“You know Billows,” she pointed out. “And he’s my boss. I don’t talk about him to anyone. It was a fluke and wrong of me that I admitted I work for him and that I helped keep him from getting into trouble with the tax investigators.”

“Do you believe I would betray your confidence?”

At the sound of disappointment mirroring the look in his eyes, her stomach twisted into hard knots. She detested hurting him. Was she really afraid he would tattle to Billows?

The waiter brought the appetizers and drinks, once again choosing her side of the table to serve the food from. She felt more self-conscious than ever, and she almost tugged at the hem of her dress to cover the exposed tops of her silk stockings. As if he knew what she was thinking—and he probably did—Andrii shook his head. That small gesture was enough to keep her from fidgeting and giving away the fact that she had little confidence in herself as a woman.

Andrii waited until the waiter had left the table before he persisted in getting his answer. “Zelie, this is extremely important. Do you believe I would betray you by telling Billows anything you say?”

She shook her head. Just the way he looked so disappointed in her gutted her. “No, I’m just not used to discussing him.”

“I wondered why he didn’t help you after you lost your family. Surely, he must have come around to the hospital to see you.”

“No, we don’t have that kind of relationship. Alan is moody. One time he can be rude and abrupt, another time funny and charming. He also can be very intimidating. Not in the way you are, but more as if he might hurt you if you don’t agree with him. I stay away from him as much as possible. That’s why I do the books when no one is around. I told him I could concentrate better that way. If he needs to speak to me about anything, the meeting is very brief.”

“You would prefer not to work for him,” Andrii stated and indicated the food. “He isn’t a friend, Zelie. I met him a few times because when I’m in the city, I like to play occasionally.”

She didn’t like the idea of him with other women, so she didn’t respond. Instead, she tried the crab cakes and then the oysters. The food was amazing.

“You were going to tell me about your nightmares,” he reminded her, changing the subject. “How often you have them and whether it interferes with your sleep.”

Azelie wasn’t sure it was true that she’d started to tell him about her sleepless nights. He’d asked the question, and it appeared as if he was determined to get an answer. She knew if she said she didn’t want to discuss it, he would accept the limitation, but he would be disappointed. She’d already not only disappointed him but offended him.

“I have nightmares nearly every night. I’m afraid to go to sleep. I often play music or listen to thunderstorms to lull myself to sleep. Sleep never lasts long.”

“Have you spoken to a therapist?”

“Yes, when it first happened.” She took a cautious sip of the drink. To her shock, it was delicious. “This is really good.”

His smile was slow and this time lit his eyes. It didn’t last long, but her heart sang at his reaction.

“The food is too.”

“Trusting me to look after you has its rewards,” he pointed out.

“Yes, it does,” she agreed.

The rest of the evening was magical for Azelie. She found the longer she was in his company, the more relaxed she became. The view was so spectacular that she kept getting caught up in staring out the window. They talked mostly about her. He asked her questions regarding the merry widows and their two gentlemen friends. He seemed so interested in everything about her, down to the smallest detail. How long she’d known the merry widows, why she chose to go to the small coffeehouse rather than one of the larger chains.

The conversation continued on the drive home, although mostly on her end. Each time she wanted to ask him a question about himself, he got there before her, asking her something new about her life. She really didn’t want the night to end, fearful that she might not see him again. He hadn’t indicated one way or the other that he wanted to see her again when he pulled up in front of her building.

Azelie reached up to remove one earring. “You’ve given me the best night of my life, Andrii. Truly. I don’t know anything about jewelry, but the coat, dress and shoes are designer. I have a terrible fear these might be real.” She held out one earring dripping diamonds. “If you give me your address, I can send you the dress and shoes. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep the coat but will pay for it.”

