Chapter 16

 

If someone had told him six months ago that he’d be making a spectacle of himself at a festival celebrating lobsters and blueberries, Ry would have laughed his ass off. But here he was in Brides Bay and playing a summer concert gig in front of a thousand people, all thanks to one annoyingly persuasive concierge.

Some festivalgoers had brought chairs and were camped out in the front rows. The rest were standing in a mass that stretched from the water’s edge all the way across the park. Claire hadn’t been kidding when she said the Saturday night concert was the highlight of the entire festival.

He glanced over at her. Decked out in a short black dress and a pink jean jacket, she was singing her heart out. Capitulating to her scheme hadn’t been easy, and part of him was still a bit pissed off at the way she’d pushed him.

So why had he given in? Obligation with a shot of guilt had something to do with it. But more than anything, he just wanted to make Claire happy, and that was pretty messed up given his recent treatment of her. It almost scared him how much he wanted to please her. It was a problem he intended to deal with once he got far enough away from her to think straight.

He stepped back and gave a slight bow as he hit the song’s final chord. The crowd enthusiastically cheered and applauded. When Claire shot him a grin that was close to a smirk, he had to bite back a laugh. She’d been right about the warmth of the audience. In fact, when the festival chairman opened the evening by announcing that Claire would be replacing Cole Ford, with a special guest appearance by Ryder Griffin, loud cheers had echoed out over the waters of the bay.

Rural Mainers were easy to please, and that sure wasn’t the worst thing in the world. In Manhattan, with its notoriously picky and rambunctious crowds, they’d have been lucky to escape with their hides intact.

Despite the crowd’s positive vibes, he mostly kept his head down, focusing on his guitar and on Claire. Tons of people were snapping photos with their phones, so he’d probably end up on a bunch of people’s Facebook and Instagram pages. At least when he was playing hockey, he had a helmet, a uniform, and a ton of pads to hide under. Here he had nothing but his guitar between him and the audience.

Claire, thank God, was knocking it out of the park. They hadn’t practiced most of the songs in her set, but it wasn’t hard for him to adapt since her choices were familiar folk and country tunes. His ear was good, and he’d had lessons from some of the best guitar teachers around. It was pretty great to accompany a singer whose mesmerizing voice conveyed a ton of emotion in each and every song.

For the sixth of her twelve-song set, Claire was singing a beautiful version of the Joni Mitchell tune, “River.” Although the song was written for piano accompaniment, the chords were easy enough, leaving him plenty of room to improvise a strong solo.

When she came to the last line of the chorus, she turned to him with a big smile. He was standing to her right and a couple of feet behind her—as far out of the spotlight as he could be without disappearing behind the amps and speakers. Breathing through the tension, he launched into his solo. It lasted less than a minute, but people went crazy, clapping and cheering. He had to strum along until the din calmed down enough for Claire to carry on with the third verse.

As the applause washed over him, he couldn’t hold back a certain pride that had started to build from somewhere deep in his chest during the solo. He had to admit that the obvious appreciation for his music, now that he’d finally brought it into the open, made him feel damn good.

And best of all was Claire’s bright and approving smile.

But then she shifted her gaze to her right, not missing a beat as she took in a sudden commotion going on below the stage.

A few teenage girls had somehow managed to get past the metal barrier in front of the stage and were now crammed against it, right below where he stood. In fact, they were yelling his name and starting to scramble up, apparently to try to reach him. A couple of the festival’s security guards hustled over and quickly herded the girls back behind the barrier.

Crazy.

He glanced sheepishly back at Claire as he kept with the beat. She mouthed the words rock star, giving him a big grin before smoothly carrying on as if nothing had happened.

He laughed because, man, it felt good—even better than when he’d won his last race. At the track, it had been strangers cheering him on. Here, he was with Claire, and a lot of the people in front of the stage were her friends and people he’d come to know. They weren’t just cheering the music he was playing, they seemed to be cheering him. Maybe even cheering him as one of their own.

That realization was the biggest damn surprise he’d had in a long time.

* * *

When Ry had taken her hand for their bows at the end of the performance, it had felt like a fairy tale, and it was one Claire hoped wouldn’t end when the clock struck midnight. Fortunately, midnight had now just passed and, a little drunk on both beer and Ry Griffin, she was still riding the emotional high as they pulled into his driveway. Performing with him tonight had been both emotionally intense and creatively satisfying. They’d connected through each other and through the music, as if some invisible bond had shimmered into life under the stage lights.

“There’s probably going to be big puddle somewhere, if not worse.” His prosaic words pulled her from her romantic haze. “I came home and let the poor guy out this afternoon, but I shouldn’t have stayed at the bar so long.”

“One dog cookie and I’m sure all will be forgiven,” she said. “And I’ll help clean up.”

He grinned as he braked to a stop. “It’ll take a lot more than a cookie to keep Stanley happy once I shut him out of the bedroom.”

