by C J Burright
“You’re sure that’s the right path? To eliminate the music program?” Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he pivoted to face her. “There’s no other alternative?”
“Absolutely…and no.” She stopped on the last step and finally met his gaze. “Music is a luxury. Teachers aren’t. Most kids will rely on skills other than music to succeed in life.”
He couldn’t argue with that, but it felt like leeching color from the world, leaving it gray.
Her expression softened. “I understand you think it’s a tragedy.”
“I know it’s a tragedy.”
“I can’t lose my job.” Her voice was equal amounts softness and steel. “I can’t.” She bit her bottom lip and looked away.
He blinked, stunned. It wasn’t any random budget cut that drove her to eliminate music. It was her job. A tightness in his chest, one he hadn’t realized was there until now, eased. Adara wasn’t out to destroy music. She simply wanted to keep her job. Even if he didn’t approve of her methods, he couldn’t blame her for that. Before he could rethink his no-push game plan, he leaned in and cupped her chin. “I also know losing you as a teacher would devastate Tatum.”
“Right. For about five minutes.” She rolled her eyes. “Once she has a new teacher to torment, she’ll forget all about me.” She took the last step down, putting space between them. “What other rooms do you have down here?”
He went along with the swift change in subject, letting her take the lead. Tonight, he wanted her to stay and he had no intention of expanding her boundaries more. But if she wanted to kiss him again, he wouldn’t resist. “Besides the torture chamber and the kitchen?” He shrugged and strolled away from the staircase, not giving her a chance to head for the door instead. “Not much.”
She fell into step beside him and the lines around her mouth relaxed. He’d make sure that he wasn’t the reason for them coming back.
“Just so we’re clear, Adara, you’re wrong about Tatum.” He leaned close to her ear, close enough to breathe in her coconut shampoo. “You’re unforgettable.”
Chapter Eighteen
‘You’re unforgettable.’
A dozen different snarky responses came to mind, but Garret opened the next door and slithered inside before Adara could choose which one to use. Sly man.
Sly man with a fabulous house he’d designed. Everything about it was perfection, from the parquet flooring to the carved wood ceilings. It was as if he’d strolled into her dreams, picked out the best parts and created a place specifically for her.
Her heart contracted…a warning. If his kiss hadn’t stolen all common sense, she’d forget the ice cream excuse and demand to go home, but tonight felt disoriented, surreal, out of her control. He pulled her strings like a puppeteer and she couldn’t find enough strength to cut the tethers.
She followed him into the room and froze, catching her gasp before it escaped. He has a library. Garret stopped a few steps from the entrance, and even though his intensity weighed on her, she couldn’t bring herself to care. He has a frickin’ library. She wandered inside the fairy-tale room. Built-in shelves rose at least ten feet high, along with an old-fashioned rolling ladder. True, all the shelves were empty, but it didn’t take a lot to picture them full. Windows made up one entire wall, looking out into the utter blackness of night. Without close neighbors, there weren’t any lights to ruin the night-sky view. Sunlight would spill inside during the day, making it perfect for morning reading…or afternoon reading…or evening.
“You have a frickin’ library.” She ignored the breathlessness in the words.
“Technically.” He joined her in looking out of the window, close enough his heat punctured her sweater. “But I could rebel and put whatever I want on the shelves—spare violin cases, rosin, extra strings, music paper, pirate gear.”
“I’m sure pirates read in their spare time.” She had to get back to humor, anything to deflect the Garret whirlpool pulling her ever deeper. Why does he have to have a library too? “You know, for when they’re not pillaging, playing the violin and forcing bilge-sucking landlubbers to walk the plank.”
“This particular violinist’s tomes wouldn’t even take up a shelf. London took custody of the family books, and with all my traveling, I went mostly digital.” He cocked his head, looking puppy-dog hopeful in the window’s reflection. “Want to help me fill my library?”
That capricious fluttering, usually dormant beneath the ashes of her heart, went wild. With one sentence he’d painted a fantasy, one she couldn’t shut down. A day of Garret, bookstores, lining every shelf in this beautiful library with her favorite stories, more Garret. Her dry mouth made it hard to respond. “We probably don’t read the same kinds of books.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Why would you want your house filled with books of my choosing?”
“So every time I’m in here,” he said in a quiet, serious voice, “all I have to do is look at a book and remember this minute. If you’re not physically near, a shard of you will remain here…with me.”
She pivoted to face him full-on and he held her gaze, much longer than polite, her longing a mirrored burn in his dark eyes. Maybe it was the emotional victory of surviving his performance or his mind-numbing kiss or his perfect house, but he painted dreams to life, dreams of all the hazardous things she’d renounced, making them seem safe, manageable. The price for connection and family and life was pain. She didn’t have the resources to pay that particular bill. But knowing that didn’t curb the wanting.
She drew a deep breath, held it a few seconds then released it slowly. “I like your house.”
He raised his eyebrows and watched her warily, as if she might explode into a hundred bubbles. “Thanks?”
“You’re a decent violinist.”
“So I’ve been told.” His mouth twitched in a poor attempt to hide a smile, his eyes sparkling with restrained laughter.
