Page 77 of The Heartstrings of Harry
Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, soft and low, rich with feeling as he played a slow, aching version of Dido’s“Here With Me.”
The lyrics wrapped around the room like a lullaby, like a confession, every word soaked in longing.
And as he sang, I surrendered myself to every emotion oozing out of those lyrics—
I didn’t want to go…
I didn’t want to sleep…
I didn’t want tobreathe…
Until he was resting there with me… forever.
I sank down onto the couch beside him, eyes never leaving his face. The way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. The way his fingers moved, gentle and easy across the strings, like the guitar was just an extension of him.
God, he was beautiful.
He waseverything.
When the song ended, he let the last chord hang there, soft and sweet, fading into the hush between us until I leaned in, kissing him slowly, kissing him sweetly, easing the guitar out of his arms. I put it on the coffee table and said—
“Come here.”
Before Dean could so much as blink, I swept him right off the couch, arms sliding under his back and behind his knees, lifting him into my arms.
“Harry!” he gasped, laughing, hands flying up to clutch my shoulders. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed,” I said simply, starting toward the stairs. “You can complain about it if you want, but it won’t change the plan.”
Dean grinned, biting his bottom lip. “No complaints here.”
“Good.” I grinned, holding him tighter as I climbed the stairs.
By the time we reached the bedroom, his smile had softened again, those big blue eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing in the world.
I nudged the door open with my foot, carried him across the room, and laid him down gently on my bed, soft sheets just waiting for him, warm lamplight casting shadows on the walls.
Dean sat up on his elbows, still smiling, but then his eyes flicked to the nightstand.
I followed his gaze.
There it was—right there beside the lamp—the framed signed photo of him.
Dean’s smile broadened. “You… you keep it by the bed?”
I shrugged. “Well, you weren’t here with me. So it was the best I could do.” I grabbed it and opened the drawer to stash it away.
He caught sight of the novel in my drawer. “Is that a romance novel?”
It was in fact.
Mistral’s Daughterby Judith Krantz.
“Stop snooping! Do you mind?”
He giggled as I tucked both the photo and the novel away in the drawer. “Now, if you’re done fucking with the mood…!”
Dean grinned. “I am. There’s something else I’d much rather be fucking.” He let out a breathy laugh, his hands sliding into my hair, pulling me down to kiss him harder.
