When Megan Han and her sisters performed as the Hana Trio, the sound of her violin, Angie’s cello and Chloe’s viola came together as one—as hana—to create the music of their hearts. The thrill, joy and fulfillment Megan derived from being a part of the trio couldn’t be matched. She was living her dream—a dream she shared with her sisters—and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
But lately, she felt a restlessness stirring inside her. She didn’t know what it meant to stand on her own. A part of her felt transparent, like she wasn’t a fully realized person yet. Maybe that was why she had agreed to play rock violin at the Tipsy Dahlia, a seedy nightclub in Hollywood, on the same night the Hana Trio was performing in the Chamber Music Society’s last concert of the season. The timing wasn’t ideal, but no-name performers—she didn’t mention she was part of the Hana Trio—couldn’t be choosers.
The electric violin was a recent preoccupation of hers plus she wanted to know if she could move an audience without her sisters and the clout of the Hana Trio. She wouldn’t necessarily call this a rebellion, since she could do whatever the hell she wanted with her free time, but it did feel like her little secret. Something that was hers alone. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. Probably both excited and scared.
The burst of applause snapped her out of her reverie and returned her to the backstage of the concert hall. Megan clapped along with the audience from behind the curtains. The Chamber Orchestra had performed beautifully.
“I can’t believe it’s the final night of the season,” Chloe said, shaking her head.
“I know. Concert season feels grueling sometimes, but I’m going to miss playing in front of a big audience.” Angie sighed. “Nothing matches the energy of these concerts.”
“Well, let’s go out there and generate enough energy to carry us through the off-season.” Megan smoothed her hand down her claret, floor-length dress. “It’s showtime, ladies.”
She and her sisters were met by resounding applause as they strode onto the stage. Megan put her hand on her chest and smiled at the audience, filled with gratitude. The Hana Trio had gained renown in the last couple of years, due in part to the piece they were performing tonight—the string trio Angie’s husband, Joshua Shin, had composed for them. Since they premiered the work last season, it had become one of their signature pieces and a definite fan favorite.
Silence fell around them when they took their seats. Megan brought her violin under her chin and held her sisters’ eyes. With a subtle nod, she lowered her bow to the strings, and the first dulcet strains of the string trio filled the auditorium.
The beauty of the piece pulled her under its spell and she swayed with the music, playing the violin with her whole body. Her sisters danced and moved on each side of her, melody and harmony spilling from their instruments. She always imagined that they looked like three lithe trees, waving in the wind—their movements unsynchronized but graceful.
The concert hall remained eerily quiet as the last notes echoed into silence. Then, as though snapped awake by a hypnotist, the entire audience jumped to their feet, clapping in a quick staccato. Megan and her sisters rose from their seats and bowed deeply. Once, then twice. Her heart pounded with adrenaline and euphoria as they walked off the stage.
“I’m so proud of you guys.” Angie hugged Chloe, then Megan, balancing her cello with one hand.
“We’re proud of you, too.” Megan returned her older sister’s one-armed hug, holding her violin to the side.
“Don’t forget Joshua,” her younger sister chimed in. “We should give him some credit for writing that masterpiece.”
“Thank you, Chloe,” Joshua said, walking up to them. “You three sounded magnificent.”
He wrapped his arm around Angie’s waist and dropped a kiss on her forehead with tender affection. Megan watched the exchange with a dreamy sigh. Her soul mate would find her someday. She just wished he would stop taking his sweet time about it.
“I know I can’t top praise like that from the composer himself.” Their dad joined them backstage, beaming with pride. “But you girls played beautifully. It almost takes away the sting of not having any of my daughters follow in my footsteps.”
He hugged Megan and Chloe but hesitated in front of her older sister. With a soft smile, Angie wrapped her arms around his waist and embraced him. His eyes closed for a second as though he wanted to commit the moment to his memory. Angie and their dad had been estranged for over six years until they began mending their relationship last year.
“Ahbunim.” Joshua bowed from his waist.
“It’s good to see you, son.” Their dad patted his back before waving over a couple who had been standing a little apart from the group. “Girls, you remember Mr. and Mrs. Werner.”
