Guitar music starts filtering through just as I’m drifting back to sleep. It’s a lovely sound, soft and gentle. It rises and falls so evenly, almost in time with my breathing, and I could listen to it forever. Except, I’m supposed to be alone in this cabin, so that means there shouldn’t be guitar music.Shit.My eyes snap open.Did I leave a radio on? Is there even a radio here? What if it’s an axe murderer? Are they usually musical?The music keeps playing as I climb slowly out of bed and, thankfully, the room doesn’t spin quite so much this time. The door is open a crack, and when I peek into the living room, my hangover evaporates and my heart starts crashing against my ribs.There is a man sitting on the sofa.Who the fuck is he? And what did I do last night? My stomach drops to my toes.Whoever he is, he’s made himself at home. His bare feet are resting on the edge of the coffee table. There’s a blanket thrown over the arm of the sofa. Across his lap he holds a guitar. He’s frowning, lips pursed slightly, as he studies the movement of his long fingers over the strings. His body moves subtly in time with his music. The muscles in his forearm roll and flex as he plays.Despite the shock of finding him here, I’m struck by the beauty of his pose. The way he holds the guitar is almost tender. His face is so intent, he’s so absorbed in what he’s doing. And what he’s doing is beautiful. The music is so rich and sweet.His hair is dark and tousled, and it hangs over his forehead and into his eyes. I would guess he’s about my age, perhaps a little older.He doesn’t look like an axe murderer. Maybe this is some ridiculous mix up with reservations. Should I confront him? Or climb out the bedroom window and run for help? As I’m considering my options, he looks up.“Hello,” he says. “You’re awake.” He offers me a smile that’s warm and wary, but it’s his eyes that really have my attention. He has beautiful eyes. Long-lashed and dark brown. He blinks slowly, almost lazily. My unease begins to fade.I find myself being drawn into the room – one tentative step, then another. Those eyes stay on me, gauging my reaction.“I’m not sure how much you recall,” he says. His voice is warm and mellow. “Should I introduce myself again?”“That would be a good idea, yes.” Despite a wildly beating heart, my voice is surprisingly calm. Calmer than the voice in my head, the one yelling at me to move away from the stranger who has appeared uninvited in my cabin. Away. Not closer.Guitar Man unfolds himself from the sofa. He’s tall. Much taller than he appeared when he was sitting. He smiles and offers me his hand.“Hello,” he says again. “I’m Angus Creed.”It could be the shock of what Guitar Man has said, or it could be the hangover, but suddenly my head is spinning again and the floor is coming up to meet me.“Hey...”I’m suddenly weightless as he scoops me into his arms and eases me onto the sofa. He crouches on the floor in front of me as I sag into the corner cushions and I stare into those dark, guarded eyes with the long lashes. This is Angus Creed?What the fuck is he doing here? I’m guessing the holiday brochure on Susan’s desk wasn’t for her, after all.“Are you okay?”“I’m fine.” I start to nod but stop quickly, wincing.“Headache?”“Um...a bit.” It’s an effort to think straight and I close my eyes, but when I feel his hand on my forehead they snap open again.This is surreal. I should be asking him to leave, not gazing into his eyes as he strokes his fingers over my forehead.There’s a roughness to his skin, no doubt from those years spent as a builder, not a businessman. But even so, his touch is gentle and soothing, like his music. A delicious sense of warmth flows through me.The pounding in my head begins to ease. I sink deeper into the sofa and might never get up again. But my mouth is dry and I run my tongue over my lips.
“I’ll get you some water,” he says. Suddenly his hand is gone, but the warmth stays. There are sounds from the kitchen: the creak of a cupboard door and the splash of water into a glass.I wrestle myself into a sitting position and catch my reflection in the glass doors. My hair is flat. That means I must have worn my beanie at some stage. But when? Not in front of him, I hope.I turn my head and see he’s walking across the room to me, his bare feet moving silently over the timber floor. He holds out the glass and I nod at the blanket tossed over the armrest. “You were here all night?”“You asked me to stay.”Shit. Mr One Night Stand. What have I done? The horror must show on my face.“No,” he shakes his head, “not like that.”And of course his response means he knows exactly where my mind has gone. Quick. Backtrack.“Oh. Good. I mean...not that I thought...you and me, that we...” Oh, what am I saying? And why is he looking like that, listening so intently? Just shut up, Zoe. Shut up and drink the water. But it’s too late. The image is in my head now. It’s probably in his head too. At least I look fabulous and acrobatic in my version of events. I wonder if I’m hungover with flat hair in his.Guitar Man...Angus...Mr Creed...stays still by the fireplace. He watches me and I watch him. There’s the faint shadow of a bruise on the cheekbone under his left eye.When I’ve had enough to drink, I set the glass on the coffee table. “Thank you,” I murmur.“How are you feeling now?”“Better after the water. I needed that.” It’s true, my head is a bit clearer but the events of last night still elude me. I need him to explain exactly what happened. I also need to find out what I’ve told him. Did I tell him my name? Does he know I work for his company? That I’m the Zoe Harper who sent his reports off yesterday morning? I don’t think so, because I’m quite certain he wouldn’t be here, like this.My heart pounds. I’m not sure how to play this, but I find myself wishing he’d stroke my forehead again.
