Read Online Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2) by Lauren Giordano - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lauren Giordano
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instrument, not on notes or composition, but the feel of the flute in her hands. The melody was haunting and wistful, as though searching for something out of reach. Whatever she yearned for was unattainable in a way even she was uncertain why.
Time drifted away as she gave herself over to the sensation of peace, the flowing echo of her instrument vibrating from her fingertips straight into her soul. She loved when this happened, when every worry, every puzzle, every problem trickled from her mind like rain and washed away with the music. Wink purring melodically at her feet, she played forever, until the notes slid away and she returned to the shadowed room. Releasing a sigh of sheer pleasure, she finally opened her eyes.
"That was incredible."
Ken didn't startle, didn't feel surprised. Although she hadn't heard Harrison slip into the spare bedroom, she'd known he was near. The clarity of his presence had been overwhelming. And a little disturbing.
She didn't want to like him too much . . . didn't want her mind conjuring stupid fantasies of a man like Traynor. Kendall knew her limitations. And he was so far beyond what was attainable it was laughable. That thought brought a quirky smile to her lips as she returned to earth. Perhaps her music was the mournful wail for all things impossible– in this case, the out-of-reach Harrison Traynor.
"What are you doing up? Are you hungry?" He'd slipped on a tee shirt and a pair of her father's shorts. But Harrison didn't look anything like her daddy. The faded cotton stretched tight across his chest, sculpting to muscular shoulders. Swallowing, she wondered how he'd managed to squeeze into it.
He pushed off the doorframe. "That arrangement– I don't think I've ever heard it before."
"I made it up."
"Y-you wrote that?"
She shrugged off his astonishment, inwardly cursing the tiny flicker of joy sparking in her heart.
"But you didn't look at any music. Your eyes were closed."
"I don't like writing it down. I just play and the melody comes." Playing from sheets of music took the fun out of it.
"You could play professionally." He took a step closer. "How long have you played the flute?"
"I started in high school." Suddenly grateful for the darkness cloaking them, Ken wondered how long he'd been listening.
"I have season tickets to the symphony."
"Me, too," she admitted, annoyed that the first thought in her head was whether she could muster the courage to suggest attending together.
"I always wished I could play an instrument. Piano and flute," he mused. "What else do you play?"
"I- um . . . play the cello a little." And any other instrument she could get her hands on. When Harrison took a cautious step toward her, her senses flared with warning. Ken didn't like the shivery feel on her spine, or how wonderful his sleep-husky voice sounded when it floated through the shadows, praising her. There was intimacy here in the dark, one they didn't share in the light of day, one they could never hope to share.
"You have one here?"
"Have one?" Instead of fantasizing about Harrison, she should be paying attention.
"A cello?" At her nod, he smiled. "Can I hear you play?"
In the dim light, she couldn't tell whether he was serious. "I don't usually play in front of people."
"It's just me, Ken."
"I-I'll think about it." Her heart tripped nervously at the thought of playing for him. She'd never been comfortable with an audience– but alone in a room, she was fine. "Why don't you play?"
"My parents gave me lessons in grade school, but after seven years, Bucky insisted I sounded the same as when I started. He made me stop."
"Bucky?"
"My dad– his name was Buchanan. We called him Bucky."
"To his face?"
Harrison smiled. "Very intuitive of you. He wasn't crazy about the nickname."
"I'm sure you couldn't have been that bad after seven years."
"Wanna bet?" He raised a brow in challenge. "Easy to say when you're gifted."
"What'd you play?" Her mind refused the words of praise,
Time drifted away as she gave herself over to the sensation of peace, the flowing echo of her instrument vibrating from her fingertips straight into her soul. She loved when this happened, when every worry, every puzzle, every problem trickled from her mind like rain and washed away with the music. Wink purring melodically at her feet, she played forever, until the notes slid away and she returned to the shadowed room. Releasing a sigh of sheer pleasure, she finally opened her eyes.
"That was incredible."
Ken didn't startle, didn't feel surprised. Although she hadn't heard Harrison slip into the spare bedroom, she'd known he was near. The clarity of his presence had been overwhelming. And a little disturbing.
She didn't want to like him too much . . . didn't want her mind conjuring stupid fantasies of a man like Traynor. Kendall knew her limitations. And he was so far beyond what was attainable it was laughable. That thought brought a quirky smile to her lips as she returned to earth. Perhaps her music was the mournful wail for all things impossible– in this case, the out-of-reach Harrison Traynor.
"What are you doing up? Are you hungry?" He'd slipped on a tee shirt and a pair of her father's shorts. But Harrison didn't look anything like her daddy. The faded cotton stretched tight across his chest, sculpting to muscular shoulders. Swallowing, she wondered how he'd managed to squeeze into it.
He pushed off the doorframe. "That arrangement– I don't think I've ever heard it before."
"I made it up."
"Y-you wrote that?"
She shrugged off his astonishment, inwardly cursing the tiny flicker of joy sparking in her heart.
"But you didn't look at any music. Your eyes were closed."
"I don't like writing it down. I just play and the melody comes." Playing from sheets of music took the fun out of it.
"You could play professionally." He took a step closer. "How long have you played the flute?"
"I started in high school." Suddenly grateful for the darkness cloaking them, Ken wondered how long he'd been listening.
"I have season tickets to the symphony."
"Me, too," she admitted, annoyed that the first thought in her head was whether she could muster the courage to suggest attending together.
"I always wished I could play an instrument. Piano and flute," he mused. "What else do you play?"
"I- um . . . play the cello a little." And any other instrument she could get her hands on. When Harrison took a cautious step toward her, her senses flared with warning. Ken didn't like the shivery feel on her spine, or how wonderful his sleep-husky voice sounded when it floated through the shadows, praising her. There was intimacy here in the dark, one they didn't share in the light of day, one they could never hope to share.
"You have one here?"
"Have one?" Instead of fantasizing about Harrison, she should be paying attention.
"A cello?" At her nod, he smiled. "Can I hear you play?"
In the dim light, she couldn't tell whether he was serious. "I don't usually play in front of people."
"It's just me, Ken."
"I-I'll think about it." Her heart tripped nervously at the thought of playing for him. She'd never been comfortable with an audience– but alone in a room, she was fine. "Why don't you play?"
"My parents gave me lessons in grade school, but after seven years, Bucky insisted I sounded the same as when I started. He made me stop."
"Bucky?"
"My dad– his name was Buchanan. We called him Bucky."
"To his face?"
Harrison smiled. "Very intuitive of you. He wasn't crazy about the nickname."
"I'm sure you couldn't have been that bad after seven years."
"Wanna bet?" He raised a brow in challenge. "Easy to say when you're gifted."
"What'd you play?" Her mind refused the words of praise,
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