He ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “You really wanna hear me play?”
“Of course. It’s important to you.”
“What if I’m bad?”
I arched my brow. “There’s no way that you’re bad at this.”
He rubbed the back of his head, then nodded. Crawling off the bed, he stepped across the space and grabbed his guitar from its stand.
I returned to the bed and fluffed the pillows so I could lean against his beautiful—if I said so myself—headboard.
Standing in the small music nook, wearing only his Wranglers, he looped the strap around his body. Everything about him was gorgeous. Even his bare toes were sexy as hell.
Before he could get started, I stopped him. “Would you mind sitting here?” I asked as I widened my legs and patted the bed in front of me. “Let me hold you while you play?”
His eyes locked with mine, molten.
“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
He walked to the bed, then awkwardly crawled up to me with the guitar strapped across his body. He turned and—narrowly avoiding whacking me with the headstock—settled his ass between my thighs. God, I loved the way he smelled. Like the woods, and something a little sweeter.
I palmed his hips as he positioned his back against my chest. After tuning the strings and checking a few chords, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then began a simple Spanish ballad.
The song was unfamiliar, but the notes rolled and swayed like a boat on the ocean. I moved forward a bit, blanketing his back as I rested my chin on his shoulder, watching his fingers move.
The song only lasted a few minutes, but it was mesmerizing.
“What was that called?”
“Triste Luna—the sad moon.”
I slipped my arm over his free shoulder and buried my face in his hair. “Are you sad, Rowdy?”
“Nope.” He chuckled. “That was just a warm-up.”
He flexed his fingers, and I caught the edge of his grin. The second he started to play again, I smiled widely, then kissed his bare shoulder.
“That’s the intro to Desperado.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Can you sing it?”
He paused his strumming and looked back at me. “You really wanna hear my singing voice?”
“I’ve heard you caterwaul to the radio. It’s not too bad.”
He rocked his elbow back, lightly ribbing me. I captured his arm and held him tight against my chest. He trembled, but I didn’t think he was scared. Letting his head roll back against my shoulder, he closed his eyes, seeming to enjoy the moment.
I leaned in and kissed his nose. He turned his head, and we exchanged lazy kisses until he reluctantly faced forward. He began the song once more, starting off slowly, then speeding up, adding a few percussive notes, just like I’d seen it in the movie. To hold him in this position, to feel the music through his muscles and frame, I couldn’t imagine how we got here, nor could I imagine ever letting him go again.
He sang the familiar Spanish song, and I lightly harmonized with him. Neither of us were award-winning singers, but the tune was simple enough, and we sounded really fucking goodtogether. Where his “practice” song had been slow and romantic, this one was full of energy and fun.
We built to a rousing ending and laughed as we held the final notes. Major record labels weren’t going to be scouting us, but I could imagine spending time around my pool, entertaining our friends and family with our silly, fun duets, my brain insisting on hopscotching ten steps ahead of where we were.
I couldn’t figure out why, save for the fact that I’d always been attracted to him from the first time we met. I supposed I had held off because...I don’t know why. Maybe I always read the hesitance, maybe I was just waiting for the right time.
I knew one thing for certain, though. I’d spent these last several weeks trying to put together the puzzle that was Rowdy Lockwood. Tonight removed the veil between us and I felt that, for the first time, I was seeing him as he truly was. And what I saw was so much better than I’d expected.
