Love Songs
Page 19
“Thank you.”
“Now, you march upstairs and get a shower. Christian has some lounge pants on the dryer you could wear until we get your clothes clean.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She cupped his chin in her hands and looked down at him. “And then I want to show you what I set up for us.”
Huh, he couldn’t even begin to imagine where that was leading, but anywhere with her was where he wanted to be.
Chapter Seven
Clara was the perfect hostess. She’d handed Warner a warm towel and a toiletry kit with a toothbrush and a razor.
“The snarky man in me wants to ask if you have overnight guests a lot. But the gentleman in me knows that’s not why you have these.” He held up the sealed bag she’d handed him.
“Christian throws those in his suitcase when he travels. He can’t remember to pack those items when he’s leaving, so the bags are easy. And he can’t remember to bring them home, so they are disposable.”
“Nice.”
“I’ll be downstairs.” She handed him a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt and walked out of the room.
By the time he made it downstairs, after his shower—and shave—the kitchen table was filled with his clean clothes. They were neatly folded into like piles and he could hear Clara starting the washer again.
She smiled when she saw him. “You look better.”
“Thanks.”
“No disrespect. I’ve seen Randy get that way too. He gets to working on songs and never surfaces for days.”
That twisted in his gut. But he thought to her brother’s expressions when he’d made a comment about Clara having a relationship with the man. Obviously they just worked together and there was no attraction. Warner was wise enough to be grateful for that.
“Are you ready to see what I set up?” Clara opened the door to the basement.
“Sure.” He walked across the cold kitchen floor toward her. She turned on the light to the stairs and headed to the basement.
At the end of the stairs there was another kitchen which he knew led to the apartment where her cousin had lived.
Clara turned on more lights and led him down the hall to the bedroom.
“John helped me put this together today,” she said as she turned on the light.
The bedroom had heavy moving blankets hung up on the walls. The bed had been disassembled and sat propped up against the wall. Two stools sat in the center of the room. A music stand sat in front of them, a towel draped over it.
“You built a recording studio?”
She smiled at him. “I don’t have any equipment, but…”
“I do,” he interrupted. “I mean I have what we need.” His voice had risen in pitch. A surge of adrenaline had bolted though him when he realized what she had done.
Sure, it was simple, in a room that wasn’t being used. But it was the thought. She had done this for him—for them. She’d included her family.
“I’m free tomorrow until two,” she added. “We could start recording…”
He couldn’t keep it in any longer. Warner grabbed her arm and pulled her to him with a thud.
She let out a grunt, but his mouth was on hers quickly.
There was no protest. Not that he’d expected any.
Clara wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss he had started.
Warner moved her until she was pressed up against the mattress which was leaning up against the wall.
The air in the room was growing thick. His was becoming heavy, the kiss more intense, his need—uncontrollable.
“Warner,” her voice was heavy on the air—thick with lust.
He moaned something that urged her to continue as he moved his lips to her neck.
“Let’s go upstairs.” She swallowed hard beneath his lips. “My room.” Her breath was being gulped in as she pulled her fingers through his hair. “I have protection up there.”
He was hearing her words, but he wasn’t believing them. Then again he was sure as hell going to take her up on it. Thank goodness she was practical too.
Warner pressed his over willing body close to her and she held him tight. “Are you sure about that?”
“Uh-huh.”
She escaped from beneath him and took his hand, pulling his out of the room and back up the stairs. They were a mess of tangled limbs as they tried to hurry through the kitchen and the living room, their mouths still attached.
They tried to skirt in front of the couch, but her foot caught the edge of the coffee table and she yelped a curse and fell to the couch below.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
She pulled her leg up, crossing her knees to look and laughed. “Yes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. Give me a second and I’ll be fine. It just hurts.”
Warner nodded and watched her rub the pain from her foot. He looked down at the table where he’d dropped his keys and his cell phone. The yellow piece of paper he’d written the song on lay there crumbled up. He’d pulled it off his door and it was the closest thing he’d had when he needed to write on something. But now the front of it was face up.
EVIC was all he could see.
He quickly reached for it and pulled it open.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” He tried to unwrinkle the message.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m evicted.”
“Evicted?” Clara jumped to her feet, obviously forgetting about the pain she had been in. “Why would they evict you?”
He looked the paper over. “Because they sold the damn building.” He read down further. “Oh no she didn’t!”
He reached for his phone.
“What are you talking about?” Clara took the paper out of his hand. “They sold to the P. M. L. group?”
He dialed the number and put it to his ear. “Patricia Morgan Little.”
“Oh!”
The phone rang in his ear and then her nasty and annoying voice mail took over the call. He pushed the end button and nearly threw down the phone—of course he had a better mind about it. He didn’t have three hundred dollars to replace a phone. And to top it all off, the bitch had kicked him out of his house.
“Warner, maybe I can have Zach look into this.”
“Why? This is how she works. She just a nasty…”
“Why would she do this to you?”
