life partners.” His words were muffled as he coasted his lips along her neck.
“You do, do ya?” she teased while playing in his thick black hair.
The forceful Italian blood coursing through his veins seemed like a fountain of youth, no wrinkles and no greys dared mess with the enigmatic Dillon Bleu. He carried such a youthful soul, as well.
He growled slightly, pulling her snuggly against him. “Absolutely. Look how well we fit together.”
The heat between them escalated as their lips crashed together, but before Dillon could deepen the kiss, the door flung open.
“Ah gross! Can’t you two ever knock that stuff off?” Will’s upper lip curled in revulsion.
“Perhaps you need to learn to knock first, kid.” Dillon leveled his son with a warning look that clearly said to get lost, but Jewels was already climbing off his lap before he could stop her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, settling beside her irritated husband on the bed.
Will scratched the back of his neck and focused on his more welcoming parent. He tried not to dwell on the fact that her hair was a hot mess. Shaking his head and clearing unwanted images away, he said, “Max is acting weird.”
“What’s new with that?” Dillon leaned his elbows on top of his knees and interlocked his fingers, his rigid demeanor was clearly not welcoming.
“More than normal. He’s down in the basement, staring at his guitars like they might have some answer he’s searching for.” His brows furrowed together, clearly worried about his friend.
Dillon shrugged. “They just might. How about go down there and ask him to teach you a new riff or break or something .”
Will eyed his dad knowingly. “You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
“Straight up,” Dillon admitted with no hesitation. “I’ll check on Max later. Now get out.”
With a huff and a wagging finger toward his parents, Will said, “You two behave yourselves.” He slinked back out the door, closing it a little too sharply behind him.
Dillon hopped up and locked the door before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it behind him. His hair perfectly mussed and a devilish smile showcased his dimples.
“What are you up to, Dimples?” Jewels giggled as she watched her handsome husband stalk in her direction, kicking off his shoes in the process.
Mischief twinkled in his nearly purple eyes as he worked his belt loose. “I don’t feel like behaving.”
“No?” Jewels asked, heat traveling up her neck as his strong hand landed there, feeling her pulse flutter.
“Not even a little,” he said before reclaiming her lips.
•♫•♫•♫ •
Will found Max in the same state he had left him, sitting on the couch staring at the guitars displayed before him.
“What’s up, hotshot?” Will plopped down beside him and fixed his eyes on the red Gibson. It was a custom design that Max got to do a few years back. The same sheet music tattoo whirling up his arm also whirled up the white fretboard. “I’m taking that one.” He nodded his head toward it.
That seemed to snap Max out of his trancelike state. He blinked before focusing on the Gibson in question. “The heck you are.”
One sure thing about Maxim King was he was deftly possessive over his beloved guitars, never parting with them easily. At least twenty or so always traveled with him on tours.
Will stood and gathered two acoustics, leaving the red beauty on the stand, and handed Max one before settling back on the couch. He strummed a few chords. “Teach me something, ole wise one.”
Max snorted. “So you can steal my place in the band?”
“You old geezers will have to retire one of these days. Might as well impart your mad skills on me before arthritis settles into your decrepit fingers.”
“You got such an arrogant mouth on ya.” Max narrowed his glare at Will and held it there while his fingers brought the strings to life in a rapid melody, making it impossible for Will to catch the order
“You do, do ya?” she teased while playing in his thick black hair.
The forceful Italian blood coursing through his veins seemed like a fountain of youth, no wrinkles and no greys dared mess with the enigmatic Dillon Bleu. He carried such a youthful soul, as well.
He growled slightly, pulling her snuggly against him. “Absolutely. Look how well we fit together.”
The heat between them escalated as their lips crashed together, but before Dillon could deepen the kiss, the door flung open.
“Ah gross! Can’t you two ever knock that stuff off?” Will’s upper lip curled in revulsion.
“Perhaps you need to learn to knock first, kid.” Dillon leveled his son with a warning look that clearly said to get lost, but Jewels was already climbing off his lap before he could stop her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, settling beside her irritated husband on the bed.
Will scratched the back of his neck and focused on his more welcoming parent. He tried not to dwell on the fact that her hair was a hot mess. Shaking his head and clearing unwanted images away, he said, “Max is acting weird.”
“What’s new with that?” Dillon leaned his elbows on top of his knees and interlocked his fingers, his rigid demeanor was clearly not welcoming.
“More than normal. He’s down in the basement, staring at his guitars like they might have some answer he’s searching for.” His brows furrowed together, clearly worried about his friend.
Dillon shrugged. “They just might. How about go down there and ask him to teach you a new riff or break or something .”
Will eyed his dad knowingly. “You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
“Straight up,” Dillon admitted with no hesitation. “I’ll check on Max later. Now get out.”
With a huff and a wagging finger toward his parents, Will said, “You two behave yourselves.” He slinked back out the door, closing it a little too sharply behind him.
Dillon hopped up and locked the door before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it behind him. His hair perfectly mussed and a devilish smile showcased his dimples.
“What are you up to, Dimples?” Jewels giggled as she watched her handsome husband stalk in her direction, kicking off his shoes in the process.
Mischief twinkled in his nearly purple eyes as he worked his belt loose. “I don’t feel like behaving.”
“No?” Jewels asked, heat traveling up her neck as his strong hand landed there, feeling her pulse flutter.
“Not even a little,” he said before reclaiming her lips.
•♫•♫•♫ •
Will found Max in the same state he had left him, sitting on the couch staring at the guitars displayed before him.
“What’s up, hotshot?” Will plopped down beside him and fixed his eyes on the red Gibson. It was a custom design that Max got to do a few years back. The same sheet music tattoo whirling up his arm also whirled up the white fretboard. “I’m taking that one.” He nodded his head toward it.
That seemed to snap Max out of his trancelike state. He blinked before focusing on the Gibson in question. “The heck you are.”
One sure thing about Maxim King was he was deftly possessive over his beloved guitars, never parting with them easily. At least twenty or so always traveled with him on tours.
Will stood and gathered two acoustics, leaving the red beauty on the stand, and handed Max one before settling back on the couch. He strummed a few chords. “Teach me something, ole wise one.”
Max snorted. “So you can steal my place in the band?”
“You old geezers will have to retire one of these days. Might as well impart your mad skills on me before arthritis settles into your decrepit fingers.”
“You got such an arrogant mouth on ya.” Max narrowed his glare at Will and held it there while his fingers brought the strings to life in a rapid melody, making it impossible for Will to catch the order
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