“You three have grown into such lovely, talented women,” Anne Werner said with a tremulous smile. “Your mom would’ve been so proud.”
Their dad was the CEO of Jigu Corporation, a thriving electronic components company, and Anne was a member of the board of directors. She had also been a dear friend of their mom’s, who’d passed away from breast cancer seven years ago.
“Thank you, Anne,” Megan said, squeezing her tightly. Her sisters joined in for a group hug.
“I also wanted to introduce you to our new CFO—” their dad glanced around with a perplexed frown “—but he didn’t make it to the concert. He probably got held up at work.”
“Such disrespect.” Anne snorted with uncharacteristic disdain. “Minsung, I told you that young man is too arrogant for his own good.”
“You’re mistaking confidence for arrogance,” he said evenly. “He’s going to take Jigu Corporation to the next level. You’ll see.”
“Now, Anne.” Tim Werner put his hand on his wife’s shoulder when she took a deep breath in preparation for a retort. “Don’t you think you should save the business talk for another time? Tonight is about the Hana Trio and the Chamber Music Society.”
“Well said, Tim.” Their dad clasped his hands together. “We should go out and celebrate. All of us.”
“I, um...” Megan took a quick glance at the clock. Crap. She had less than an hour to get dressed and make it to Hollywood for her rock violin debut. She yawned loudly. “I am exhausted. I’m going to turn in early.”
“Then, I’ll come home with you,” their dad said, concern clouding his expression. Guilt twisted in her gut. She hated lying, even when it was harmless. She just wasn’t ready to share her rock violin debut with anyone yet, especially since she might bomb and prove once and for all that she was nothing without her sisters.
“Don’t be silly. You should go celebrate with them. We drove separately anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Appa.” Before anyone could respond, she picked up her dress and hurried away from her family and friends. “Have fun, guys. Bye. Good night.”
Alone in the dressing room—while her fellow musicians lingered backstage celebrating the last concert of the season—she stepped out of her formal dress and tugged on a pair of tight, ripped jeans and a black bustier top. Holding a hair tie between her lips, she shook her tasteful curls out as though she had a spider crawling in her head and pulled her tousled hair into a high ponytail. Then she made quick work of applying some charcoal eye shadow and a deep purple lipstick.
Megan smiled at the stranger looking out at her from the mirror. This was too much fun. Not wanting to explain her attire to anyone, she slipped out of the dressing room and made a beeline for her car. By the time she started the engine and drove out to the street, she was down to forty-five minutes. She pushed her candy-red Carrera as fast as she dared, swerving in and out of lanes. She could almost hear her little sister lecturing her that driving like an asshole would only get her to her destination an average of three minutes faster.
Well, she needed every minute she could scavenge. She refused to be late for her first performance. She might have decided to perform on an impulsive whim, but she was a professional musician and she couldn’t keep her audience waiting. But two blocks from the concert hall, her car slowed and sputtered. She barely had time to pull over to the curb before it died on her with a soft whine.
“No, no, no.” She grabbed and shook the steering wheel as though she could wake her car up. When that didn’t work, she stomped to the rear of the vehicle and popped the hood to take a look at the engine. She grabbed her forehead and cursed. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to check.”
A black Maserati pulled out of traffic and parked behind her. Thank heavens for Good Samaritans. Curious who her rescuer might be, she craned her neck to watch as a man stepped out of the car—a tall, gorgeous man with black hair swept off his forehead, deep coffee-brown eyes and amazing cheekbones. She would literally kill for his bone structure.
Megan belatedly realized his distractingly scrumptious lips were moving. She gave her head a sharp shake and said, “I’m sorry. What was that?”
“Do you need some help?” he asked in a sexy baritone, coming to stand next to her.
“Yes, my car went belly-up.” She stared at her engine again to stop herself from ogling the stranger.
“I can take a look.” He unbuttoned his dress shirt at the wrist and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a superb forearm. “Do you want to try starting the engine?”
“Yeah. Of course.” When she stood unmoving—waiting for him to unveil his other forearm—he cocked his head in question. “I mean, sure. I’m going now. To start the car.”
