“You’re going to have to learn how to share, Stan,” I snigger, adding softly, “think you can do that?”
“Share you? Absolutely.”
He grits those words, making me jolt and I look at him with wide eyes. He sounds like he can’t think of anything worse. Like sharing me would be a nightmare.
But then he seems to jerk himself, proceeding with telling me a funny story and it makes me laugh. Stan might be a little on the possessive side, but it’s nothing that I can’t handle.
I glance at his big, strong hands, the sharp cut to his jaw. Those eyes.
Swallowing I tell myself, that yes, I can definitely handle him. I can definitely handle him.
So far...
Tilting his head to the side, he suddenly murmurs, “Will you pull your hair over your shoulder for me.”
I raise my brows but I do as he tells me. “Like this?” A long, dark wave falls beside my face.
“Like that,” he rasps before mournful pain marks his eyes. It frets me. I don’t want him to be in pain. “You remind me a little of someone when you look like that.”
“Who?” I ask in surprise, because this conversation doesn’t feel like our other ones. Usually it’s me talking about myself and I’m always expecting him to tire after a while but he never does.
But I’m more interested in him and I get a slight kick out of this new information.
“My mother,” he replies and I perk my ears because he never talks about her. Or his family. “She was a cellist, just like you.”
That makes me sway a little and I take a step closer to him and he opens his legs, for me to stand in between them.
“I didn’t k...know that.”
“I didn’t tell you,” he says, doing a hard shrug before thoughtfully shaking his head, his eyes filling with memories. “My father was crazy about her. He loved her more than he loved himself. She was his everything.”
Giving Stan a warm smile, I murmur, “That’s so romantic.” My smile widens. “So sweet.”
His eyes turn affectionate, like I’m being far too innocent and he raises his hand, gently wiping out my smile. “It wasn’t romantic, all mine. It was dangerous.”
I glance at him in surprise at the ruthlessness in his voice and he rubs his eyes, suddenly looking tired.
“He damaged her.” Stan’s voice tenses from old anger. “He found out that she was going to leave him, give him up and replace him with her successful music career instead. The idea alone ate at him. He wilted away right in front of our eyes until he one day decided to something about it.”
I’m afraid of his answer, but I still whisper, “What did he do?”
“He stuffed us all into his car...”
“No...” I gasp, putting my hand in front of my mouth, my heart hurting, chafing me.
“And drove us off a bridge,” Stan finishes, shifting in his seat. He glances at me. “I’ve never told anyone what really happened. Always thought I’d take that dirty secret to the grave.”
At first I don’t know what to do or say. I’m still standing between his legs, the warmth from his skin seeping into mine.
His eyes flicker, like he’s expecting me to revolt. Tell him to stay away and give me his key, because his history is so dark. But I would never do that. Feeling closer to him now more than ever.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say in a low voice and then I clutch his hand. “Your secret is safe with me.” I swallow. “And I want you to know that you don’t have to hide anything from me. I mean it.”
“Do you?” he rasps, sounding like he’s doubting me. Like he wants to protect me from something and at the same time expose me to it.
“Yes.”
His fingers comb into my hair and he arranges it back to the way it was, murmuring something about liking it better that way, before yanking me to him, causing me to stumble into his body.