Taking A Shot (19 page)

JENNA DIDN’T NORMALLY CONSIDER HERSELF SEX-starved.

Oh, she loved sex, craved a good orgasm, but it was rare to find a guy who was her equal in bed.

She knew she was going to have a problem with Ty. Not only was he fun to be around, he was a sexual dynamo. He gave her everything she wanted, and then some. He wasn’t needy, wimpy, metrosexual, or submissive. Surprisingly, a lot of men were. She didn’t want to take charge in bed. She didn’t mind on occasion, but she wanted a man who knew what he was doing with his cock. Ty definitely knew what to do with it. She got hot flashes just thinking about what he did with his cock. And his hands. And his mouth. Damn.

He also didn’t fish for compliments about his sexual prowess—unsurprisingly, a lot of men did that, too. He seemed content to have sex with her and obviously enjoyed the hell out of it, just like she did. And not once did he ask her if it had been okay for her, or if he’d been
good enough. He’d just assumed he’d rocked her world, which he had. She’d clearly given him evidence of that.

They made a good pair, and didn’t that just suck, because her intent was to wring as much pleasure as she could out of him, then when she got tired of the game, dump him.

That sounded awful, but hell, men did it all the time. Why couldn’t she?

Except he was sprawled on the floor in front of her sofa. They’d eaten pizza, had sex again, and now they were watching another movie. Ty seemed content to drink a soda and spend the night just hanging out with her. He’d made no demands other than on her body, which was sore in all the right places.

She’d had a great night, and she wasn’t done with him by a long shot.

The movie ended and he tilted his head back. “Did you like that one?”

She had. And so had he. He had a great laugh and even reached up to grab her hand during the emotional, weepy part when he’d heard her sniffling. And—bonus—he hadn’t made fun of her. There was a lot to be said for a man who supported a woman who cried at the sad parts of movies.

“It was a good romance.”

He swiveled to face her. “It was. They both made mistakes and they did stupid shit they needed to make up for, so there was a balance on both sides. Both of them were wrong.”

“That’s true. They each had to grow and learn about themselves before they ended up together at the end.”

He grinned. “Yeah. It was a good story. And I liked the fact that he brought her that puppy from the animal shelter.”

“Awww. A sucker for animals, are you?”

“Every time. But don’t give away my secret. It might ruin my macho killer image on the ice.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good to know. Now tell me about your secret.”

She arched a brow. “What secret?”

He stood and held out his hand. Curious, she slid her hand in his and he hauled her to her feet and walked down the hall.

“I saw this the other day when you left me in your house.”

He stopped in front of the music room. She frowned, and then realized what he was referring to.

“Oh, the guitar?”

“Yeah. And the music. You write.”

She shrugged, determined to downplay the music thing. “Some.”

He leaned against the doorway. “Looks like a lot more than some. And you obviously play.”

“Again. Some.” She was surprised he’d even noticed.

“Do you sing, too?”

“A little.”

“Great. Play a song and sing for me.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. I only do it for myself.”

“Why?”

“Because it relaxes me and it’s something I enjoy doing on my off time.”

“I mean, why do you only sing and play for yourself? Are you bad?”

She lifted her chin. “No, I’m not bad.”

“Then play for me.”

“I don’t think so.”

He took her hands in his. “I want to hear you, Jenna. Please play something for me.”

The sincerity in his voice, in his expression, pulled something inside her. She never played for other people. Not since Europe. And that had been a long time ago.

“I don’t know.”

“Just one song. You have all this music here. Let me hear one song.”

“Fine.” She sat on the floor and grabbed the guitar.

He grinned and came into the room, dropping onto the loveseat, looking as eager as if he’d just gotten front-row seats to see Nickelback or Beyoncé or someone famous.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything life changing here.”

“I’m not expecting anything, Jenna. I just want to hear you.”

She warmed up her fingers on the strings, then started to play. Just music at first, getting used to the idea of actually playing in front of someone again.

But as the song filled her head, she forgot Ty was there, and she did what came naturally to her—she sang, the words flowing out from her as she strummed the strings of the guitar.

It was one of the songs she’d written recently—about needing freedom, of feeling trapped and being chained. She worked into a bridge about her dreams, of all the places she’d go if she were free. It was a slow, melancholy song, but one filled with hope.

When she finished, she looked up, and Ty was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Wow, Jenna. You’re amazing.”

She felt the heat from her neck to her cheeks. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, a lot more amazing than I thought you’d be.”

