Page 50 of Hard Rock Tease

"Something borrowed, something blue?" I quipped.

"Don't make wedding jokes."

I made a face. Maybe I'd been wrong and Noah was in one of his moods. I made my way over to the kitchen and looked through the cupboards for something to eat for breakfast. For all that Noah and I had been humping like rabbits, I hadn't yet stayed overnight.

"Noah." I called out.

"What?" came the sullen reply.

"You literally have a carton of expired eggs, a jar of pickles and a bottle of mustard in your fridge. That's it."

"There's also a six pack of beer."

"I took that as a given."

"What are you doing snooping around anyway?"

I closed the fridge door and left the kitchen with my stomach rumbling. "I was looking for something to make us for breakfast."

"Cooking breakfast for me? How domestic." He didn't look up from the piano. In fact, he hadn't met my gaze once.

I went back to the bedroom and shimmied into my skirt and top from the day before. I grabbed my purse and cell phone, which had been dropped unceremoniously to the floor. I paused before picking up Noah's phone from the night stand, too.

I went back to the living room and shoved the phone in his face, interrupting his playing. "Here."

He nodded his head with a jerk, indicating I should leave it on top of the piano. I set it down and took a seat beside him on the piano bench. He didn't move over to make room for me, so I had to perch on the edge.

Mr. Cranky Pants was out in full force this morning.

"I could order something for breakfast," I said, trying to cheer him up. "Or we could go out somewhere. Do you know of any good brunch place around here?"

"Not hungry."

I suppressed the urge to sigh deeply. It was like we'd lost all the progress we'd made and were back to square one. I shouldn't have pushed him to open up. Maybe it was too soon.

"I might have some instant pancake mix in the back cupboard," he said grudgingly.

"I can work with that."

I stayed sitting next to him as he continued playing, enjoying the refrain.

"You mind?" he grunted. "I'm working on something."

I slid from the bench. "Fine. I'll leave you to it."

I stalked back to the kitchen and set about making some goddamn pancakes. When they were done I put them on a plate and took them to the island counter with tall bar stools, the only dining room Noah's apartment had.

I turned to ask if he had any syrup hidden away somewhere. I stopped.

Noah's eyes were closed, his head bowed forward, messy hair falling over his cheekbones. His fingers fluttered over the keys in fluid motions. The song had changed while I'd been in the kitchen. The melody was slower, softer, more mournful. I was mesmerized, not only by the sorrowful strains, but by the way he played. His expression was relaxed and open. There was no tension between his brows, no scowl on his face. His lips were soft and slightly parted. He hummed to himself every few bars.

I found myself sitting on a bar stool, watching him. As the pancakes cooled, I took in every detail. Every slow, deep breath, every twitch of his eyelids, every movement of his lips.

Noah had said he wanted his audience to spontaneously orgasm when they heard our song. This one was different. There were no sensual undertones. The song was moving in its simplicity, yet impressive in its range. Unbidden tears stung the back of my eyes.

The song came to an end, his fingers resting lightly on the keys. I let out a breath. I hadn't dared breathe or move or speak for fear of breaking his concentration.

"That was beautiful," I said softly.