She tried to follow directions—she always did—but it wasn’t long before she gave in and pulled him down for a wild kiss, which led to another, and another, and another . . .

The next time he noticed the TV, it had returned to the main menu. The entire DVD had played while they were busy with other things. After washing up and turning off the TV and lights, he climbed into bed. Stella murmured as he gathered her against his chest, but she pressed a drowsy kiss to his throat.

Possessiveness mixed with tenderness, and he brushed the hair away from her face and trailed his fingertips over a smooth shoulder illuminated by moonlight.

His Stella.

For now.

Until she decided she’d had enough practice. Or she found out about his dad.

• • •

When Stella got home from work midway through the next week, an empty house greeted her. Michael had texted her that he was running late, so she’d been expecting this. What she hadn’t expected was this gaping sadness, this cold aloneness.

They’d only been in this practice relationship for a week and a half, but she’d already grown accustomed to him. Michael was part of her routine now, part of her life, and his absence sparked unrest in her being. When things ended, she’d have nothing but this emptiness.

If things ended.

If she failed at seducing him. There was nothing left on her original lesson plans. Not a single thing. She’d checked. It was time to move into full seduction mode.

She wished Michael could teach her how to do that, too, because she had no idea what she was supposed to do. Google searches provided conflicting advice, and very little of it was useful in a situation like hers where they were already in a monogamous relationship of sorts. One particularly obnoxious article had advised women to focus all their time and effort on improving their looks and then lower their standards.

Well, Stella’s standards were locked at eleven on the one-to-ten scale. Only Michael would do. As for her looks, she couldn’t bring herself to wear contacts or makeup except for special occasions. If his insatiability in bed was any indication, Michael didn’t mind her the way she was.

Her inner muscles clenched as she recalled what he’d done that morning—the way he’d kissed her, caressed her, the things he’d said. She swept a hand from her chest down to her thigh, wishing he was touching her right now. But even if he never slept with her again, she still wanted him. The nonbedroom side of Michael appealed to her just as much as the lover side, if not more. He made her laugh, and he listened to her, even when she wasn’t saying anything particularly interesting. He was comfortable around her, and that made her comfortable around him. Sometimes she convinced herself that her labels didn’t matter. They were just words. They didn’t change who she was. If he learned about them, he wouldn’t care.

Maybe.

Out of habit, she walked to her piano. She sat on the bench and lifted the fallboard, and the cool smoothness of the keys beneath her fingers calmed her. For years, music had been her main method of coping with emotions—good ones, bad ones, and those in between. Rich chords sang from the strings, called forth by muscle memory alone, and she gave herself up to the music, let everything she was feeling pour into her fingertips. When the song ended, she kept her hands on the keys, listening as the notes faded.

“I knew you played, but I didn’t know you could play like that,” Michael said from directly behind her.

She couldn’t help grinning as she looked at him over her shoulder. “You made it back.”

His smile was tired, but it reached his eyes. In a mere fraction of a second, everything was right again. The coldness vanished. Missing pieces settled back into place.

“What song was that? I feel like I’ve heard it before,” he said.

“‘Clair de Lune’ by Debussy. It’s my favorite song.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders and brushed a kiss over her nape. “It’s beautiful, but so sad. Do you know anything happier?”

Sad. Her lips wrinkled on something that didn’t feel like a smile. That was a common theme for the pieces in her repertoire. “Well . . . maybe this.”

She bit her lip and picked the familiar melody from the piano, wondering if this was what he meant by happy.

He surprised her by sitting down on the bench next to her and saying, “I thought ‘Heart and Soul’ was a duet.”

She shrugged. “I’ve only ever played it solo.”

He captured her right hand and put it in his lap. A smile curved over his lips as he nodded his head toward the keyboard.

“You play?” she asked.

“Only a little, but I know this one.”

Breathlessness overtook her. Her fingers stumbled on the first notes, but she got into the swing of it pretty quickly. The bass half of the song was a simple repetition, a pattern, and second nature for her. When Michael wove the melody seamlessly with her accompaniment, startling warmth cascaded up her spine, and her body flushed with pleasure. She’d never played a duet with someone other than her piano instructor, and those occasions had been technical exercises, nothing special.

“You’re good at this,” she commented, glancing up at him as she continued to play.

His smile widened, but he kept his attention on his fingers. “With six of us wanting the piano at once, we had to learn to share. Also, none of us could ever figure out how to play your half with only one hand. You’re really good.”

“It’s just practice.” And necessity.

The sight of their hands side by side on the keys mesmerized Stella. The contrast was stark and beautiful: large to small, tan to pale, masculine to feminine. So different, but in perfect rhythm. They were making music. Together.

The song ended, and she let her fingers slip away from the keyboard and averted her eyes. That naked feeling was back.

He kissed her neck and smoothed his fingers along her jaw before gently urging her to meet his gaze. She thought he would speak, but he didn’t. He only smiled.

She wanted to ask if he liked being with her, if he liked this, but she struggled to muster the courage. What if he said no?

“Are you hungry? Let’s eat,” he said, and the moment disappeared.

She’d ask him later. After she’d had the opportunity to appropriately seduce him.

{ CHAP+ER }

21

A week later, Stella still had no idea what she was doing in terms of seducing Michael. He seemed happy—she knew she was—but the end of their first month was coming up, and she had no confidence that he’d want to sign on for more.

That night, his mom was having her over for dinner again. Stella racked her brain for clever ways she might ask his family for advice regarding Michael. If anyone knew him, it would be them. But how could she ask without them suspecting something was strange about her relationship with Michael? They thought she and Michael were dating for real.

As he’d instructed her to do, Stella let herself into his mom’s house and set her shoes against the wall next to Michael’s. Her black heels looked tiny next to his leather loafers, but she liked seeing them sitting next to each other. It pleased her on a fundamental level.