Taming the Storm
Page 82
Music room.
There’s an array of guitars, a drum kit, and a piano.
I take a seat at the piano and start tinkering on the keys.
“You play?”
I jump and turn to find Tom in the doorway, looking gorgeous in a pair of dark blue jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and biker boots.
“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t realize you did.”
“Piano lessons from the age of five until I was twelve.” He sits on the seat beside me. “Some things you just never forget. Who do think taught Jake to play?” He winks.
And there it is—another small snippet of Tom. It makes me hunger for more.
“Will you play something for me?”
He looks at me. I think he’s going to say no, so I bat my lashes at him and rest my chin on my shoulder, going for cute.
“Please,” I say sweetly.
He lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fine. Any requests?”
“No. You choose.”
He pauses for a moment, his fingers over the keys. Then, he starts to play. It takes me a good few seconds to realize what song he’s playing so beautifully.
“Clocks” by Coldplay.
Then, it just makes me ache with sadness.
When he starts to sing the lyrics softly, I feel like I can’t breathe.
I force air into my lungs. My heart is heading toward a slow agonizing death in my chest.
I join him, singing softly along, my shoulder pressed against his.
“You play amazingly,” I say as he plays the last note. “Remind me again, why do you only play bass? Not that bass isn’t important,” I add at his raised brow. “Because it’s the most important instrument in band.” I smile. “But…you could do, be so much more. You are so much more.”
He stares at me, then, looks away, back to the piano. He starts to tinker the keys. “The frontline isn’t somewhere I want to be. I like things easy, simple. I get to play, do what I love, get the rewards from it with marginal cost to myself.”
Nodding, I understand what he means. To be the front of a band, the face, as I am, then you have to give more…and lose more.
He lifts his hand to my face, gently tucking my hair behind my ear. His gaze on me is soft.
Then, from nowhere, it hardens. “I’ll just grab my keys, and then we can go.” He gets up and exits the room.
I stand, disappointed.
I’m just passing through the door when he meets me in the hall with a set of keys in his hand.
“Ready?”
I nod and then follow him down the hall, through the kitchen, and out a door in the utility room.
We walk over to his garage. When I say garage, I mean, a four-door wide garage.
He takes me in through a door on the side and flips a switch, illuminating the place.
There are three cars here and a motorcycle at the far side.
I don’t know much about cars, but they all look expensive.
He has a black Range Rover and a smaller black car that looks like a race car. It has two orange stripes running down the hood and around each headlight. It screams money. The last car is gunmetal gray, and I know it’s an Audi from the badge on the front. I have an Audi, a TT Roadster, but mine is nowhere near as expensive as his looks. I bought it when I got my license. My car is bright red, and I love her.
“Exactly how many cars do you need?” I ask, running my hand over the hood of the fancy-looking race car.
“A man can never have too many cars.”
Shaking my head, I give him a mocking look. “Okay, I know that’s a Range Rover.” I point in the direction of the black beast. “And that’s an Audi.”
“R8,” Tom clarifies for me.
“What’s this one?” I tap my knuckles lightly on the sports car.
“That goddess you’re touching is a Bugatti Veyron.”
“Wow.”
I might not know a lot about cars, but I know Bugattis are made-to-order cars. Figures with a man like Tom.
“You call your car a goddess?”
“She is a goddess. Look at her.” Tom comes over and runs his hand over the roof of the car. “She’s pure perfection. A total fucking goddess.”
“You’re such a guy.” Leaving the Bugatti, I start to walk toward the dangerous-looking motorcycle.
“Custom-designed Harley.” Tom’s voice comes up behind me.
His breath tickles my neck. I shiver.
“Custom designed?” I reach out and touch the rustic red body of the bike.
“Means I had a hand in designing her. I told Harley what I wanted. I worked on the designs with them, and this is what we came up with. You like her?”
I turn, finding him closer than I expected. “I do. She looks cool, if not a little dangerous.”
“You like dangerous though, right?”
In his eyes, I see all our times together, all the risks I’ve taken with him.
“Yes,” I say, my breath suddenly coming in short.
“Good.” He smiles. “’Cause I’m taking you home on her.”
I tense up. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”
He tilts his head to the side, a wicked grin teasing his lips. “Guess I get to take another virginity of yours then.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to last night’s ass sex.
I blush from my head right down to my toes.
Tom touches his fingers to my heated cheek. My breathing hitches. Desire quickly pools in my belly.
