A Wicked Song (Brilliance Trilogy 2)

“I can see that. He loved his family. I was young when I spent time with him but I felt that love. He was a good man.” I can feel the emotion expanding in my chest and as if he reads my readiness for a change of topic, he eyes my bowl. “You ate it all.”

He’s right on that. Somehow I’ve managed to down it all while we’ve talked, while I dare think now that we’ve managed to grow closer in a time one would think we’d be farther away. “How could I not? It was delicious.”

“How do you feel?”

“Much better.”

“Your hand?”

“Hurts,” I say, “but it’s remarkably bearable.”

“Then I have something to show you.” He pushes to his feet and steps to my side, offering me his hand. That hand is always a question, one that I understand now more than ever. His hand is always about trust, him asking for it, and me giving it.

But he asks. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t demand. The question is: does he manipulate? I’d say yes, he does. His decision to hold back his knowledge of my identity was, in fact, manipulation. I have reasons to doubt and fear Kace, I do. The problem is that I want to trust him. I have always wanted to trust him.

But trust is a two-way street and I believe Kace has offered me an olive branch; he’s shown me trust tonight. It matters.

I press my hand to his hand and he pulls me to my feet, our legs aligned, his hard body pressed to mine. I feel delicate with this man and somehow strong but as I promised him, I will not allow feelings to control me. And so, I warn, “My trust is not unconditional, Kace. In fact, right now, it’s fragile.”

CHAPTER SIX

Kace reacts to my declaration in that perfect way Kace reacts to everything. He doesn’t push back. He doesn’t throw words or anger at me. In fact, he doesn’t use words at all. He simply cups my head and kisses me until I’m weak in the knees, and moaning with the delicious licks of his tongue. Just that easily he makes it clear where he stands, and that’s with me. He catches my fingers with his fingers and guides me toward my living room.

More than a little curious about what he wants to show me in my own apartment, I follow quite willingly, and we sit down on the couch in front of an iPad. There is a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up to the wine, but you’re off the pain meds, and I think it might be recommended.”

Unease ripples through me. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to take you on a walk down memory lane and I’m not sure how it will affect you.” He fills my glass and then his. “It’s nothing bad. I promise. Try the wine. It’s another blend I favor.”

“How did you get your wine to my apartment?”

He wiggles a brow. “Magic.”

“You paid Steven to make it happen.”

He grins, a charming grin. “I did.” He motions to my glass. “Try it.”

Because he has money and power, and I’m reminded of the men who visited my father before he disappeared. Men in suits and driving fancy cars. Shoving aside the past, I’m now eager for the wine, and I sip from my glass, a sweet spice touching my tongue. “It’s interesting. Good. Drier than the last bottle.”

“It is. This is a French wine, which tends to be drier, at least to my palate.”

“Did you buy it in France?” I ask, curious about his travels and wondering how he will adjust to life here, not on the road. I wonder actually if his life here will last.

“I did,” he confirms. “I need to restock during my next visit. You could help me by going with me in December.”

My mind is suddenly back in his vault, back in that moment when I found that file. When I found Gio’s photos in the drawer. I set my glass down and stand up. He follows and links our hands. “Aria—”

“We can’t just pretend you don’t know who I am. We can’t just pretend you didn’t know before we ever started. We can’t pretend that none of this happened.”

“No,” he agrees, his hands settling on my shoulders. “No, baby, we can’t. We’re not. That was never my intent. Sit back down and hear me out. Please.”

“Well,” I say. “Since you said please.”

He laughs, a masculine rumble I feel all the way to my toes. “Yes, I did,” he says. “I’m learning.” He sobers. “I’m learning a lot about myself through you, baby.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“I don’t either, but you’ll know when I do. Sit?”

I nod and sit down. He follows, maneuvering the wine out of the way to place the iPad in front of me. “Watch. Just watch.”