She almost fanned her face when she got in the driver’s seat but caught herself just in time. What was she? Twelve? She was practically swooning over the man. Have some dignity, Megan. Besides, now was not the time. She had to get to the club. She couldn’t be late for her performance. As she reached for the ignition switch, her eyes were drawn to something on the dashboard.
“No.” She shook her head in denial. “Please, no.”
But the fuel gauge revealed the truth about her predicament. Her car hadn’t broken down. She apparently had forgotten to put gas in it. Megan lightly banged her head against the steering wheel. She’d chosen the worst day to fail at adulting.
“Is everything all right?”
Megan sat up with a surprised yelp. Right. The Good Samaritan. She’d been so busy beating herself up that she didn’t even notice that he’d come to stand by her door.
“Yeah, um, hi.” A fierce blush sprang to her cheeks.
“Hi.” A corner of his lips quirked for a split second. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She blew out a long breath. “But I’m an idiot. I know what’s wrong with my car. It’s out of gas.”
His eyebrows shot up on his forehead, but his voice was judgment free when he said, “Well, I’m glad you figured out the problem.”
“Yes. Thank you for stopping to help,” she mumbled. Too embarrassed to meet his eyes, she grabbed her phone and opened her rideshare app. But she was in Los Angeles past nine o’clock on a Saturday. No driver would arrive in time to take her to Hollywood. “I’m so screwed.”
“What’s wrong?” That ghost of a smile touched his lips again as he added, “Other than being stranded on the side of the road.”
“I’m supposed to perform at a club in Hollywood, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it on time.” She clicked on another app and sighed. “It’s peak time for rideshares.”
“I would offer to give you a lift, but I’m supposed to meet someone at the Chamber Music Society performance.”
It was her turn to offer him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, but that concert ended almost half an hour ago.”
“Shit.” He raked his fingers through his hair, straightening to his full height. After a moment, he said, “I guess that means I can give you a lift to Hollywood.”
Accepting a ride from a complete stranger might be the dumbest thing she had done in her adult life, but the musician in her balked at the idea of missing her debut performance. And she trusted the man on a basic level—nothing in her was yelling “run for your life”—and her intuition was never wrong. Besides, tonight was about leaving her comfort zone and embarking on something new.
“I’m going to shamelessly take advantage of your kindness.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, hoping she wouldn’t regret this.
“By all means,” he said with a gracious nod.
Megan grabbed her violin and locked up her car. Luckily, it had stopped at a street that allowed parking from 9:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., so she could come back with a can of gas after the performance. They walked over to his Maserati and he opened the passenger door for her. She was oddly reassured by the old-fashioned gesture. Whoever heard of a criminal with good manners?
After tapping the Tipsy Dahlia into his navigation app, he maneuvered the car into the street. She took a moment to study his profile from under her lashes, her heart drumming in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so attracted to a man—probably because she’d never been this attracted to anyone before. The magnetic pull he had on her was both heady and unnerving.
“You’re not an ax murderer or anything, are you?” she asked to curb the lust simmering in her blood.
“Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you got in my car?” He arched an eyebrow at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. A delicious shiver traveled down her back. “But no, I’ve never owned an ax.”
She laughed and relaxed into her seat. “I’m Megan, by the way.”
“I’m Daniel,” he said, glancing sideways at her. His eyes lingered on her face and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. “Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She looked down at her hands, suddenly feeling shy.
“My pleasure.” His deep voice felt like a caress against her skin, and goose bumps spread on her arms. “May I ask what you’re performing tonight?”
“Something I’ve never done before,” she confessed. “I’m playing rock violin at the club.”
“I’m intrigued,” he said in a way that made her wonder if he was talking about her performance or her. “Is that your violin?”
“Yes, my electric violin.” She patted the case she had tucked to one side of her legs. It was a glorious, edgy beauty—bright, shiny and red.
“I’m looking forward to hearing you play,” he said.
“You’re going to stay?” She couldn’t hold back her grin.
“I can’t think of a better way to spend the evening.” He smiled back at her. It was a hint of a smile, really—small and slightly crooked—but it made her breath catch in her throat.