Pushing through her cowardice, she stepped closer. “Considering your taste in jewelry, I’m skeptical about your potential literary choices. You definitely need my help in selecting good books for your library.”
“I would appreciate the assistance.” His voice was hardly more than a murmur, and his gaze dipped to her mouth, stayed there. His throat worked.
Everything inside her felt light and molten. Even as she drudged up a last attempt to keep her barriers up, she itched to touch his jaw again, to feel the scrape of stubble beneath her fingertips. “I’m not girlfriend material. I’m pretty sure I’m not even good friend material right now. Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it in me.”
There, she’d said it. Now he knew and would let her go back to her safety, her solitude, stop tempting her with his unstoppable smiles and sunshine.
“When I met you, I made a promise to myself.” He dropped his chin, deepening the intensity. “And I always keep my promises, no matter the effort or length of time. A few failures along the way won’t stop me.”
That wasn’t at all the direction she’d expected this conversation to go. Whatever his self-promise might be, she needed a time frame, something to reference so she could prepare for the onslaught and weather the storm. “How long did it take for this house to be built?”
After a hesitation, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles, a whispering touch, and she leaned slightly into it. “From dream to completion?” He watched his fingers trail her jawline, as if he dared to touch an artifact that might crumble. “Twenty years, give or take.”
A lot could change in twenty years. Lives could turn upside down in even twenty minutes. No way would he spend twenty years working on whatever weird goal he’d made surrounding her. Still, knowing that goal would be helpful. She cleared the knot in her throat. “What did you promise yourself”—her sweater was suddenly so tight she could barely breathe—“when you met me?”
“You’re not ready to hear it, neshama.” His voice was secret soft. “But I’ll tell you this—like a hous
e, the material you have is enough for whatever you want it to be.”
“What about the holes?” She couldn’t look away from his full, sensual, perfect mouth. “The rips, the stains, the frayed ends?”
“They merely tell your unique tale.” His jaw clenched and a low snarl thrummed deep in his throat, jolting her straight. “Adara, if this is your idea of vengeance from the tickling throw-down on karaoke night, I surrender. I told you I wouldn’t push for anything you didn’t want to give tonight, and I stand by that. Tomorrow, though, I can’t promise to be so accommodating. Revenge goes both ways.”
She blinked as that aberration inside doubled, filling her ribcage, rising to her throat. Their mouths inches away, it would be so easy for him to lower his head and plant one on her. Instead, he left it up to her. The knowledge was somehow freeing.
“I don’t want to lead you on.” She bit her lip and dropped her gaze to his open collar, his tan throat and the pewter cross nestled there. “I can’t promise anything more, physical or emotional.” She lifted her face to his again, courtesy of his finger beneath her chin. “Are you okay with that?”
“Like material, a kiss can be anything you want it to be,” he murmured.
“Material can be misunderstood.”
“Do I seem addle-brained to you?”
“You really want me to answer that?” She grinned.
His eyes flashed. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
He made things so easy, so simple, as if it were completely natural for a girl to break down at a community college music concert. As if it were completely normal to be disconnected. As if it were completely rational to surround herself in silence. She lifted onto tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, light as rain, a thank you for accepting her as is, for not asking for more than she could give.
He slipped his fingers into her hair and grasped her head, keeping her mouth on his. He curled his other hand around the small of her back and pulled her close, snug against his heat. Soft, seductively, his lips brushed hers and the world around them dimmed.
She leaned into his solid strength and fisted his shirt with both hands, everything inside her awake and alive. So much for keeping things out of emotional range. Right here, with him, there were no memories, no grief, no fear—only a mesmerizing man who banished her resolve and anchored her firmly in the here and now. She didn’t want him to let go, didn’t want to fade back into the silence.
His fingertips, callused by a lifetime of violin strings, caressed her neck in a slow descent and sent a hot bolt down her back. His warmth seeped through to her skin, sinking deeper until she swore he invaded her bones. The bristle on his face scraped her chin and launched sparks along her nerves. She was on sensation overload, and whether or not the leading-on factor had been addressed, pressed tight against him, she couldn’t mistake his body’s response to hers. Or hers to his.
Coaxing her lips apart, the silken thrust of his tongue shot straight between her thighs, and her blood caught fire. If this was him not pushing for more than she was willing to give with the promise of all bets off tomorrow, she’d better start running now, sore ankle or not. But her legs refused to cooperate, trembling so hard she couldn’t believe they held her upright. As he deepened the kiss, a knot loosened inside her, a knot that had been stuck for so long she’d accepted it as part of existence.
The sudden sense of freedom combined with Garret’s low, hungry growl was intoxicating, making it impossible not to respond. Every cell burning, she squirmed against him, unable to get close enough. She released one hand from his shirt and dragged her fingers though his loose hair, the silken texture igniting her imagination, taking her to all the areas on her body it would feel just as fine. A small voice in the depths of her brain warned her to stop touching him but she smothered it. With so many places to explore, she slipped her hand down the hard pillar of his neck, along the muscled ridge of his shoulder.
