Page 17 of Score
To me.
“Are you sure this isn’t creeping?” he whispers, his grin widening. “Because the staring is pretty consistent with creeping behavior.”
“Sorry.” I drag my eyes from his hips where the sheets pool. “I’m making this awkward, huh?”
“I don’t feel awkward.” His smile stays fixed, but his eyes search my face, seeming to catalog each feature, one by one. “But I should get going.”
I bite my lip so I won’t ask him to stay.
He carefully rolls to his side and sits up, the sheets drooping to show the top half of his ass. The muscles of his back contract when he stretches and stands, graceful and naked and toned, unselfconscious as he slides on his boxers. He bundles his jeans, sweater, and boots in his arms and heads for the bedroom door.
He pauses and asks over one naked shoulder, “Lock up after me?”
“Oh,” I say, pushing the tangled hair out of my face. “Yeah, sure.”
I slip out of bed and wish I could be as casual as he seems to be about all of this. I grab Petra’s satin robe from the bench at the foot of the bed and pull it on over my nakedness. He doesn’t leave the room, but watches me, his gaze roving over my body in the faint light like he’s never seen me before. Our eyes hold, and the silence throbs with something so loud I’m surprised it doesn’t wake Petra. He finally drops his eyes and turns away.
Out in the living room, Monk zips up his jeans and pulls the sweater over his head. Barefoot, he pads to the door, a boot dangling from each index finger.
“Is ‘thank you’ the appropriate response after a threesome?” he asks wryly, pulling on his socks and boots.
“I wouldn’t know.” I wrap my arms around my waist and force out a laugh. “I’m no expert.”
“Why tonight?” He leans against the wall of the tiny foyer, bending to put on his other boot. “Why me?”
Unprepared for the question, I gulp and tighten the robe’s sash. “Um… I don’t know. Gotta start somewhere?”
He blinks at me for a second, and I realize how inane that answer was. He sputters a choked chuckle, which makesmelaugh, and before I know it, we’re both laughing uncontrollably. I rush over to him and grab his arm, barely able to get out the words.
“Shhhh!” I press my hand across his mouth. “You’ll wake up Petra.”
I let my hand drop until only my fingertips graze his lips. The contact singes my nerve endings through the thin skin of my fingers. Our amusement drains away and we face each other, a few inches separating our bodies, his back against one wall of the narrow entryway. I step away, snapping the thread of awareness connecting us, to press my back against the opposite wall.
“Why me?” he asks again, as if the last few seconds never happened, as if the reply I gave told him nothing, all humor swiped from his expression.
“I don’t know.” I return the look that searches my face for answers I don’t have. “Petra’s asked before, but I never wanted to. She’s never offered with a guy because… well, she knows I’ve never come with a man before.”
I can’t believe I told him that, but his surprise makes my embarrassing candor worth it.
“Never?” he asks, eyes wide.
I shake my head, a small smile teasing my lips. “Not that I’ve been with that many.”
“Guess I should feel flattered?”
I lean forward and punch his shoulder playfully. He grabs my fist, so small when his hand encloses it. Those talented hands that cast a spell on me first dancing across the keys and then caressing my skin. He gently links our fingers for a few seconds, his eyes clinging to mine before he lets me go.
I clear my throat. “Did you play sports?”
“Me?” He smirks and relaxes, pressing his shoulders against the wall. “Hell no. I played instruments.”
“Plural?” I tilt my head and study him. “Which ones?”
“Piano, obviously. Guitar, trumpet, drums.” He squeezes one eye shut, as if concentrating.
“There’s more?” I ask.
“Bass,” he continues. “And harmonica.”
