Page 61 of Animal Instincts
“There are some good opportunities. I even know some of the practices.”
He carried on scrolling, his face deadpan and unreadable. Joss bit down on his lip.
“Weresome good opportunities. But not now. Or not for me. The only reason I’m looking at it is because I got a message from the agency about a job they thought I was a good match for.” Joss shrugged. “Thought I’d have a look at what else they had listed, out of interest, seeing as how much time I used to spend trawling through all these sites. You wouldn’t believe how many I signed up to. I should go through and unsub from them. I kind of forgot, I suppose.”
Oliver held out the phone, and Joss took it, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans, just as he shoved away the short conversation that had made him feel vaguely awkward. The ill-defined whiff of tension of the last couple of minutes needed to be blown away, and he knew just the way to do it.
“We’ve got nearly an hour before we have to go. How do you fancy filling in the time?” Joss pushed himself to standing and moved in close to Oliver, and looped his arms around his neck. Oliver’s face softened, as the closed off look melted away.
So much better…
“I thought I could get my instrument out.”
Joss snorted. “Well, that’s one way of putting it.”
“Mr. Faraday, your mind is in the gutter. Thank god. But…”
An uncertain, lopsided smile hovered on Oliver’s lips.
Instrument? Did he mean—?
“A guitar. Is that what you mean?”
Oliver nodded. “I thought, it’s about time I brushed the cobwebs off. I mean, I haven’t played for ages, I’m very rusty, so if you don’t want to hear me murder a tune and—”
“Yes. I mean no, you won’t murder — Oh, you know what I mean. I’d love to hear you play.”
Oliver answered with an unsure smile.
“Go on.” Joss gave him a light push. “Go and get a guitar and serenade me.”
A couple of minutes later Oliver perched on a garden chair, and settled the guitar into position. In the warm early evening, the wood glowed a soft gold. Joss watched as Oliver fiddled and twiddled with the strings. Joss enjoyed music, but his knowledge and experience were confined to whatever was current. Oliver was in a whole different league.
Joss didn’t know what he was expecting, but he knew it wasn’t what flew from Oliver’s finger tips.
Classical, or kind of. Spanish. Yes, that was what it was. Not flamenco, but something softer and more tuneful. Joss had heard it before, somewhere. His mind searched for what it was called, but it was too far out of reach. All conscious thought dissolved to nothing as the music crashed into him and submerged him, taking him away on its wave.
The rich and mellow guitar flooded the garden. The notes rose and fell, sped up, slowed down, as the music flowed like sweet, dark golden honey, coating everything in its lusciousness.
The music drenched Joss’ senses. It was viscous and tangible, if he reached out his hand he’d be able to touch and caress the notes dripping from Oliver’s fast flying fingers. Music filled the air, there was no other sound; even the birds had fallen silent, and the breeze stilled. It was as though the world had stopped, as entranced and spell bound as Joss. But he wasn’t the only one who was bewitched.
Oliver leaned over his guitar, almost hugging it to him. His face was tight, his lips pressed together as he poured himself into every note, all his muscles and sinews tight with concentration.
Joss’ heart clenched and twisted so hard he rubbed at his chest. His eyes watered, and he caught his breath. How could Oliver have not played for so long, when he played likethis?He gulped and blinked, clearing his blurry vision. But Oliver was playing now, he was playing for Joss but most of all he was playing for himself. A missing piece of Oliver had been glued back into place as soon as he’d picked up the guitar and plucked out the first note. The music ended, hard and sudden, plunging the garden into silence. Oliver laid the guitar on the table.
No birdsong, no breeze, only the thud of Joss’ heart.
“Jesus.”
“Jesus… Don’t ever play in my presence again, or…?”
“Fucking hell, Oliver.” Joss leaped up and slung his arms around Oliver’s neck. “That’s serious talent. Why haven’t you been playing? I don’t get it.”
Oliver turned his attention back to the guitar, running his fingers over it, a soft caress that made Joss shiver.
“Let’s just say my playing wasn’t always appreciated. In the end, it was easier not to.”
“How could anybody not…” Of course. Spencer.
