Dangerous Control (Dark Dominance 3)

“Are you crying?”

I swallowed and shook my head. “No. Well, a little. It’s the way you play.” I swiped at another tear before it could fall. “Please, don’t stop.”

He put the bow to the strings, studying me, and played a few more notes. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes. Whatever it was, it was more than I wanted to show him.

“Please don’t cry,” he said, looking away.

“I’m sorry. It’s just you and that violin…and you make violins…and Stradivari made this violin so many years ago… God, there’s something about the connectedness of it, and the way music lives on and on and on.”

He played a little more, a smile teasing at the edges of his lips. “You’ve always been so dramatic, Lilly-Alice.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I like it. I never know what you’re going to say.” Milo trailed off on a vibrato, lifted the bow and rested the instrument on his knee. “In the car, when you said you thought of your violin as a heart that’s beating…” He fixed his eyes on mine, dark and fierce. “It’s what I’ve always thought too, the exact metaphor, and you put it into words.”

The hair on my arms rose. “Well, you played like that for my father, like everything was from the heart. You played like that just now.”

“It’s a Stradivarius. If you’re not going to play it with heart, why play it at all?” He handed it to me, forcing it into my trembling fingers when I shook my head.

“I can’t. It won’t be as beautiful as you. I mean, as the way you played.”

I was coming apart and I didn’t know why. As I stood there, helpless, Milo guided the violin up under my chin. “Play it, Alice.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

We stared at each other. I’d never been good at hiding my feelings. He had to know I desired him with every cell of my being, and that I was too frightened to play because there was so much longing and meaning in this moment.

“I wish we could get married,” I said, another renegade tear rolling down my cheek. “I don’t want to play your violin. I want to…” I want to play you. I want your face to look that way because you love me. “If we got married, I’d be able to hear you play like that anytime I want.”

“I’ll play for you anytime you want.” He touched my cheek to banish the tear before it dropped on the Strad. “You don’t have to marry me for that.”

My breath caught in my throat, making me give a weird little cough. “But I would marry you, Milo. Don’t you think we’d be good together? Your mother would be over the moon.” I was pretending to joke, badly. “And our kids would be great at the violin.”

I had this image of him showing a child, our child, how to play the violin with his depth of skill and feeling, and I lost it. He stared at me, mute.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying this stuff,” I said, swiping away another tear. “Maybe the wine. I’m not a good drinker. Forget everything I just said, because I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Music makes people emotional, and high-tier instruments—”

“You made me emotional,” I said, cutting him off. “You, and the way you played.”

He looked away again. “Alice…”

“Please take this violin. It scares me.”

I gave him the priceless Stradivarius, and he stood to put it away. “Milo,” I said when he turned from me. “I do love you. I’m not exaggerating.”

“I love you, too.” He said it to the cabinet as he arranged the violin in its case and loosened the bow. “I’ve known you longer than just about every friend in my life.”

Every friend. He emphasized the word. He wanted me to stop my dramatic nonsense before I embarrassed both of us beyond bearing, but I couldn’t stop. Like the Prokofiev in the car, my feelings spilled out, sweeping, jumpy, vibrant. “I would actually, literally marry you tomorrow,” I insisted. “I’ve felt that way since the first day I saw you. I would marry you now, this second, not just because of our parents and our friendship, but for so many things.”

He locked the cabinet and turned to me, his expression guarded. “Why are we talking about marriage? I think you’ve been swept up in the magic of the Stradivarius and Bach.”

“Ugh. No. Bach’s violin pieces are trash compared to Tchaikovsky or Mozart.”

“Holiday magic, then.”

I waved a hand, wondering what was in that wine, that a few sips would make me embarrass myself this way. “No, it’s the magic of you being so freaking gentlemanly and handsome and talented. Whenever I’m around you, I feel this pull to you, this excitement to be around you.”

“Because we’ve known each other for so long. That’s all it is, Lala, excitement because we haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Lala. The childhood name both thrilled and infuriated me. I knew he meant to push me away with it. His hard, dark gaze gave me nothing. No words, no agreement or disavowal. It just left me flailing in the open, my hyper-emotional words out there, impossible to take back.

