One Deadly Sin by Annie Solomon

that shone at her waist. The sleeveless shoulders were cut so deep they revealed her collarbone on each side. It was her favorite dress. Elegant but sexy. Not to mention the spikes she had on her feet. A far cry from the jeans and leather he’d mostly seen her in.
    She burst out laughing at the look on his face. He tucked her hand firmly on his arm. “We’re not going to a rock concert, are we?”
    “Ever hear of Brahms?”
    He gave her a sardonic look. “Once or twice. I think.”
    She took out their tickets, handed them to an usher, who led them to their seats. “His Fourth Symphony is one of my favorites.”
    He gawped at her. “You weren’t listening to Metallica, were you?”
    “Beethoven. 1812 Overture.”
    His eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
    “What?” she said in mock innocence. “Overturning your assumptions?”
    “Surprising people.”
    She put a hand over her heart. “I confess.”
    “So… this Brahms guy.” He returned her mock innocence with false ignorance. “What’s so great about him?”
    The lights dimmed. She nodded toward the raised stage in front of them where the musicians were taking their places. “You tell me.”
    Edie had heard Brahms’s Fourth many times, but she always forgot the way it struck until the lush, passionate waves of the first movement swelled up and over, drowning her in a sensation that was as physical as it was emotional. Enveloped in sound, she forgot about Holt, forgot everything, the same way she forgot on the Harley, immersed, wet, flooded with something unearthly, something she could only grasp when she was deep inside the music or flying down the road.
    And in the midst of this otherworldly haze, as the thick notes seized her chest and belly and made her body shimmer, she felt someone grab her hand. Hold on as if clinging to life.
    Holt.
    And if she didn’t know instantly that he understood, it was there in his glittering eyes, the breathless rise and fall of his chest, the crazed fervor with which he squeezed her fingers.
    And later, much later, after the music had ended and she had her breath back in her lungs and her jeans on, and they were walking back to the bike, she knew he’d been moved beyond speech. From the minute the last note sounded he hadn’t said a word. Didn’t seem capable of speaking.
    But just outside the parking garage, he stopped, turned to her, and with a slow, deliberate pull, drew her close. And closer still. He searched her face, a look deep and profound. And slowly, oh so slowly, he kissed her.
    It was like no kiss she’d ever had. Quiet and raging. Hungry and yet, oddly, humble. He took her mouth as if he was taking her soul. Tenderly. Knowing how precious it was. She was.
    Like the music, it made her want to cry. Or to roar with joy. Or both or neither. Only let it never end.
    And when it did and he pulled away, unhurried, lingering, he cupped her face with his slim fingers and strong hands. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Thank you.”

15

    I t wasn’t natural to have a piece of music change one’s life, but Holt woke the day after the concert as if something overpowering and important had happened. The universe had shifted on its axis. The moon had switched places with the sun. Things were no longer as they were, and it was jolting to discover that despite these strange and monumental alterations the world went plodding on. And Sam, straight, by-the-book Sam, was as unaware of it as everyone else, calling him on his day off as if everything was the same.
    “About those black angels,” she said.
    Holt needed a minute to come down out of the stratosphere and tune in to Sam’s channel. Oh, yeah. Black angels. Right. She was supposed to be researching possible retailers. “What’ve you got?”
    “Nothing. Not in Corley County at least.”
    “Okay.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. Could still feel prickles there. “Spread a wider net. Forget the county, go for the bigger