“Well, I’ll let you get back to it …” I moved to leave, but he started walking toward the kitchen, assuming I’d follow.
“You can’t leave without at least saying hi. He’s just fiddling down in his man cave—sorry, music room.”
“I guess. Just for a minute,” I mumbled.
He stopped abruptly and I almost ran into him. “Actually, can you go down and tell him that dinner is ready?”
“I don’t think—”
He placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me toward the door that lead to the stairs.
“Uh, sure. I feel like I’m imposing.” I looked over my shoulder.
He was still so relaxed. “You’re not. Just tell him to come up. He loses track of time and won’t see if I text him.”
“Okay but—”
“Great, thanks.”
The door shut behind me. No way out but through, I supposed.
No music drifted on the air this time as I descended the stairs. I checked the rehearsal space with all the padding, but it was empty. None of the rooms got a response when I called out. There was a door I hadn’t noticed before off the main room. Maybe some sort of recording booth?
I knocked but got no response. For the second time in ten minutes, I debated the awkwardness of knocking again or just tucking tail and bolting. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I tried the door only to find it unlocked. I pushed it open and a plume of steamy air punched me in the face. The realization that this was in fact a bathroom sunk in as I belatedly registered that a person stood hunched over the sink, gripping the basin, head hanging. Not just any person. A painfully sexy, naked, male person.
Let me repeat that for those in the back. Naked man. Standing nakedly without clothes on his undressed figure … bare. The man who was my Maestro, and composer. YUP. That one.
Somehow, maybe by some supreme act by God or the universe, he didn’t seem to notice my entrance. Or maybe time had simply stopped to give me a moment to fully appreciate the sight before me. Muscles. Muscles everywhere: big ones, little ones, fat ones, skinny ones too! They popped up in mini waves near his neck, they emphasized his flexed triceps and ripped forearms as he gripped the sink. His flanks were that of an Olympic swimmer. His bottom was so toned it could deflect bullets. My gaze travelled down his massive thighs, his calves, his bare feet. My god. Bare feet.
The leg that had been slightly raised lowered to the floor and then, fully available for my viewing pleasure …
Whoop! Whoop! Penis alarm! This was not a drill!
Yes, I should respect his space. True, I should not make a big deal about male anatomy. But it had been a long time (pun intended) and I was hard up (more punning) and he was beautiful. I’m sorry. Not really. Typically, these things don’t do it for me but the turned angle of his body highlighted the cut of his abs down to the thick black curls and fine form of his cock and balls. My God. That was a lovely penis to look at. I never thought I’d say that, but some cavegirl instinct wanted me to club him over the head and make babies with that specimen.
My gaze slowly dragged back up and the delayed realization that he was fresh from the shower sunk in. His face wasn’t covered.
I’ve always been drawn to curiosity and danger. If I was told not to do something it was as good as telling me to do it. Maybe I’m disturbed and attracted to the taboo or macabre—like watching serial killer documentaries—but yeah, I had to see more.
My eyes shot to the mirror hoping for a peek at his face but unfortunately, the steam defeated me.
Maybe I had let in a blast of cool air that finally reached him or maybe I had squawked like a bird, but I’d been spotted. With a start, he suddenly pulled the towel that had hung loosely over his shoulders to cover his fricking face. It wasn’t his modesty he protected—it was his face.
Well, I couldn’t help that my eyes drifted over his shoulders and neck, now fully on display.
“Kim!” he was yelling.
Sounds filtered back into my brain.
I swallowed and found his face, the lower half still covered with the towel. His dark hair was curled and glistening; it had lines like he had just run his fingers through it. But a few stray curls fell forward. It was longer than I’d thought. I loved how the ends were wild. Every section, every scene, was a million frames per second that uploaded to my mind, memorized for mental gifs later.
“What are you doing?” he yelled again.
“Sorry! I knocked!”
“I didn’t hear you!”
“I see that now!” My eyes noticed his dark little nipples surrounded by a decent smear of thick black curls matching the ones I had seen south. Was I also into body hair? All signs pointed to yes.
“Get out!”
“I’m going.” I backed up.
All this felt as though it happened both over the span of a year and in a split second. My eyes drifted over him again. Not on purpose! That was probably the final straw though, because he growled and moved toward me, towel firmly in place.
“I’m going.” I held up my arms. “I’m going.”
But my feet weren’t actually moving. He was right in front of me. His chest heaved in rage. His gaze was fiery.
That towel was awfully tiny, and he was just, like, two inches from me. My eyes—again, not my own fault—started moving down.
“Get. Out.”
He reached behind me for the door handle. Now that my sight wasn’t the only thing working, a clean, evergreen scent wrapped around me as his damp arm brushed mine. My other senses went from slowly waking to high alert and every nerve felt like a live wire.
I backed up enough to exit and the door slammed in my face.
I studied the wood grain for several seconds. My heart and body hummed. I was so physically aware of him now. Pieces began to slide into place. An understanding. My body felt too heavy and too light at the same time, like I’d float away save for the heat planting me in place. I was so physically attracted to him. I’d buried the feelings since he’d started under the assumption it was the kind of crush kids developed on their teachers, or like, your dad’s sophisticated friends. The type of crush you get for someone you respect because of their expertise. It was totally harmless, and you were perfectly safe in liking them from afar.
This was not that.
This was a game changer. This was genuine grown-woman-on-man, full-on, insane attraction. My body wanted to slam on his body. My arms longed to pull him close, desperate to feel his weight on me. In me.
I let out a long, slow, shaky breath.
But that wasn’t the only thing that had me studying the door for far too long, feet firmly planted in place. It was the other revelation that slipped in. It hadn’t clicked at first. The startlingly handsome grown man in front of me didn’t match the memory of the teen. I was so sidetracked by his body, my brain had stalled out temporarily. But when you spend enough time looking at someone, they’re permanently implanted in your memories. Honestly, the most surprising thing about all this was that I hadn’t placed those mesmerizing eyes sooner.
His beard was another distraction. Thick and full. Long enough to tug my fingers through but not scraggly in the least. It was another layer to hide the face behind it. But I saw it. And once I saw it, there was no unseeing it. The glass had shattered.
Despite his best attempts, I’d seen his face and what he’d kept hidden. I saw the truth of what he hid. I understood so much more now.