Music Notes (33 page)

As potent as Beau’s touch is, it doesn’t hold a candle to the power of his words. My brain completely short circuits, my entire body erupting into flames, and my breath practically non-existent. And the crazy part is that if I were to die right now, in this exact moment, I would go happy. Wrapped in Beau’s arms with his lips against my skin is heaven.

“Come on,” he finally says, detangling our limbs from one another. It takes self-control I didn’t realize I possessed to release my hold on Beau, but I somehow manage.

“Stand here,” he says, turning me so that I’m facing a wall of mirrors. I watch as he walks over to a line of instruments, plucking a vintage white Gibson guitar from a stand. When he returns to where he left me standing, he swings the intsrument over my shoulder and helps secure the strap.

“Ever play this one?” he asks as he wraps his arms around me and helps place my fingers on the instrument.

“A few times. Never anything that constitutes actual playing. A friend who works at the same bar as me likes to play and tried to teach me a few things,” I tell him, my voice a breathy mix of anxiety and anticipation.

“I’m going to try not to visualize some guy with his arms wrapped around you. It makes me insane with jealousy, Layne. And I’ve never been a jealous man before,” he states honestly, his eyes locked on mine as we gaze at each other through the mirror.

After several heartbeats, he clears his throat and looks down at our hands. “Tuck it under your arm like so, and place your fingers here and here. Curl your thumb underneath the neck of the guitar like this. It should be fairly comfortable. Your index finger is fret one. That’s B,” says as he moves me fingers. “Fret two is your middle finger and that’s D, and put your ring finger here. That’s A. Now, gently with the pick, strum downward like so,” he says, demonstrating the movement.

The sounds vibrate through my fingers and a faint tickle ripples through my arms. After a few demonstrations, he lets me try a few times on my own. Beau never steps away though, just keeps his front plastered to my back. His voice is soft as he instructs me on which positions to move my fingers.

Before long, I’m playing something that resembles actual music. Beau is patient and gentle as he teaches me to play one of his songs. Whoever thought that someday I’d learn to play guitar–a country song to boot–was clearly slightly delusional. What’s even more amazing is the fact that I’m actually able to concentrate on playing. Beau steals little nibbles of my neck and tenderly strokes the outsides of my arms as he hums along with the tune I’m attempting to play.

After about an hour of messing around, Beau unsnaps the strap and returns the guitar to the empty stand amongst the mass of instruments. A quick check of the clock on my phone tells me that it’s late. I spoke with Eli and Mom this afternoon between my wardrobe fitting and a vocal lesson, but it’s moments like these–late at night–where I miss my son.

“I don’t want to just assume, but will ya stay with me tonight?” Beau asks.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he says with a smile. “Because I wasn’t goin’ to let ya leave anyway. Saves me from havin’ to kidnap ya,” he adds as he leads me towards the couch along the outside wall.

“Glad we can avoid the felony charges,” I say through a giggle.

My laugh quickly dies in my throat as Beau strips his ever-present cowboy hat from his head and drops it on the chair. Waves of dark hair are both matted to his head and askew from the hat, making my fingers twitch to touch those enticing locks. Then he pulls his black t-shirt out from the waist of his jeans, grabs the back of the neck, and quickly pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. You know, that sexy way that only guys can do? Not only was the shirt removal exquisite, but the tight, ripped abs and hard pecs that were hiding underneath are a pretty freaking spectacular sight. Never have I forgotten how unbelievable Beau’s body is, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t stop me in my tracks and make me want to sing to the angels a Hallelujah chorus when he stands before me, naked from the waistline up.

“Stop staring at me like that. Otherwise, I’ll forget all about being a gentleman and take you ten ways to Sunday on that couch.” The look in his eyes tells the story of how serious he is. Dead serious. Beau’s need and desire for me hasn’t wavered or diminished in the least bit since our first real encounter in the closet at the studio.

I don’t respond as I reach down and pull off my ankle boots. Beau walks over and confirms that the lock is thrown on the door and flips off the overhead florescent lights. The only light in the room now is the City of Los Angeles’ lights that bleed through the windows in the massive room. But even with little light, Beau has no problems finding me in the dark. It’s as if his body is attuned to mine. Like a homing beacon, I know he would find me in a sea of thousands of other people.

Removing his jeans, Beau finally stands before me in only gray boxer briefs. His thick length is standing proud against his underwear, and I struggle not to focus all of my attention on the newest arrival in the room. But Beau doesn’t draw attention to his erection. Instead, he lies down on the couch. Even through the dark room, I can see his feet hanging off the end of the standard-size couch.

Without giving it another thought, I remove my socks and shorts before grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it up and over my head. The cool room kisses my flushed skin as I reach around and unsnap my bra. I feel Beau’s eyes on me as the material slips down my arms and falls to the floor. His hiss is the only sound in the room as I stand there–naked except for a red satin thong–and let him drink his fill. Before joining him on the couch, I reach down and grab Beau’s discarded t-shirt and slip it over my head. I’m instantly assaulted with the scent of Beau. If he weren’t staring at me like a Thanksgiving feast, I’d take a moment to sniff the soft material of the shirt.