Her heart rate took off like a jackrabbit and her head swirled in a nerve-wracking combo of anticipation and anxiety. Ry had certainly put it out there. Still, it was exactly what she’d been assuming would happen.

Within the next few minutes, they were either going to have spectacular sex or they would have to deal with a very awkward situation when her nerve failed her. There was no denying how much she wanted to go to bed with him. She wanted it so badly she could barely think straight. But that was the problem. She had to be able to think straight, because for her, sex with Ry could never be just a casual hookup.

If she didn’t get this right, an emotional tsunami would surely swamp her.

When the concert ended, it hadn’t taken much persuasion from Meg and Cassidy to get her and Ry down to the Dory for a few celebratory beers. Ry had stopped at one, because he was driving. Still, he’d seemed relaxed as groups of people stopped by their table to congratulate them on the concert. Between all the well-wishers and the bar’s non-stop noise, they didn’t get a chance to talk much. While she was pretty sure he’d enjoyed playing with her, you could never really tell with Ry.

When she reluctantly said she should call it a night, he’d insisted on walking her to her door. After she’d worked up the nerve to ask him in for coffee, he’d bowled her over by suggesting she come home with him instead. He’d said he’d be happy to make her coffee and then drive her home later, although his slow, sexy smile had made it pretty clear that “later” would probably mean after the sun rose.

Without a second thought, she’d all but scrambled up into his truck, so eager to be alone with him that she could barely keep still. Neither of them had said much on the short ride to Promise Island, instead listening to the country rock music streaming out of his truck’s speakers.

He’d kept his hand resting lightly on her bare knee the entire time, and the warmth of his long and slightly rough fingers on her skin had knocked every coherent thought out of her head.

Now, when he opened the front door, Stanley immediately jumped up on her. She laughed as she pushed him down.

“I told you he’d be mad at me,” Ry said.

“Maybe he just loves me better.”

His gaze grew heavy-lidded and hot as it slowly travelled over her body. “Then I can’t argue with his taste.”

Claire had to swallow before she could reply. “Um, I guess we’d better take a look around the house. I’ll grab some paper towels.”

“Why don’t you make the coffee? If there’s a mess, it’s my fault, so I’ll clean up.” He picked up a nearly full roll of Bounty from its holder beside the sink.

She smiled. “I like a man who takes responsibility for his messes.”

“Better watch out, funny girl.” He strode off toward the living room with Stanley trotting after him. “Because I’ll be calling the shots when I get back.”

That sounded…awesome.

He returned a couple of minutes later as she was scooping coffee into the machine. Stanley was right on his heels again, looking not the least bit apologetic. Ry threw a handful of wadded up towels in the trash and washed his hands before nudging up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“How about we do coffee after?” he murmured in a low, sexy voice.

She was torn between her skyrocketing nerves and the impulse to snuggle into his muscular body. An impressive erection was pressing against her bottom.

“After what, exactly?” Maybe silliness would mask her anxiety.

Ry gently turned her around. He cupped her chin with a gentle hand, his smile a mix of tenderness and amusement.

Dammit. He obviously could tell how anxious she was.

“After we do what we’ve been resisting for a long time.” He leaned in and traced a slow, tantalizing kiss across her lips. It was a barely-there kiss, yet it set all her nerve endings alight with delicious fire.

But caution warred with desire, as always. “There was a reason for that. Should we start ignoring it now?”

He shook his head. “What we need to do for once is to stop thinking. Just let it all go and let the universe take care of it.”

That surprised a laugh out of her. “So when did you turn into such a New Age kind of guy?”

He flashed a smile before pulling her against him and swooping in for another kiss—this time long and deep. His heat and intensity suffused every part of her as he cradled her against him. With his brawny arms tight around her, he overwhelmed her senses. He pinned her against the counter and nuzzled her mouth, as his erection nudged her right there.

Despite the undeniable risks, Claire shook with a longing that went bone deep. Here with Ry, with his hands and mouth on her body, a surprising strength surged within her and its energy blasted away the chorus of nos that had become the relentless backdrop of her life.

She gasped when he let her up for air. “Okay, deal. I have one request though.”

He trailed hot kisses down her neck, pulling aside the collar of her little jacket to press his lips onto her bare shoulder.

“Name it.” His voice was low and raspy.

Who knew a guy’s voice actually could make you go weak in the knees? It was such a cliché that she almost laughed.

She cleared her throat so she wouldn’t squeak like she’d just breathed in helium. “I’d rather it not not be in my parents’…uh, I mean, not be in your bedroom, okay? That would be a bit weird.”

He blinked. “Well, how about in front of a roaring fire with pillows and a soft blanket underneath you?” He nuzzled her throat again. “I promise to keep you nice and warm.”

“I think you’d better put Stanley in his crate right now,” she whispered.