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Happy Valentine Weekend!
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Kyla rasped, “I-Is that Griffin petting a dog over there?”Jessamy shielded her eyes with her hand and peered across the cul-de-sac. If she’d seen it first, she might have choked on her lemonade, too. Griffin Sanderson was petting the Fowlers’ dog.“Oh my God, he is!”“Don’t they have like a gazillion germs or something? And what happened to his glasses?”“Actually, some would argue that dogs are cleaner than humans. And Griffin got contacts.”“Finally. You know, Jess, he’s looking kind of good, today. You might want to tap that again since he’s had a makeover and all.”Jessamy waved her off. “I couldn’t possibly.”“Why not? The guy I see over there looks infinitely tappable.” Kyla set her drink on the table and folded her arms.Jessamy sipped her lemonade. “He may look tappable today, but you didn’t have to experience what I did with him as his girlfriend for two years. I should’ve called it quits after our Christmas trip to the Poconos, but I had fallen for him, and like so many misinformed women in history before me, I thought I could change him.”“You’d think you two would’ve been great together, twin OCD and all. And I thought you said the trip to the Poconos was perfect.” Kyla said, air-quoting the word perfect.“Everything was perfect up until that trip. We had so much in common. We both loved science fiction. We were both G.R.R. Martin geeks who watched the Game of Thrones show together and nitpicked how the show differed from the books. And even though I had the books on my kindle, he gifted me the hardbacks as a three-month anniversary present.” Jessamy smiled at the memory.“I remember. You two were enough to make regular folks gag.”“And you and Carter don’t—with your copious PDA?”Kyla laughed. “But at least we don’t get all aroused over an episode of The Big Bang Theory.”“Carter likes that show.”“Not more than he likes me, though.” Kyla actually twirled her hair.“Is he coming today?”“Yeah, after he does his Saturday morning nine holes with his boss. Ugh!”“Good, we’re going to need all the people we can get to eat up all this food.” Jessamy eyed the tables balefully.“Look!” Kyla said. “Griffin’s holding the Fowlers’ baby. Now doesn’t that make your ovaries want to explode?”Jessamy turned her head slowly, knowing the sight would slay her. Griffin never held babies. She took it all in as if in slow motion. Mark was holding their toddler in place as Jenny was cleaning up the sticky Popsicle he was covered in, while Griffin was holding the four-month old. He cradled her a bit nervously at first, then he seemed to get his baby-holding legs under him and finally began to smile and talk to her.Jessamy and Kyla could hear her baby giggle from where they stood. “Aww!” They said in tandem.
When my dragons are grown, we will take back what was stolen from me and destroy those who wronged me! We will lay waste to armies and burn cities to the ground!
The second I walk into the room, six-foot-two and two hundred pounds of Garrett Graham block my path.
“Wellsy,” he says cheerfully. “You’re the last person I expected to see here tonight.”
As usual, his presence causes my guard to snap into place. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t think frat parties were your scene.”
“Well, you don’t know me, remember? Maybe I’m partying it up on Greek Row every night.”
“Liar. I would’ve seen you here before.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, a pose that causes his biceps to flex. I glimpse the bottom of a tattoo peeking out from his sleeve, but I can’t tell what it is, only that it’s black and looks intricate. Flames maybe?
“So, about this tutoring thing… I thought we should take a moment to set up a schedule.”
Aggravation shoots up my spine. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Never.”
“Then you need to start, because I’m not tutoring you.” I’m distracted now. Justin has reentered the room, his long, lithe body moving through the crowd as he makes his way to the pool table. He’s halfway there when a pretty brunette intercepts him. To my dismay, he stops to talk to her.
“Come on, Wellsy, help a guy out,” Garrett begs.
Justin laughs at something the girl says. Same way he was laughing with me a minute ago. And when she touches his arm and leans in close, he doesn’t back away.
“Look, if you don’t want to commit to the whole semester, at least help me pass this midterm. I’ll owe you one.”