Instead, I make my way to the couch and slip onto the thin sliver of real estate not occupied by the big cowboy. My head rests on his bicep while my back is pressed snuggly against the entire length of his body–from shoulders to ankles. Even through the shirt, I feel the heat of his skin against me. Not to mention the throbbing erection he has pressed firmly between my ass cheeks. The cotton of his boxer briefs does nothing to lessen the contact. No, it’s not skin on skin, but it’s damn close, and my body is alive and hungry. The throb between my legs shows no sign of subsiding, especially with Beau pressed against me.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” Beau whispers against my ear. “If ya wiggle anymore, I’m not going to be held accountable for my actions. Seein’ you in nothing but my t-shirt was torture enough, but having your sweet body pressed against mine is taking every bit of restraint I have. You are killin’ me,” he groans hoarsely, his words laced with his pain. It makes my heart swell that much more knowing that I can bring an award-winning country superstar to his knees. Me. Little ol’ me with her imperfect body and inability to cook real meals. My response lodges in my throat and refuses to surface so I nuzzle his arm a bit with my cheek and snuggle a little deeper into his embrace.

After several minutes of silently listening to Beau’s steady breath against my head, I finally say, “Thank you for bringing me here this evening. I had a great time.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Go to sleep. We’ll have to sneak out of here early in the morning to beat some of the people coming into this building. Some work with my record label which isn’t a problem, but there’s some that I don’t trust. One look at you coming out of my studio with bedhead and wrinkled clothes will fuel the tabloids for days,” he says as he kisses the back of my head and pulls me closer. Even though I’d kill to explore the impressive hard-on pressed against my backside with my tongue, I know he’s right.

The last thing I recall is how comfortable and so very right this feels. Falling asleep in his arms, as if my body was made to fit against his, laughing and teasing each other while he taught me to play some of his instruments, and even those stolen kisses and soft caresses in the privacy of Beau’s studio, it’s as if we’re the only two people who exist in the world. And for just a little while, we are.

He was made for me.

Note to self: If you don’t believe in yourself, what do you have?

“Last song reveal. Are you ready for this?” Beau asks from his stool across from me. I’m a mixture of nerves and excitement as I wait to hear what Beau has in mind for my final performance for fan votes.

“Bring it.” My voice is cool and calm, though on the inside, I’m anything but. My stomach is knotted so tight, I fear I might never eat right again.

“Are you sure? You might not be happy with my selection,” he says, that sexy eyebrow arching and disappearing beneath his Stetson.

“You haven’t steered me wrong yet. What have you got?” I ask, all but bouncing on my stool. Nervous energy flows through me like a tidal wave.

“Miranda.”

I stare at him and blink once. Twice. Fine, I blink about a dozen times before I find my voice. “Country?” I ask, unsure why he would pick a song that doesn’t fall within my preferred genre. My comfort zone.

“Yep. I think this song was made for you. It’s sassy, aggressive, and even though it’s country, I think your rock background would complement it nicely.” Beau stares intently at me from the other side of his music stand. “In other words, I think you’ll fucking rock the shit out of this song.” Beau doesn’t even flinch at the use of his f-bomb as the cameras zoomed in on our faces to catch both sides of the conversation.

His eyes are hard. Intense. But mixed in flows pride and adoration. And that’s the bottom line: Beau has unwavering faith in me as a performer. He believes I can tackle this song because he believes in me. Even though this song isn’t what I’d pick, I know I can do this because Beau feels that this song is the right fit for my final performance. And I trust him.

“Okay,” I tell him confidently.

“Do ya want to know what song?” he asks, smirking beneath the wide brim of his trademark cowboy hat.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him.

“No?” he asks, that eyebrow disappearing once again beneath the hat.

“No. Because I trust you.”

Beau watches me for several moments–moments that extend into a lifetime. A conversation is carried between us, without even saying a word. It’s a mutual acceptance of trust by both parties, as well as an understanding of something more. Something that feels a lot like love. It’s scary and freeing all at the same time. It’s dangerous and exciting. It’s real.

Suddenly, he’s on his feet and moving. He pulls me into his chest, wrapping his protective arms around me. I slide my hands up his back, gripping at the dark material of his shirt. Resting my cheek on his chest, our grip remains tight and our breathing synchronized. I’m hypnotized by his heartbeat thumping steadily against my ear. We stand there, locked in each other’s embrace, for a while. Even the movement of the camera crew doesn’t pull us from our embrace.

Relaxing his hold, Beau eases back and looks down at me, that cocky smirk firmly in place. “You ready to win this thing?”

“I’m ready,” I tell him confidently, my smile matching his.

“Then let’s do this.”

*****

Do you know what’s more nerve-wracking than getting ready to perform the finale of a live reality show and duet with the likes of Grammy winning icons Nancy and Ann Wilson of Heart before a studio audience of thousands, with millions watching at home?

Nothing. Nothing’s more nerve-wracking than that.

Note to self: If you’re going to throw up, just make sure it’s not on Nancy or Ann’s shoes.

We just received the ten-minute cue. Ten minutes before we go live. Ten minutes before I sing with the other remaining contestants to start the show. Ten minutes before I prepare for my final performance for viewer votes.

Ten minutes left to freak out!

“You’ve got this,” Beau says behind me, that southern drawl like a sweet caress.

“I’ve got this,” I confirm, turning around to face the man behind me.

“Why do you look like you’re goin’ to be sick?” he asks, fighting the urge to crack a smile.

“Because I might just need to throw up.”

“You’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about, sweetheart. You’ve done this a dozen times before.”

“Yes, but this is different. This is for everything I’ve wanted; for myself
and
for Eli.”

“Darlin’, you’ve been fighting for that this entire time. From the first day you stepped into auditions, it’s been for everything. You’re just a whole lot closer now than ya were a few months back. And ya know what? Whatever happens today, you’ve already won. You know that you can do anything you put your mind to even if the results are a loss. You’re teachin’ your son one of the most important life lessons there are. You’ve taught him to reach for the stars and fight for his dreams. Even if your name isn’t called on that stage tomorrow, you’ve won so much more than a record contract and some money. You’ve won self-discovery. You know who ya are and what you’re worth. And, darlin’, what you’re worth is the world.”