pocketknife. The memory and the emotions hit her all at once. “That was the night...” she said, her voice drifting off.
“I told you I loved you for the first time.” A faint smile curved his lips as he remembered it, too. “We sat on the lawn outside the quad and looked up at the stars while I played the new song I wrote for you.”
Bree felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. The blanket under the stars, the sweet melody of a love song, the strong arms of a man who loved her... When he’d carved their initials into the guitar, it had felt as if they were sealing their future together. It was the most romantic night of her life. Nothing before or since had ever come close to that moment. How many women had had a man write a song for them? It was a sentimental, romantic tune that had made her eighteen-year-old heart thump like a jackhammer in her chest when she’d heard it.
“‘I’ll Love You Forever, And Then Some,’” she said. Ian had been such a talented artist. He was gifted with an ear for melody and a perfect lyric. His stuff was better than most of what she heard on the radio these days. “I might be partial to it, but I always thought that was your best song.”
Ian nodded. “I thought it was, too.” He reached out and took the guitar from her. Her breath stilled in her lungs for a moment, thinking he might play a song or two for old time’s sake. She longed to see him play again, to sing the way he used to. To feel that flutter of excitement and desire curling in her belly. Ian was a handsome man, but she was never as attracted to him as she was when he played.
Instead, he held it by the neck at a distance, as though it might contaminate him if it got too close. “It’s a shame my advisor disagreed.”
He brushed past her to the closet and unceremoniously flung the guitar back inside. With a slam of the door, he turned back to her with a pained expression lining his brow. “But he was right,” he said. “After years in the music industry, I know better now. He wasn’t being cruel—he was being kind. Someone had to tell me I wasn’t good enough.”
At that, Ian turned and disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
With a disappointed sigh, Bree made her way to the staircase. Maybe it was just as well. She couldn’t afford to lose control and act on her building need for Ian. With that guitar in the closet, her desire could also stay firmly locked away.
* * *
Damn that stupid guitar.
What the hell was it doing here, anyway? Ian paced around his bedroom, irritation surging through his veins. He’d paid movers to bring furniture and some personal items to the house after it had been built. They must have grabbed it by mistake. He certainly hadn’t brought it, and his mother knew better than to bring a musical instrument into the house.
How many times had he been up here and never known it was hidden away? And of all the people to find it—it had to be Bree!
With a sigh, he flopped down onto his bed and dropped his head into his hands. That stupid guitar had flooded his brain with memories he didn’t need right now. Good ones of loving Bree and bad ones about losing his musical career. Either way, he had no use for the thoughts and images that haunted him. He was going after that guitar with an ax first thing in the morning. It would make good kindling for the fire.
Not long after he went into his room, he heard the water running upstairs. He assumed that it was Bree taking the bath she’d mentioned. That didn’t help matters. The sound brought to mind unwelcome images of her creamy, naked skin, slick with soap and glistening in the steaming, hot water.
Maybe he could break the guitar by repeatedly bashing it against his skull until every thought about Bree was driven from his mind.
He loathed himself in that moment. Ian wasn’t his own biggest fan to begin with, but he’d really taken the crappy cake this time. He was not allowed to be attracted to Bree.
“I told you I loved you for the first time.” A faint smile curved his lips as he remembered it, too. “We sat on the lawn outside the quad and looked up at the stars while I played the new song I wrote for you.”
Bree felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. The blanket under the stars, the sweet melody of a love song, the strong arms of a man who loved her... When he’d carved their initials into the guitar, it had felt as if they were sealing their future together. It was the most romantic night of her life. Nothing before or since had ever come close to that moment. How many women had had a man write a song for them? It was a sentimental, romantic tune that had made her eighteen-year-old heart thump like a jackhammer in her chest when she’d heard it.
“‘I’ll Love You Forever, And Then Some,’” she said. Ian had been such a talented artist. He was gifted with an ear for melody and a perfect lyric. His stuff was better than most of what she heard on the radio these days. “I might be partial to it, but I always thought that was your best song.”
Ian nodded. “I thought it was, too.” He reached out and took the guitar from her. Her breath stilled in her lungs for a moment, thinking he might play a song or two for old time’s sake. She longed to see him play again, to sing the way he used to. To feel that flutter of excitement and desire curling in her belly. Ian was a handsome man, but she was never as attracted to him as she was when he played.
Instead, he held it by the neck at a distance, as though it might contaminate him if it got too close. “It’s a shame my advisor disagreed.”
He brushed past her to the closet and unceremoniously flung the guitar back inside. With a slam of the door, he turned back to her with a pained expression lining his brow. “But he was right,” he said. “After years in the music industry, I know better now. He wasn’t being cruel—he was being kind. Someone had to tell me I wasn’t good enough.”
At that, Ian turned and disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
With a disappointed sigh, Bree made her way to the staircase. Maybe it was just as well. She couldn’t afford to lose control and act on her building need for Ian. With that guitar in the closet, her desire could also stay firmly locked away.
* * *
Damn that stupid guitar.
What the hell was it doing here, anyway? Ian paced around his bedroom, irritation surging through his veins. He’d paid movers to bring furniture and some personal items to the house after it had been built. They must have grabbed it by mistake. He certainly hadn’t brought it, and his mother knew better than to bring a musical instrument into the house.
How many times had he been up here and never known it was hidden away? And of all the people to find it—it had to be Bree!
With a sigh, he flopped down onto his bed and dropped his head into his hands. That stupid guitar had flooded his brain with memories he didn’t need right now. Good ones of loving Bree and bad ones about losing his musical career. Either way, he had no use for the thoughts and images that haunted him. He was going after that guitar with an ax first thing in the morning. It would make good kindling for the fire.
Not long after he went into his room, he heard the water running upstairs. He assumed that it was Bree taking the bath she’d mentioned. That didn’t help matters. The sound brought to mind unwelcome images of her creamy, naked skin, slick with soap and glistening in the steaming, hot water.
Maybe he could break the guitar by repeatedly bashing it against his skull until every thought about Bree was driven from his mind.
He loathed himself in that moment. Ian wasn’t his own biggest fan to begin with, but he’d really taken the crappy cake this time. He was not allowed to be attracted to Bree.
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