In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, #4)

by C.M. Stunich

I nod and Zayd exhales, reaching up to turn on his mic. Tattooed fingers rest above the pearly white piano keys, and he starts off with a slow, easy melody that has the crowd swaying with lighters in their hands. His band backs him up with a rougher, more gritty sound that pairs beautifully with the lilting piano notes. “I’ll never be a nice guy, and I’ll never be a saint, but if you’re game to let me try, I’ll make a valiant change. If you could only love me for the asshole that I am, then I swear to God I’d be the man you want to claim.” Zayd pauses and lifts his hands off the keys, glancing back at his band. “Okay, guys, hit it.” The other three boys hit their instruments hard, rocking the stage as Zayd stands up on the bench, taking his mic with him. “I’m sorry, Marnye, but I do feel bad,” he croons, sitting down on the top of the piano, sweat dripping down the beautiful inked planes of his skin as he rakes his fingers through his hair and makes it stand up straight. “If there’s any chance of trust, can you give me another chance? There’s so much fear inside, no place to hide. But can you see the real me?” I’m such a sucker for a good apology, I think as Zayd reaches out, takes my hand, and pulls me into his lap. He’s so freaking warm, and he’s shaking, too, fueled by the adrenaline of the crowd. I swear, it transfers into me as I sit there, listening to him sing a song he wrote, feeling the bass and the drums pummel through my body.