A Sinful Encore (Brilliance Trilogy Book 3)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I’m drowning in the taste of him when he stands up and takes me with him. A moment later, he’s sitting on the couch, pulling me onto his hips, me straddling him, his thick erection pressed to my backside, his hand on my face. “Escape, baby,” he says. “I’m going to give it to you.” Before I know his intent, he shifts me, lifts me, and I help him guide his cock inside me. He’s hard, thick, and I moan as I slide down the length of him, hardly able to catch my breath. When finally, I have all of him, our eyes lock, a punch of something between us I cannot name.

  “What happened to the spanking?” I surprise myself and dare.

  “It’s coming, baby,” he promises. “It’s coming.” He cups my backside and leans me into him, forcing me to catch myself on his powerful shoulders. His fingers twine in my hair and he drags my lips to his, shocking me as he gives my backside a squeeze and then a smack.

  I gasp and he thrusts into me, dragging my mouth back to his. “Again,” he says, and his hand comes down on my backside, but this time he’s kissing me on the contact. He pumps into me again and this time when he makes contact, his fingers are in my hair, giving an erotic tug, drawing my gaze to his. “Do you know how fucking much I want you?” he demands, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. His lips brush mine before he asks, “Do you know how fucking much I love you?”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper, and then we’re staring at each other, lost in each other, and the air thickens, the mood shifts. I’m not sure who moves first, but we are kissing again and this kiss is different. Deeper, darker, and somehow more addictive, almost desperate in our need for one another. And then we are swaying, fucking, making love. A sultry dance that is wild, and then sultry again. We are in this wicked wonderful tunnel of passion where no one and nothing else exists. I want it to last. I want it to go on forever, but our bodies are all demand and burn. We are wild and his tongue, his touch, his cock, is just too good to fight. He thrusts hard and pulls me down against him, and I’m spent. My sex clenches and my body trembles.

  He folds me into him, and a low groan escapes his lips before he’s shuddering against me. A rush of bliss and oblivion follows until we collapse into each other. Kace rolls us, and we end up side by side, limbs tangled, and I don’t even care that my legs are sticky. I just want to stay in the moment. Eventually, though, Kace is the one who breaks the silence. “That was just a touch.”

  My fingers curl on his jaw and I search his face. “A touch?”

  “There are times when things fuck with my head, Aria. When my dead parents, and dead ex-girlfriend and sister who I didn’t save, get to me. I won’t be that gentle.”

  “Promise?”

  “Aria—”

  I press my lips to his, linger there before I whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He cups my head and says, “I’m too selfish to let you go.” He kisses me and almost as if he doesn’t want me to push for more, he adds, “Let’s order food.” He sits up and hands me the tissue from the table, as well as his T-shirt. He gives me a wink. “How about pancakes?”

  It’s hard to think of pancakes when he’s standing in front of me naked, but somehow I manage. “With strawberries and whipped cream and an extra-long workout in the morning.”

  “I know just the place.” He smiles one of his sexy, rock-my-world smiles and then grabs his pants. “I think I have a menu in the kitchen,” he adds, pulling his jeans on. “I’ll be right back.” He starts to turn and hesitates. “I really need you. I hope you know that.”

  My heart swells and I whisper, “I need you, too.”

