His to Steal

Ch. 16: Princess (Part Two)

My skin heats and I shift where I sit as I remember the odd deposits in the offshore bank accounts. "No, I haven't. What are you insinuating?"

"I've just heard some rumors that there's been some shady business going on with some of the strip clubs in town and—"

"Well, not Wicked Sins," I cut in, the flower that had bloomed in my chest earlier slowly drooping to a shriveled-up stem. "I know my dad hasn't always been perfect, but he's not doing anything illegal, Nicolai. I resent the insinuation that my place of employ—"

He steps closer, placing an arm on either side of my body, caging me in. "That's another question I have, mala tigrica. Why are you playing piano at your father's club?"

Mala tigrica. That phrase scratches something in my brain, a place way back in the corner of my mind that I haven't visited in a long time. But I can't—

A warm palm on my kneecap brings me back to the present and my eyes snap to Nicolai's. "What did you say?"

"I said, why are you playing at your father's club?" Nicolai lifts his hand from my leg and my heart jumps to my throat when he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Your talent has only grown in the past three years; your playing is exquisite, Sutton. You should be attending Julliard or in the pit at a Broadway show. That was your dream."

The gentleness of his voice, the way his touch lingers on the column of my neck. My pulse flutters under his fingertips, and suddenly I feel lightheaded.

"I was supposed to—" Staring at my hands in my lap, I clear my throat and try again, unable to meet his eyes. "I got a part in the pit for Moulin Rouge. Principal pianist."

He tilts his head and his hand drifts around to my chin, lifting it so he can see my face. "You did? Sutton, that's incredible. I always knew you'd—"

"It doesn't matter because I had to turn it down," I say, lifting my hands and gently pushing him away from me so I can slide off the wall and put some space between us.

"What?" he exclaims, coming up behind me and grabbing my wrist, spinning me around to face him. "Why would you do that? That's everything you've always wanted! Even I know how hard it is to—"

"Why do you think?" I cry, rage simmering just under the surface, rage I've wanted to let out but had no one to listen. Because everyone in my life is a reason I had to give it up—my dad, Jason...even Dominique. If I scream and yell at them, I'm too close to the problem. I'm not just venting. I'm blaming. Because in my heart, I feel like it's their fault. Even though I know they're just trying to protect me.

I'm so fucking tired of being protected. I want to live. But I just don't think it's in the cards for me.

"I'm just playing the hand I was dealt, Nicolai. It's not the hand I wanted, but it's the one I've got."

He just looks at me for a moment, his eyes dancing all over my face, and I swear my body heats a couple more degrees in the span of three seconds. Before I realize what's happening, he's walking toward me and I'm matching his steps in reverse until my ass hits the brick wall on the opposite side of the one where we started.

"Sometimes you have to take what you want," he whispers, crowding me and making it impossible for me to move even if I wanted to. Which, to be honest, I don't. When he leans closer to me, his nose is mere centimeters from brushing mine, and it feels like there isn't enough oxygen in the park to fill my lungs.

"Nicolai, please," I whimper, and I don't even know what I'm begging him for. To move? To come closer?

"Please what, Sutton? What are you asking me for?" His breath is cool and minty, and I want to pull him closer to feel it on my lips, but at the same time, a shiver runs through my veins that makes me feel like I should push him away.