She hoped she had enough in her savings to pay the price, but letting that coat go meant giving up everything he’d given her. Gifts. Beautiful gifts. She didn’t get birthday or Christmas presents when she was young. The money went for food and for the children. She contributed what she could for them. To receive such an enormous gift, like the clothing Andrii had provided for her to wear out, brought her to tears. Of course she couldn’t keep the items; they were far too expensive. But the coat…

Andrii sat very still, his expression an unreadable mask. His eyes went that glittering silver she found herself fearful of. She didn’t know what triggered the sudden rising tension in the car, but she felt it. Oppressive. Dark. Ominous. She tried to explain further.

“Seriously, I had the best time with you. It’s been magical. I don’t want you to ever think you have to spend money on me for me to be happy. It makes me happy just to spend time with you.”

Unfortunately, that only seemed to make things worse. The tension in the car thickened. Her stomach churned. She had no idea why she was upsetting him, but it hurt. Physically hurt. She felt sick. She’d had the best time she’d ever had, and yet he seemed to be angry with her.

“When I buy something for you, Zelie, you don’t throw it back in my face.” He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, yanking open her door. There was thunder on his face. Disapproval.

She had definitely triggered his temper, but she had no idea why. Not just his temper, but his smoldering disapproval. He looked at her as if she were a complete stranger. He did help her from the car, ignoring the earring altogether, but he didn’t put his hand on her back or touch her at all when he walked her up to the door. He was silent as she put in the security code and stepped inside, turning to thank him again. He was already walking away. He didn’t look back, or even at her, when he got behind the wheel of the car. She knew because she remained right at the door watching until he drove off.

FOUR

He’d blown it big-time, all because he couldn’t keep it together. Maestro needed to feel the wind in his face and his colors on his back. He needed a reset. Grounding. Torpedo Ink grounded him. His Harley-Davidson Iron 883 grounded him. He’d purchased the machine in 2017. Black leather seat, parchment cream paint, blacked-out chrome and trim with black-and-gold music note stenciling—his ride felt like home to him. Mechanic and Transporter had turned the Harley into a road rocket.

He made the ride back down the coast to Caspar, even though he needed to stay in San Francisco. That was how fucked up Zelie had managed to get him. He wasn’t physically attracted to women without ordering his cock to cooperate. That was part of his extensive sexual training back at the school of hell. His cock didn’t seem to get that message around her.

Maestro had to ask himself if Azelie Vargas could have been trained in the art of seduction. He knew better. That was the sad truth. He knew she was innocent when it came to men. She was no seductress; he was simply that susceptible to her. If he had any sense of self-preservation, he would get as far from her as possible. Tell his club it was too dangerous for him to go anywhere near Zelie.

A relationship with him was equally as dangerous for her. He wasn’t a nice man. He never would be. He could be gentle when needed, but he didn’t know if that was who he was or if he’d trained to deceive everyone around him. Deep inside, there was an explosive assassin willing to cut throats without warning. Willing to do whatever it took to get the job done.

Swearing, Maestro pulled up to the house he had purchased with his share of the money the club had taken from the billionaire president of the Swords club. He had been the primary criminal in an international human trafficking ring. He had also inherited billions when his older brother died. Torpedo Ink, meaning Code, had managed to siphon the money from all his accounts, even the ones he thought well hidden.

Maestro had discovered the property when the members of the club had all been assigned to go house hunting. Czar wanted them to put down roots in the Caspar/Sea Haven area. He didn’t think sleeping at the clubhouse was best for them. Those without partners tended to do so even though they’d each purchased a house. They were used to guarding one another’s backs. His job, the way he saw it, along with Keys’, was to guard Steele, their vice president. He spent a lot of time sleeping at Steele’s home. That meant his house was empty.

What was there to go home to? It was a cool house, but it wasn’t a home yet. He’d watched Breezy transform Steele’s house into a home. Anya had done the same for Reaper’s house. There was no question that each of his married brothers or those with partners had homes instead of houses. Maestro was intelligent enough to know it didn’t matter how cool the house was, or how much he liked the design; living alone, for someone who had spent their entire life with others, didn’t work.

