Chapter 17 #2
He turns to face me, shrugging, and huffing a laugh. “Musician’s ear. You’d think I’d have lost more hearing, but I still have a knack for picking up sounds.”
He places the guitar on the stand next to the stool and I notice a notepad at his feet. “Did you need something? I assume you’re sneaking around my house for a reason,” he says with a smug grin.
I fold my arms over my chest, trying unsuccessfully to regain my normal confidence. “I was not sneaking. I clearly announced my presence.”
“Yeah. Not very gracefully though. So seriously, what’s up?” he says, raises a brow, bringing my eyes to the scarred piercing.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, looking around the room suddenly at a loss for words. “Thank you.”
Damnit. Thank you? That’s all I can come up with after he just installed an electric hookup for my van because of my wonky heater.
I’m supposed to tell him that it’s too much and he’s being too generous.
There goes my strong, independent woman streak I guess.
What the hell is wrong with me when I’m around him?
And this always smooth and smug man must know that, because he just smirks back at me knowingly and shrugs. “For?”
My eyes dart to his popped dimple, which is infuriatingly distracting at the moment.
“I don’t even want to know what it costs to get an electrician here on a few hours’ notice and run power for those RV outlets you put in.” I glare back at him, but it quickly fades when my eyes find that damned pierced eyebrow again.
“Good, because I wouldn’t tell you even if you asked. And no, I won’t take it out of your pay, even if you tell Jake to.” Yep, there goes that idea I guess.
Leaning forward on his stool, he props his elbows up on his knees. “Consider it a gift. So what are you getting into tonight? No plans to watch old music videos of me again?”
I groan, rolling my eyes, but I still find myself grinning and looking back at him. “Nope, I’ll let you get back to playing. Don’t let me keep you up. Well, anymore than I already have. Thanks again, TJ.”
I start to turn toward the door when he calls from behind me. “Tommy.” I look back to see him, his eyes fixed on me.
“Tommy?” I ask, not sure what he’s saying.
He stands up next to the stool and nods, but I catch the slightest bit of pleading in his eyes. “Call me Tommy.”
“OK.” I’m certainly not going to argue with him. “Night, Tommy.”
That heart melting, boyish grin returns to his face, making my stomach do a weird, flippy thing.
He waves a hand down at the stool. “Don’t leave. Come over here.”
I don’t even have time to think about saying no before my body follows his command, stepping to the stool, and sitting in front of him.
“You came in at the perfect time,” he says, kneeling down in front of me. “I was stuck and about to call it for the night.”
I look down at him, finding it once again hard not to admire all of the details of him when he’s kneeling between my legs, smiling up at me. He’s breathtakingly masculine, but in that subtle way I crave. Suddenly my mouth feels dry and I’m at a loss for words.
“Have you ever played?”
Before I can process or much less answer that question, he’s reaching his arms around me, hanging the strap of his acoustic guitar around my neck.
He rests the guitar in my lap before appraising me, his blue eyes looking over every inch of me.
Like everything else about him, they’re so stunning.
The blue is so deep and vibrant, contrasting the whites of his eyes.
It’s like looking into a crystal clear lake, surrounded by snow.
I follow those eyes and when he looks at my shoulder, a line creases his brows.
My eyes follow his, but he’s already reaching for where the guitar strap meets the straps of my overalls.
He straightens it out, but I can feel the warm, callused tips of his fingers graze my pounding pulse point.
My lips part at the contact on that oh so sensitive patch of skin just below my ear.
Just like that though, he pulls them away, but that doesn’t stop my body from following him, craving more contact.
“There. That’s better,” he says, looking pleased with himself.
Suddenly, even breathing around him feels like a monumental task with the charged air between us. But he doesn’t even seem affected. He just keeps looking up at me with that pleased expression.
“Better how? And no, I’ve never played before,” I say, finally collecting myself enough to be a functional human.
I watch his nostrils flare when he snorts a laugh. “Well you look like a natural. Overalls and a flannel? You look like you would have fit right in with us in Seattle twenty years ago.”
I drop my chin, lowering my eyes on him. “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment because I would have been seven years old.”
“Woof. There you go making me feel ancient again.” My eyes meet his and he winks at me. “But it’s the best compliment. Now give me your hands. Time for some lessons.”
I reach out to him, turning my palms up.
He grabs me by the wrists, placing my hands on the guitar in the proper spots.
I look at his hand, wrapped around mine over the neck of the guitar.
I can see so many spots where the finish of the neck, the frets and everything else are worn. “Tommy, this looks old.”
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes fixed on our hands where his fingers are bending mine into the right position. “That’s because it is old. It’s the one I learned on, my first guitar.”
