Reckless Abandon(54)
His eyes are hooded, feeling every note his delicate hands are eliciting from the heavy wooden instrument. His body is strong yet moves ever so slightly in a beautiful dance with the instrument.
A wave of chills run up my spine, and my body ignites in a force of electricity I’ve come to expect whenever I’m in the same room as him. I’m sure others feel it too. He is magnetic and intoxicating—the most sinful sight the eyes have ever indulged.
Yet for me it is more than what my eyes are seeing. It’s what my body is feeling—because unlike the people around me, I know what it’s like to be in between that man and the instrument he is playing.
My eyes are fixated on Asher and, damn it, I hate that he makes me react this way.
His fingers work the strings of the fingerboard and the neck settled further into his shoulder as he takes the song into a wolf tone. With each pluck of his fingers, the strings vibrate, moving the air around it.
Instinctually, my body moves with his and again we are one with the song.
Loud beats.
Resonating sounds.
Bowed and plucked.
Like the strings of my heart.
Asher dives deeper into his performance and if I weren’t paying close attention I would have missed the startle of his muscles, the jolt in his shoulders at the very second he realizes I am standing right here.
His face rises and I am hit with intense emotion. Every feeling he has at this moment is being projected to the back of the room with a look of remorse so powerful I feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me.
He continues to play. He continues to feel. And he continues to keep his hold on me. The connection is too powerful, too much for my damaged heart. I can’t let him pull me in further. I’ve been down that rabbit hole and almost didn’t make it back up.
I excuse myself from the crowd around me, pushing past the ones in the doorway and make my way into the hallway. The air in here is too stuffy; I can’t find my breath. Running, my feet charge down the hallway and through the heavy doors to the stairwell, leaping down the four flights and through the lobby. I leave the building as quickly as possible forgetting my coat and regretting it as soon as the afternoon chill hits my bones.
And my bag? I left my damn bag upstairs!
My palm begins to itch at the thought of my bag being so far away from me. My hand rises to my head and I yank down on my hair, contemplating whether I should head back upstairs for it or stay as far away from that room as possible until I can get my emotions back in check.
I pull my sweater in tighter and hunch my shoulders into my body taking quick steps hoping to get home as quickly as possible. I’ll have to ask Crystal to drop my bag off on her way home.
“Emma.” My name is shouted from a space in front of the building. It’s not a voice I immediately recognize but I turn around anyway. I may not recognize the voice but the face is familiar. Devon is dressed in black dress pants and matching button down, gesturing over to me. “Do you need a ride?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m just a few blocks.”
He walks over to a black SUV and opens the back passenger door as any chauffer would do. “I have time for a few blocks.”
If the man hadn’t been anything but a complete gentleman to me this summer I would say, “Screw you.” I find it hard to believe he had anything to do with what happened then. And, let’s face it, the man saved my life. I don’t have the privilege of being a bitch to him.
I walk back toward the building and up to Devon. Placing my hand on the top of the proffered door, I push it closed. Devon is taken aback by the action. He is about to open his mouth in argument but is surprised when I push past him and place my hand on the front passenger door handle and open it.
“I’ll let you drive but I won’t let you chauffeur me around.”
Devon lets loose a small grin as he closes the door behind me. He walks around the car, climbs in, and starts the car.
“Make a left at the light.”
“I know where you live, Emma.” The hoarseness of his voice brings me back to the moment he rescued me in the water and told me to hold on.
“Keeping tabs on me?”
Devon eyes are focused straight ahead. “Only to make sure you’re okay.”
God, for someone with his stature of discipline and chivalry, he certainly found himself in less than gentlemanly company working for Alexander Asher. “Why did you let me believe it was your boat? Why did you pretend to be . . . him?”
“You came to that conclusion on your own.” His tone is calm and soothing. He’s right. I know Leah and I came to that assumption by ourselves. I want to be mad at him but I know better. He was the one who helped us get our passports and get home. I can never thank him enough for that.
This gentle giant doesn’t belong with a conniving predator like Asher. Which makes me wonder something that has been plaguing my mind for the past week. “You made the call to Frank, didn’t you? You are the reason I got the job.”
Devon doesn’t say a word. I take that as confirmation.
I throw my hands up in agitation. “Why? I don’t understand why you would purposefully get me to the school of the man who used me. You have no idea what happened in Capri. If you did, you would never have wanted me here.”
My adrenaline is at an all-time high; I could leap out the roof of the car. Devon, on the other hand, is stoic, unfazed by my drama.