Page 127 of Till The Sun Dies (Checkmate 2)

A long pause sits between us, a pillow wall of sorts that no one wants to cross. “Doyouwant to stay somewhere else? Would you be more comfortable with your own room?”

“This trip is about you, Laine, not me. I’m just theotherthird wheel.” Bending his neck and staring into my eyes, he forces my heart into a tailspin. “I just want you to be happy. I want you to tell me what you want, and then I’ll make it happen. No hard feelings if you’d prefer I slept in the bath.”

It’s like I’m fifteen again and on the verge of kissing a cute boy, because a nervous giggle slides along my throat, stopping on a squeak when the elevator doors ding open. Cowardly, I race into the hall before he calls me out for being weird, but he easily catches up and pulls me around to face the fire.

He stands close enough that the oxygen clogs in my lungs while he stares into my eyes and licks his lips. “Laine…”

I swallow nervously. “Um…”

“Give me some answers.”

“Okay.”Please, please, please! Don’t ask me anything too important. I was ready to be brave, but it’s fled. Gone. MIA.

“Do you want me to stay elsewhere? I won’t get mad, I promise.”

“It’s not that–”

A shake of his head cuts me off. “One word answers. One single word. Yes or no.”

I blow out a gusty breath. “No. I don’t want you to stay elsewhere.”

Smiling, he squeezes my hand. “Good. It’s one bed. Do you trust me to be that close? I’m not like other guys. I promise I’ll never hurt you. I’ll stay on my side, and I won’t bother you.”

“It’s okay.” I lick my parched lips and focus on the way his eyes drop to the movement. “Um… I trust you. You’re Ang.”

He nods. “I’m Ang.”

“Ang is safe. You’ve never hurt me.”

“Right.” Uncharacteristically, he chucks my chin and flashes a handsome grin. “I never have, I never will. You can trust me.”

He steps around me and swipes the card over the lock. The red light flashes green, and a door much sturdier than that at the Cherry Drop opens to an opulent room whose main focal point is not the massive bed in the center, though it’s plush and amazing, nor is it the giant wall of glass that shows off the ocean for as far as the horizon stretches.

No, the main focus is a black grand piano on a tiled platform closest to the double glass doors.

“Fuck me.” Forgetting me and the open door, Ang crosses the room and makes a beeline straight for the gleaming instrument that takes up a good portion of the space.

The sun is setting behind the hotel, so heavy drapes and lacy curtains throw the room into a mess of shadows, but the sunlight reflecting off of the ocean seeps through the lacy curtains and bounces off the black piano, almost like it’s in a spotlight.

“Bish’s credit card is on this room? Do we know where he got his money from?” Ang circles the piano and trails his fingertips over the gleaming frame. “Bösendorfer.” He practically salivates over the expensive piano, stroking it in a way that sends my mind spiraling.

“The same as yours?”

He looks up in wonder. Grins. “Yeah, exactly the same. You remember?”

“Of course.” I kick my flip-flops off near the bed and wander forward with a pulse that could compete with a hummingbird’s wings. “I spent years listening to you bitch about the one you had, and how you were going to buy one just like this one day.” I follow in his wake and trail my fingers over the ivory keys. “Then when you got yours, you were so excited.”

“I was twenty-five. It was a gift to myself.”

I smile nostalgically. “And I was in college. Came home that summer and you nearly wet your pants with excitement.”

Part frowning, part smiling, his eyes follow my movements. “I didn’t nearly wet my pants. That wouldn’t be cool at all. I was… blasé about telling you.”

My shoulders bounce with silent laughter. “I didn’t realize people who wereblaséabout something clapped their hands.”

“Shut up.” He slides onto the stool and lets out a breathy groan that does weird things to my stomach.

My mind conjures an image of me sitting with him. Letting him teach me with as much care as he taught me to shoot.

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