Accidentally Married on Purpose (16 page)

Her breath caught and his smile widened. Sitting back, he swung the instrument over her lap, flush against her chest. “Now, let me show you how to hold it.”

Mumbling something about hormonal whiplash, Sherry set her hands where he instructed, thumb of her left hand down low on the neck, fingertips curled over onto the strings, and her right hand gripping the pick.

“Good,” he told her, covering her hand with his. “And you never have to push the string all the way to the wood. Just enough to press against the fret. These vertical lines are the frets, and you want to put your fingertips just behind it. Not on top of it, and not way back here, but right up against it, like this.”

She pulled a face as she stretched her fingers along the neck, but did it perfectly. Tyler figured that deserved some sort of praise, and in lieu of gold stars, he slid his nose along her ear and kissed it. “Excellent.”

She shot him a look. “Is that how you reward all your students?”

“Of course,” he replied. “Are you questioning my methods?”

She shook her head with a laugh. “I wouldn’t dare. Proceed, Teach.”

After a quick anatomy lesson—
guitar
not human—and an explanation of pitch and tension—
strings
not sexual—he guided her right hand over the sound hole. “When you strum, do it parallel to the instrument, not pressing in, and keep the pick perpendicular to the strings with only a slight lean on the up and down strokes.”

Hand wrapped around hers, he demonstrated the movement on the first string, then the second, followed by the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. Sherry sat taller with each strum, her teeth trapping her bottom lip as excitement ignited in her eyes.

“You’re a natural.”

This time when she turned her head at the compliment, he pressed a kiss to her nose. Warm breath hit his throat as her lips parted, and he said with complete seriousness, “It’s important to keep rewards consistent.”

She laughed, and their lesson continued in much the same way. Innocent flirtations, creative rewards, and Sherry gaining confidence in strumming the strings and working the different frets.

“What string is this?” she asked during her fourth trip through the series.

“That’s the D string,” Tyler told her. “The low E is at the top, the second string is A, then it’s D, G, B, and the last one is high E.” A mnemonic device he once heard came to mind and, plucking the strings, he said, “Eddie Ate Dynamite…Good Bye Eddie.”

Sherry scrunched her nose. “That’s seriously morbid.”

Tyler laughed and shifted his weight on his hip, coincidently closing the thin space between them even more. “Maybe so, but you won’t forget it, will you?”

Her answering grin was quick and full of challenge. “I think we should test that theory. Quiz me.”

Narrowing his eyes, he made it look as though he was trying to stump her. In actuality, he wanted nothing more than for her to succeed. To keep the smile on her face and the anxiety far, far away. “Okay, play the…B string.”

He watched her silently mouth the phrase, her pick moving down the line until it landed on the second string from the bottom. She plucked it and looked back for approval. “Is that right?”

He nodded. “You got it.”

“Ha!” Her ass wiggled against him in a victory dance, and Tyler bit back a groan.

It wasn’t the friction or even the way her body molded to his. It was the pure joy in her eyes and the huge smile stretching her face…and it was knowing
he
put it there. This woman—this crazy, sassy, conflicting woman—got to him, pure and simple. Only there was nothing pure or simple about their situation.

She strummed through the series again, now completely solo, and settled against his chest. His hands hovered midair, hesitating and then sliding down either side of her trim waist. Roughened fingertips from years of playing skimmed across the smooth skin of her abdomen, exposed in her shrunken concert tee, and memories of kissing his way down her body taunted his mind. Sherry wiggled again, and his fingers inched closer to the waistband of her jeans…

“Dude, you’re an awesome teacher,” she declared, clearly
not
on the same page as his raging libido.

Clenching his jaw, Tyler leaned back against the sofa cushion. He took a deep breath of un-floral-scented air, trying to clear his head. “It’s easy to teach what you love.”

“I like that,” she said, the smile evident in her voice as she continued her path down the scales. “I admit, watching you play every night is my new favorite thing. I don’t know…it’s like, this softness enters your eyes when you do it. The stress of the day melts away and you instantly find your happy place.” Glancing at him she said, “It’s sweet.”

Sweet
. Now there was a desire-inducing word.

Stifling a laugh at his severe lack of game with this woman, he replied, “My happy place, huh? Well, yeah, I guess that’s what music is for me.” Her soft smile encouraged him to explain, so he did.

No game and a sudden habit of spilling his guts—watch out, ladies.

“Growing up, we didn’t have money for vacations or travel. I worked whatever odd jobs I could find. Dad busted his ass. They did the best they could, and I had a great childhood, but we were always strapped to one place. Playing took me somewhere else. And now it gives me the chance to see the world.”

Sherry’s fingers fell silent. She turned to face him fully, setting the guitar down beside them, and confused, Tyler stared back, wondering what he’d said to add that strange look in her eyes. Slowly, she lifted her hand to cradle his cheek. “There’s more to you than anyone knows, isn’t there?”

Swallowing hard, Tyler watched her lids lower. Sat stock-still, afraid to move, as her body leaned forward. Her gaze flickered to his lips and then straight to his eyes.

Go for it?

Hold back?

The moment held as his mind warred with her list of rules.

Until the sound of a key sliding in the locked front door sprung them apart.

“Crap.” Sherry leapt to her feet, and Tyler dragged his hands down over his face. So damn close. She stood there, her fingers on her unkissed lips, looking back and forth between him still on the floor and the door as it opened, ushering in a cold, stiff breeze.

That, at least, helped.

Tugging his guitar onto his lap, he smiled graciously as the redhead bustled in and slammed the door.

“Whew, it’s cold cold tonight,” she proclaimed, rubbing her arms to ward off a chill. The Cajun doubling of the word for emphasis reminded him of home, and he sighed. She and Sherry fell into an immediate conversation about Louisiana’s unpredictable weather, Tyler all but forgotten…which, in view of his current state, was probably for the best.

