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“I get that music is important to you. But it’s not who you are.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re dark. Brooding.” When he lifts his head to look at me, I brush his hair from his face. “At first, I thought you were arrogant.”
“And now?”
“Intense,” I answer simply. “Everything about you is intense. The way you cook. The way you read. The way you study your surroundings.” Gideon lowers his head and kisses my breasts again. “The way you make love.”
“So, that’s a good thing?”
“It’s a very good thing.” My voice falls to a whisper.
“Maybe it’s not who I am.” I feel him shrug. “But it’s more than important to me. I mean, books are important to me. Rain forests are important to me. Civil rights—”
“Okay,” I interrupt him. “But don’t do that. Don’t hide yourself behind music.”
He trails kisses down my belly and then turns his head and rests his cheek on me.
“I always wanted to compose.” He sounds far away, like he’s talking to someone else. “Chloe knows that. I wrote my first song when I was eleven. Granted, it wasn’t anything too exciting, but I did it.”
Feels kind of weird to talk about Chloe when we’re lying together after making love, but I don’t want him to stop talking. I smooth my hand over the back of his head and hope he’ll continue.
“My mom got it. Sort of. She knew I liked music. She fought to get me into piano lessons. From there, I kind of figured out how to play other instruments.”
“What do you play?”
“Anything.”
“That’s why you went to a different school, isn’t it?”
He shrugs. “I went to a private school. They had a better music program. Did things like band. Orchestra.”
“Choir?”
His gruff laugh tickles my belly.
“God, no. I don’t sing.”
“And your dad?”
“Didn’t get it. Doesn’t get it. Never fails to remind me that my education cost them a fortune and playing shit jazz music in smoky lounges in Vegas isn’t ever going to get him a return on that investment.”
“Wow.” No wonder he’s dark and brooding and doesn’t talk about his music. Has to hurt when your parent doesn’t believe in you. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, I mean, he’s right. Isn’t he?”
“Have you ever…I don’t know…Do you publish music?”
“I’ve recorded some,” he mumbles. “I’ve written some for other musicians. But those royalties aren’t going to pay like Chloe’s job.”
“Does he compare you to her?”
“Not really. Just reminds me that I have a business degree, too. That I could get a real job and save the hobby for after hours.”
“A real job would break you.” I play with his hair, winding his curls round and round my fingers. The thought makes me sad. “You don’t wanna be tied down.”
Another dramatic shrug. But this time, he looks at me again. “Guess we’ll see. If I buy Wamba’s store, I’m gonna need to settle down for a bit.”