“I’m sorry. I always blurt out this crazy stuff.” I forced a laugh, flushing hot.

“It’s not crazy. We’re good friends, and we share an intense love of music. I’m glad you came to see my Strad, and I’m flattered that you were so moved, but it’s getting late.” I could tell from his tone that he desperately wanted to get rid of me. “I should take you home now,” he said, gesturing for me to precede him out of the room.

We walked back down the hallway to his living room, where Blue sprawled in a dog bed beside the giant fireplace. When he saw us, his tail thumped the floor.

“I have to say goodbye to Blue.” I broke away from Milo and crossed to his lounging black greyhound. When I crouched in front of him, he extended a narrow paw, half-reclining, lazy and content.

Stroking his fur helped me calm down a little, and get a hold of myself. He eased back down into a sprawl as I scratched his ear, and heaved a sigh of contentment with his tongue half out of his mouth. So what if I’d confessed my crush to Milo? Like, literally told him to his face that I loved him, and wanted to marry him? He had to already know. Yes, the two of us would be uncomfortable around each other forever, now that I’d put it out there. That was my punishment for letting it all spill out, but at least I’d admitted what I’d hidden in my heart for so long.

“I’m sorry I made things weird between us,” I said, turning and getting to my feet. “You know how I am.”

“Yes. I know.”

He’d come closer while I was petting Blue. One hand was thrust in his pocket, and I couldn’t read the somber expression on his face. Then the hand was out of his pocket, moving toward me, cradling my chin. His other arm came around me, pulling me against his long, hard frame. I gasped as he tilted my head back and pressed his lips to mine.

Chapter Three: Milo

I held her harder than I meant to. She was so delicate, so warm, so full of life and emotions. I didn’t mean to kiss her. Damn it, I wasn’t supposed to kiss her. I wasn’t even supposed to have her at my place. Weakness, to put on that turn signal and bring her here where we could be alone together.

But oh, how many fucking times had I dreamed about kissing Lilly-Alice Nyquist? How many times had I imagined the curves of her body beneath my fingers, the heat and taste of her mouth? Subtle notes of port wine and longing. Fucking love. She’d hit the nail on the head with that word.

“No,” I murmured against her lips, at the same time I pushed her against the doorjamb to trap her in my grip. She responded to my force with trusting surrender, because she didn’t understand the danger she was in. Sweet, tantalizing Alice, with her blushing, breathless declarations of love. She wanted to marry me? She had no idea how much I enjoyed hurting women, making them cry. I was a man who prized sexual obedience and surrender. Even if I explained what I was into, even if I paused our kiss and told her everything right now, she wouldn’t understand.

My hands moved over her body, exploring

the curves beneath her soft, embroidered sweater dress. I reached under her hem, pushing up the skirt just enough to cup her ass and slide a fingertip along the outline of her panties. I found bare skin, smooth and warm. Her tight little butt cheeks begged to be squeezed and parted, so I could plunder her innocent asshole with my raging erection.

Jesus, really? That’s the first place your mind goes?

No, I couldn’t do this. Even now, she was leaning into me with unwavering trust. Stop. Stop now, before you do something you can’t take back. My mind raged at me to stop, but my body couldn’t hold her close enough. I couldn’t kiss her deeply enough. I found myself groping her, grasping one thigh, practically carrying her over to the couch.

Then I was on top, and she was under me. I pulled down the hem of her dress, covering her panties and upper thighs, like that would stop me from going too far. When she parted her legs, I groaned and lifted onto my elbows, because if our bodies came together that way, cock to mons, I would tear off the clothes between us and ravage her.

I think my groan finally clued her to the danger. She stopped trying to pull me close and looked into my eyes instead, twining her fingers in my hair. I kissed her, trying to be tender, but going rabid and wild within moments, because she was too damn alluring, and I’d wanted to kiss her lips for so long.

Yes, and you didn’t, because you can’t do this. You have to stop this.