He dropped to one knee before her, his fingers flying and lungs burning as he promised himself to her, one note after another in the truest language his tongue had ever known. And when the air ran out, his forehead dropped to her knee, his shoulders heaving as he gasped. Her fingers wound over the sweat-slicked skin at the back of his neck, and she held him. So tightly, her hands desperate, like she wanted to sing back to him but didn’t know the tune.

That night, Andra never went home.

Seventeen

Andra ducked her head, blushing as LJ opened his door with one hand, the other skimming the small of her back as he let her out.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me make you breakfast,” he said.

“I’m okay. And I still have to shower and change, so I’m running late as it is.”

He ducked his head, nibbling kisses along her neck until she giggled. “Smell plenty good to me.” She swatted halfheartedly at him, and he stole another kiss anyway. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. Whenever you get hungry for lunch, let yourself in and heat up some of the red beans and rice. They only get better the longer the spices soak in.”

She groaned. “There’s no way they can get better. I think I ate four bowls of them last night. Probably won’t need to eat again for weeks.”

“You’re just catching up for all those Salisbury steak years.” She glanced away, and his eyes narrowed on her face. “What’s that look for?”

“Um . . .”

“You didn’t.” He straightened to his full six feet and five inches. “Tell me you did not eat Salisbury steak on my watch.”

“You were at the ranch house! What was I supposed to do?”

He shook his head. “You’re breaking my heart, Rodeo Queen. Cracking it into little bitty pieces.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him down to her level, loving that he could smile and kiss her all at the same time.

She meant to say something smart-ass, but by the time she got done kissing him, she couldn’t remember what it had been. “Bye,” she said instead.

His grin brightened another twenty watts. “Bye,” he drawled.

He closed the door, and then Andra heard the smacking of exaggerated kissy sounds. “Damn, you two are nauseating,” Stacia said, dropping a tube of sunscreen to the side of her chair on the porch and rising to her feet.

Andra stopped, an itchy flush rising under her clothes. She wanted to dance, to fidget, to brag or laugh out loud. She had no idea what to say.

Stacia laughed. “Yeah, you ought to be blushing, leaving that flashy palomino of yours parked in our corral all night for everybody to see.”