Chapter 3

Lira's POV

He tilted his head back slightly, his smile deepening. "Observe," he corrected, humor lacing his voice. "Professional habit. It appears you're celebrating the end of a relationship. Experience suggests company is beneficial in such situations. Drinking alone isn't wise, especially when celebrating... or forgetting."

Despite myself, I laughed. There was something oddly compelling about the way he spoke, both old-fashioned and humorous. "Are you a therapist or something? Specializing in consoling heartbroken girls in bars?"

"Someone who appreciates good music," he said simply, his gaze lingering on my face. His eyes were entirely different from Connor's—Connor always examined me, but this stranger seemed to look through me, as if he could see straight to the depths of my soul. It was unsettling yet inexplicably exciting.

"As are you," he added, his voice lowering.

I nodded, curious. "How could you tell?"

"Your fingers," he indicated, making me suddenly conscious of my fingertips. His gaze made my skin heat up. "The hand formation of a string player. Especially here," he pointed toward my fingers without actually touching them, as if deliberately maintaining distance, "calluses from pressing strings. And your expression while listening to the quartet—completely absorbed, as if hearing details others miss."

My face warmed slightly as I realized he'd been watching me for some time. "Are you a musician too?"

"Of sorts," his smile was enigmatic as he motioned to the bartender, ordering drinks for us. "I hope you don't mind. This whiskey pairs perfectly with Bach's violin sonatas."

As the bartender set down our glasses, he leaned forward slightly, his nose twitching almost imperceptibly. His eyes suddenly darkened, pupils dilating, before quickly returning to normal. I rubbed my eyes. Was it a trick of the light?

"Is this your usual approach?" I asked, accepting the glass he offered, our fingers brushing slightly. An electric-like sensation spread from the point of contact. "Approaching strange women in bars, buying them drinks, discussing Bach?"

His laugh was low and warm. "No, this is an exception. Usually, I prefer sitting quietly in a corner, but tonight feels... different."

Our knees touched beneath the bar, and I could feel the heat of his body through the fabric, surprisingly intense—his body temperature seemed unusually high. He didn't move away, and neither did I. That slight contact made my heart race.

"What instrument do you play?" he asked, leaning forward. I could smell him now—woody cologne, whiskey, and something indescribable like forest air, wild and intoxicating.

"Violin," I answered automatically. "Since I was eight. My dad taught me."

"What pieces do you enjoy?" His voice lowered, closing the distance between us.

"Paganini," I said, emboldened by alcohol and his undivided attention. "I've been practicing his Caprices. That challenge fascinates me."

His eyes sparkled with interest. "Ambitious. Most would choose easier pieces."

"I'm not most people," I lifted my chin, suddenly wanting to prove myself to this stranger. I noticed the way he gazed at my lips, my breathing involuntarily quickening.

He smiled, sipping his drink. "No, you certainly aren't."

Two drinks later, we'd moved from Bach to modern violin crafting techniques. His way of discussing music captivated me—with an almost reverent passion.

"You must play beautifully," I said, the alcohol making me candid. "Your understanding of music is deeper than most."

"I prefer listening," he replied, fingers tapping the rim of his glass, gaze intense. "Especially to those who truly grasp the soul of a composition."

When I happened to mention the Dvořák piece I'd been rehearsing, wind blew in from an open window, and suddenly his nostrils flared again. He closed his eyes, seeming to fight some inner impulse.

"That feeling... when music transcends technique and reaches the heart," I said softly, suddenly delighted to be understood. "That's what I'm pursuing."

"Perhaps you could play for me sometime," he suggested, his gaze focused, voice dropping to an almost whisper with irresistible allure. "I have quite a collection of instruments at home, including an incredible antique violin. Its tone is... incomparable."

Warning bells rang in my head, but alcohol and his indefinable attraction made me ignore my caution. Going home with a stranger? This is crazy. But tonight has already been insane, and here's someone who understands my music... My body trembled slightly at the dangerous thought.

"Where do you live?" I asked, trying to give myself space for rational thought, but my voice betrayed me, carrying obvious anticipation.

"Outside town, near the forest preserve," he answered, noting my hesitation. His hand gently covered mine, warm and strong. "I know this sounds adventurous. But I believe music is the most authentic form of connection." His thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand, a simple touch that made my entire body warm.

His words resonated with me. For three years, Connor had never truly understood what music meant to me, while this stranger had seen into my soul within hours.

"I'd like that," I found myself saying, surprised at my own words.

---

His car moved like a black panther, quiet and powerful, carrying us through the darkness away from the city's noise. The road narrowed, dense forest growing on either side until we reached a modern villa that seemed to grow organically from among ancient trees.

"It's... remote," I nervously bit my lip as he parked.

What am I doing? Coming to the deep woods with a man I barely know? Logic told me this was dangerous, but another, more primal feeling prevented me from turning back.

"I value my privacy," he said simply, his voice calm and confident as his hand rested lightly on the small of my back, his fingertips burning through the thin fabric onto my skin. "Perfect acoustics require distance from worldly noise."

When he opened the door, the interior took my breath away—soaring ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the dark forest, minimalist but obviously expensive furniture. But what truly made me gasp was the music room.

It was perfection incarnate. Walls meticulously designed, instruments displayed like artwork, and at the center, a gleaming violin.

"Is that..." I approached it, hardly believing my eyes.

"An antique violin," he said, watching my reaction closely, his gaze so intent that every expression of mine seemed like precious treasure. "Would you like to try it?"

My hand trembled slightly as I reached for it, hardly believing I was allowed to touch something so precious. The wood felt warm and alive beneath my fingertips, as if it were breathing. I placed it under my chin, drawing the bow across the strings.

That sound—God, that sound was pure enough to break hearts.

I closed my eyes and began to play, channeling all of tonight's emotions—betrayal, liberation, desire—into the music. Completely immersed, I forgot about time and space, forgot about the stranger's presence, until I felt an intense gaze.

When I opened my eyes, he was watching me with a look that made my entire body flush with heat. His eyes—had they changed color? In the dim light, they were no longer blue-gray but gleaming with amber gold.