Page 18 of Beg For Me (Morally Gray #3)
He turns back to the collection of guitars and sighs in contentment, looking everything over. “God. This is like heaven. I can’t believe you bought all this just for me. So nice of you. I might have to buy you a restaurant now.”
Stifling a laugh, I stroll closer to him and play along. “Then I’d have to cook all the time. What about my day job?”
“I’m sure you’re very good at COO-ing, but there’s no way you’re as good at that as how well you cook. That meal you made me was fantastic. Did you notice I was erect all during dinner?”
“And here I thought that had something to do with my hideous sweats.”
“Oh no. It was the green curry, baby, totally.”
I take a seat on one of the blue velvet swivel chairs in the corner and watch him. He looks like a kid in a toy store.
Despite his job, Nick isn’t what I’d consider a real music fan. He has a great ear for what will make money, and he appreciates the talent of the artists, but he’s more like a man who owns a stable of racehorses for their potential earnings.
His encyclopedic knowledge of music was born of ambition, not love.
“Who’s your favorite guitarist, Carter?”
“That’s like asking a parent who their favorite child is.”
He strolls from guitar to guitar, inspecting each closely, admiring their color and shape, shaking his head in awe at fretboards and headstocks, squinting at signatures scrawled across wood.
“You must have a few. Top three?”
He gazes down adoringly at the electric guitar in his hands. “Prince, Prince, and Prince.”
“Hmm. Will it freak you out too much if I tell you that’s one of the guitars he used in his famous 2007 Super Bowl halftime performance?”
He wheezes, then coughs out, “ Yes. ”
“Okay, then I won’t tell you. Will you play me something?”
He looks at me, looks down at the guitar, then looks up at the ceiling. “I can’t say no to a beautiful woman, brother. I know you understand.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking to God or the spirit of his favorite guitarist, but I forget all about that when he launches into the solo from “Purple Rain.”
It’s stripped down because he’s not plugged into an amp, but I’m astonished at the ease and quality of his playing. I sit with my mouth open, watching his nimble fingers flash over the strings, until he finishes with a flourish and starts laughing.
“Fuck!”
“Yes, I’d say so. That was amazing!”
He looks over at me, his eyes shining bright, his handsome face beaming. “Oh my God, that felt so good.”
“It sounded so good. I can’t believe you’re so talented!”
He holds out the guitar in front of him and offers it a small bow. Then he carefully places it back onto its rack, steps back, and admires it, arms folded over his chest. He exhales a soft breath and shakes his head.
“Goddamn, Sophia,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. I’m over here fangirling.”
“Why are these here? Do you play?”
“Oh no. Nick took his desk and clothes when he moved out, but he left everything else here. He couldn’t be bothered to pack it all up.”
Carter’s face is a mask of horror. “ Couldn’t be bothered? Does the man not have a soul?”
I laugh. “I’ll plead the fifth on that, your honor.” I stop laughing when an interesting thought occurs to me. “Do you want them?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m being serious. You can have everything in here. I have no use for it. I was actually thinking about turning this space into a library.”
Frowning, he turns to look at me.
“Or do you already have a guitar collection?”
After a moment of silent contemplation, he says, “No. I have the beat-up acoustic I learned on, but that’s it. I gave away the few others I had when I joined the company.”
I can’t tell by his expression if I’ve made a mistake with my offer. Was it tacky of me? Have I offended him? He can afford to buy himself anything he wants, after all. Why would he want another man’s cast-offs?
I press a hand over my chest. “I’m sorry if that was weird. You just seemed so happy to be playing that I thought you might enjoy keeping them. Or one of them. I…I just thought—”
“It isn’t weird. It’s incredibly generous. You know you could make a mint if you sold these, right?”
“I suppose so, but some things are more important than money. Nick only had these so he could show them off. He doesn’t play any instruments. I think they’d be happier with you. You’d give them a good home.”
Eyes burning, he stares at me. “A good home.”
“Yes. Instruments are made to be played, not just looked at or locked up. I want you to have them.”
He continues staring at me so long, it becomes uncomfortable. “Have I said something wrong?”
“No. You paid me the best compliment I think I’ve ever been given.”
“Then why are you looking at me like I just declared I’m from outer space?”
“I was just wondering how you’d react if I picked you up and threw you over my shoulder so I could take you into your bedroom and show you exactly how much I appreciate every word you’ve said.”
My body reacts to those words and the husky tone they were spoken in by sending a rush of adrenaline into my bloodstream and making it hard to breathe.
Heart thudding with excitement, I stand. “Tell you what. If you can catch me before I get to the door, you can throw me over your shoulder and take me into the bedroom. But if I’m faster than you and I get there first, you have to mop my kitchen floor. Naked.”
He glances at the door, then back at me. He smiles.
Five seconds later, he’s carrying me upside down on his shoulder, headed toward my bedroom, and I’m laughing harder than I can remember laughing in years.