“Yes. Yes, okay.” But I’m not okay. My mind is racing, a bad feeling in my gut. “She—Sofia—came to us looking for a Stradivarius. That wasn’t an accident. And he didn’t tell me. Of course, he knows I wouldn’t approve. Our mother preached distance from all things music, let alone a violin. I would have freaked on him, but surely he knew that was weird, her coming her for a violin. And I—”
He leans in and kisses me, his hand sliding under my hair to my neck. “You’re talking a million miles an hour. Deep breath, baby.”
My hands go to his waist, the warmth of his body a comfort I have never known before he whisked into my life, riding the wind of a new season, I both welcome and fear. “I’m trying. He’s my brother. I have to find him.”
“And we will,” he says. “We will.” He catches my hand. “Let’s head to my place, open a bottle of wine, eat cookies, and decide what comes next.”
“That sounds so simple and perfect,” I say.
“It is, baby. It can be. We just have to make it simple.”
I don’t argue because I want it to be possible too damn much.
We head to my apartment for me to pack up, but Sofia lingers on my mind, the words which she’d written to Gio whispering in my head: Come see me. I won’t keep secrets any longer. I’m done with secrets.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kace plops down on my bed with a box of cookies, a rather surreal moment for me. This crazy talented, sexy, perfect man is not only in my bed, but very much in my life. “Finally something good to eat,” he says, taking a bite of an extra-large sugar cookie.
I lean on the doorframe of the bathroom, practically right in front of him, in the tiny room. “Didn’t you go to some fancy lunch with your donor?”
“Fancy translated to vegan,” he says. “There was tofu. There was lots of tofu.” He inhales the cookie and reaches for another. “Disgusting.”
I laugh and walk into the bathroom, removing an overnight bag from a small closet. “Some people love tofu,” I say because my room is so close that my stepping into the bathroom does nothing to douse our conversation.
“Do you?”
“No,” I reply, shoving hairspray in the bag. “I’m Italian. I live for pasta.”
“How about more tacos?” he counters. “You liked those, right?”
“Loved them,” I assure him.
“You up for tacos tonight?”
“That sounds great,” I say, feeling another surreal moment. When have I ever planned dinner with anyone?
“Tomorrow night I’ll take you to a German spot I love,” he says.
I laugh, packing my eye shadow palette. “You’re determined to feed me spaetzle.”
“You’ll love it,” he promises. “Not as much as these damn cookies I can’t stop eating, but you’ll love it.”
The cookies remind me of Jenny and I walk to the doorway to watch him finish off what’s left of one. “I talked to Jenny.”
“She told me.” He seals the box. “She really wants to come and see your store.”
“I invited her to come by at any time. She wanted to come by tonight, but I was afraid you’d show up before she did and we’d be gone. Kace, she—well, she invited us to brunch Sunday and I wasn’t sure what to say.”
He stands and that’s all it takes. One step and he’s right there with me, his hand on the doorjamb by my head, his big body radiating heat. “Yes,” he says. “The answer should be yes.”
“They’re your family and I’m—”
His fingers brush my cheek. “We’re together, Aria. We do things together. And just in case you need me to even more direct—” His hand slides around my hip and splays on my lower back. “I want you to go with me. And they want to get to know you.” His hand falls away. “Unless you don’t want to go—”
“Don’t you even say that.” I capture his hand and press it right back on my hip and hold it there. “I do. We’re new and I’m not used to this whole relationship thing.”
“Get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.” He leans in and brushes his lips over mine, his tongue doing a slow, silky slide across mine before he murmurs, “Capisci?”
I smile at the Italian word that in this case means do you understand. “I do. And you taste like cookies.”
“I’d rather taste like you.”
My cheeks flush and now he smiles. “Why did I know you’d blush? I think I need to give you a little warning, Aria Stradivari.”
His words promise that warning will be hot and naughty and I happily take the bait. “Warn me?”
“I’m going to say and do such dirty things to you that you won’t be able to blush any longer.”
A low burn simmers in my belly. “If I let you,” I taunt.