My eyes fly to his at the sudden realization of what I’m holding. “There’s no way you can let me play this. I’ll break it or something. You saw how clumsy I am literally minutes ago.”
He grips my hand tighter, looking back at me with nothing but that pure conviction of his that makes me swallow hard.
He leans forward, leaving just inches between us.
“There’s no one else that I would rather have play with this old thing than you, Rainbow,” he says, voice dropping deeper with a gravelly rasp that hits me low in my stomach.
Those piercing, sparkling blue eyes stay fixed on mine. His delicious scent fills each of my breaths. His fingers stay woven between mine. I savor the warmth of his body kneeling so close between my thighs. All of it so, so overwhelming, fulfilling that craving to stimulate all of my senses.
Yes, I told myself I can separate my lust for him from the rest of our intertwined lives. But I don’t know if I want to anymore. Maybe this is a problem for future me. Maybe this is one I should take head-on — right now — and solve the way I usually do.
So I give into that spontaneous voice in the back of my head, doing what I always love to do. I live for moments like this that feel so right in every part of my body. I lean forward, closing the distance between us, planting one soft, slow kiss on those full lips.
In an instant, all of those overwhelming sensations take over in an electric blur.
I let go of the guitar and let it hang on my neck so I can bring my hands to his face.
I feel the tension in his body when I hold my lips to his, savoring the feeling of his stubble under my palms with our foreheads pressed together.
A second of charged silence passes, but it feels like an eternity.
Shit. Did I read this entirely wrong?
Another second passes before I feel his chest heave between us. Then his lips part and he lets out the hottest moan I’ve ever heard.
That sound wakes up every nerve in my body and makes my nipples peak. My piercings drag against my ribbed tank top under the straps of my overalls. With no bra on, it makes me crave even more contact.
“Rainbow,” he practically growls in a low, husky plea, making my thighs clench and hold him tighter between my knees.
He lets out another long, shaky breath before kissing me back. His tongue explores every bit of my waiting mouth. Everything about this kiss feels needy and desperate, like the curtain on whatever he’s been hiding has finally dropped.
And I love it.
He drops his hands to my waist, holding me tightly.
I nip at his bottom lip, prompting another moan to rumble in his chest before his tongue glides along mine, claiming my mouth.
My hands run down his neck, over his toned shoulders, and along his back.
Suddenly his tight, well fitting t-shirt is far too much clothing between us, not to mention this damn guitar.
I can feel the tension in his muscular body, at odds with the passionate kiss.
His hands cautiously explore the dip of my waist, his thumbs tracing the bottom of my ribs under my shirt, making me suck in a breath, breaking the seal of our lips.
I bring my lips to his ear, breathing in every bit of him while my heart races.
“Tommy,” I whisper against his ear.
He pulls back and for just a moment, I see the intense, blazing hunger in his eyes, matching my own craving for him. It quickly fades though. Alarm flashes in his eyes and he drops his hands to his side.
“Shit, Grace. I’m-” he starts, before I cut him off, missing the name Rainbow on his lips.
I take my hand off his back, pressing one finger to his lips. “No. Don’t apologize. I kissed you, remember?” I smirk at him, but the alarm in his eyes remains while his chest heaves with labored breaths.
“It doesn’t matter. We can’t do this. I’m your boss. I’m your brother’s friend. I’m fifteen years older than you.” He runs his hand through his hair, palming his face, but I don’t miss the pained expression. “Fuck. I’m pathetic.”
“I told you, stop with the self-deprecating bullshit.” I stare him down and this time I’m the one not wavering in my convictions. “And who cares? I’m a big girl, Tommy. I can handle myself. I know my limits and I know what I want. I thought you wanted the same thing.”
I reach for his hand, grabbing him by the wrist. He quickly pulls it back and flexes it at his side again like my mere touch pains him.
“I know what I want,” he says, shaking his head before bringing his eyes back to mine.
I can see the lingering temptation, but he still looks so torn, like his mind and body are fighting a war with his heart caught in the middle.
He stands, trying to create distance between us, but I stand with him. “It’s just not that simple.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms over my chest, pressing against my still very hard nipples, reminding me just how wound up my body still is. “What happened to all that ‘I don’t hold back when I know what I want’ shit? I’m pretty sure you want me.”
“You’re pretty sure I want you? What makes you so certain?” he teases, flicking his brows in question.
Damnit. Am I in over my head here? I don’t want to throw a wrench into our friendship and work dynamic, but I also know I’m right. He just told me as much, except he left that it’s just not that simple hanging out there with no explanation.