Page 36 of Breaking His Exile

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “Do you play?”

He loosened the low E, freeing the tension across the bridge. “A little. My mother taught me when I was a kid. Haven’t touched one in years.”

There was a story there and, if she had to guess from his voice, a whole complicated mess of emotions.

She knew better than to dig.

Instead, she watched him lift the saddle free, clear the slot with his thumbnail, and seat it back down square. He worked the loose pin out, checked it against the light, and pressed it home until it caught. Then he brought the low E back up to pitch, plucked it, and listened—reset it a fraction, plucked again.

He remembered. She’d been upset about the damage since the Dead Marshall, and he’d remembered, and he’d waited until she was ready to let him near it.

The thought settled in her stomach, warm and dangerous.

“There,” he said, sitting back. He held it out to her. “Give it a try.”

Rainey reached for the instrument and tested the strings. The low E held its tension when she plucked it. She tuned by ear, one string at a time, and the notes rang clear in the small room.

She played and everything in her settled. The chords came without her deciding on them. Something slow. The melody wandered. Her voice found it.

There’s nothing to brace for,

Nothing coming through the door,

No voice getting louder,

No glass hitting the floor...

The rain backed her, a steady percussion on the tin roof. She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him. Her fingers found the frets. The words came from somewhere deeper than thought.

I don’t have to read your face,

To know if I should run,

You can be angry,

And I’m still safe when you’re done…

She let the last chord trail off, and a thrill raced through her, making her skin prickle. Oh. That was good. She grinned up at Evander, but he had gone still.

Absolutely still.

It didn’t even look like he was breathing.

His hands on the table’s edge, white at the knuckles. His breath came shallow. She could hear it from across the room.

“Evander?”

He crossed to her in three strides. Stopped so close she could feel the heat off his skin, the rain still damp in his hair. His eyes were dark and raw and utterly unguarded.

“That’s about me.” His voice was rough. Stripped.

“Yes.”

“You wrote that about me.”

“Yes,” she breathed, and her heart rate spiked as she stared up at him.

His hand came up and cupped her jaw. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, and the touch sent another, hotter thrill through her. “Rainey. Wanting me doesn’t make me safe.”