She shouldn’t read anything into it. He was just curious about what a rock violin performance looked like. Well, she was curious, too, since she had never been to one herself, much less performed in one. Hopefully, she would make it there on time. She was certain she would lose her slot if she was late. The easy conversation in the car trickled to a stop as she anxiously stared at the dashboard clock.
“What time is your performance?” he asked.
“Ten.” She squirmed a bit in her seat.
“We’ll make it.” His reassurance—and the slight lurch of the car as he sped up—eased some of her worry.
They drove up to the front of the club at precisely three minutes before ten. Grabbing her violin, she opened the door and stepped one foot on the sidewalk.
She paused long enough to say, “Thank you so much.”
Megan skidded inside the Tipsy Dahlia with two minutes to spare. She wasted a precious minute for her eyes to adjust to the bleary darkness. The club was small but it was jam-packed. She squeezed through the crowd of people, heading for what she hoped was the backstage area.
She made it there out of breath and pulled her violin from the case just as the MC announced, “And here to rock out on her violin with you...Megan.”
She felt the familiar course of preperformance jitters and excitement flow through her as she walked out on the stage. Alone. The spotlight was so bright that she could hardly see anything. She looked over her shoulder, but her sisters weren’t there to give her a reassuring smile or a warm squeeze of her hand.
Swallowing nervously, she turned her gaze back to the audience. The light was still blinding, but she let the roar of the crowd and the heat of their bodies wash over her. She took a slow, steadying breath. They wanted to hear her music and there was nothing she loved more than sharing it with the audience. She tucked her violin under her chin, her face splitting into a giant grin. She could do this.
Her performance was loud, messy and so damn fun. The energy of the crowd zinged through her like electricity and she wove through the stage with her violin, her ponytail swishing back and forth with every bend and twist of her body. The music swelled around her and reached dizzying heights as she played the highest notes on the violin with frantic speed. Her audience’s shouts became frenzied as she held them at the pinnacle for impossibly long seconds—channeling her favorite heavy-metal guitar solos—then she brought them crashing down only to gently lift them up again. When she finished, she threw her arms up to the ceiling, her bow and violin in each hand, and the crowd howled its approval.
“Thank you. You guys are awesome.” High on adrenaline, she strode off the stage with her chest heaving and sweat dripping down her forehead.
She did it. She fucking nailed her first solo performance. She pressed an unsteady hand over her mouth as a sound between a sob and a laugh escaped from her. If felt incredible to stand on her own—just knowing that she could centered something inside her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to savor the moment.
“You were spectacular.”
Megan swung around to find her gorgeous stranger leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
“You stayed,” she whispered, surprised by how happy that made her.
“I told you I would.” He pushed himself off the wall and walked toward her.
She hurriedly stowed away her violin and straightened to face him. “Why?”
He stopped a few feet away from her, his eyes raking her body with enough heat to burn her panties off. “For you.”
Instinct was a funny thing. She had never attacked a man before, but she pounced on the stranger as though she’d done it a hundred times. She pressed her body against him like she wanted to meld with him, and her hands fisted in his thick hair as she crushed her mouth to his.
To his credit, he didn’t hesitate before wrapping her leg around his waist, his other hand cupping her ass. Her lips parted on a moan, and his tongue invaded her mouth with swift authority. Her teeth clacked against his as she sucked him in deeper and tangled her tongue roughly with his.
She reminded herself that she’d spoken fewer than ten sentences with the man. She didn’t even know his last name. But her body had taken over. She didn’t give a damn that she was kissing a stranger as though her life depended on it as long as she got to keep doing it.
He hoisted her up by the waist and she wrapped her other leg around him, and he spun them around and pressed her back against the wall. Her breath left her on a sharp gasp when he cupped her breast with his large hand and kneaded it. She didn’t hear the laughter or the clack of footsteps until he set her back on the ground, holding her firmly by her hips.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said in a gravelly voice, his chest rising and falling with each swift breath.
Megan didn’t think she could form words, so she nodded. Something hot and hungry flared in his eyes, then he took her hand and sprinted toward the exit. She ran beside him with a smile lighting up her face. This surreal night would be something all her own.