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Authors: Andrea Laurence
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himself. He wasn’t as rusty as he thought he’d be. The music flowed smoothly, the chord changes, second nature.
When that song was done, he tried another, this time singing along. That song seemed to fly by. He remembered how easily the time would pass when he played. The same happened with his work now; he lost himself in it. This was a lot more enjoyable, though.
With a happy sigh, he looked down at the guitar and the carving on the back. One last song.
He started playing his acoustic cover of “Hello” by Lionel Richie. He remembered that he’d serenaded Bree in the coffee shop with that song the first night they’d met. He’d noticed her earlier watching him play and he’d found himself looking up at her again and again. She had looked beautiful and so intense in the way she studied him. When he’d gotten to this song in his set, he’d stood up, walked through the shop and sang the last chorus directly to her. Then he’d asked her out. When she accepted, the audience cheered.
Playing this wasn’t the smartest thing to do considering he was trapped in this house with her, but he was going to finish what he started. Closing his eyes, he let the music flow from him. He easily connected with the emotion of the song and the memory of the first moment he’d laid eyes on Bree. As he reached the last few notes, sadness washed over him.
It was done. Both his music and his time with Bree. The guitar and the memories needed to go back into the closet.
“That was always one of my favorites.”
Ian leaped off the couch, his heart shooting into his throat. He spun to find Bree at the bottom of the stairs. How long had she been listening? He felt an uncharacteristic flush of embarrassment rise to his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you up?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep so I was reading my book. I was coming downstairs for a drink when I heard the music. I didn’t dare interrupt you.”
Ian shrugged. “You should have. I let it go on too long.”
Bree walked across the room to stand beside him. Her long blond hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head. She was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. On anyone else, he imagined it would be like a splash of cold water on his libido, but on Bree it was anything but.
The plaid pants rode low on her hips, showing a scant inch of skin when she moved and her shirt rode up. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could make out the full, round curves of her breasts and the tantalizing result the cold air had on them. He had to shift the guitar down a touch to save himself additional embarrassment.
“Play another one. Play
my
song.”
Ian stiffened. He wasn’t sure he could do that. Or that he should. There were way too many emotions wrapped up in the song he’d written for her. “I don’t know, Bree.”
“Please.” She took his hand and led him back to the couch. Her wide blue eyes pleaded with him in a way he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.
He followed her because he couldn’t help himself. Her touch was magnetic, the tingling draw of positive and negative coming together and refusing to part. Before he knew it, he was back on the couch again and Bree was beside him, waiting with nervous anticipation to hear him play her song.
There was no getting out of it without being rude. No matter what, he didn’t want to be unnecessarily mean to Bree. He could play the song. It was just one song. It didn’t have to mean anything. He just had to make sure he focused one hundred percent on the guitar and the song and not on her. Sitting this close, he could smell the scented lotion she’d always put on before bed. Touching her hand was enough for him to know how smooth and soft every inch of her skin would be.
Closing his eyes to block out those thoughts, he concentrated on the music and the lyrics he’d gone so long without bringing to life. About halfway through, he opened his eyes again. It was so quiet
When that song was done, he tried another, this time singing along. That song seemed to fly by. He remembered how easily the time would pass when he played. The same happened with his work now; he lost himself in it. This was a lot more enjoyable, though.
With a happy sigh, he looked down at the guitar and the carving on the back. One last song.
He started playing his acoustic cover of “Hello” by Lionel Richie. He remembered that he’d serenaded Bree in the coffee shop with that song the first night they’d met. He’d noticed her earlier watching him play and he’d found himself looking up at her again and again. She had looked beautiful and so intense in the way she studied him. When he’d gotten to this song in his set, he’d stood up, walked through the shop and sang the last chorus directly to her. Then he’d asked her out. When she accepted, the audience cheered.
Playing this wasn’t the smartest thing to do considering he was trapped in this house with her, but he was going to finish what he started. Closing his eyes, he let the music flow from him. He easily connected with the emotion of the song and the memory of the first moment he’d laid eyes on Bree. As he reached the last few notes, sadness washed over him.
It was done. Both his music and his time with Bree. The guitar and the memories needed to go back into the closet.
“That was always one of my favorites.”
Ian leaped off the couch, his heart shooting into his throat. He spun to find Bree at the bottom of the stairs. How long had she been listening? He felt an uncharacteristic flush of embarrassment rise to his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you up?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep so I was reading my book. I was coming downstairs for a drink when I heard the music. I didn’t dare interrupt you.”
Ian shrugged. “You should have. I let it go on too long.”
Bree walked across the room to stand beside him. Her long blond hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head. She was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. On anyone else, he imagined it would be like a splash of cold water on his libido, but on Bree it was anything but.
The plaid pants rode low on her hips, showing a scant inch of skin when she moved and her shirt rode up. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could make out the full, round curves of her breasts and the tantalizing result the cold air had on them. He had to shift the guitar down a touch to save himself additional embarrassment.
“Play another one. Play
my
song.”
Ian stiffened. He wasn’t sure he could do that. Or that he should. There were way too many emotions wrapped up in the song he’d written for her. “I don’t know, Bree.”
“Please.” She took his hand and led him back to the couch. Her wide blue eyes pleaded with him in a way he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.
He followed her because he couldn’t help himself. Her touch was magnetic, the tingling draw of positive and negative coming together and refusing to part. Before he knew it, he was back on the couch again and Bree was beside him, waiting with nervous anticipation to hear him play her song.
There was no getting out of it without being rude. No matter what, he didn’t want to be unnecessarily mean to Bree. He could play the song. It was just one song. It didn’t have to mean anything. He just had to make sure he focused one hundred percent on the guitar and the song and not on her. Sitting this close, he could smell the scented lotion she’d always put on before bed. Touching her hand was enough for him to know how smooth and soft every inch of her skin would be.
Closing his eyes to block out those thoughts, he concentrated on the music and the lyrics he’d gone so long without bringing to life. About halfway through, he opened his eyes again. It was so quiet
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