Surrender (Seaside Pictures #4) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,22
sure. There’s plenty of girls who would already be stripping down right now and asking if you wanted a free show.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the problem, Bronte.” I leaned back on the blanket and sighed. “I don’t want those girls. I want this really bright, stunning woman sitting next to me, who just took my heart and obliterated it with a three-word refusal.”
“You have a heart?” she joked.
“Ha ha.” I rolled my eyes. “All right, so, no sex, which means I have to woo the shit out of you, which also means… music.”
I didn’t let her say no this time. Instead, I got up, grabbed my guitar, sat as close to her as humanly possible, made sure she was wrapped in another blanket and started strumming.
Something about the music instantly relaxed her, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her head on her hands as if she couldn’t wait to hear what I had next.
I played a few chords, liking the way she was watching me more than I would ever admit to any of the guys lest they joke about it until my death. And then I started to sing.
It was one of the songs she’d inspired.
“Damned if I do,
This is something real, something new,
Damned if I don’t,
Because she won’t ever understand
That everything goes dark when I can’t hold her hand…”
I continued singing then just closed my eyes and went into the chorus.
“Nothing ordinary about this love,
When I kiss your lips, I taste the sweetest sin,
The need to give in,
To prove there’s nothing calm about the way my heart
Refuses to stop beating, needing, pursuing
Leading me to claim your mouth in a series of kisses
That a friend shouldn’t give,
But I would sell my soul, forfeit the will to live
For just one more…”
I hummed into the next verse and then finished the bridge. I hadn’t realized my eyes were still closed until I strummed the last chord and opened them to look at Bronte.
Her eyes were filled with tears, and then without any warning, she cupped my face with her hands and whispered, “That was beautiful.”
“This is the time,” I rasped, “that I’d say, ‘No, you’re beautiful,’ but it’s not true.”
She flinched.
I grinned. “You’re breathtaking.” I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Devastatingly gorgeous.” Another kiss to the side of her mouth. “My tongue’s favorite taste.”
She shivered as I took her lips again, this time harder, claiming them for myself as I parted them with my tongue. I may as well have been planting my flag, preparing for war against anyone who dared contradict what was mine.
Loud music and laughter interrupted us.
And then we had around seventeen — no joke — high school kids running toward us.
Bronte gave her head a shake while I glared daggers at every single little shit who continued skipping our direction, throwing sand all over the blankets, my guitar.
Someone was dying this night.
“Mom!” Amelia yelled. “I didn’t know you guys were going to do a campout.”
“Surprise?” I offered lamely, gaining the attention of the seventeen kids who all stared me down like I’d single-handedly cured the common cold.
Giggles erupted, and then cell phones came out.
And our date was over, wasn’t it?
I put my fake smile on for all to see and immediately went into Drew Amhurst mode. I signed autographs while Bronte helped me take pictures with guys, girls, selfies.
Amelia looked uncomfortable. That made two of us.
The last thing she needed was to feel even more out of place after the cancer diagnosis and the tension over wondering if she was still in the clear. I could practically feel her stress pulsing in my direction despite her easy smile. I knew those smiles well; they were convincing when it came to everyone but yourself and your own damn reflection.
“Hey, man!” One of the guys, who was wearing his Seaside High letterman jacket and, honest to God, had his black beanie pulled almost completely over his eyes, showed off two piercings in his ears like he was “hard.” “Can you play Stay with Me?”
Kill. Me. Now. No, better yet, kill me dead. Please.
I gave Bronte a save-me look, which she completely ignored by the way, and then started to strum. “Sure man, what’s your name?”
“Ryan!” He high-fived the dick next to him as they pulled out a flask, and I mentally cleaned my gun on the spot. I was going to have to serve time in federal prison if he as much as touched Amelia.
Damn, I was getting protective over the