Her lips curved. “So, you expected me to suck.”

“I expected this was just something you dabbled in. I didn’t expect you to be so damn good. You have an incredible voice. And that song. You wrote it?”

She nodded.

“How long have you been writing music?”

She shrugged.

“Jenna.”

“A long time.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair and stood, then sat on the floor across from her. “I’m no expert in music, but that was good. Really good.”

“Thanks.”

“How long have you been playing?”

“Again. A long time.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s not really a big deal.”

He looked around at the sheet music piled up and scattered throughout the room. “It’s obviously a big deal to you. You write, you play. Tell me.”

She sucked in a breath. “I took a couple music courses in college before I dropped out. I really enjoyed them a lot.”

“And?” he asked after she paused.

“Nothing. I just liked the courses and missed the whole music thing after I was done with school. So I started writing songs.”

“Sing something else.”

She couldn’t help the little thrill that zinged through her. “Okay.”

This time she chose a song more upbeat, a popular song familiar to anyone who ever listened to the radio. It was one of her favorites, and it was in her range. She sang it all the time and it always made her feel good. When she finished, Tyler clapped and she laughed.

“Thanks,” she said.

“So why aren’t you doing this…somewhere?”

“Somewhere?”

“Yeah. Like on a stage somewhere. In public.”

She let out a snort, then laid the guitar in the stand, pushed off the carpet, and stood. “Please. I’m an amateur.”

He stood, too. “Amateur my ass.”

When she would have walked away, he held her back by grabbing her hand.

“You’re an incredible singer, Jenna. People should hear you.”

She frowned. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.” She walked out of the room and headed back to the living room, Ty’s words zinging around in her head.

“You’re afraid to sing in public?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

She grabbed the empty pizza box and started cleaning up. “Leave it alone, Ty.”

But he followed her into the kitchen. “You have a talent you’re wasting.”

She ignored him and lifted the trash out of the can. He took it from her and tied it up, then took it outside, giving her a minute to inhale and blow it out in a frustrated breath.

She bit her lip to keep the tears back. She never sang in front of anyone. Not anymore. No one knew about her hobby. It had always been just for her, a way to let out her frustrations, to pour out her feelings about whatever was on her mind.

Why had she sung in front of him? That made no sense. She should have kept it to herself. Instead, she’d played for him. She’d sung not only a popular song, but one she’d written.

He liked it, had made it seem like she was really good.

He’d touched a nerve, had tapped into her dreams and fantasies, making her want things she knew she could never have.

“Where are your trash can bags?”

“What?” She hadn’t heard him come back in.

“Trash bags, to line your kitchen can?”

“Oh. Right. Under the sink.”

Forcing herself to focus, she turned around. “I can do that.”

“Already done.”

“Well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She turned away, but he wound his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest.

“You’re a great singer, Jenna. I only meant to compliment you, not piss you off.”

She sighed. She was being overly sensitive. “I appreciate it. And I’m not pissed off.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Somehow I think there’s more to this story.”

“Not really.”

He turned her around to face him. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it.”

“I played when I was in Germany. There’s an awesome music scene there and I hooked up with a few bands. I was living my dream and having the time of my life, writing and singing.”

He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. “Yeah? That’s great.”

“It was. We got an audition to do this big show. Except they only wanted the band. Not me. They hated my voice, said I was holding back the band.”

“Ouch.”

“The band kicked me out and that was the end of my singing.”

“Jenna, rejection is part of the business, isn’t it?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just wasn’t good enough.”

He pushed off the counter and came to her, laid his hands on her shoulders. “You are good enough. You have an incredible voice. Maybe you just weren’t the right voice for that particular band. It doesn’t mean your voice wasn’t good enough. It is good enough. I think you have an incredible voice.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “It’s okay. For singing in the privacy of my bedroom.”

“Bullshit. It’s amazing.”

Her lips curved. “You’re not exactly a talent scout. But I appreciate you thinking so.”

“So what happened after that?”

“Nothing.”

“You mean, you stopped singing?”

“No, of course not. As you can see from the mess in the office, I’m still writing songs and singing them.”

“But not publicly.”

“Uh, no. Not until tonight. For you. Which I guess can’t be considered public singing.”

His brows rose. She knew he wanted to say more, but maybe he read the pleading look in her eyes, because he smiled at her and said, “Then I’m honored. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He bent and brushed his lips against hers. “You’re a woman of many talents.”

Glad the tension had dissolved, she laughed. “Yes, I am a hell of a bartender.”