“You don’t need to romance me, Julian. I don’t mind leaving right now,” I say boldly as his arm bands around my back.
“Crowne,” he growls, pulling me closer.
“Or maybe we don’t leave,” I say to him, lifting onto the balls of my feet so I can keep what I’m about to say for his ears only. “Imagine what they’ll say if you play with me in those woods over there, or in the parking lot.”
With a deep hum, he adds, “I’d want you to be nice and loud about it too.”
My whole body reacts to the way he plays along, a full tingle and swoop running up my center and settling right in my pussy. “I imagine they’d be appalled. Pearls would be clutched. Rumors would go wild.”
Smirking, he holds me against him, and we get lost in the music for a few moments. I’m so aware of every place his body touches mine.This is what it feels like.
Looking out at the semicircle of musicians, he asks, “How do they all know what to play and when to play it? There must be at least two dozen people with guitars. I think I counted five banjos, a couple of violins?—”
“Fiddles,” I correct with a smile, looking at where he is now. “There’s a good handful of these folks who play together often at bars and on nights like tonight.” So many of the faces are ones I recognize—the shirts and slacks that tended to be worn to “nights out” like tonight or skirts and boots that operated as their bluegrass-best. “Those are the people who are usually in that inner circle,” I say, nodding to the players who keeprotating to the front. “Most of the time, there’s a leader or two”—I point to the left side—“like Cliff with the white hair and ZZ-Top beard”—I point a little farther to the left—“and Skip with the harmonica contraption on his neck, holding the mandolin.” I smile, watching how the crowd starts singing along with the song they’re playing. “Those two will always take the lead here. Cliff or Skip will call the key, and it seems like sometimes they’re having a conversation with the music. It’s not a language I totally understand, but it’s beautiful to experience.”
He kisses my forehead, and it has me leaning in closer, wanting more. I watch as the second row moves their instruments ready to adjust and join.
“And then one of them will call on someone to take the lead on solo. Oftentimes, it’ll be someone confident in that inner circle. Everyone along the outside is there to join in.”
“Stevie jumped in on that solo,” he says.
The musician playing the upright bass starts the tonic, and the mandolin joins in, giving the beat just as the accordion player starts up.
Nodding, I look over at my sister, who’s shaking a tambourine and starting to sing backup for whoever’s on the mic now. “When she was about seven or eight years old, she was determined to learn the Nashville number system.”
At his confused look, I explain, “Chord structures that just about every local musician learns over time. Someone calls out a key, and the Nashville number gives the structure.” I laugh. “It’s a whole world that I only understand because my sisters have a knack for making their passions into everyone else’s business.”
“Does that mean you know a lot about art too, from Jo?” he asks.
“I know enough about what she likes,” I say, peering up at him. “But I’d guess you probably know more. I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two.”
He looks down at my lips and licks his.
It makes me smile—half turned on and slightly embarrassed by how quickly he can make me feel like the most wanted thing. Staring at the shoulder of Julian’s dark shirt, quiet words slip past my lips. “You’re right, this feels so easy with you.” I shake my head slightly and add, “I mean, there are plenty of complicated pieces between us, but this”—I move closer—“being like this with you feels easy.”
He hums, like he agrees. The music is still loud, even as it changes to something slower and more drawn out. There are still plenty of people paying attention and ready to eavesdrop whenever possible. I have a feeling Julian’s finally beginning to understand the dynamics of how things work around here.
I move from holding one of his hands to draping both arms around his neck and tangling my fingers into his hair—thick and soft. The move feels familiar, like I’ve done it thousands of times.
“I can tellyou one really important thing that I’m not sure you’re aware of yet.”
He leans in close, and the tight scruff that’s groomed along his cheek brushes against my neck. His lips find the spot just beneath my ear, kissing it ever-so-lightly before he moves his mouth up and quietly says, “When you play with my hair like that, it’s an instant turn-on. I get hard just thinking about it. And right now,” he adds as he briefly kisses my lips, “I’d very much like to leave with you.”
“I think I’d like that,” I say back as my cheeks heat and the rest of my body follows. Around him, I’m a simple slut for dirty words. And holy hell, do I want more. I swallow, shoving down what’s left of my nervous energy and ignoring what I may have thought or felt before this moment, before him, or justbefore.
He leans closer, his lips close to my ear when he says, “I think we’re all finished with dancing.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wyn
“Slow down,”I say over the crowd’s whistles and hollers.
I never thought I’d enjoy a light jog in a pair of cowgirl boots, but being ushered out of this park, weaving through parked cars has its perks.
“I definitely don’t hate the view, though,” I laugh out, and he glances back at me with a quirked eyebrow.
Julian is a very well built man, but I don’t think I’ve truly appreciated his ass in a pair of well-fitted jeans until now.
