Page 52 of Viking Ink

“What word, baby?”

“Sexy.” Rhys laughed as he said it.

“You don’t think you’re sexy?”

Rhys gave a noncommittal shrug.

Was my boy mad? He was so incredibly sexy. I would have to make it a point each day to show him how desirable I found him. I was tempted to drag him off to our room and show him then and there, but I resisted. He’d promised me a song, and then it was bath time. An idea started to form in my head. I could show him just how irresistible I found him once I’d heard him play.

Rhys stood, moving to clear the dishes away. He let out a light giggle when I pulled him into my lap, nuzzling against his throat.

“No, baby. You go get your guitar. I’ll clean up here.”

“But—” Rhys managed to get out before I kissed him.

“No buts. Go get your guitar.” I smacked a loud kiss to the side of his face, which earned me a loud laugh.

“Fine, I’ll do it, but only because you asked nicely.” Rhys gave a smile before hopping out of my arms and dashing out of the room.

“No running in the house, Ree,” I yelled after him, shaking my head.

By the time I’d finished the dishes and was boxing up the leftovers, I could hear Rhys strumming the strings, humming to himself. Wiping my hands and giving the small kitchen one last look over, I grabbed my beer and headed into the sitting room.

Rhys looked up, giving me a shy smile. “Do you have any requests?”

“No, baby. Play anything you want. I just want to listen and enjoy.” I remembered the sweet song he’d played at the Music Shed, and couldn’t wait for my small flat to be filled with the sound of his singing.

Rhys lifted his guitar so it sat comfortably across his lap. “Okay. Um, I remember my grandad loved this one.”

I was expecting a jolly folk song or something sweet and melodic, but when Rhys strummed the first note, my jaw dropped—even more so when he started to sing. His sweet voice was replaced by a deeper, huskier tone.

“There is a house in New Orleans, they call the Rising Sun.”

I sat mesmerised as he played.

When he finished, he looked over at me hesitantly and shrugged. “Grandad loves that song. He was also a big fan of Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. Dad called it the devil’s music.” He scratched his head. “Actually, I think my dad thought all music and dancing was sinful unless it was church hymns.” He got up and placed his guitar carefully on the other chair before he came over and sat next to me, leaning against my side. I happily wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Your grandad sounds like a cool old man. Your dad though? He sounds a bit of a twat.”

Rhys giggled, then covered his mouth as if shocked at himself. I still didn’t know what had driven him away from home or caused his fear, but I was almost certain his dad had something to do with it. “Grandad is the best. He loved music and dancing. He has these old photos of himself when he lived in London in the early seventies. He had the wildest hair. But then his dad got sick, and he had to leave art school and come back home and run the farm. Then he married Gran and had my dad.”

I wanted to find out more about my boy. I wanted to know who I needed to protect him from, because I was certain there was someone who’d hurt him badly. But pushing him wouldn’t achieve anything. I needed him to trust me and tell me on his own.

That didn’t stop me from prying a little. Sue me; I was a worried, overprotective, Daddy. Hell, it was practically in the job description—at least, it should be.

“Is your grandad still alive?”

Rhys let out a sad sigh. “Yeah. I try to send him emails every so often, just to let him know I’m okay. He goes to the library and uses their computer. Wi-Fi is spotty out on the farm, and it’s safer that way.”

“Safer?” I held Rhys a little tighter and he melted against my side, letting out a low breath,

“I should tell you about him and home,” he said quietly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Rhys shook his head slightly against me. “You’re not. I want to tell you. It’s just, I’m not sure where to start.” Rhys looked up at me, his blue eyes clouded with concern.

Kissing his forehead, I gave him an encouraging smile. “Why not from the beginning?”

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