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|Music of the Heart(Runaway Train #1) by Katie Ashley|
The genuine smile he gave me caused my heart to flutter. “Thank you. I’ll never forget this.” In a lower voice, he murmured, “I’ll never forget you.”
I closed my eyes and willed myself to go to sleep. With the heat of Jake’s body against mine and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against my back, it wasn’t long before I was lulled into a deep, contented sleep.
Delicious warmth wriggled against me and cut through the levels of my subconscious. I didn’t try to fight waking up from this exquisite dream. After all, I’d gone to bed alone, hadn’t I? But when my h*ps automatically bucked my morning wood into the curvy backside pressed up against me, it felt so very real. Without opening my eyes, my hand slid up the dream girl’s ribcage to cup her breast. The tiny whimper that escaped her might as well have been a bloodcurdling scream because that’s when I realized the girl was so not part of my dream, but worst of all, I was molesting Abby.
I jerked my hand away like I had been scalded. Thankfully, she slept like the dead, and my horndog assault hadn’t woken her up. Gently, I climbed over her body and escaped the roost. Glancing back, I gazed down at her sleeping form. A tug pulled at my heart. I’d never had a girl comfort me before—well, at least not since I’d hit it big. Girls just wanted a piece of the fame or to be able to say they’d screwed me. With our crazy schedule, it was too much of a hassle to have a girlfriend. At least that’s what I told myself.
Pushing the long strands of blonde hair out of her face, I rubbed Abby’s cheek tenderly, but she still didn’t stir. Instead, she made those cute little snores that would have mortified her if she had been awake. She truly was an angel right out of Heaven to care enough to dry my tears and comfort me, not to mention sleeping with me when she knew she shouldn’t.
Fuck. Why did she have to be so beautiful? It would be so much easier if she was some average or even butt-ugly girl. No, my savior—my angel—had to be any man’s fantasy. With a frustrated grunt, I escaped into the bathroom. Even though I was tempted, I would not stoop to jerking off this morning. It wasn’t entirely that I had all this integrity—hell, I’d let a waitress blow me the night before in a diner storeroom. It was more about the fact that I knew to get off I’d have to fantasize about Abby.
So instead, I took a cold shower and watched my wood shrivel under the stream. Just as I was about to turn the water off, a riff hit me like a train barreling through my mind. It took me so off guard that I had to lean against the stall for support. Pinching my eyes shut, I hummed aloud what was filling my mind.
Hustling out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist before leaving the bathroom. Normally, I would have gone stark na**d to the bedroom for my clothes, but I didn’t dare want to run into Abby like that. Once I was dressed, I grabbed my guitar, a notepad, some sheet music, and a pencil and headed to the kitchen. After flipping on the coffee maker, I flopped down at the table.
After scribbling down the riff I’d heard, I worked on the melody. Once it was done, I started hammering out lyrics to go along with it. All of the emotions I’d been experiencing converged on this moment. I only paused in my furious scribbling when my hand cramped from the excessive writing.
I eased my guitar onto my lap and started playing the music I’d written. I erased and changed a few chords before beginning again. Closing my eyes, I focused on the lyrics in my mind as I played.
At the sound of someone behind me, my eyelids popped open.
“Morning,” Abby murmured softly.
I glanced back at her and smiled. “Morning. Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, but it’s fine.”
“Sorry. The muse decided I didn’t need any more sleep,” I lied. I knew I would freak her out if I told her the truth. Jerking my head over my shoulder, I replied, “There’s some coffee if you want some. Of course, you probably need OJ instead.” I winked at her. “Don’t want you passing out on me again.”
Pink tinged her cheeks at my attentiveness. “Thanks. But I’m good for now.”
I nodded. “We’ll probably stop for some breakfast in an hour or so.”
“Okay.” She motioned towards the notepad with scribbled lyrics and chords. “How’s it coming?”
I grimaced. “Good, but it’s never going to work.”
“Why not?” she asked as she eased into the bench seat across from me.
“The label wants very specific stuff from us, and this,” I waved the notepad at her, “isn’t it.”
Drawing her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on the tops of her legs. “You won’t know until you approach them.”
“Trust me, it’s not happening.”
She cocked her brows at me “Oh, come on Mr. Glass Half Empty. What’s it about?”
With hesitating, I replied, “My mother dying.”
Her face fell. “Oh Jake, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“I know. And thanks.” When I started to rip out the lyrics from the pad, she reached over and grabbed my hand.
I clenched my jaw with determination. “It won’t work, Angel. I have to sing about love, relationships, and sex. You know, bullshit like that. A song about my f**king heart being ripped to shreds because my mother is dying isn’t going to make an album, least of all a single.”
“What about Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven.”