It was ironic. This whole thing between them started with
easy
. Sherry’s easy smiles. The way she made simply hanging out a breeze. It drew him to her in the green room, kept him coming back over the weekend, and it led him to believe this marriage idea could actually work.

But as his wife’s conflicted gaze collided with his across the room, he had to admit that
whatever
this thing was building between them, it sure as hell wasn’t easy.

…

Sweet Thing,

Did I mention you look HOT today?
Well, you do.
Kick some hostess ass. See you tonight.
Tyler
P.S. Charlie says you’re our good luck charm ;)
Sherry spit the foaming toothpaste into the basin and rinsed her brush. Her eyes kept straying to the row of notes stuck on the mirror. For some reason, she hadn’t removed that first one, and when she awoke the next morning to its twin, she’d decided to leave them both. Now there were three. None of his short messages overstepped any boundaries; they were simple but flirtatious. And adorable as hell.

After moisturizing, smoothing her eyebrows, and pinching her cheeks for a bit of color, there was nothing left to do but exit the bathroom. With each step down the hallway, her heartbeat increased. By the time she reached her bedroom, her pulse pounded in her ears. So much of their final night in Vegas remained shrouded in fuzziness…but the more time they spent together, the more their innocent touches became less innocent, the crisper a few key details became. In particular, the steamy ones just prior to her ungraceful exodus to puke.

Soft lamplight fell on Tyler when she opened the door, and she watched, mouth drier than the Sahara, as he reached back and tugged off his shirt. His jeans already discarded, he stood in the middle of her bedroom in nothing but a pair of plaid boxers. She must’ve squeaked, or perhaps moaned, because his head whipped up, and they shared a long, tense look.

“If you’d rather, I can sleep on the floor…”

He bunched the fabric of his tee in his hand, and she followed his gaze to a pallet of blankets and throw pillows near the foot of the bed. She smiled, touched, and shook her head. As soft as those blankets were, he’d be miserable come morning.

“That’s silly.” Glancing back, her gaze fell on his smooth, muscled chest.
But it sure as hell would be safer.
“We’re adults, right?”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Of course.”

After another one of those dang delicious pauses, Tyler tossed his shirt in the corner and turned down the comforter.

Sherry forced herself to look away. As she walked to the dresser for pajamas, sheets rustled behind her. Tyler sighed in what sounded like contentment at the eight-hundred-thread count Egyptian. Squeezing her eyes shut, she threw a mini-mental pity party. This was going to be the longest night of her life. With a sigh of her own, she opened them again and examined the contents of her drawer.

Skimpy or grandma?

Honestly, she didn’t own much of the latter. Demure was Angelle’s department—but she couldn’t very well ask her friend for a loan. Settling instead for a thin tank and shorts combo, by far her least revealing option, Sherry spun around and found Tyler watching her.

“I’m just gonna”—she pointed toward the closet—“head in there to change.”

Silently, his eyes tracked her movement until she closed the small door behind her. As her clothes fell to the floor, she gave herself a pep talk. She could do this. They
were
adults, and if she couldn’t go eight hours sleeping next to a man—albeit an extremely hot one who also happened to be her husband—without having sex with him, then she had a serious problem. Tugging up her short shorts, she nodded firmly in resolve.

Tyler smiled as she exited, and she met it with one of her own. “Okay if I turn off the light?” she asked, padding across the hardwood.

“Go for it.”

The moment she flicked off the lamp, she regretted it. What was it about losing one sense that made the rest so much sharper? The room felt smaller, more intimate, and the sound of his breathing filled the air. Or was that hers? She put a hand on the bed and climbed beneath the sheet, the soft cotton whispering across the bare skin of her legs.

As she fixed the bedding around her, their arms touched.

She shivered, and the movement brushed her calf against his. The dark curly hair of his leg tickled, and her belly dipped. Tyler didn’t move a muscle, didn’t make a sound, but she knew exactly where he was. His body heat pressed against her entire right side. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she imagined the sliver of mattress between them pulsating with energy.

Energy and memories.

The rasp of his hand sliding up her leg. A low chuckle bathing her ear when she squirmed. The graze of his fingertips finding the sensitive spot beneath her knee. His green eyes blazing as he moved over her. “You feel so good, sugar…”

“No romance in the house!”

Sherry slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified at her outburst. And although she couldn’t see it, she could swear she heard Tyler grin.

The wall of heat shifted as he turned onto his hip, the bed dipping and sheets sliding. “There’s an entire range of options to explore that have zero to do with romance.”

His voice was gravelly and so close to her ear that wisps of hair moved with his breath. She shivered again. “That may be true,” she replied, “but there’s no way in hell we’d ever stop.”

“We won’t know until we try.”

It was clear Tyler was teasing, but it was equally obvious he was waiting for a signal. All she had to do was hint that she was open to explore those options, take back that ridiculous request she’d made earlier, and he’d pounce like a lion. He never technically promised, she remembered with a bite of her lip. And while the prospect was tempting—so very,
very
tempting—her sense of self-preservation was stronger than she thought.

“Tell me about your parents,” she whispered, almost laughing as he fell onto his back with a groan. She felt his frustration, and she wouldn’t blame him one bit if he didn’t answer her question. In fact, it seemed as though he wouldn’t.

Then, “What do you want to know?”

Releasing a grateful sigh, she turned onto her side and put her arm beneath her head. “You said your father is into music?” She felt more than saw his nod, and she asked, “Is he any good?”

Tyler shifted again to face her, and the scattered light from her blinds lit his answering smile. “He’s incredible. Taught me everything I know. His garage band was the first one I was in.”