A tide of sensations rushed over her, drowning out anything unattached to him. A fine tremor ran through every inch of her body, trailed by heat. She couldn’t quite catch her breath, yet coming up for air wasn’t an option. He was her dock, and floating free into the current was the last thing on her mind.
A muffled trill echoed in the distance, a familiar song snaking into her haze. Adara opened her eyes. Gia’s special ring tone, Girls Just Want to Have Fun, coming from her phone, which she’d left at the door with her coat.
Garret broke from the kiss long enough to say, “I hear nothing.” He reclaimed her mouth as if to reiterate, allowing no response time. He slid a hand beneath her sweater, warm and deliciously abrasive on her back, another assault on her senses.
But Gia never called late. Still gripping Garret’s shirt for balance, her knees more than a little weak, she eased back.
“Don’t answer it,” he murmured at her ear. He grazed her earlobe with his teeth and she shuddered.
“It’s Gia. I have to.” She rested her forehead on his chest and closed her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, shackling her close. Staying in this moment forever, like this, with him, would be her idea of heaven.
He rested his chin on top of her head, his breaths as ragged as her own. “Remind me to sic Ian on her later.”
She smiled against his shirt. “Then I’d have to kill him and you.”
“But at least Gia wouldn’t interrupt us again.”
“Trust me, she’d find a way. It’s her superpower.”
Adara released her death grip on his shirt and smoothed the material. Focusing on that was better than looking at him, seeing what might or might not be flashing in his midnight eyes, or how she might react. The ring tone returned to the chorus, blaring the last round before voicemail. Without another word, not knowing what to say anyway, she raced for her purse and picked up just in time.
“Gia? What’s up?”
Gia’s answer was a fast, loud string of shrill curses, and Adara held the phone away from her ear.
Joining her in the foyer, Garret propped his back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, eyebrows high. His golden hair sparkled in the chandelier light, disheveled by her fingers, and with the added bonus of his shirt slightly askew despite her effort to smooth it, he made every inch of her tingle with need. She wanted to pitch her phone out of the door, pretend Gia had never called and go back to kissing until she forgot anything else in the world existed.
Dangerous man, dangerous dream.
“I’m done with men. Done!” Gia screamed, no speaker phone necessary.
Adara’s stomach knotted and she brought the phone back to her ear. “What happened?”
Between the angry sobs and creative ways Gia planned to make some guy she’d never heard of pay for ditching her, she got the gist of it. Gia had gone out with an online connection, found him nothing like his profile, and he apparently didn’t appreciate being informed of the disparities. He’d left her behind at a seedy countryside bar, where she’d promptly proceeded to drink way more than two margaritas.
“Stay put. I’ll be there in a few.” Adara dropped the phone in her purse and scrambled into her coat. “I have to go— Crap!” She raked her fingers through her hair and met Garret’s gaze. “My car isn’t here.”
“I’ll play chauffer.” Probably sensing her hesitation, he hit her with his sunshine smile, knocking all her recently realigned senses askew. “Driving you there will be faster than going to your house, dropping you off then getting Gia. And no self-respecting musician would allow his muse to brave a dodgy bar alone.”
She went still. His muse?
He stepped close and tucked her hair behind her ear, the move so natural and comforting, the urge to object didn’t even rise. “And I’m nowhere near ready to let you escape my clutches.”
Which was exactly why she should refuse, but he was right. Going straight to Gia would save time. “Fine. Only if you promise not to drive like a grandma.”
“I’ll kick it up to grandpa with a walker.” He jangled his
keys and shrugged into his jacket. Opening the door, he glanced over his shoulder and wriggled his eyebrows. “Or Adara on crutches.”
She lunged for him, but he was already out the door, showing off his questionable non-athlete skills again. His frickin’ muse.
I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Nineteen
“Is the date and ditch routine normal for Gia?” Garret’s voice drew Adara away from the car window and her thoughts, which were almost as dark as the night beyond.
The dreamscape she’d wandered with Garret during the last few hours frayed at the edges and reality pushed in, stronger with each second. She wasn’t ready to wake up. Yet, in focusing on her own issues, she’d completely blown the promise she’d made to her brother, and Gia was paying the price.
“Only once since…”—she clenched her jaw and forced herself to finish—“since Joey’s been gone. At her firm’s Christmas party last year.” She added some venom to her voice. “With Ian, which had nothing to do with dating.”
“Ah. One clue in the Ian-Gia mystery.”
“Is there something else I don’t know about?” She refused to blink in case she missed some telling emotion in his expression. Letting Gia down again wasn’t happening.
“You know as much as I do.” He kept his gaze on the road. “Gia is an off-limits topic for Ian, and that alone is cause for contemplation. Women are his favorite subject, so when he’s tight-lipped about a particular female, my curiosity goes wild. With Gia, he’s vaulted tight.”
“Good.” She glared at Garret, as if she could burn Ian through his friend. “I don’t understand how such a jerk won your loyalty, let alone your friendship.”
“Ian has his good points. He simply prefers to come across not good. He claims it makes everything less complicated.” He glanced at her and smirked. “You do realize you just essentially admitted you like me, don’t you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Not being in the same category as Ian simply makes you human, not necessarily likeable.”
