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“Last night you said I didn’t have to apologize for kissing you.”
“You don’t.”
A growl sounded in her throat and then her voice went an octave higher when she argued, “I refuse to apologize.”
“So you enjoyed it,” he concluded.
“You’re impossible.” She had to laugh, because if she answered truthfully she’d say she’d enjoyed it very much. What she hadn’t enjoyed was the way he refused to acknowledge his part in it. “For the record, you were the one who kissed me.”
“‘For the record’ is a very journalist thing to say,” he muttered, sounding displeased.
She was aware he was changing the subject, but she let him. She hadn’t made much headway, and frankly it was probably best not to talk about kissing him. Especially since she was trying not to think about kissing him again.
“Gavin told me you weren’t a fan of journalists.”
“Ever since I became famous, the press has been challenging. Since the DUI, they’ve been as charming as a school of barracuda.” His fingers moved over the guitar strings and he sang, “And I wasn’t expecting the likes of you.”
He grinned. She rolled her eyes.
“Gavin also told me you’d say no if you knew I was coming.”
“I would have.”
That hurt. She’d had just about enough of this conversation. Whenever she was around him, he found a way to hurt her feelings.
“This was a bad idea.” She was delusional to think that spending this much time with him wouldn’t leave her raw and vulnerable. When she moved to stand he placed a hand on her bare knee.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“You’re glad?” That sounded like an overstatement. Gosh, it was hard to think when he was touching her. Thankfully, he pulled his hand away.
“Sure, why not?”
A million reasons why not. Like, she was his ex-girlfriend and he’d left her high and dry in Florida. Like she’d sneaked onto that elevator and he’d responded by kissing her senseless. And she must’ve been senseless; otherwise she wouldn’t have slept in his house last night.
“You seemed upset with me yesterday,” she said, unable to keep from steering the conversation back to them.
“Not at you. Clearly,” he mumbled.
“So, you’ll admit you kissed me?”
“You looked too damn cute not to kiss.” His blue eyes burned straight through her as her heart pattered desperately against her rib cage. “But it won’t happen again.”
If it was possible to be thrilled and frustrated at the same time, she was experiencing that strange and yet-to-be-named emotion.
“That would be best.” She took a sip of coffee and reminded herself that kissing Cash Sutherland...again would be the height of stupidity. She was staying in his house. He was speaking to her. She was halfway home. All she had to do was keep her wits about her a few days more. If he started talking about songwriting, maybe his guard would drop and he would casually admit the inspiration behind “Lightning”. It was worth a shot. She cleared her throat and gave him a smile. “Do you practice every morning?”
“Lately, yeah. I’m writing.” He pointed at a battered spiral notebook resting next to one of his thick thighs. “There are about five words on a page from this morning.”
“Not going well?”
“It’s going as well as it can go,” he said. Cryptically.
“Can I help?”
His mouth slid into a half smile that was, like the rest of him, entirely too appealing. “You offering to be my muse?”
“I’m offering professional help.”
