Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Taking a deep breath I start. And fumble. Blushing, I power through it. The music. Just feel the music.
Okay. I got this.
I begin to sing—wobbly at first, but stronger when Killian smiles wide and nods, encouraging. I close my eyes and think of the lyrics. It’s about a musician, world-weary and jaded. Lonely. A man who’s been reduced to nothing more than entertainment for the masses.
And it hits me. I open my eyes, look at Killian. My heart hurts for him. But he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s listening to me sing. He comes in with the rhythm, picking up the second verse. Then he sings.
Killian’s voice is a wave of sound that sweeps over the room. It’s the difference between singing in your shower and finding yourself in a concert hall.
I stumble a chord progression before getting a hold of myself. Feel the music.
So I do.
And we sing, just enjoying.
Killian is a generous musician, letting me lead, propping me up when I stumble. Occasionally he changes things up so I’m forced to follow, but he does it with a smile, daring me to step outside my safe box and risk. It’s like a dance, playing with him.
And I grow bold, putting more emotion into my voice. I become that lonely but proud musician.
Our gazes clash, and energy licks through me, so strong it prickles my skin, pulls at my nipples. Joy unfiltered surges through me, and I smile even as I sing with all my heart. He grins back, his eyes intense, burning like dark coals. It makes me so hot, I want to toss down my guitar, throw myself in his lap and just take. It makes me want the song to never end.
He picks up singing the refrain, and that deep voice sinks into my bones, runs like liquid heat up my thighs. God, he’s beautiful. Perfect.
With fluid grace, he hits a guitar solo, his lids lowering, his strong body rocking. All of his sinewy muscles tense and flex, but he’s loose, so loose now, totally into the song. It’s like sex, watching him let go. And I throb.
The song ends too soon. I’m left panting, sweat coating my skin.
We stare at each other for a long minute, a dull roar swooshing in my ears as if my body can’t quite come down from the high.
“Jesus,” I finally rasp.
“Yeah,” he says, just as raw. “Yeah.”
I’m shaking when I set my guitar down and run a hand through my damp hair. “That was…” I take a hard breath. “How can you give that up?”
The fire in his eyes dies, and he ducks his head, carefully setting his guitar aside as well. “Everyone needs a break now and then.”
Fair enough. I’m still shaking. “I feel like I’ve run a sprint or something.”
“It’s the adrenaline.” His lips quirk. “Happens when you make good music. And, Liberty Bell, we made some fucking good music just then.”
Heat invades my cheeks. “It was you.”
“No,” he says softly. “It was us.” He glances at the guitar by my side. “Want to go again?”
Do I? I’m not sure. It feels dangerous in a way, addictive. Once I give in, will I be able to go without?
Killian looks at me with calm eyes, and yet he’s leaning in, his body tight. Waiting. I can’t resist him. I’m beginning to think I never will.
I pick up my guitar. “Sure. You know Pearl Jam’s ‘Indifference’?”
Happiness gives his dark eyes light. “Again with Eddie?” He shakes his head, but his dimples are out. “Fight it if you must, Libs, but you know you like me better.”
I more than like him. That’s the problem. “Any time you want to play one of your songs, just let me know,” I tell him blithely. “And then I’ll reassess.”
The long fall of his hair hides his eyes from me as he strums out a few chords, but there’s a smile in his voice. “Maybe someday soon.”
Those words sound a lot like hope.
Chapter Seven
Killian
It’s the middle of the night when three things happen: my room lights up with a flash of lightning, followed by a tremendous crash of thunder, and Libby screams bloody murder. I lurch up from a full sleep as if yanked, my balls crawling halfway up my ass in fright, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest.
For a bright, sharp second, I sit panting, my eyes wildly searching the darkened room, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. Then I remember the scream. Libby.
Another round of lightning and thunder brings on another scream. The fact that I can actually hear her screaming all the way in my house is enough to stop my heart.
“Jesus.” Terror mixed with rage has me leaping out of bed and reaching for the only weapon I have, my Gibson. It’s not much, but it’s solid, and I will bash the fuck out of anyone who hurts Libby.