  His gaze lingers on my face a moment and I swear I tremble with the connection, and what I find in his eyes. Love. Desire. Pain. Pleasure. It’s all there. I am affected by him and him by me, and this is a bond that only strengthens and that I do not want to lose. The air thickens around us, and words are not needed. I know him now, all his flaws, and he knows me, and all my flaws. The secrets are gone. The people we are remain. And those two people are stronger, wiser, and unbroken together. I know he feels it, too. I see it in his eyes. He breaks the connection and then he’s on his way to the stairs leading to the kitchen. I’m left reeling for his touch, for his return. I tug his shirt over my head and let it fall over my naked body, inhaling his scent, my gaze landing on my phone. I stand up and reluctantly reach for it. There are several text messages from Gio. I sit down on a chair and read: I’ve been researching the whole daisy thing. There are random symbolic meanings and important facts to consider. Dad didn’t use that analogy for no reason. He did nothing without purpose. You say he called Kace the one true daisy in the wind. The daisy is not one flower, but two flowers. He includes a link that reads: Daisies are not made of just one flower. A daisy is made up of two types of flowers—disk florets and petal-like white ray florets. He goes on to add: Maybe this was Dad’s way of telling us that Kace is two different people, two different faces. The one you know and the one you don’t know. Daisies also represent new beginnings. Our new beginning. This to me drives home what I already believed: Kace is the path to our victory, to reclaiming our birthright. You need to meet me. We need to talk about how to use him the way he’s using you. And to make sure you don’t end up dead like everyone else in his life.

  I want to throw my phone.

  My anger at my brother is fast and furious. He won’t even consider my judgment of Kace as right. And now, it’s as if I’m plotting with him against Kace. That’s what he’s set up. I type a reply: You’re wrong about, Kace. I invited you here to talk to him. Be man enough to say what you have to say to his face. Be man enough to see beyond the bitterness Sofia has created in you, and see Kace as his own person. I love you, but if you lash out at him, if you hurt him, we will never be okay again.

  His reply is instant: Don’t be a fool, Aria. This is not a game.

  My reply is just as quick: And yet you were playing one with my life and my future for months and I had no idea. Good night, Gio. I need some rest. You do, too.

  I blink and Kace is sitting next to me. “You okay, baby?”

  Considering I didn’t even know when he returned, I’d say that’s questionable. “I’m fighting with my brother. Surprise.” I eye the menu in his hand. “This is the place?”

  His brow is furrowed but he hands it to me. “This is it.”

  I glance at the scrumptious pancake offerings and after some debate, decide on the hazelnut maple praline variety, with brown butter. Kace approves and dials in our order. Once he hangs up, I’ve found a spot on the coffee table that’s incredibly interesting.

  “Aria?” Kace prods. “What’s up, baby?”

  My gaze lifts to his. “We just spent the past hour driving home how important trust is.”

  His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a shift in the air. “And something about your fight with Gio, brings us here again why?”

  I hesitate, thinking of Gio’s reference to everyone in Kace’s life dying, certain this will hurt him. But I also know I cannot have this conversation with Gio come back on me and us.

  “Aria?” Kace presses, and while his voice is low, soft even, there is an impatience beneath the surface.

  “Because I feel the need to show you the exchange, but there’s something in it that I know will upset you.” I offer him my phone. “Read it. Pancakes and more sex will soften the blow.”

  He arches a brow and then accepts my phone, glancing at the messages before he offers me my phone back. “I’m going to play while we wait for the food.” He starts to get up.

  I catch his arm. “Kace—”

  “He’s right, Aria. Everyone around me dies. The difference this time is that you’re close to me. They weren’t, not physically, not emotionally. And I just told you not ten minutes ago, naked and on this very couch, that I’m not letting you go. I’m not losing you. I’m damn sure not going to allow you to get hurt. And on that note, I need my violin in my hands right now.”

  The raw intensity
of him right now is just shy of where he was right after Alexander confronted us at the California event, and he had to go on to perform. But we are not in the same place we were before that event when he said the same thing to me. He is not pushing me away. He’s pushing his personal demons back into the box where they belong. He stands and I allow my hand to fall away from him.

  By the time he picks up his Stradivarius, I’m sitting on the piano bench, offering him space, but silently letting him know that I’m still here. And when he begins to play, he surprises me. He plays the song he and my father wrote together. It’s beautiful, stunningly extraordinary. The song is called “The Daisy in the Wind.” Kace is, per my father, the one true daisy in the wind.

  If my father did nothing without purpose, then this is no accident. It’s a connection that means something. The question is what? When Kace dramatically ends the song, I step in front of him. “Could the formula be in the song?”

  “I was thinking the same thing. That’s why I played the song.”

