The Rush (The Siren Series) - By Rachel Higginson Page 0,108

games anymore. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” I sighed and then pretended to be confused. “You’re scaring me.”

That was my go-to self-preservation phrase. I had a perfect success rate with that. Decent guys never wanted to be the reason for female distress. And Ryder was probably the most decent guy I knew.

My tone was all bored confusion, but only because that was how I had been taught to behave. On the inside my heart beat pulsed in my ears, loud and banging and my breath whooshed in and out like a vacuum. Ryder’s gray eyes were granite and steel with determination and a huge part of me didn’t believe I could get out of explaining it this time.

And the other small part of me didn’t want to get out of it.

I wanted to tell Ryder my secrets.

I wanted him to know me.

“Do not play games with me Ivy,” Ryder growled, low and rough. And then he softened, his eyes almost pleading, “You can trust me.”

I held his gaze and panicked. Honestly I couldn’t trust anybody with my secret, not even him. But that wasn’t the point since it didn’t matter if I could…. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to let him in. And that terrified me. Tearing my eyes away from Ryder, my fingers moved against the keys but they pounded out loudly in the now quiet loft, so I paused to adjust the volume with shaking fingers. The music, now barely above a whisper, seemed easier today and my fingers moved to the haunting melody Ryder composed.

“You sound better today,” Ryder admitted in a more normal tone. “Do you feel more comfortable with an audience now?”

“I feel more comfortable with the keyboard,” I explained, ignoring his small jab.

“Do you think you can keep the melody strong if I start playing along? Or is that going to mess you up?” Ryder asked with a sweetness that had been absent not just two minutes ago.

I shrugged a shoulder but stayed focused on the sheet music in front of me as my right hand soared upward and heightened emotionally(or would have if the keyboard weren’t so inflexible) while my left hand harmonized in chords.

From my peripheral I watched Ryder walk over and pick up his guitar. He slung it over his shoulder and immediately his fingers found home on the used guitar strings. He plucked out a few tuning issues that I did my best not to pay attention to and then walked over to me with a silly grin on his face.

He looked over my shoulder and studied my music for a long time before strumming out a chord that fit exactly right. And then he was off into the lead guitar piece that clouded all of my concentration and forced me to ignore him completely just so I could remember middle C.

We actually started to make music together. After the other night and my obvious failures this felt kind of…. nice. Ryder, the talented rock star, covered my mistakes easily. But I was starting to make fewer mistakes anyway.

I had natural talent in all things musical, but any accomplishments on the piano were achieved by hard work and tons of practice. So even though this wasn’t more than complicated harmonies, I still had to work at it. And I had never played with anyone else before.

After about fifteen minutes and the fourth time through the song, we actually started to sound really good together. Plus, I could hear the guitar a bit better, and because I was familiar with the song I was taking over on my own. This felt awesome.

“Alright Simon, Garfunkel, time to break for breakfast,” Matt called out from the kitchen.

Ryder smiled at me over his guitar, “That sounds good.”

“Yes, it does,” I admitted.

I stood back from the keyboard and grabbed my now cold coffee while Ryder set his guitar down and slipped his black pick into a pouch filled with others of all different colors. I hesitated long enough so Ryder could lead the way to the big cement table where a huge spread of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, rolls, sausage gravy and bowl of fruit were laid out.

“Wow,” I admired. “This looks incredible.”

“Thanks,” Matt beamed.

I sat down next to Ryder, and then accepted the frying pan filled with eggs from his dad. He had to stand up and reach across the table to give it to me and I had to do the same. I accepted the weight