The unique design of the house had drawn his attention immediately. The roofline was sharply slanted so that it appeared to cover the house like the wings of a bird. The house itself was all glass and wood. The glass allowed the light in, and the wood spoke to him. Gave him that semblance of peace he needed. The ceilings of the single-story house were extremely high, with banks of windows and oddly shaped but cool tubular skylights allowing the light to come in from every angle. Fortunately, the glass was self-cleaning, or he would have spent his every waking minute trying to keep up with the dust or dirt from the trees and garden. Or the salt from the sea.

The house was situated in a perfect location for him. He had views of the ocean, although he wasn’t as close to it as some of the others. He liked the location because he was partially in the forest. Various species of trees were abundant on the property. There was a garden area.

His deck surrounded the house and gave plenty of opportunity to entertain, not that he was a man who invited others over for barbecue. When he wasn’t with Keys or Steele, or at the clubhouse, he played music. He wrote music. He could spend hours sitting at a piano. He had a beautiful piano in his house, one perfectly tuned and adjusted. It was the first thing he’d purchased for the house.

He needed the solace of his music. That was just as important as the ride on his Harley. Maestro didn’t ever try to fool himself about what he was. Or who he was. He knew he was controlling. He also knew any woman living with him would feel suffocated under that tight control. Men like him, with his personality, didn’t find women who would stay. Who could love them despite their flaws.

He opened the large front double doors and stood there a moment, admiring the craftmanship of the design and the impeccable work that had gone into building the house. The doors opened straight into an enormous room, revealing the high ceilings and woodwork as well as a step down to the seating area in front of the fireplace. The wall of windows and glass sliding door leading outside to the deck were visible, giving him a partial view of the trees while standing at the front door.

He moved inside and closed the doors behind him. There was only one place he wanted to be—seated at his piano. Thinking of Zelie. Writing a song for her. Deciding, once he was back to normal and could use his brain to think things through, whether to take a chance on finding a real relationship with her. That was if he hadn’t already blown his chances with her.

The moment his fingers were on the piano keys, and as he flooded the room with music, he could breathe again. His mind calmed. The chaos in his head receded along with the howling demons. He allowed himself to go through the time he had spent with Zelie moment by moment. Azelie Vargas could be the perfect woman for a man like Maestro.

He had excellent recall, and he examined what he’d learned about her. She was giving. A pleaser. Her pleasure was in pleasing him. She had worn the clothes he’d sent to her, even though they made her uncomfortable, because he’d asked her to. Each time he had reassured her with his touch or voice, she had responded positively.

She was generous with others even though she didn’t appear to have much. She actively pursued higher education, and she’d been honest when she spoke of Billows’ strange mood swings. He’d noticed those same shifts in disposition each time he’d met the man. Granted, it was only a couple of times, but the man had been jovial and friendly one day and standoffish the next.

He went over every detail of their conversations. Several times she hadn’t wanted to tell him personal things, but she had when he just simply looked disappointed. The thing was, he hadn’t been playing her—he was disappointed. He not only found himself intensely attracted to her physically, but he wanted to know everything there was to know about her. Strangely, he had an overwhelming need to protect her. To keep her safe. To make her happy.

Being with him would never be a picnic, and she deserved so much better. That was one of the many things he had to face. If he managed to convince her to take him on, was it even fair to her? The answer was no. Still, he was selfish enough to take into consideration how he would feel if he didn’t try with her.

Maestro wasn’t used to having emotions, let alone the intensity of these feelings he had for Azelie. He hadn’t trusted her or his own emotions. The moment she attempted to return the earrings to him, he had been horrified at his reaction to her. He wanted her with every cell in his body. He wanted to keep her. To make her his exclusively. Alarm rushed through him, so much adrenaline he couldn’t control it.

At the same time, he wanted to be away from her, desperate to convince himself she was a betrayer like every other woman he’d known—with the exception of Alena and Lana. Out for themselves. Greedy and conniving. Or unable to follow the slightest command because their egos refused to acknowledge that he might know more about security than they did.