Eyelids flickering open, she saw Calvin sitting in the tufted chair next to the bed, his acoustic guitar on his lap. A lazy smile tugged at her lips. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Good morning, babe.” He shifted his grip on the fretboard to strike a chord and then slid his fingers back to another. “I’m serenading you…obviously.” “Is it after ten?” Maggie sat up, stretched. “Of course. And there’s coffee on your nightstand.” With delight, she picked up the steaming mug and inhaled—Viennese roast, her favorite. The first sip slid down her throat, smooth as velvet. He turned his attention to the guitar again and started singing under his breath. She rolled her eyes. “You know I hate that song.” Calvin chuckled, a boyish gleam in his hazel eyes. “But I’m sure Rod Stewart wrote it for you.” “Contrary to popular belief, I am not that old.” Continuing to strum the melody, he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.” As Maggie’s gaze roamed over the young man’s taut, muscular body, she noticed he was sitting there stark naked, the guitar covering some of his most admirable attributes.