There’s an array of guitars, a drum kit, and a piano.
I take a seat at the piano and start tinkering on the keys.
“You play?”
I jump and turn to find Tom in the doorway, looking gorgeous in a pair of dark blue jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and biker boots.
“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t realize you did.”
“Piano lessons from the age of five until I was twelve.” He sits on the seat beside me. “Some things you just never forget. Who do think taught Jake to play?” He winks.
And there it is—another small snippet of Tom. It makes me hunger for more.
“Will you play something for me?”
He looks at me. I think he’s going to say no, so I bat my lashes at him and rest my chin on my shoulder, going for cute.
“Please,” I say sweetly.
He lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fine. Any requests?”
“No. You choose.”
He pauses for a moment, his fingers over the keys. Then, he starts to play. It takes me a good few seconds to realize what song he’s playing so beautifully.
“Clocks” by Coldplay.
Then, it just makes me ache with sadness.
When he starts to sing the lyrics softly, I feel like I can’t breathe.
I force air into my lungs. My heart is heading toward a slow agonizing death in my chest.
I join him, singing softly along, my shoulder pressed against his.
“You play amazingly,” I say as he plays the last note. “Remind me again, why do you only play bass? Not that bass isn’t important,” I add at his raised brow. “Because it’s the most important instrument in band.” I smile. “But…you could do, be so much more. You are so much more.”
He stares at me, then, looks away, back to the piano. He starts to tinker the keys. “The frontline isn’t somewhere I want to be. I like things easy, simple. I get to play, do what I love, get the rewards from it with marginal cost to myself.”
Nodding, I understand what he means. To be the front of a band, the face, as I am, then you have to give more…and lose more.
He lifts his hand to my face, gently tucking my hair behind my ear. His gaze on me is soft.
Then, from nowhere, it hardens. “I’ll just grab my keys, and then we can go.” He gets up and exits the room.
I stand, disappointed.
I’m just passing through the door when he meets me in the hall with a set of keys in his hand.
“Ready?”
I nod and then follow him down the hall, through the kitchen, and out a door in the utility room.
We walk over to his garage. When I say garage, I mean, a four-door wide garage.
He takes me in through a door on the side and flips a switch, illuminating the place.
There are three cars here and a motorcycle at the far side.
I don’t know much about cars, but they all look expensive.
He has a black Range Rover and a smaller black car that looks like a race car. It has two orange stripes running down the hood and around each headlight. It screams money. The last car is gunmetal gray, and I know it’s an Audi from the badge on the front. I have an Audi, a TT Roadster, but mine is nowhere near as expensive as his looks. I bought it when I got my license. My car is bright red, and I love her.
“Exactly how many cars do you need?” I ask, running my hand over the hood of the fancy-looking race car.
“A man can never have too many cars.”
Shaking my head, I give him a mocking look. “Okay, I know that’s a Range Rover.” I point in the direction of the black beast. “And that’s an Audi.”
“R8,” Tom clarifies for me.
“What’s this one?” I tap my knuckles lightly on the sports car.
“That goddess you’re touching is a Bugatti Veyron.”
“Wow.”
I might not know a lot about cars, but I know Bugattis are made-to-order cars. Figures with a man like Tom.
“You call your car a goddess?”
“She is a goddess. Look at her.” Tom comes over and runs his hand over the roof of the car. “She’s pure perfection. A total fucking goddess.”
“You’re such a guy.” Leaving the Bugatti, I start to walk toward the dangerous-looking motorcycle.
“Custom-designed Harley.” Tom’s voice comes up behind me.
His breath tickles my neck. I shiver.
“Custom designed?” I reach out and touch the rustic red body of the bike.
“Means I had a hand in designing her. I told Harley what I wanted. I worked on the designs with them, and this is what we came up with. You like her?”
I turn, finding him closer than I expected. “I do. She looks cool, if not a little dangerous.”
“You like dangerous though, right?”
In his eyes, I see all our times together, all the risks I’ve taken with him.
“Yes,” I say, my breath suddenly coming in short.
“Good.” He smiles. “’Cause I’m taking you home on her.”
I tense up. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”
He tilts his head to the side, a wicked grin teasing his lips. “Guess I get to take another virginity of yours then.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to last night’s ass sex.
I blush from my head right down to my toes.
Tom touches his fingers to my heated cheek. My breathing hitches. Desire quickly pools in my belly.
