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Seven
Presley slept like the dead.
She woke up later than her usual seven o’clock, but after a day filled with travel and socializing—and kissing Cash Sutherland—it wasn’t that surprising she’d slept in a few extra hours.
She couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Dana Sutherland’s homemade quilt was cozy, and spread over a mattress that might well have been crafted out of clouds. Pres woke well-rested and with a smile on her face, but once she was in the shower working mango body scrub down her legs, memories of last night returned, and with them came a frown.
Cash had said she didn’t need to apologize for kissing him. She chuckled anew at his audacity. He’d very obviously been the one who’d initiated the kiss in the elevator. Not that she’d resisted, but that was hardly the point. The point was it’d happened, and it wasn’t happening again.
Leaving her hair damp, since it was already eighty-two degrees outside and the sun would quickly dry it the rest of the way, she jogged downstairs.
Last night the house had been gargantuan and gorgeous. It still was, but the sun streaming in through the wide windows, offering a droolworthy view of the sparkling lake, made the house feel more inviting. It was still a mansion with a kick-ass kitchen, but at the same time it gave off cozy bed-and-breakfast vibes.
She lifted the coffeepot to find only a small puddle of the precious brew left in the carafe. Luckily, she didn’t have to do water-to-coffee math since there was also a one-cup-coffee-pod situation on the corner of the counter.
Thank goodness.
Coffee brewed, she mentally reviewed the speech she was going to give Cash. Before she had a chance to set off and find him, music lifted on the air.
Guitar strums to be precise. The sound grew louder then quieter, like the notes were being tossed on the wind. She crossed from the kitchen to the attached living room and squinted at the sun-dappled water beyond the French doors. Her eyes tracked down to the beach and then back to the house before she spotted him. He was sitting on the wide steps of the deck, his back to her, his guitar resting on his lap.
She opened one of the doors and quietly closed it behind her, not wanting to interrupt. His smooth voice drew her in like a siren’s song, the familiarity wending in her brain and tangling up in a memory she’d been sure she’d repressed.
“Will you play for me?” She’d been dating Cash Sutherland for almost two weeks. She’d seen him perform. She’d gone to a party with him. She’d stared at him shamelessly on the football field before he’d even known her name. And last night, she’d kissed him until she was breathless, simultaneously nervous, excited and finally disappointed when his hands failed to dip beneath the cups of her bra.
“What do you want me to play?” He strolled in from his kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. He didn’t live in a dorm like she did. He had an honest-to-goodness apartment because, as she’d learned, his family had money. A lot of it. Good looks, musical talent and wealth seemed an unfair advantage over other guys, especially since Cash was also an amazing athlete.
Look at those guns. Yummy.
He lowered onto the couch next to her and she inhaled his spicy cologne. He lifted the guitar that was leaning against the wall and sent her a smile. At that second, she decided she was certifiably insane for holding on to her virginity.
It’d seemed like a good idea to be cautious when she’d started college—she’d heard horror story upon horror story from her girlfriends about how predatory college guys could be. And while she didn’t think of Cash as “predatory” she did worry that once he slept with her he might realize he hadn’t meant to court the chaste good girl. That he’d take her virginity and leave her behind, destroying her thoroughly.
Even so, she could think of almost nothing but shedding her clothes and being horizontal with him. Especially with his thick arms exposed, his deft fingers plucking the strings, and that low, sensual way he hummed in the back of his throat before he started singing... She was beginning to believe that the heartbreak would be worth the memories if the worst came to pass.
“Morning,” Cash said now, head still bent over his guitar.
She snapped out of the memory, frustrated by her naïve former self. She’d gone back and forth over the years about whether she should have or shouldn’t have given him her virginity. In the end, she hadn’t, and had ended up heartbroken anyway. On good days she told herself she was glad she hadn’t fallen any deeper for him, and on the bad ones she wondered if he wouldn’t have left her if she had slept with him.
“I didn’t want to interrupt.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I always enjoyed hearing you play.”
He peeked over his shoulder at her, one eye narrowed against the bright morning sunshine. The hand that had been strumming came to rest on the body of the guitar as she sat on the step next to him.
“You found coffee.”
“Well, someone drained the pot so I had to be resourceful.” She sipped from her mug.
“Well, someone slept so late that the batch I made would have burned if I hadn’t drained it.”
She turned her head to smile and found him smiling back at her. Utterly attractive and utterly distracting.
“Nice view you have here,” she said, reaching for an excuse to stop looking at his rough yet handsome face. The water appeared deep blue thanks to the sun, and a boat trolled by in the distance.
“I like it. It’s peaceful.” He went back to strumming, his eyes on the water. She wondered if he knew he was doing it, or if the instrument was a part of him. Her eyes tracked to the tattoo on his upper arm and she figured that it was part of him, quite literally.
“I didn’t kiss you yesterday, by the way.” If she didn’t say it now, she never would.
“Beg your pardon?”
