A moment later, the pleasure was all Brianna’s.
He was shirtless, tanned, and dear God, the muscles just didn’t stop. Dog tags hung between his massive pecs, the lucky things. He walked carefully, as if she were a deer about to startle. From the way her knees went weak, she didn’t think she could move a step.Lord have mercy, he’s hot. His chest and broad shoulders alone were enough to get him into a calendar, but combined with his tentative smile and those sparkling eyes, Brock was basically a river god come to life.
Did my music put that sparkle in his eyes? If that was going to be the reaction she got from an audience, she might be able to do this after all.
Brock stopped a few feet in front of her. “Hope you don’t mind; my shirt’s still drying in the sun.”
“I’ll manage.” Her voice came out as more of a croak than the casual tone she’d been going for.Smooth, Bri. Real smooth.
He sat down with his legs crossed and gazed up at her. And there went her knees again. She gave him a quick smile, swallowed, and tucked her fiddle in its accustomed spot under her chin. This time, she chose a slower song, a murder ballad her three-times-great grandmother might have brought with her from Appalachia. And this time, she didn’t close her eyes.
She watched Brock’s expression instead. Watched how his smile turned soft and his eyes dreamy at half-mast. He mostly watched her face and her hands, but every now and then she caught his gaze flick quickly down her body before returning to her hands. He caught her gaze and held it for a moment before she looked at her instrument, hoping her cheeks weren’t too red. She finished and Brock sat perfectly still for a moment, just watching her before he started clapping.
“Well,” Brock said. “Aren’t you going to take a bow?”
Brianna blinked. “Oh, oh yeah, I’m supposed to do that, aren’t I?” She bowed at the waist, her arms out to her sides.
Brock stood up. He shook his head. “That was beautiful. Just beautiful. What’s it called?”
“Eliza Day.”
“Wow. The man who wrote that song must have loved her.”
Brianna held back a laugh. “Yeah, or killed her. That was a murder ballad.”
“A what?” Brock chuckled.
“A murder ballad. Very traditional; they go all the way back to Europe. Songs about men in love with women and then murdering their lovers for one reason or another. Though sometimes it’s the other way around, too.”
“Damn, that’s dark. How can something so dark be so beautiful?”
Brianna shrugged. “I don’t ponder them, I just play them.”
Brock shook his head and stepped closer, smiling. “I kind of wished you hadn’t told me it was a murder ballad. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, the thought of a man hurting a woman.” He held his hands up, palms facing outward. “Though don’t get me wrong. Like I said, you played it beautifully.”
“I guess it would bother you, given that you’re in security.”
His eyes unfocused for a moment and his expression turned sad. Then it was quickly replaced with another smile—one of the cockier ones from earlier. “Speaking of, can I escort you down the river to the farm? I can hear the others playing from here and I have a feeling you should be joining them about now.”
Brianna’s pulse quickened. She’d lost track of the time the way she did whenever she played. Brock was a distraction who did not help with that. “Yeah, I guess I should be getting back.”
“What?” Brock asked. “You aren’t still hesitant, are you?”
Should I?“Well. There is one more song I’d like to try, but that’s okay.”
“Oh yeah?” He grinned. “By the look in your eyes, I can tell it’s a special one.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, God no. It’s just something I’ve been working on.”Yeah. Working on since the moment I could play this thing.
“I was right. It is special.” Brock dropped to the ground in front of her.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting ready to hear the best song yet.” He put his elbows on his bent knees and his chin in his hands and looked up at her, the position giving him a boyish look that made her laugh.
“You’ll be disappointed. It’s not even done yet.”
“I’m waiting.”
