Page 29 of My Cowboy Salvation
But this is my best friend and… Logan. Both men I really care about. Performing for them will be nothing like performing for Simon. They’re not trying to exploit my talents for their own public esteem.
“All right. Let’s finish eating, then I’ll give it a try. But remember. I’m going to be rusty.”
* * *
As anxious asI was to perform in front of anyone, even when I reminded myself it’s only the McCall men, once the bow is in my hand and the music takes over, the rich sound of the strings fill the air with its beautiful tune. It becomes easier to shut out their eyes and focus on the art.
The music pours out of me, as if I’ve become one with this beautiful instrument, allowing my anger, my sadness, my terror, and my joy be expressed as I move through the complex piece.
This is what I’m meant to do: play this lovely instrument. To let it speak my truth better than I ever could. But to play for my pleasure and those people whose opinion I value and care about. Not for people who only want to use me for their own self-interest.
As I hold the bow for the last long note, I open my eyes and find Logan’s gaze on me. There’s pleasure in those blue depths, as well as incredulity, and something more. Something that has me throbbing with a sudden wave of desire, urging me to clamp my legs right around the base of my instrument as if it were Logan between my thighs, stroking me toward the abyss.
I’m still catching my breath, unable to look away from Logan and this powerful moment, when Parker offers his effusive applause and praise, reminding us both of his presence. Logan seems to shake himself from his stupor to join him in applauding, and when he meets my gaze again, it’s reserved. Controlled. Like he’s afraid to reveal too much. And I hate it.
I need to speak to him. I need to tell him how important he is to me, how much I need him.
How he can’t shut me out. I won’t let him.
Chapter 15
Logan
My room isdark and cool, ideal for sleeping, but even as the clock hits midnight, I lie motionless on my bed, unable to find sleep as images of the past twenty-four hours flash in my mind.
Images of Dylan as her head fell back as she mounted me on the stairs, softly moaning with pleasure as she rode me to her climax. Of Dylan swallowing me almost entirely as she stared up at me with those slate-colored eyes. Of Dylan today, passionately playing her cello, her face so open and expressive as she played through every note, every emotion, lost in her music, in the joy and pleasure with almost the same look on her face as she had when she was riding me.
God, she was so fucking beautiful. And so fucking off-limits, a fact that became more poignant as I tried to cover my hard-on for her with my son sitting next to me.
Parker. Hell. What was I doing screwing with his girlfriend? Sure, his ex-girlfriend, but a girl he loved and made love to just the same. When I danced with her last night, it had been easy to push aside the implications of what we were going to do when he was another state away, living his life.
But now that he’s here, under the very roof Dylan and I have been fucking in, where I can observe him staring longingly at Dylan with such absolute adoration and desire, the truth of what I’ve done was perfectly clear.
I betrayed my son. I betrayed his trust.
Had I so little will-power that I would risk any relationship with my son, a son I already abandoned for half of his life and who I owed so much to and had been waiting for a time to make up for it?
He gave me this one task: keep his ex safe from harm. And after barely two weeks, I had lost all control and allowed myself to forget who she was. Who I was. And Parker.
He can’t find out. It would ruin any chance for us to have a relationship, and it would crush his fragile heart and the hope I know he nurtures for a future with Dylan.
There’s a slight sound outside my door, and I know who it is, just as I knew she would come to see me. Sure enough, the door opens slowly, and Dylan’s pale face comes into view.
In the dim moonlight, I watch as she slips quietly across the floor in a dark robe that falls to her knees and comes to sit on the bed next to me. She knows I’m awake, just as I’ve known she’s been awake for the past hour.
“Dylan, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Parker’s already softly snoring from the bedroom next to mine. We’re fine. I think we need to talk.”
I sit up, leaning against the bed-frame. “You’re right. We do need to talk. What we did? We can’t let it happen again. It’s not right.”
“According to who?”
“To anyone, especially to any good and decent father. A decent father shouldn’t be touching his son’s ex-girlfriend, let alone fucking her. It’s just not done.”
“I don’t know about what any decent father would think, but I know what we did felt right for me. Parker is my past, Logan. He’s a friend, but that’s all. I’ve moved on just as he has. And you and I are both consenting adults. We can decide for ourselves what’s wrong or rightfor us.”
“It’s not that simple.” She has to understand. “Parker might be in your past, but I’m pretty certain he doesn’t feel the same way.” I know that sharing this is another betrayal to my son, but it has to be said. She has to know, so she can understand why wanting her is so wrong. “Parker is still in love with you. I don’t think he’s ever stopped loving you or hoping that one day you two would have another chance. If he found out what I did with you, he’d hate me forever. And he might hate you, too, and I don’t want that. I don’t want him to lose hope in his future because of something I did.”
