The Best Laid Plans by Tamara Mataya Read Free Book Online

required more than two takes to nail the song.
    He let the music carry him away, calm his nerves. Eyes closed, fingers flying, he gave in to the sound he created.
    He smelled her before he heard her. She’d come. And walked right into his apartment like she owned the place. He liked that, but denied the smile he felt. He kept playing, wondering if she’d put two and two together, and place him.
    It had all begun with a song played on the guitar. All those years ago.
    But he didn’t have the courage to play it now. That wound he couldn’t reopen. Not now, maybe not ever. He played a few notes from the song, then switched to another. He wanted her, needed to make sure he had her before he revealed his identity, and then left her. Maybe he would just leave her without letting her know that they were pre-acquainted.
    But before he left her, he had to get her, get inside her, body, mind, heart. He smiled.
    “Hello, Jayne.”
    “Malcolm.”
    He finished the song with a flourish that showcased his finger speed and opened his eyes. Good thing he’d waited to open them; the sight of her would have made his fingers clumsy.
    She wore a silvery green dress and flat shoes, looking fresh, and new, and innocent. Except for her eyes. Hungry, knowing, and sexy. She was pretty, and feminine, and eye-fucking him so intensely his dick went insta-hard. He was glad the guitar hid his erection. He had to be the one in control of this, or she’d lose interest.
    But she’d definitely brought her A game.
     
    ***
     
    The door had been unlocked. Jayne heard the guitar, got curious, and tried the door without knocking. If she could creep up on him, catch him unawares, she could shift the power back to her court a bit. Glad about her decision to wear the flats, she tiptoed inside the apartment silently and closed the door behind her.
    His apartment was … sort of chic, but homey and welcoming, not sterile like a lot of expensive lofts she’d been to. Oh, it looked expensive, had the requisite bachelor black leather and glass. But there was a giant bookshelf, and when she’d crept past it, the kitchen had looked like it wasn’t just the place to order takeout from.
    She followed her ears to the living room and watched him for a moment. He sat perfectly still except for those hands. Oh, she wanted them to play her like they played that guitar. She couldn’t even hear him over the pounding of her heart, drinking in the sight of him with his head thrown back. He had a strong neck, something about it begged to be licked. He wore jeans and an unbuttoned black dress shirt. What she could see of his body was fantastic, built, but it didn’t look like he spent too much time in the gym. There was nothing worse than a man who spent more time looking in the mirror than looking at her.
    Not that it mattered what he did in his down time. She’d only come here for sex.
    As she stood there, she began to pay attention to his playing. He was actually incredible. His talents were wasted in bars. He could play in stadiums with an orchestra backing him. She didn’t know much about music, but she could appreciate skill. He had it.
    Which only made him sexier. Passion was hot, but talent was hotter. He could back up the talk, possessing the goods to validate all the rumors she’d heard at the club the other night.
    At least about his playing. She had yet to find out about his prowess in bed.
    “Hello, Jayne.”
    “Malcolm.”
    She didn’t know what else to say. She’d arrived ready to play. If he thought he sat in the driver’s seat, he had a shock coming his way.
    The notes he played went straight up her spine. He opened his eyes and looked her up and down.
    “You came.”
    If he had any idea how many times she’d come last night, writhing in bed thinking about his hands, and mouth … “I did.”
    He began playing another song that teased the back of her mind, almost, but not quite familiar.
    “Care for something to drink?”
    “I’m not here to