  “And?”

  “If it’s there, it’s not obvious.”

  “But it could be there? I mean could you be the one true daisy in the wind because he gave you the formula? Or the means to figure it out.”

  “If he gave me the formula or the means to figure it out, it won’t be easy.”

  “Nothing you do is easy,” I say. “You just make it look easy.”

  “You have a lot of confidence in me.”

  “So did my father.” The doorbell rings. “That will be the food,” I say. “I’m going to get the sheet music so we can look at it while we eat.” I wrap my arms around him and kiss him. “We’re close, Kace. I feel in it my Stradivari bones.”

  He cups my head and leans in to kiss me as my belly growls. He laughs, the last remnants of that edge of minutes before fading with it. “Go grab the music, baby, and hurry back. If I’m going to tackle this, I need a full stomach and your Stradivari bones by my side.”

  I laugh and hurry for the stairs, all but running to the vault. Once the song is in my hands, the magic is there in my belly. We are close. We really are. And Gio’s right. Kace is the answer to us reclaiming our family legacy, but he’s so much more to me. He’s the answer to every question I’ve ever had in my life, and the reason I was never whole. He’s the other part of me, the other half of my heart and soul.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kace and I stuff our faces with the most delicious pancakes I’ve ever eaten while studying the sheet music. By the time we’re done eating, and I’ve literally licked my plate in as ladylike a manner as possible, Kace is antsy to put his violin to work. And so, he does. For the next few hours, I sit on the piano bench while Kace alternates between playing his violin, talking to me, and scribbling down notes. By three in the morning, his hair is a rumpled, finger-spiked sexy mess, his eyes shadowed.

  “It’s time to stop,” I say, standing up.

  “Not yet,” he insists, but by the time he reaches for the violin again, I’m in front of him, wrapping my arms around him. “We need to sleep.”

  “I feel like I’m onto something like I’m a note from finding the right answer.”

  “And too tired to find the note.” I lace my fingers with his. “Bedtime. Now. With me.”

  Reluctantly, he allows me to guide him toward the stairs.

  A half-hour later, the room is dark and we lay in bed, him on his back, me snuggled close, under his arm, my head on his shoulder. “Maybe we’re wrong,” I say, the twinkle of starlight outside the window we’ve left open to allow sunlight to be our alarm clock in the morning. “Maybe the answer isn’t in the song.”

  “We’re not wrong,” he replies, his finger gently stroking my shoulder, almost absently, sending little darts of heat through my body. “We’re not wrong,” he repeats, his murmur soft this time, a barely-there whisper.

  Over the past few hours, there is no question that he’s grown more and more dogmatic about his certainty that the formula is somehow in the song. If Kace is right, then Gio was right. The answer lies in Kace. He also believed that perhaps it lies, at least partially, in me. Why? What does he know that we don’t know? Because Kace was right—it’s not logical to believe my father would just hand over a secret to a teenager. And I was younger than Kace when my father disappeared.

  Whatever Gio knows, he has to tell us. Now. Okay, in the morning at the breakfast he’d better show up for.

  My eyes are heavy and I allow my lashes to lower, the song my father and Kace created together singing its own song in my head and I swear, there are words that match the music. I can hear them in my head, almost taste them on my tongue. At some point, sleep is a heavy blanket that slides further and further up my body and consumes me. Soon, I am without another thought. I drift off to sleep, shocked when I wake to piercing sunlight and the sound of Kace’s violin. He’s already working, trying to find my family secret. I’m not sure what we’ll do if we really find it.

  Sitting up, the memory of my sleep haze comes back to me. There are words to the song, I’d thought then, but as I listen to the music now, all I find is a faded memory of my mother singing to me daily and often. No words come to me. None.

  Frustrated, and nervous about breakfast with my brother, I grab my phone and text him: Are you coming for breakfast? I watch my screen, waiting for a reply, seconds ticking by, but Gio remains silent. The way he’s been silent for weeks on end. The idea scratches at my mind and emotions. He was alive and well and allowed me to worry about him, about money, about the future. I was making decisions for him. He was just making decisions.

