Page 130 of The Darkest Note

“Tell me then. Who do you think I am?” he challenges.

“Someone who always gets his way.” I take the seat beside him and begin a duet. With my fingers drawing out the music, teasing a new layer to the melody, the piece turns full and haunting. “Someone who doesn’t take no for an answer,” I add. I think of what he did to Mr. Mulliez and to me. “Someone who isn’t afraid to be cruel.”

“You think I’m evil.”

“I think it’s easier to choose darkness than light.” I play the dark keys to prove my point. “That way, rather than being hurt, you’re the one doing the hurting.”

He takes one hand off the keyboard and I impulsively fill in the missing notes.

“You’re right. I’m not a good person.” Dutch’s eyes are hot on my face. “But if there’s any light left inside me, it’s all drawn to you.”

A burst of air hits my lungs and I look up at him, suspending the chord.

“You’re in my head.” He keeps one hand on the keyboard, stands and places his other arm around me, playing with me between his arms. “And what I hate even more,” Dutch whispers into my hair, “is that I can’t tell if I’m inside yours.”

A sick feeling wrenches my stomach. Because… he is.

I have no idea when things started to change, but I’m drawn to him. To the brokenness in him. Maybe there’s a dark, twisted part of me that thrives on it. That loves how even someone like Dutch—rich, handsome, and with the world at his fingertips—can be impaled by life.

“Tell me you don’t feel this too.” His breath hits the shell of my ear, sending skitters of desire racing up my spine.

It’s a challenge.

My eyebrows tighten. “You must be very popular with the girls if this is how you repay your debts.”

His gaze slides down to the piano. A low chuckle rumbles through his chest and since he’s right behind me, I feel every vibration. My heart does a strange flip, but I maintain my cold expression and keep my focus on the music.

I play softly, choosing my own chords rather than the ones that belong to this piece.

“No other girl comes close to you,” he says with dark confidence.

Caught off guard by the frank confession, I sweep my gaze in his direction.

“Now that your doubts have been addressed,” he continues, his lips skating from my ear to my cheek, “do you have any other questions for me?”

My body feels languid. I press my fingers to the piano, but I’ve already forgotten what song we’re playing. All I can think about is the memory of our last kiss. The heat of his mouth on mine. Rough callouses on my sensitive flesh. A wet tongue sliding below my collar.

He’s lying.

There’s another girl.

Me.

My heart stutters. “Why me?”

Why not Cadence Without Makeup? Is it because he’s into red heads? Or green eyes? Is it because I’m a fantasy?

“Because your music speaks to me.” He leaves one hand on the piano and the other presses a chord into my back. “Because,” he shifts his hands lower “when I hear you play, it makes mefeel.It’s been a long freaking time since I’ve felt anything. It’s been forever since I’ve felteverything.” His hands skate back to the piano and he finishes the note that I’ve left hanging. “You force me to face the truth, even if the truth is more cruel than I could ever be.”

His touch is a drug. I’m melting into him, seeking the warmth of his chest. The hardness of his abs. The promise of his kiss.

Still, I make a half-ditched effort to keep control. “How would I even know if you were telling the truth?” I ask.

His laughter is low and gripping. The music shifts again. My fingers are digging deeper into the keys. It produces a different kind of sound. One full of decadence, as if we’re approaching something thrilling but dangerous.

“I guess you’d have to call my bluff,” he says.

“And if I did?” I turn my face to the side, breathing heavily.

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