Articulate, I knew.
But I didn’t think there was another word sufficient to describe his home.
“You like it?” His voice hit me from behind. “Ash’s wife…Willow. She helped me decorate it. Helped me make it feel like home.”
“It’s incredible.”
Both luxurious and warm, the loft was one massive, open space. The floor was an expanse of dark gray hardwood and the ceilings two stories above remained open, the ductwork and metal framing left exposed.
Four concrete support columns stretched between the bottom floor and the ceiling. Leather couches and plush lounge chairs were set up in the middle, all mixed up with restored, rustic antique tables and decorations.
My gaze wandered to the far right where a set of stairs led to a bedroom in an upstairs loft that jutted out over the custom kitchen below. It was enclosed only by metal railings, and a huge bed sat in full view, overlooking the living area below.
But the two-story wall of windows on the left was what completely captured my attention. I wandered toward it, drawn to the undoubtedly million-dollar view of the sprawling city beyond.
The sun was just beginning to set, sagging low on the horizon, sending a scatter of twinkling glitter across the buildings and cars below.
My fingers brushed the glass, struck by the beauty, almost floored by it when I glanced over at Zee standing in the middle of the room. He was staring at me. As if I might be a hallucination in his living room.
“Look at you, my little drummer boy, living like a king.” I forced the tease, though it cracked beneath the effort. I wondered how it was possible I thought I could so easily claim him as my own.
His head shook. “Hardly.”
I studied every movement on his face, the words almost a question. “You’re the drummer for one of the biggest bands in the world.” I lifted my arms out to my sides. “You have this amazing place. And then you offer to do this for me? To give me something I’ve wanted for so long? It feels backward. I should be the one doing something for you.”
My voice grew small. “But what do you offer the boy who has everything?”
“None of that means anything when I don’t have anyone to share it with. And you being here?” He paused, and my heart clenched. Then he dropped his face toward the floor as if he didn’t want me to find what would be written in his expression. Desperate to hide the things so visible in his eyes.
Lifting his head, he looked back at me, throat heavy when he swallowed. “You being here for a day is more than enough. Sometimes it gets old, living in the shadows. Somehow they’re not quite so dark when you’re around.”
“Is that what you feel? Like you’re invisible?” That connection I didn’t understand flamed within my chest. Building and intensifying. “Because you’re the only thing I see.”
He flinched. “That’s the problem with all of this.”
“This?”
“The fact I can’t stay away from you when I know goddamned well that is exactly what I need to do. I just…”
He rubbed a knuckle across his pursed lips. “I can’t fucking stand the thought of that piece of shit out there, Alexis. That he’s still on the street. A danger to you. I need you here…with me…until I know that threat is eliminated.”
Emotion gathered fast. “So…I’m here because you want to protect me?”
I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or overjoyed.
His voice turned gruff. “You’re here because this is where I want you. Fact I can give you something you want so badly on top of it? Let’s call that the cherry.”
His confession took possession of the air. Desire throbbed, crackling between us and throbbing between my thighs.
I was in so much trouble.
Blinking, I tried to bring us back to common ground. “So…” I said, looking around and forcing a smile. “How do we do this? I’m actually kind of nervous.”
It was the truth. I’d wanted to play for as long as I could remember.
He took a step forward, as if he were stepping out of that thick knot of tension that kept him rooted to the spot. His tone shifted, turning so sexy it sent another shot of attraction tumbling through me. “What are you nervous about?”
My teeth caught my bottom lip, and I bit down, trying to fight the flush I could feel climbing to my cheeks.
“How could I not be? I haven’t a single clue what I’m doing, and you, this rock star…” The last of my words changed course, veering into something incredulous. “You want to teach me how to play. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that’s a little bit intimidating.”
He came closer. So close I caught the faint murmurings of cedar and spice. The scent radiating from this beautiful boy was distinctly man.
Overwhelming.
I inhaled a shaky breath, his presence rippling through me when he took another step in my direction. He was so close I could reach out and fall right in.
His voice turned hoarse. “Don’t ever want you to feel intimidated by me.”
Too late.
I forced myself to look at him where he towered over me.
“Okay.”
He edged back a fraction, angling his head away as he muttered quietly, “I’m the one who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
I got the impression that statement had nothing to do with music.
“Come on,” he said. His big hand settled back to that spot at the small of my back. The second he touched me, my breaths became shallow.
He led me around the living area to the far wall where a baby grand piano was situated between the long island bar that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living space and the bank of windows.
I couldn’t stop from reaching out and running my fingertips across the gleaming wood. The instrument wasn’t the normal glossy black. Instead, it was a deep red. Mahogany dipped in chocolate.
Zee released a shuddered breath, and my attention darted to his face.
Panic and fear.
“What’s the matter?” I whispered.
He roughed an agitated hand through his hair. “It’s just…been a long time.”
A frown pulled at my brow. “You don’t…play?”
His smile was pained. “Not in a lot of years.”
I blinked at him, trying to see through the veils and secrets and mystery. I settled on the obvious. “But you miss it.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
I turned back to face the piano. “And still, you brought me here.”
“Yeah,” he repeated.
How was it possible to make sense of this conflicted man? I could feel it, his spirit being cut in two, as if he were desperate for one thing and terrified to claim it.
And again, he was taking a leap for me.
He cleared his throat, breaking up the intensity. “So…have you ever taken any sort of lessons before?”
“Fourth grade music. Mrs. Lindstrom. I could play a mean recorder.” I smiled at him, wishing it might hold the power to erase whatever was tormenting him.
He chuckled. “Impressive.”
“I thought so.”
“She teach you how to read music?”