Page 90 of Forbidden Lyrics

“For as long as you’ll have me.” He leans forward and presses a soft, slow kiss to my lips. My thoughts scatter instantly.

Sneaky jerk.

“Speaking of bards,” he adds when he pulls away. “I wrote you a song.”

“A song?”

“Yeah.”

“You wrote me a song?” I repeat, trying to keep from swooning, though he’s making it difficult.

“Yeah. Someone ditched me during our writing session the other night,” he quips. “But I was still feeling inspired. Will you come over and let me play it for you?”

“When?”

“After work?” he suggests. “Or we can try for another night. I’ll do whatever you want, Dovey.”

It’ll be two in the morning by the time we make it to his place. And I’m not exactly a night owl. Which means that if I agree, then I agree to more than a song. I agree to a commitment under the guise of casual sex, even if he’d never admit it.

“You don’t have to,” he adds, sensing my hesitancy. “And we don’t have to do anything.”

He doesn’t get it, though. I’m not hesitating about whether or not I want him. I’m hesitating about whether or not my own self-preservation is worth losing the one person who’s ever mattered to me in that way.

And he does matter to me––more than I’d like to admit.

After a few seconds, I nod and realize the truth.

I’m not the princess in this story. No. I’m the fool.

But I don’t care.

“I’d love to.”

He smiles. “Good.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dove

“So, do you play?” Gibson asks, grabbing the cherry-colored acoustic guitar from its stand near his bedroom door.

I shake my head. “Only the piano.”

“I have a keyboard in the closet if you want me to grab it.” He flips on the lamp on his nightstand. It paints the room in a warm, cozy glow without breaking the comfortable ambience. It also makes his shadow dance along the dark wall as he waits for me to answer him.

“Oh. Uh, no, thank you,” I reply. “I’d rather hear you sing.”

He smiles, a slight blush touching his stubble-covered cheeks. “You’re making me second-guess inviting you over here.”

“Because I like it when you sing?”

With a dry laugh, he counters, “Because I offered to sing to you in the first place.”

“Oh, so you’re saying that you don’t lure all your women into your room and serenade them until their underwear falls off?”

“You think I need to pull out my voice to get women to fall into my bed?” he challenges, quirking one brow as a cocky smirk graces his features.

I snort and try to hide my discomfort at the idea of him with other women before eyeing his bed warily.

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