He nods, a slow smile taking over his features. “Nice. Great choice.”
Huh. Stand down red alert. I guess a guitar player who loves the Beatles and plays the Animals can at least appreciate Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac’s mark on musical history.
When his fingers move again, his tone has changed. It’s not The Animals he’s playing this time, it’s the opening notes to my favorite Stevie Nicks song, Landslide.
My stomach tightens. I can’t not sing. I can’tnotlet the music seep into my skin and take over my body. I can’t ignore the tug of the notes on my vocal cords.
So I don’t.
Without taking my eyes off his, I sing along with him. And he never takes his eyes off mine, either.
It’s like... musical foreplay. And I am fucking here for it.
We don’t get far in the song before he sets the guitar aside so he can move closer to me. I keep singing. The warmth of his body makes mine tingle as he inches toward me.
The air thickens. The closer he gets to me the more my body reacts. My nipples harden, my pulse races, and I can’t take my eyes off his imperfectly shaped lips.
“I still want to kiss you.”
My breath stutters, but somehow, I keep singing. The way his eyes hold me, the want flaming in his beautiful, green-gray eyes,his masculine scent invading my nose... it all makes my heart thump faster.
I want him to kiss me, but something makes me pause. Maybe it’s wanting to hear him say it again. There’s a heavy pause charged with anticipation when the lyrics die on my lips on a sigh.
“Come on, Pitstop. Say yes. Let me kiss you.” He’s almost whining. Like finding a connection with someone who has musical talent is as hot to him as it is to me, and we need to complete it.
A musical spy. Huh. There’s one that hasn’t been done before. Has it? If not, someone should write a movie about that. Or a book. Or a book that gets picked up by Netflix and turned into a movie adaptation. The books are always better, though.
His gaze flits to my mouth as I sing again, like he’s mesmerized by the lyrics falling from my lips. The heat in his eyes is stronger, he’s looking at me like I’m consuming his entire being, and it drives me wild.
Heat pools between my thighs, and my nipples are now hard enough to shred my bra.
Okay, fine. Maybe not that hard, but they sure as hell aren’t that far away.
“Say yes.”
I nod. My body trembles, and I’m not sure if it’s from the effort of holding myself back and not ripping his clothes off, or the need for him to rip mine.
He cups my face with his palm. It’s softer than I expect.
I stop singing.
He moistens his lips.
I suck in a breath. My heart hammers harder.
His head comes toward me, but I start. Cracking him in the face with the top of my head.
“Ow. Fuck!” He covers his face with his hand. “What the hell?”
I hold my hands up.
“Still not ready?” At least that’s what I think he says around the palm of his hand currently cradling his face.
I shake my hand. “I need to check something first.”
He pulls his hand away from his nose and looks at his fingers like he’s expecting to find blood. “What’s that?” His face is reddening from where we connected.
“Do you have a fat fetish?” Unfortunately, I’ve found it’s something I need to ask.
