Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)(48)

“Understood. Oh, and Carrie? I guess in the interest of complete disclosure, I should let you know that a member of DROP’s legal team, Adrian Turner, and I dated in college. Before you say anything, I had no idea that he was involved with DROP and Bo had no idea Adrian had been involved with me. But, it was Adrian’s idea for DROP to approach us, among other non-profits, because he knows me and Monica.” I told Carrie all of that in one breath, as well, and saw Bo’s eyes widen in response.

After a brief pause, Carrie broke in to laughter. “Ha! That’s . . . well, good luck with . . . all of that, Ember. David Bryson and I have worked out the itinerary for the trip, I’ll email it to you this afternoon. Take care, hun.” And just like that, she hung up the phone.

Relief flooded through my body and oozed out of my pores. You’re free to be with him, nothing is holding you down. I looked up at Bo and he smiled a knowing smile.

“She’s fine with it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yes. As long as your people are OK with it,” I teased.

In a flash, Bo had me pinned beneath him on the couch, my head cradled in his hands.

“I think I can talk them into it,” he said with sexy authority, burying his face in my neck.

“I really do love you, Bo.” It felt so good to say it without the pang of guilt by way of ethics.

“You have no idea, November . . .” Was all he could breathe out before we lost ourselves in the riptide.

*

“Play that song again,” Bo whispered into my ear as we lay together on my couch.

“Why?” I rolled my eyes at the thought. Singing in front of people was one thing; the fact that he accidentally heard me play the guitar was another.

“It was beautiful, and you were beautiful playing it. Do you have it written down anywhere?” He’s serious.

“Uh, no. It’s the first song I learned, and that was before I knew how to read music; I never thought to transcribe the notes.” I sat up, put on my robe, and lazily reached for the guitar.

“Hand me your music comp. notebook and I’ll transcribe it for you as you play.” Genuine excitement laced his face as he pulled his shirt down over his head.

“Um, I don’t have a comp. notebook. What part of I don’t play missed your ears,” I said with mocking eyes.

“You’re killing me! Wait here, I’ll get mine from my car.” He grabbed my chin and gave me a butterfly-inducing kiss before he dashed to his car.

When he returned, he sat on the couch and handed me the guitar I’d left sitting in its case. My breath rattled through the room as I inhaled.

“Why are you so nervous?” Bo asked in complete seriousness.

“Well, this is a little intimate. I’ve seriously never played for anyone besides my family. You sneaking up on me at the beach doesn’t count.” My face heated beneath his smile.

“Babe, we’ve covered intimate quite well already. Play.” He slapped the notebook off of my knee and sat back, pencil in hand.

Babe? I like it.

With one more cleansing breath, I shifted so I was sitting cross-legged, facing him. I threw the strap over my head and rolled my shoulders to help relax, which didn’t really help. I closed my eyes and started strumming the lullaby my parents taught me when I was little. It is a slow, swelling song that hangs mainly in the lower register; it sounds like the guitar is putting itself to sleep. It flows wonderfully and could cause lovers to dance and cry at the same time.

Once I let go of apprehension enough to feel the song through my soul, I lifted my head to look at Bo. He was studying my fingers, scribbling notes and rhythms as fast as he could. When he caught my eye, he nodded in encouragement, and returned to work. His hands were beautiful. His long fingers sat artfully in his masculine hands; it looked like he could break the pencil any minute, but his hand glided gracefully across the page.

When I strummed the last cord, Bo asked me to play it again so he could fill in the parts he’d missed. I had no sarcastic comment for him - I wanted to do it. I could play this song for this man all day. When I finished the second time, he looked at his notebook and gave me an accomplished smile.

“Gorgeous. Hand me your guitar so I can see if I got it right.” I surrendered it without hesitation.

He set the notebook on my coffee table and began to play. They were the same notes, and the same beat, but it sounded so much more beautiful coming from his fingers. He studied the notes closely the first time through. When he finished, he immediately started again. This time his eyes were closed, but his forehead disclosed his concentration. He was trying to feel the notes as they should come, and he didn’t miss a single one. His body swayed slightly as he rode the wave of notes coming out of his guitar. I grabbed my cell phone and recorded him playing. He cracked a smile when he opened his eyes and saw the phone, but looked to the page and kept playing. When he finished, I pressed stop and impulsively sent the video to my mom.

Me: This is Bo. He’s using my guitar. He wrote the notes to that lullaby as I played them – this is him testing his transcription.

Within two minutes my phone dinged a response.

Mom:I see you chose reckless abandon. Excellent. Love you?

My heart swelled anew when I saw my mom’s message.

“Who’d you send that to?” Bo asked.

“Raven - uh - my mom,” I shrugged and smiled.