, my attraction to you isn’t your responsibility.

Christ, his body disagreed. Vehemently.

His fingertips had no purpose because they hadn’t traced that collarbone. Or the soft swell of her tits. He wanted to drag a hand up her throat, bury it in her hair, and beg her . . .

To withhold pleasure from him.

Until he was fucking shaking.

He wanted to take her into a dark corner and kiss her mouth while she stroked the front of his trousers, but never let him come. It would feel incredible. That wouldn’t be happening, though. He’d been keeping his interests behind closed doors since he turned sixteen.

What would happen if he told her, though? I enjoy being brought to the brink of pleasure and left there. That he refused to let himself be completely vulnerable with anyone—at least at the end of the act? What would she say? What if she trusted him enough to go there with him?

God, she might.

But two things were holding him back. One, he was keeping the blackmail a secret from her. Touching Melody without full honesty between them . . . bothered him. A lot. And two, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold a goddamn thing back from Melody in bed. She wouldn’t just be another partner. There could . . . no, there would be something deeper and more meaningful here than his usual hookup. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to let go with someone like that. Completely. Start to finish. Could he even go there considering the secret he was keeping from her?

Until he figured it out, he needed to keep Melody at a proper distance.

A feat that was growing harder by the second.

And they would be spending a lot more time together.

Beat dragged a hand down his face, lifting it to return a wave from his mother. Despite the golden mask she was wearing, he didn’t miss the way Octavia tilted her head, pinning Melody with an analyzing look. Like she was searching for a resemblance to Trina. Or maybe Octavia was simply stunned to see Melody’s back pressed to his chest, Beat’s hands on her waist. He forcibly stepped back now, suffering through Melody’s resulting shiver.

They weren’t on a date. He needed to stop acting like they were.

Feeling like they were.

Beat’s dates were usually private and had more of a transactional nature.

Finally, the trumpets died down and his mother was helped from her throne by one of the human swans. She noticed the camera hovering at the edge of the dance floor and gave an exaggerated eye roll, before smiling conspiratorially at her rapt audience. “Let the party commence,” she purred, eliciting whistles and applause from the crowd. Someone handed her a glass of champagne in a special golden goblet and off she went, working the crowd like a fairy granting audiences to commoners.

The ballroom eased back into motion, crowds gathering around high-top tables, other couples making their way out onto the dance floor. Now that Octavia had made her entrance, the lights were gradually dimming and the classical music was being replaced with a sexier beat to inspire dancing. Even early in the evening, guests were happy to oblige.

Melody turned, blinking up at him. “Wow. Your mother really just rolled up into this joint like Cleopatra.”

Beat chuckled, a sense of camaraderie he rarely allowed himself to experience making his ribs expand.

Shit. He liked Melody. A lot. And he could tell she wanted to dig into the conversation they’d been having before his mother arrived. It was right there in the slight pinch of her brow. But he wasn’t surprised that she could read his reticence to return there. They had a way of communicating without words.

They shifted at the same time. Regrouped.