Page 146 of Deliverance

He escorts me through the yard and to the front door that he left gaping open. Oddly enough, despite the beach being somewhat busy, the neighborhood seems quiet, with minimal traffic.

My heart skips a beat when I step over the threshold, not because I’m scared or because there’s a huge Christmas tree set up in front of a bay window, but because this feels like a big deal.

“It’s only fair that I show you mine since you showed me yours,” he said to me that morning right before we parted ways in front of the gallery, only to spend too many days apart. Days that made me reconsider my own rules and my own limitations.

“Are you hungry or do you want something to drink before I give you the tour?” Zander asks, setting my bag on the floor in the middle of what I assume is the living room.

“I met Santiago for breakfast before I left,” I reply, frozen in place when my eyes registerRhythm. Like a prized possession, it’s hung above the simple ventless fireplace, bright summer light falling through the floor-to-ceiling windows and dancing across the canvas.

It’s found its home and it’s thriving here.

“I knew it would look good in my living room,” Zander murmurs.

I turn around to face him and my hands find his chest, my palms resting over the muscled grooves. This strange need to touch him, to mark him, to let the world know he’s now mine is overwhelming, and I wonder if it’s because all these years, I didn’t allow myself to feel. Didn’t allow myself to enjoy.

I stand on my toes and kiss him on the lips. “Give me the tour.”

Grinning, he grabs my hand and pulls me farther inside to the kitchen and dining room areas, then to the back of the house, down a corridor, and to the ground floor, where the studio is.

The house isn’t as huge as I expected. It’s simple with plenty of windows overlooking the ocean and the beach. Framed posters of various artists, awards, album covers, and other memorabilia are scattered throughout as a reminder that this is a place where a person creating music lives.

“So,” I drawl as we enter the studio, my eyes examining his kit. “Do I get to see you play? Or are you still recovering?”

“Oh, you’ll definitely see me play.” The wicked smirk tells me he’s not talking about drums.

My stomach flutters. This week, I spent too much time dreaming about Zander’s body entwined with mine and the wild sex we’d have in this house he occupies all by himself.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, closing the inches of space between us, his hands cupping my face.

“I’m thinking that I’ve missed you.” I marvel at how easily the words come to me. How easy it is with him.

“I’ve missed you too, but I didn’t want to be that clingy…” He pauses for a second. “Boyfriend?” His brow arches as if he’s asking me permission to use that title.

The floor beneath me begins to swim. I’ve never thought of putting a label on us, and sex surely isn’t an indicator to do so. But…but…

“Too soon?” Zander realizes his mistake, his face growing pale.

“I don’t know if I want to give this—whatever this is—a name just yet.”

“I understand.” His palms slide to rest on my shoulders, and when he runs his thumb over my collarbone where the bruises have yellowed, something violent lurks behind those sky blue eyes. Just for a fraction of a second, but then he blinks and it’s gone.

“It doesn’t make me feel any less…”Any less what? Head over heels?“Any less about you.”

“As long as youfeelsomething about me, I’m good with it.” He flashes me a wide smile and I melt into him, and for a few long heartbeats, we simply stand there, a perfect fit.

God, I’ve forgotten how wonderful the sensation of a warm, hard male body can be.

How unbelievably real.

“Is everything okay?” Zander husks in my ear, finally letting go of me.

This trip is supposed to be a getaway. An escape from my problems. A treat to myself. I don’t want to talk about Rhys or relive my conversation with the two officers the other day, so I simply shake my head and then take a step in the direction of his kit. “So do I get a free tutorial?”

“Absolutely. Have a seat.” Zander motions at the chair.

A throne is actually the right term. Cash told me that shortly after we met. He was such a geek and could talk about drums for hours on end. His lengthy monologue inspired some of my earlier works and now as the memory tugs at my consciousness, I smile. Somewhere out there, the lead singer of Bleeding Faith and Sienna Webster are talking. Talking about Cash’s music.

Slowly, I sidle around the kit and settle in front of it.

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