I swallow. “It was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I realize I’ve used the word ‘seen’ and immediately feel awkward.
He must sense something about me because he purses his generous lips. “Don’t do that,” he says.
“Do what?”
“Get weird whenever the subject of sight comes up. I am who I am. I don’t need to be defined by my sight loss.”
Well, now I feel even weirder.
He puts out one hand and beckons me. “Come here.”
I glance over at Reed, who nods, and then I step closer. Darius rises to his feet, and I catch my breath. He’d looked imposing on stage, but up close, he’s breathtaking. He’s put a t-shirt on, thank goodness, but the material clings to the muscles of his biceps and pecs, and I’m pretty sure if I look hard enough, I can even make out his abs. He has a half sleeve of tattoos from his elbow to his wrist. His long hair is still damp and hanging loose. There’s something pouty about his lower lip and the thought of biting it pops into my head.
Jesus. Where did that come from?
I don’t know what to expect.
“I want to know what you look like,” he says.
It dawns on me that he’s going to touch my face, and my stomach flips, my pulse thudding in my veins.
He places both hands to my shoulders and then lifts one to the top of my head, his palm pressing to my crown.
“You’re taller than I thought you’d be,” he observes.
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say.
Does he think I’m a giant? Next to him, I feel tiny.
“Close your eyes.”
I do as he says.
He lifts both hands and sweeps his thumbs lightly across my eye sockets, tracing the line of my browbone, and then down to my cheeks.
“Your cheeks are warm,” he says. “Am I embarrassing you?”
“No.”Yes.
I’d expect his fingers to be soft, but they’re not at all, and then I realize the strings of his instrument have hardened the tips with calluses. From my cheeks, he moves to my nose, learningthe shape, and then his fingers are on my lips. I hold my breath as he outlines them.
“Pretty.”
His thumb drags down on my lower lip slightly, and for a moment I think he’s going to slide a finger between my lips and onto my tongue, but he doesn’t. What would I have done if he had? Push him away, or suck on it?
A little flutter of arousal dances inside me at the thought, and my nipples tingle and harden beneath my dress. I hope he’s not going to run his hands down my body, because he’ll be able to tell the effect he’s had on me. I’m also aware of Reed watching his son touching me, and that does strange things to my insides as well.
It’s as though he’s caught me in a trance. Just like when I’d been watching him on stage, I’m utterly under his spell. Does he have this effect on all women? I imagine he does. There’s something incredibly attractive about such a talent, and it helps that he’s also extraordinarily hot.
I remember myself and take a step back, breaking the connection. This is my stepbrother. We might be strangers, but legally, we are related.
I can also sense Reed’s gaze on me. What’s he thinking? Did he pick up on the spark I felt? I’m such an idiot. I bet any woman who gets within a few feet of Darius Riviera reacts in the same way. It doesn’t mean anything.
The truth is, I don’t have a huge amount of experience of being around men. Sure, I’ve been around plenty of high-school boys, but they definitely don’t count as being men. Then there are the assholes my mother brought home, but I don’t consider them men either—more like slimy, weaselly shitheads. They shared more genetics with pigs than humans, and honestly, that’s an insult to pigs.
I remember that Reed was one of those assholes. Except he stuck around for longer than a few weeks—long enough for him and my mother to get married, in fact. I wish I could remember him better, could remember what their relationship was like, or how he treated her. I assume things didn’t end well, since he didn’t exactly stick around, plus, I note, he doesn’t seem affected by the news of her death. But then, why would he be? She was probably nothing more than a fleeting moment in his past. Someone he’d long forgotten.