Page 38 of Hold Still

I have an entire drawer full of hats she’s made me, including one from a couple of nights ago. Stroking her hair, I reply, “I look forward to seeing the finished product.” Why can’t they find a cure for dementia? Closing my eyes, I count backward from ten.

The front door opens and Elaine pops in. I stand and greet her, motioning toward the kitchen. “Mom had a great morning, she even made us breakfast and knew tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. I was getting ready to leave when her mind flaked out.”

Elaine glances toward the living room. “She looks involved in her knitting. I’ll make sure to keep her engaged and hopefully this episode passes.”

“Thanks. Having you with her is a godsend.” I hug her, kiss Mom’s forehead and leave for Ozzy’s, my mind mourning the slow loss of the woman who used to be my rock.

Before long, I pull into his driveway and shut off my car. It’s later than I’ve come here before, so hopefully he’s done with his naked morning swim. Not that I minded the view. Damn, the man is hot. Scorching. I shake my head—get your head out of the gutter, girl.

No matter the kiss between us yesterday. He was just excited to have written a new song. Maybe now he sees he doesn’t need Luis. What a terrible position Platinum put him in, though.

Today has to be about creating graphics for his new song. No more kissing. No more wanting to rub my hands—and more—all over his perfect body. No more remembering how well he knows how to use his huge cock.No. More.

He’s reckless and only out for fun. And I’ve had enough fun. Look where it landed me.

My vow to Daddy resurfaces. Mom’s slow descent away from me is all the ammo I need to refocus.

I ring the doorbell and Ozzy answers. I muster some lighthearted wit to keep the darkness from taking hold. He certainly doesn’t need that. “And you’re dressed!”

He wraps his hand around his neck. “Yeah. Happens sometimes.” He opens the door wider. “Come on in.”

I walk down the tile floor toward the living room. His hand encircles my elbow, causing my breath to hitch. “No, wait. I want to work in the music room today.” He points to a different hall.

Tamping down my body’s reaction to his, I remind myself this is his gig. Wherever he feels comfortable writing is good with me, so I follow his directions. He leads me into a cavernous room, larger than the living room, which I thought was huge. His guitar is there, together with another, electric one. Keyboards and a small drum set also are set up. A round table covered in sheet music is off to the side. It easily could seat eight, maybe ten people. Recording equipment is across the room from the table. A sectional and other cushy chairs complete the room.

I wander from instrument to instrument, and run my fingers over his acoustic guitar. “Impressive, Mr. Martinez.”

He waves his hand. “It’s a music room.”

“I’ve only ever been in Cole’s, and I think yours is bigger.”

He smirks. My core tightens. Traitor. “That’s what all the girls say.”

I shake my head. “Not anymore.”

He snaps his fingers. “Rose. Right.”

Needing a break from his intensity, I walk over to the bank of windows overlooking the pool. Without turning my head, I ask, “Did you swim today?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t as much fun without you waiting for me, though.” His last words skim across my ear.

Closing my eyes, I remind my body who’s in charge.Me. I’m the one who needs to tamp down her feelings and overrule my urges. Swallowing sawdust, I reply, “Gotta keep you on your toes.” I turn my head, almost bumping into his nose. Taking a step backward, I say, “So, let me hear what you’ve got.”

“Right to work, huh? You know what they say about all work and all that jazz.”

“I’m excited to hear what you did to the song last night.” I pause. “Assuming you put finishing touches on it?”

He backs away from me. Good. I didn’t want him so close anyway.

Riiight.

He offers a shy smile. Shy, ha! Ozzy doesn’t have a shy bone in his body.Bone. Crap. I did not go there. His next words cut my thoughts off.

“Actually, I did work on it after the show.’” He retreats from me and picks up his guitar.

Smoothing my already straight hair with shaky fingers, I proceed to sit in one of the chairs. It swivels and rocks. Nice. I turn and give him my singular attention. “Can’t wait!” I smile and urge him to start singing. To take me away from the voices inside my head.

“Well, here you go.” He plays the now-familiar melody and then his baritone wades in. The hard-hitting song draws me in and I lean slightly forward in the chair. He stands in the middle of the room, eyes closed, performing for one. I breathe when he does. It’s like I’m hypnotized, under his sexy spell.

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