Page 36 of Condemned By Betrayal
He looks back toward the road, leaving me flustered by the easiest flirt line.
“How are things going with your crush?” I ask, just to make the tension worse.
“I’m taking her to a piano bar,” he says nonchalantly.
“You lied to me that day,” I murmur.
“Yes.”
I sigh. “Nothing new.”You’ve always been a liar.I keep the other part to myself. I don’t want to freak him out by springing my theory on him that he’s Salvario.
The car comes to a stop. It’s the piano bar in the same market where we met for the first time. He gets out of the driver’s side and comes to my door, opening it for me. I turn to get out, but he doesn’t move out of the way.
“Are you mad at me for lying?”
I lean a little closer to him. “Maybe.”
He brushes the hair framing my face behind my ear, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin there. A tingling blooms beneath his touch, the sensation spreading through my body.
“I was afraid you’d think I was a serial killer.”
His hand falls from my face. He shoves it into his jacket pocket.
“It’s not impossible,” I breathe. “So tell me, if you’re not a serial killer, why were you following me?”
“Not long after recovering from the accident, I figured out that I’m obsessed with brown wavy hair and honey-colored eyes. But when a woman with that combination comes close to me, I feel nauseous.” He pauses. “Then I saw you on the balcony of your father’s house. You were playing piano. I felt an unnatural pull to get close to you. So I did some digging, found out who you were, and came here after you.”
“Did you feel nauseous when I came close to you?” I barely hear my own words, my ears are ringing with the roar of blood.
I’m clutching the seat tightly. I know what his answer will be, but the more he shares, the more certain I become that he’s Salvario. It’s filling me with so much happiness and fear.
He chuckles. My heart drops and rises like it’s bungee jumping without ever leaving my chest.
His dimple is still here.
“I felt many things, but nausea wasn’t one of them.” I half hear him; I’m too focused on his dimple.
He must notice my stare, because the dimple vanishes and he moves aside, offering me his hand.
I drape my coat over my bare shoulders, then take his hand. His warm fingers close around my cold ones. I step out of the car, the warmth slowly traveling up my arm. I don’t think I need the coat at all. Staying close to him is enough to feel the heat I need.
The bar isn’t very crowded; we easily find a nice place to sit alone. The piano music playing is an old composition by Henry Javid, the legendary pianist now in his eighties. I once met him when I was ten and had just started playing decently. He told me I would become a pianist the world would remember. I don’tknow if that will ever come true, but I’m afraid that if I keep staying away from the piano, even what little the world knows of me will be forgotten.
Hunter lifts my coat from my shoulders and drapes it over my chair before sliding it back for me to sit.
“You’re quite the gentleman,” I tease, settling into my seat.
“Logan said women like men with manners.”
“Is that what you also believe?”
“I never thought about what women like before I met you.”
I rest my elbow on the table and prop my chin in my palm. “How many women have you dated?”
I need to know how many women he’s slept with since losing his memory. I’m not a kind human when it comes to sharing.
“Didn’t I tell you I get nauseous when women come close to me?”