I’m no longer paying Garrett even a lick of attention. Justin leans in to whisper in the girl’s ear. She giggles, her cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink, and my heart plummets to the pit of my stomach.
I was so sure we’d been, I don’t know, connecting, but now he’s flirting with someone else?
“You’re not even listening to me,” Garrett accuses. “Who are you looking at, anyway?”
I tear my eyes off Justin and the brunette, but not fast enough.
Garrett grins when he notices where my gaze was. “Which one?” he demands.
“Which one what?”
He cocks his head at Justin, then shifts it five feet to the right, where I notice Jimmy talking to one of his frat brothers. “Paulson or Kohl—which one do you want to bone?”
“Bone?” He has my attention again. “Ugh. Who says stuff like that?”
“Fine, should I rephrase? Which one do you want to fuck or screw or drill or make love to, if that’s your thing.”
I set my jaw. This guy is such an asshole.
When I don’t answer, he answers for me. “Kohl,” he decides. “I saw you dancing with Paulson earlier and you definitely weren’t making googly eyes at him.”
I don’t confirm or deny it. Instead I take a step away. “Have a good night, Garrett.”
“I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t gonna happen, Wellsy. You’re not his type.”
Anger and embarrassment flood my belly. Wow. Had he really just said that?
“Thanks for the tip,” I say coolly. “Now if you’ll excuse me...”
He tries reaching for my arm but I bulldoze past him and leave him in my proverbial dust.
I do a quick search of the room for Allie, halting in my tracks when I spot her making out with Sean on the couch. I don’t want to interrupt them, so I spin on my heel and head toward the front door instead.
My fingers are shaky as I text Allie to let her know I’m taking off. Garrett’s blunt assertion—you’re not his type—echoes in my mind like a depressing mantra.
Truth is, it’s exactly what I needed to hear. So what if Justin spoke to me in the hallway?
Obviously it meant nothing, because in the next breath he turned around and flirted with someone else. It’s time for me to face reality. It’s not going to happen with me and Justin, no matter how badly I want it to.
It was stupid of me to come here tonight.
Walking toward him is like trudging through the deepest mud, but I hold my head high, my hands in my pockets and strides long. When I'm less than a foot away, his head turns toward me without lifting his chin, and he looks up from under his brows. The white smoke from his cigarette causes his eyes to nearly close before he pulls it from his lips and exhales upward into the air. I'm struck by how incredibly handsome he is in black wool and new jeans. I want to know if his skin feels hot under his clothes and if his back feels the same when I scratch fingernails across his spine. My fists clench in my coat pockets at the thought. This is going to be so much harder than I'd been prepared for.
About the Author - A true child of music, Amber's parents surrounded her with the loudest beats they could find, molding her into a girl who found inspiration and meaning in lyrics and chords. Raised on John Hughes movies, Luck Dragons, and pirate ships, she dreamed of love and adventure. When Amber began to create her own world, she envisioned a place where Happy Ever Afters do exist. Since then, she has authored several romance novels, all of which focus on songs and the way they can touch people's lives. Music may not be able to fix a broken heart, but it can provide one hell of a soundtrack for healing.
A full-time wife and mother with a full-time job, Amber finds her muse in everyday life and the people who bring her inspiration.
Renee leaned way over in her chair, throwing her arm up beside her for dramatic effect. She had the perfect line to close her short ad, but instead of delivering it, she flung one of the flickering candles to the floor with a loud crash.
“Fire!” she screamed as she realized the flame had not extinguished, but rather had transferred itself to the hem of her dress.
Before Renee could stop drop and roll, Ben leapt from his chair and threw himself across the small space separating them. The pressure of his body against her leg put out the fire instantly, but it also toppled her chair over, leaving them in a heap on the concrete.
Renee found herself on her side with Ben’s breath on her cheek. She slowly turned her head, though what she really wanted to do was push him away and run out of the studio as fast as possible.
“That was quite a commercial.” Ben didn’t make a move to rise. “Are you okay?”
Renee wasn’t sure how the dress looked, but there were no burning sensations on her leg. There was a twinge in the pit of her stomach. She nodded. “I’m okay.” She met his eyes and allowed herself a few beats to study him closely. He was handsome. And now, he was even a hero. Though he wouldn’t have had to save her from burning flames had she not set herself on fire.
Ben deftly got to his feet and pulled Renee from her chair as the producer rushed over and the camera operators stood by, panning down to capture Renee’s smoldering dress.
“Hey, Renee,” Ben whispered into her ear, “next time there’s fire between us, I’m not going to put it out.”
