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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 in the room he wondered for a moment if she had left.
But she hadn’t. She was there, listening intently with glassy tears shimmering in her pale blue eyes.
Without meaning to, he stopped playing. The sight of her tears had made his chest suddenly too tight to keep singing. “Are you okay? I—”
In an instant, Bree leaned in and kissed him. Her lips met his with the force and emotion that only nine years apart could create. Ian was startled by the sudden attack, but he couldn’t pull away from it. Right or wrong, he still wanted Bree. His brain and his body refused to get on the same page when she was touching him.
It was a mistake, but he was going to enjoy every moment while he could. Bree’s kisses were an experience to cherish. Her lips were soft and tasted like the peppermint tea she’d drank earlier. She made soft noises against his mouth, her hands caressing the stubble of his jaw. It aroused a primal instinct deep inside Ian.
The surge of need shot down his spine. Every nerve ending awakened with a desire he hadn’t felt in a really long time. He cursed the guitar between them. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her tight to his body until those full, perky breasts crushed against his chest.
“Bree,” he whispered in a half groan against her lips.
The sudden sound seemed to snap her out of the haze. In a flash, Bree had flattened her back against the other side of the couch. Her wide eyes flickered with emotions that Ian couldn’t interpret. Then her hand flew to her mouth and smothered an “ohmygod” before she leaped to her feet and ran up the stairs to her room.
Five
Normally, Ian popped out of bed at six in the morning. It didn’t matter if he was at the office or working on his laptop into the wee hours of the morning. Every day his eyes would open to a room dimly lit by early-morning sun, and he would immediately check his phone.
This morning, Ian rolled over and reached for the phone, but it was nowhere to be found. Then he remembered. It was charging in the kitchen. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see how bright the light was coming in the windows. It must be the sun reflecting off all that snow.
Ian sat up and looked at the clock on the bedside stand. It was nine-fifty in the morning. He rubbed his eyes, expecting the digits to shift, but they remained stubbornly in place. He’d slept until nearly ten.
