Page 6 of One More Song

Her eyes narrow, and I can tell she wants to argue, but after a few seconds, she lets out a defeated sigh. Still, her back is straight, her chin tilted in defiance. “No parties,” she says.

“Fine,” I say.

“And...” She licks her lips. “No girls.”

I grunt, knowing that won’t go over well with the other guys. But I nod. “Deal. We’ll need to use this space,” I tell her, motioning to the large sitting room with its vaulted ceilings.

“For what?” she asks, suspicion in her voice.

I frown down at her, the reality of the fact that she may be the only woman in the entire country who doesn’t recognize my face. “Music.”

Her chest rises with another heavy sigh. “Right. So you’re what, some kind of band?”

My lips twitch. “Yeah, some kind of band.”

She chews on her bottom lip, then nods. “Okay. But not after eight.”

“That’s early.”

“It’s non-negotiable.”

I run a hand over my jaw, trying to figure this woman out. Standing just a few feet away, I can feel the fight inside of her. The need to let something out. She’s a wildfire that’s been contained for far too long.

“So what happens at eight?” I ask, leaning against the piano. She has one eye on the big bay window facing the street, the other on me. Like she’s torn in two and will never get what she really wants.

My heart pounds. My cock is hard. Fuck, this woman has me held captive and she doesn’t even know it.

I don’t want to give her what she wants. I want to give her what she needs. A primal part of me is begging to reach out and pull her into my arms.

Before I can do something stupid - something that will get us kicked out of this big old house and on Maryll’s bad side - Ember nods sharply, turns her body squarely toward mine, shoulders back. She means business.

“Do we have a deal?” she asks, not answering my question.

My mouth twitches. It’s as if she is making a very concerted effort to be matter-of-fact with me. But deep down, I can tell she wants to let her hair down and turn up the music. Grab a bottle of vodka and pour the shots. I have a feeling she hasn’t done that in a very long time.

“Sure,” I say, stepping closer. “But you have to play nice. Tell me, what happens at eight?”

She licks her lips, her eyes dart back to the window before reaching mine. What is she watching for? It takes a second, but then I figure it out. She’s scared. Not of me ... of someone else.

“Let me guess, you have a man?” My breathing shallows as I watch where my words land. She doesn’t give me any clues. “Does he get off work then, expects his girl to pour him an inch of whiskey and serve him his dinner?”

That gets her attention.

She steps back, those fiery eyes blazing hot. Whatever I said, she didn’t like it. “You know nothing about me.”

I move closer knowing she’s fighting this. Hard. “Well how about I find out?”

The slightest moan escapes her full lips and I swear to God some sort of spell falls over us for just a second, the tempo picks up. The beat is hot and heavy. Ember’s body leans toward me, probably involuntarily, but it’s enough to let me know I’m not imagining this connection. Whatever is fanning her flame - I feel it.

But before I can pick her up and spread her out on top of this piano, the front door pushes open. She bites her knuckles, closes her eyes. Spins away.

“Mommy!” a voice calls out. “Mommy, guess what happened at school!”

With her back to me, Ember crouches to the floor, opens her arms, and I watch as a little girl flies into them.

I wasn’t wrong. Ember is scared.

If there’s a little girl calling her mommy, it means there’s a man, calling her his.

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