  I text Savage: Did Gio stay at his apartment last night?

  Savage replies immediately: He went to McDonald’s at midnight and then home and stayed there where he did a lot of Google searches involving Kace.

  Of course, he did, I think before I type: He’s supposed to come here for breakfast but I’m doubtful that he will show.

  Savage’s reply is a little too honest, I swear. No respectful brother who hates his sister’s man will miss a chance to break them up, he replies. I’d bet a hundred on him showing up.

  I could easily reason away his answer as wrong simply because Savage doesn’t know Gio well enough to make that general statement. But then, I’m not sure I really know Gio either. Have I ever?

  With frustration bruising my mood, I throw on my workout clothes, brush my teeth, and by the time I’m exiting the bedroom, Kace is no longer playing. I head downstairs to find him missing in action, which means he’s likely making coffee. Sure enough, I find him in the kitchen nook eating area by the table, standing at a window overlooking the Hudson River—rain pattering on the glass, his bare shoulders knotted. I wonder if he slept and I suspect he did not.

  I move toward him and if he knows I’m here, he doesn’t turn. And when I stop beside him and slide my arms around him, he seems to jolt back into the moment, as if he was somewhere else far, far away.

  His arm slides around me, the shadows I find in his eyes, washed away as they light on me. “Morning, gorgeous,” he says, his dark hair a rumpled sexy mess.

  He’s sexy, and his compliment heats my cheeks, but I am warmed not by it, but by the intimacy of sharing our coffee, our life each new morning. I sip and give him a probing stare. “Did you sleep?”

  “I never sleep much when I’m writing.”

  I set the coffee on the kitchen table next to us and run my hand over the rough stubble on his jaw, letting it tease my fingers. “Are you writing?”

  He catches my hand in his and kisses it. “Rewriting the song I wrote with your father while trying to remember everything he said to me as we crafted it.”

  “And?”

  His lips press together. “Not a damn thing.” Obviously not eager to focus on his failure, he shifts the subject. “Anything from Gio?”

  “Not a damn thing.” I dig my phone from my pocket and show him the text exchange with Savage.

  W
e ease into chairs, angling toward each other and he reads the messages. When he’s done, he slides my phone back to me and does so without a direct comment on what he’s read. “Where is your head at on Gio, baby?”

  “Confused. I’m not sure who he is anymore. I’m not sure if we should be worried or relieved that he’s back. And clearly, he believes Sofia is back, too. And I’m not as certain as Savage that he’ll show up.”

  Kace considers me a moment, his expression unreadable and I’m not sure why. Well, not until he says, “I talked to Blake this morning.”

  “And?” I prod, nervous about where this is heading, and how can I not be? I’m a skilled practitioner when it comes to assuming the worst and expecting a problem.

  “And Blake believes there are too many unknown players to stay our course. You need to control the narrative about you and your family. Be you and tell Gio you’re doing so with or without him.”

  Unease clings and clangs inside me. “Meaning what?”

  “Stop hiding. Come out as you. Be you. Tell the world you are you. Blake can handle the proper way to do so. And that means going to Italy with your chin held high. We’ll do press. We’ll claim your legacy.”

  “I don’t know, Kace.” I sip from the coffee because I need something to do with my hands right now. “Gio hasn’t told us everything.” I set the cup down. “That said, if I do as you suggest and just tell him I’m coming forward, maybe he’ll actually talk to me.”

  “It would be easier if he did, but Walker will navigate our path and protect you.”

  “Blake really thinks now is the time?”

  “He does and so do I.” Kace reaches for the mug and adds, “but this is your decision.”

  My decision.

  When in my life has anything been my decision?

  I respect and appreciate that Kace believes that it is, but the truth is that this isn’t my decision or even his or Blake’s. Like everything in my life, the actions of others long ago shaped a path for everything about my life, including now. I’m just riding that path and trying to navigate it to safety.