Page 54 of A Way Out
Lacey seemed calmer, probably because she’d only had eighteen hours or so to wrap her head around the fact that she was getting married.
“Go,” Maria said, giving her sister a push toward the stairs. “Get ready. I’ll handle this. Oz, I need you.”
Do not picture her saying that in bed, naked. Do not… He cleared his throat. “What can I do?”
“Where’s your guitar?”
“Out on the deck.”
“Good, come on. I want you to play something, and I’m going to record it. Then you’re going to post it and put your location as LA.”
It was a brilliant idea. Except for the part where he was about to play an impromptu acoustic session for Maria alone.
She situated a chair so that the backdrop was the nondescript wooden siding of the lodge, with nothing else in the shot, and then Oz sat and picked up his guitar.
“Any requests?” he asked, trying to make light of a situation that felt too intimate. That didn’t really make sense, since there were people milling all around, but did anything about this attraction to Maria make any damn sense?
“It might be cool to play ‘Why Can’t We Be.’ Lacey says that’s the next song you’re going to release.”
He shrugged. It was a beautiful song, but it wasn’t his song, so maybe it would help alleviate the intimacy of this situation.
“Unless you’d rather play something else.”
There were the lyrics he’d penned on the plane while Maria slept in the seat next to him. Since then, he’d added music. He’d planned to offer it up to the rest of the band, see if they wanted to include the song on the next album.
Problem was, it was a hell of an erotic track.
“You do,” Maria said, pointing her camera at him. “I can tell by the look on your face that you really like it, too. Play it.”
Shit.
“What’s it called?” she asked, positioning her phone, ready to record him.
He lifted his guitar, strummed it a few times to make sure it was still tuned and ready to go. Clearing his throat and keeping his gaze on the instrument, he said, “‘Desire.’”
She lowered her camera so she could peek over the top. “‘Desire?’”
He swiftly dropped his gaze again. “Yeah, it’s, uh, probably not ready anyway. You’re right. It makes way more sense to play?—”
“No. Play ‘Desire.’ I want to hear it.”
No, you don’t. He thrummed a few more times, seeking his rhythm even as he debated whether to actually go through with this.
The problem was, while he wasn’t comfortable playing this song alone, for Maria, he knew damn well it would be a hit. It was bluesy and sexy and angsty, building to a desperate crescendo before the bridge shifted it to a soft ballad. Lots of babies would be conceived to this song. He knew it in his gut.
And Maria would instantly know he’d written it for her.
“Ready?” she asked. Her phone was chest level, ready to record. She was all business.
Taking a deep breath, he let everything slide off his shoulders except the very real thrill of playing, even if he was only doing so for a party of one.
Or maybe that was exactly why it felt so damn good.
About a minute in, she stopped recording and stood there, watching while he finished the song, articulating all his feelings without actually speaking them. All she had to do was listen to the lyrics.
The song faded away, and she continued to stand there, continued to maintain eye contact. Her breath came in short spurts, her chest rising and falling much like it had when he’d made love to her.
“Maria…” He stood. He wasn’t sure what he planned to do. Hug her? Kiss her? Walk away?
