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“And when I told you I had good intuition, that’s why. I became an expert on knowing a man’s intentions. And let me tell you, once you have a body like this, very few men want to get to know the real you. Other than Micky, you’re the only person who knows I write poetry. It’s not that I’m not ashamed of it. It’s that no one’s asked what I’m into.” Waves of sexual tension radiated between them. She didn’t doubt he wanted to reach out to her as much as she wanted him to just do it. Because connecting on this level emotionally required touch.
Fusion.
She watched as his hand curled into a fist and discreetly slid under his thigh.
She yearned for this man.
Wanted him beyond reason.
But something held him back, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with her job.
“So no one knows your song catalog better than I do.” She tried to lighten the mood. “And I’ve never heard either of those songs, so what gives? Is that new material for the next album? Are you going in a new direction?”
“Hell, no.”
“Then, what are they for?”
“Me.” He cut her a look. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about them.”
“What do you mean? They’re beautiful songs.”
He hunched a shoulder. “They’re ballads.”
“And I guarantee, if you released them, they’d be a smash. Do you have more of them?”
He got up. “A few. But let’s keep it between us.” He started tidying up their lunch, dropping forks into one of the bowls and stacking the containers.
“I will. That’s a given. Everything we talk about stays between us but help me understand why it’s such a big deal. They’re beautiful songs.”
“They’re off-brand.” When he walked out of the room, she followed.
“Did the label reject them?”
“No one’s ever heard them but you.” When she jolted, and her eyes widened, he said, “That’s what I started with. Ballads.” He dumped the bowls and silverware in the sink.
“When you were a teenager, performing on the street?”
“Yep.”
Oh, God. Tell me that bully didn’t make fun of you. “Okay, so the kids didn’t just tease you for singing on Freemont. They made fun of your love songs?”
“Yes. But that’s not why I switched it up. Once my family was singing with me, we had to do bigger, livelier songs. It took a while before we found our voice. It was basically figuring out which songs got the best response.”
“Bex, I’m no record executive, but I’m a big music fan. I’m your listener, and I’m positive if you released these songs, you’d have fans crying and screaming. You guys would be the next generation of the Beatles.”
He tipped his head back and finished off the lemonade, tossing the bottle in the recycling bin. “What we’ve got works.”
“Only because you haven’t tried performing one of your ballads.”
“I did, remember? And it was all fun and games until kids from school walked by and started singing like their nuts were in a vise.”
“I hate what they did to you. I swear to God…I want to hunt those kids down.”
“They’re not worth it.”
“Are you kidding me? Imagine what direction you would’ve taken if they hadn’t done that.” But she didn’t want to dwell on what might have been. “Play me another one.”
His gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t have any others.”
