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“Is that true?” I ask in amazement. “I didn’t know you played the harmonica.”
“Among other things,” he replies, but the way he says it I’m not so sure we’re still talking about instruments.
“What else do you play?”
“Guitar, banjo. Dan taught me to play the piano, but I hate it.” Bo turns his attention back to Mia, taking the small thing from her. “Would you like to hear me play it?”
“Yes!” she squeals.
He begins with When the Saints Go Marching In, and does a quick rendition of Let It Go, saying, “That one I had to learn for Sammy.”
Then he begins to play music I’ve never heard before, tunes written in the wild swamps where he grew up. And when he begins to sing the words in French, his voice deep and so melodic, I am transported back to that night at Bonheur with the fireflies and the crickets and the feel of him all around. I don’t understand any of the words, but when I look at him, I see the meaning in his eyes. They speak of love and of ache. My eyes well with unshed tears and I want so desperately to touch him.
Afraid of what he’ll say, when the song in over I ask over the knot that’s formed in my throat, “What is that song called?”
“Little Toad on the Log. It’s a children’s song.” he says. The corner of his eyes crinkle and his lips pull up as he tries not to laugh because he knows I’d read so much more into the words.
I swat at him in annoyance as he starts another happy tune for Mia. She dances on my knee and hums with the beat.
He continues to play with her, and she is beside herself with giddiness. It’s a bittersweet moment, to be sure. Sweet because of the way that I feel for him. To see him interacting with my daughter in such an affectionate way, that he could win her over so easily, gives me a glimpse of what life could be like if things were different. Bitter because things are not different, and to have him playing with her now… Even that feels like cheating.
Mia leaves us to go back to the playground, and we both stare after her.
“Where did she get those blue eyes?” Bo asks. “Does your husband…” he doesn’t finish.
“No. Owen has green eyes. I guess we just had it in our genes.” I automatically bite my lip, probably to ease some of the stiffness, and I am reminded of the injury. “Do I have a fat lip?” I ask him.
“A little,” he says, touching his thumb to the swollen skin. His eyes are glued there, and I know he’s feeling the same intense pull I have to him.
Forgetting the world around me, I swallow hard and almost bite his thumb when I am suddenly shoved to the side as Jess squeezes herself between us. Bo laughs in real amusement, his turquoise eyes twinkling.
“What’s going on here?” Jess asks. “Looked like you were having a very interesting conversation. Maybe a little too interesting?” Her brows lift in question.
I for one, am happy for the reprieve. It’s too hard to breathe around Bo as it is, but to have him touch me… I just can’t think at all.
“I… I have to go to the bathroom,” I stutter to Jess, still trying to regain my senses. “Can I leave Mia with you for a few minutes? I need to go check this lip.” I pull down on my mouth and she scrunches up her face.
“Ouch. I didn’t realize you’d busted your lip.”
“Neither did I.” There was already a sense overload going on at the time. Lip injury was not that important I guess. “I’ll be right back.” I almost run to the bathroom that’s just beyond the play area and bolt the door.
Looking at myself in that metal “mirror,” I see that my lip isn’t near as bad as it feels to my tongue, though there is some bruising on the inside. There’s only a little bit of blood, and I rinse that off with cool water, then splash my entire face to cool off that wildfire Bo created within me.
Taking several calming breaths, I unlock the door and make to head out, but don’t take even one step before I’m shoved back in.
“What the!”
Bo’s inside and turning the bolt on the door. Then before I have any time to register what he’s doing, he’s on me. His mouth is on mine, painful, bruising, and it has nothing to do with the injury.
I respond just as fiercely because I’m starved for him. There’s no other reason, but that I do need him. I do miss him.
He lifts me and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, grinding myself on the hard length in his pants, and boy is it big! His hands are everywhere. The taste of blood and him mingle in my mouth, and even though it hurts, I don’t pull away.
He never presses me against the wall, and I can only guess it’s because we’re in a public restroom, and who the hell knows what kind of nasty there is in here. Instead, his strong arms hold me up to him firmly, giving no hint at fatigue.
If anything, he lifts me higher when his hands start to delve into the backside of my jeans, sliding in, between my butt cheeks and finding the very wet core of me. When a long finger slips inside, I finally break the kiss only to moan his name, my fingers digging into the back of his neck.
In and out it goes, creating such a delicious friction I can hardly muffle my cries. In and out, and over my clit, until I explode, coming hard on his hand. When I stop shaking, he sets me down gently, taking his hand out of my pants. His eyes are heavy, and I note for the first time since he came in that his breathing is just as ragged as mine.
