Prickly Romance: Single Dad AMBW (Billionaire Dads)

Blinding streaks of light blast through the windshield, spinning crazily as the car careens across the road.

In the driver’s seat, Akira fights for control of the steering wheel.

A sickening crunch fills the air just as my entire body rattles.

The car falls still.

“Are you alright?” Akira asks, looking over her shoulder at me.

I nod.

Behind us, doors open and slam shut. Moments later, my protection team surrounds the car.

“I am fine,” I say, calming them before they can ask.

“I did not expect a deer to come running across the road.” Akira takes out her phone. “The car is damaged and you do not seem well. I will let Alistair know we cannot attend the gala.”

I ease out of the car, ignoring my aching neck caused from whiplash. “I gave my word. I must be at the gala tonight.”

Akira seems displeased, but she makes the call.

On the way to the event, I bend my fingers and release.

There is no pain.

Not even an ache.

But I am still on edge when I take the elevator and even as we walk closer to the banquet hall.

What would I have done if my hands were injured?

The sound of rich, decadent notes lures me from my thoughts. I stop in the middle of the hallway to listen. The player is not well-versed and yet there is something about the way they interpret the song. It is infused with feeling, a raw, unvarnished composition that’s as arresting as it is unsettling.

“Sir?” My team is waiting for me.

I move into the banquet hall.

Inside, the beautifully dressed crowd is silent. All gazes are affixed to the woman on stage. She is small, dark, and pouring her heart out on the piano.

My piano.

As I watch her—eyes closed and face enraptured, my body recoils. It feels as though she is placing those hot, passionate fingers on my heart. I do not care for the way my pulse quivers. Nor do I care for the burn—a prickly sensation that reminds me I am more than the unfeeling man I have become.

My steps remain strong and sure as I storm to the front of the room along with my team.

At first, we are unnoticed. But it does not take long for a stir of whispers and startled eyes to catch sight of us.

I cross the stage.

My team forms a circle around me and the piano.

The woman’s hands freeze on the black and white keys. She stares at me, fear written in the depths of her big brown eyes.

“W-who are you?”

I take a step toward her.

“What’s going on?” Her eyes dart to my men. “Why are you up here?”

I still do not respond.

Panic crests her features. Face dainty and striking. Her fear twists something deep inside me. Brings all the shards of my broken heart to life.

But I do not want to feel.

And I resent her for being the one to kickstart what I thought was dead.

I plant one hand on the piano desk. The other, I set on the bench at her hip. She leans backward wearily. Her shaky retreat kicks up the hunter hidden in the depths of my soul. Where do you think you can run, kitten?

“Who gave you permission to touch my piano?” I ask aloud.

Her eyes get even bigger. I can see the anxiety flooding her. Drowning her.

Such innocence. Such naivety. A crushing force against my own jaded lens.

“They told me—”

“If you were going to force yourself somewhere you don’t belong,” I cut her off, “you should have at least put in more effort.”

Her small shoulders heave and her eyes narrow. Anger slashes her brown mouth into a thin line.

I lean forward slightly. My fingertips brush over her hands. I am almost knocked back by the snap of energy that crackles from the touch.

This woman is dangerous. Fire.

I growl at her, needing to get her away from my piano. From me.

Yet I cannot resist touching her.

Lifting her fingers, I warn, “Never place these hands on something they are not worthy enough to touch.”

She snaps her hand back.

Rage radiates from her like heat waves that cling to the skin.

I motion to one of my men and they are quick to relocate the woman away from me. Even as the distance grows, the connection between us pulls and pulls.

I catch sight of her muttering curses at me before I pitch my eyes away.

Calmly, I take the seat in front of the piano.

She still lingers. Her scent. Her warmth.

A ghost in a T-shirt and jeans.

But I will not allow her to haunt me.

Uncontrollable feelings have wreaked their havoc on my life once before. I will not allow my heart—that has finally healed—to be destroyed twice.