Page 70 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

I chuckle as I walk forward to stand by him, admiring the absolutely adorable way he’s eying my piano. “Did you want to touch him?” I ask teasingly.

“You know, I never thought these words would ever leave my lips, but yes. Please. I would like to touch him very much.”

I chuckle. “Go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s meant to be played,” I simply say.

Logan likes that. His eyes soften on me for a second longer before he steps closer to the piano.

“Freddie,” I say, moving forward, “this is Logan. He’s a fellow pianist, so don’t get scared. He knows what he’s doing.”

Logan peeks back at me, curious.

“I, uh…” I look away, blushing, expecting judgmental stares. “I talk to my instruments. Sometimes.”

But Logan just smiles as he lowers himself onto the bench. He takes a moment to settle in, his posture perfect as he eyes the white and black keys in front of him. Slowly, reverently, he holds out his hands, letting them hover above the keys for another moment before he touches them.

His fingertips whisper across them as he whispers, “Gorgeous.”

I step forward to stand by the piano, if only to get a better angle of his face. “Knox thought I was crazy for buying him,” I say. “Why get this when something moreportablewould get the job done? But it’s the only thing I ever really wanted. That and a house all my own. But once I bought the house, I had to fill it with something, right?”

Logan smiles warmly, his eyes still locked on the treasure in front of him. “You don’t have to justify your purchase to me, kitty,” he says.

“You gonna play him?” I ask. “Or just tease him?”

Logan pulls back his hands. He looks at me, the corner of his mouth digging in as he scoots to the left. “Actually,” he says, “I think I’d rather hear you play.”

He pats the empty bench beside him.

I smile, then sit down, my index finger instinctively falling onto middle C. An urge to play a scale comes and goes, and I pause, trying to think of what else I could play for him.

Here I am, sitting at my custom grand piano with a handsome man watching, and every song I come up with just... isn’t impressive enough.

“I don’t know what to play,” I admit, my cheeks turning pink.

“Are you working on anything new?” Logan asks, a more than helpful suggestion, but it makes my stomach quiver all the same.

“Uh...” I hesitate. “Yeah. I am. But...”

“It’s for the Battle of the Bands?”

“No, it’s for me. It’s just new.Rough.”I tilt my head at him. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. May I hear it anyway?”

I glance at him, my heart expanding, beating hard against my ribs. Without a word, I reach for my journal on top of the piano. It flops open easily, notes and contents spilling out around the edges, and I flip to the proper page.

“It’s, uh...” I say, propping the book up in front of me. “Like I said, it’s rough.”

Logan says nothing. He merely watches, his gaze heavy as I touch my fingers to the keys and take a steadying breath.

The first note hums in the air, followed by another. Then another. I play, letting the melody pour from me, filling the space between us. At first, it’s mine alone—soft, hesitant, like an unspoken confession.

But then, I feel him shift beside me. The heat of his body is close,tooclose, and yet not close enough. His hands hover for a second over the keys, and then?—

He joins me.

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