“Now, you march upstairs and get a shower. Christian has some lounge pants on the dryer you could wear until we get your clothes clean.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She cupped his chin in her hands and looked down at him. “And then I want to show you what I set up for us.”
Huh, he couldn’t even begin to imagine where that was leading, but anywhere with her was where he wanted to be.
Chapter Seven
Clara was the perfect hostess. She’d handed Warner a warm towel and a toiletry kit with a toothbrush and a razor.
“The snarky man in me wants to ask if you have overnight guests a lot. But the gentleman in me knows that’s not why you have these.” He held up the sealed bag she’d handed him.
“Christian throws those in his suitcase when he travels. He can’t remember to pack those items when he’s leaving, so the bags are easy. And he can’t remember to bring them home, so they are disposable.”
“Nice.”
“I’ll be downstairs.” She handed him a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt and walked out of the room.
By the time he made it downstairs, after his shower—and shave—the kitchen table was filled with his clean clothes. They were neatly folded into like piles and he could hear Clara starting the washer again.
She smiled when she saw him. “You look better.”
“Thanks.”
“No disrespect. I’ve seen Randy get that way too. He gets to working on songs and never surfaces for days.”
That twisted in his gut. But he thought to her brother’s expressions when he’d made a comment about Clara having a relationship with the man. Obviously they just worked together and there was no attraction. Warner was wise enough to be grateful for that.
“Are you ready to see what I set up?” Clara opened the door to the basement.
“Sure.” He walked across the cold kitchen floor toward her. She turned on the light to the stairs and headed to the basement.
At the end of the stairs there was another kitchen which he knew led to the apartment where her cousin had lived.
Clara turned on more lights and led him down the hall to the bedroom.
“John helped me put this together today,” she said as she turned on the light.
The bedroom had heavy moving blankets hung up on the walls. The bed had been disassembled and sat propped up against the wall. Two stools sat in the center of the room. A music stand sat in front of them, a towel draped over it.
“You built a recording studio?”
She smiled at him. “I don’t have any equipment, but…”
“I do,” he interrupted. “I mean I have what we need.” His voice had risen in pitch. A surge of adrenaline had bolted though him when he realized what she had done.
Sure, it was simple, in a room that wasn’t being used. But it was the thought. She had done this for him—for them. She’d included her family.
“I’m free tomorrow until two,” she added. “We could start recording…”
He couldn’t keep it in any longer. Warner grabbed her arm and pulled her to him with a thud.
She let out a grunt, but his mouth was on hers quickly.
There was no protest. Not that he’d expected any.
Clara wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss he had started.
Warner moved her until she was pressed up against the mattress which was leaning up against the wall.
The air in the room was growing thick. His was becoming heavy, the kiss more intense, his need—uncontrollable.
“Warner,” her voice was heavy on the air—thick with lust.
He moaned something that urged her to continue as he moved his lips to her neck.
“Let’s go upstairs.” She swallowed hard beneath his lips. “My room.” Her breath was being gulped in as she pulled her fingers through his hair. “I have protection up there.”
He was hearing her words, but he wasn’t believing them. Then again he was sure as hell going to take her up on it. Thank goodness she was practical too.
Warner pressed his over willing body close to her and she held him tight. “Are you sure about that?”
“Uh-huh.”
She escaped from beneath him and took his hand, pulling his out of the room and back up the stairs. They were a mess of tangled limbs as they tried to hurry through the kitchen and the living room, their mouths still attached.
They tried to skirt in front of the couch, but her foot caught the edge of the coffee table and she yelped a curse and fell to the couch below.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
She pulled her leg up, crossing her knees to look and laughed. “Yes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. Give me a second and I’ll be fine. It just hurts.”
Warner nodded and watched her rub the pain from her foot. He looked down at the table where he’d dropped his keys and his cell phone. The yellow piece of paper he’d written the song on lay there crumbled up. He’d pulled it off his door and it was the closest thing he’d had when he needed to write on something. But now the front of it was face up.
EVIC was all he could see.
He quickly reached for it and pulled it open.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” He tried to unwrinkle the message.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m evicted.”
“Evicted?” Clara jumped to her feet, obviously forgetting about the pain she had been in. “Why would they evict you?”
He looked the paper over. “Because they sold the damn building.” He read down further. “Oh no she didn’t!”
He reached for his phone.
“What are you talking about?” Clara took the paper out of his hand. “They sold to the P. M. L. group?”
He dialed the number and put it to his ear. “Patricia Morgan Little.”
“Oh!”
The phone rang in his ear and then her nasty and annoying voice mail took over the call. He pushed the end button and nearly threw down the phone—of course he had a better mind about it. He didn’t have three hundred dollars to replace a phone. And to top it all off, the bitch had kicked him out of his house.
“Warner, maybe I can have Zach look into this.”
“Why? This is how she works. She just a nasty…”
“Why would she do this to you?”
