And he was quite the subject to study.
There was no way around it. Boyd Appleton was hot in that one-in-a-million way that seemed almost obscene. He had the face of a Hollywood star, the body of an athlete, and an attitude that dripped danger. And sin. And ecstasy. He was potently male, with that languid devil-may-care attitude that drove women to his shows in droves. Even men weren’t immune. He made the guitar sing while caressing the air with vocals soaked in whiskey.
The guy was sex on a stick.
And yet he was so much more.
Boyd glanced up suddenly, and our eyes met. And held. My heart, already on a slippery slope, took off like a rocket. The sound echoed in my ears, and it took a lot of effort to keep my shit together because my body was reacting to him on a level I couldn’t control. A primitive thing. A wild and crazy thing.
His nostrils flared just enough for me to know he felt whatever this was between us, and his eyes darkened until it looked like his pupils were blown. I found myself mesmerized by the thick lashes that covered them. The scruffy beard that shadowed his strong jaw. The sensual lips that slowly curved into a wicked grin.
Snap the hell out of it.
And I did. In fine style.
“So. Willow Oakes.”
His grin turned upside down in less time than it took to say Willow Oakes. And then he sat back in his chair, eyes still glued to mine. “What do you care?”
“I don’t. I just…” I just decided to be honest. “I’m just curious about her is all. And like most of America, I’m wondering about you two.”
Willow Oakes was Hollywood’s latest sensation. An actress who’d exploded on the screen, coming from nowhere, and now she was everywhere. Since the previous fall and up until the last few weeks, she’d been everywhere with the man across the table from me.
I’m not gonna lie. There was a part of me that was more than curious. Maybe jealous.
“How’d you meet?” I asked lightly.
He shrugged. “She came backstage after a show.”
Figures. “So she’s a groupie.”
A half smile tugged at his mouth. “Not everyone woman who comes backstage is a groupie.”
“Ninety-nine percent are.”
“Fair enough.” He paused. “What about Aiden? You meet him backstage too?”
“What if I did?” I held the tip of my tongue between my teeth, noting the flair to his nostrils. Again.
“Well, that would mean you’re in the ninety-nine percent now, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose so. But that’s not how we met.” Thing was? I don’t exactly remember how or when or why. The only thing I was sure of was that I’d been drunk or high or bored. “We were talking about you and Willow. You guys still together?” My voice trailed away as Boyd got up from the table. He leaned forward, palms down supporting his weight. He smelled fresh and clean and something altogether male.
“I think we should stick to music. We can play twenty questions later if we don’t kill each other before then.”
That was it. The spell was broken, and thank the fuck for that.
We cleaned up our breakfast mess and headed to the living area. I took the big stuffed chair, as well as the acoustic Boyd handed me. He sat across from me on the sofa, his long fingers automatically moving across the fretboard of his Gibson, picking at the strings.
“We should warm up.” He smiled. “See if you can follow this.”
His fingers slid over the fretboard, playing the same scale over and over again. It sounded beautiful and haunting. And freaking hard.
“It’s called the Phrygian mode. Malmsteen used it all the time.”
“Who’s that?” I asked, watching his fingers closely while trying the pattern.
Boyd laughed. “Only one of the best guitarists ever. He’s technical and heavily influenced by classical music.” He watched as I played the scale, though much more slowly. “That’s it. Get your fingers limbered up and the blood flowing.”