Page 84 of Liars and Liaisons

“It became very clear early on that being good was not enough for the public. They wanted more, and I found that I wanted it too. I wantedperfection.” Pausing, he scoffs under his breath. “No one tells you how potent perfection is. That once you taste it, youcraveit. Forever. Good and great become synonymous with failure, and you will kill yourself trying to achieve it.”

His next breath is shaky, his eyes apologetic. “I got used to that feeling. Let it drive me to become a success outside of my family. Went into teaching because I wanted to help those like myself reach their full potential. I thought that was my destiny—to continue chasing something unattainable and hate myself whenever I couldn’t have it. With music, I could work through the need. With you…”

Holding me up with his hips, he brings his arms up, cupping my jaw in both hands. He tilts my head, angling it so his lips brush mine when he speaks again. “I wasn’t prepared for the sort of addiction you’d be.”

My pulse stutters. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me want to forgive you,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against his. “And IknowI shouldn’t.”

The smallest grin forms, and he takes my wrists, looping them around his neck again. His hips surge forward, his arousal stirring against my ass. The water’s cleansed us mostly, but something tells me the dirt inside of us isn’t going anywhere.

“Don’t forgive me yet, dirty girl. I want to earn it.”

* * *

I don’t go backto my room that night—or any after. Grayson keeps me practically bound to the bed, sinking his mouth between my legs at sunup and sundown, making me come over and over. Like he really is an addict trying to stave off withdrawals.

It doesn’t occur to me the first few nights to try and stay up, just to see what he does when I pass out. Somehow, the noises are less prevalent on this side of the hall, so I have no problems falling asleep when he finally drags himself away from me.

Or maybe it’s all the orgasms I’m unaccustomed to. A part of me wonders if one ever gets used to them or if they drain the energy from your body in the most delicious way every time.

Nate leaves before the party’s over the night I lose my virginity. Since that’s apparently the night it happened and not after the fundraiser all those weeks ago. I’m still trying to come to terms with that reality.

He dips without saying good-bye, though he leaves a crude note taped to his brother’s door, promising to come back for me.Don’t get too comfortable, it says, and the threat is obvious to both Grayson and me despite me not telling him what all he said about exacting his revenge.

Frankly, I’m not really sure what to do. If I tell Grayson, it endangers my entire family. If I don’t mention it, we’re the ones in danger.

It’s a lose-lose situation, so I’m just trying to soak up what little time I might have left while I can.

One night, I wake up to that familiar sensation of having someone’s eyes on me; I peel mine open, sitting up with a gasp and fully expecting someone to be standing at the foot of the bed.

Grayson’s is an upholstered platform with gray-and-black bedding that fits him to a T. The room itself is large, with a wall of tall, narrow windows that have pointed arches at the tops. There’s a wardrobe against the opposite wall, a floor-length mirror plated in brown wood, and two green velvet armchairs facing the en suite bathroom.

A pair of ornate double doors with black handles opens up into a sitting room that has a big stone fireplace, a sofa, and unsurprisingly, a grand piano. Grayson sits on the bench in front of it, writing something on the top of a stack of papers.

I stand in the doorway, wrapped in a knitted throw, just watching him for a few moments. That quiet, unhurried manner I noticed the first time I really laid eyes on him, the morning after we met. The strong, sturdy set of his broad shoulders, defined by lean muscle and that massive goat tattoo spanning his upper back.

Tilting his head from one side to the other, he cracks his neck, then shakes out his fingers. Pushing the papers back on the piano lid, he settles his hands at the keys, flexing each for several seconds. They don’t touch the ivory, as if he’s not sure he should.

When he lowers them though, playing just one key at first before a whole chorus joins, it’s puremagic.

The melody starts soft and slow, sensual in its repetition of a darker note in between the more lilted ones. He plucks with a practiced precision, and I imagine the song coming to life with each keystroke.

For a heartbeat, the song decrescendos until no sound comes at all. And then it crashes into the room, washing over me like a warm ocean wave. It builds seamlessly, haunting in its gravitational pull, and it’s the first song I’ve everfeltinside of my chest.

A part of me wants to move to him to see if I can feel the vibrations of each chord in him the way I suspect, but I’m glued in place. Rooted like a tree, immobilized by complete awe.

Everyone in the James family is talented. Even Nate plays guitar and the drums, and Aiden is a god on bass, according to the rest of the world. Butthis? It might be as close to religion as I’ll ever get.

I might be an addiction, but it’s very clear this is his preferred drug.

I think I’d gladly sit at this altar, watching him worship, for the rest of my life. If only to get to experience a glimpse of his perfection.

He doesn’t hum or add any words at all. It’s just the music and him existing in this room together, moving as one being. Concentration laces his profile, and he nods with each press of his fingers, as if forcing himself into the song.

I startle when it abruptly stops.

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