by Cari Quinn
“Yep, right, all roads lead back to me. Colossal fuckup number one, reporting for duty.” He stroked a hand down his guitar and bit off a sigh of his own. “Look, Jasmine,” he enunciated her name carefully, “as fun as this convo’s been, I really wanna be alone. It’s been a long ass night for me, in case you didn’t happen to notice.”
“I did. And I feel awful for making it worse.” She reached out and touched his arm just below the sleeve of his T-shirt. He would’ve been a liar if he denied he felt the burn from her fingers straight through skin and bone. “Can I come in with you? Just hang out for a while?”
“Why? What could I possibly have you want?”
Something shifted across her face, and like the pansy Simon had accused him of becoming, he stepped back. He’d stepped in enough muck tonight without pulling on his hip-waders first. “Hold it right there. You want to bounce from man to man, that’s on you and I couldn’t care less. But don’t try to drag me into your mess.”
“You hard of hearing or what?” Undeterred, she advanced toward him and slicked her wicked little tongue over her lower lip. “I’ve never been with him.”
“You’re saying you have never had a physical relationship with Gray. Ever.”
She kept right on coming, getting right in his personal space and stepping on the toes of his boots. The pinch centered him, proving he wasn’t imagining this whole wacked-out conversation. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said flatly.
“You should. I don’t lie.” He jolted as she slipped her fingers into the tight sleeve of his T-shirt, but she didn’t linger. She grabbed the pack of cigs he’d tucked there, prying one out and then withdrawing a lighter from the pocket of her miniscule denim skirt. “Well, I don’t usually, tonight aside,” she added before spitting out her gum and lifting a cigarette to her pretty-as-a-picture mouth. She flicked on the lighter. The flame caught instantly and she dragged hard before pulling out the cig and turning her head to cough violently. “Dang, that is nasty.”
He smirked and took the cig from her, lifting it to his mouth and taking a welcome breath of nicotine. He’d been trying to hold off reaching for his security blanket, but when in Rome… “You shocked those virgin lungs.”
“Apparently.” She rubbed her chest and eyed him as he blew a steady stream of smoke to the side. “Seriously disgusting habit. But you looked like you could use one. And this.” She pressed the lighter into his palm.
Wanting to hold on to the sensation of her small hand gripping his for an instant longer, he closed his fingers. Then he opened them and stared. “You found my lucky lighter?”
“Guess I did. What makes it lucky?” Now she was the one smirking.
“That it works.”
“Ah, I see. Logical.” She flicked another wayward curl out of her eyes and shrugged. “I looked over just as you pitched it away. I didn’t realize what it was, just heard it fall on the concrete. After the show, I was curious what you’d ditched so I looked around for it.”
“You looked around a parking lot by yourself, in the dark. Alone. The same parking lot where you were attacked earlier tonight.” Nick hauled in more smoke. “Real smart.”
“I wasn’t alone. The band was with me.”
Amazing how two innocent words could wound. He set down his guitar between his feet. “My band?”
“Our band,” she corrected quietly. “Are you ever going to acknowledge that?”
“No, I’m not. Not when your piece of shit non-boyfriend keeps threatening me for wanting to fuck you as if that’s a freaking crime.” He popped his neck, but it didn’t relieve an ounce of his tension. “It’s not my fault I have eyes.”
She went deathly still. The contrast from her usual constant movement was stunning. “Did you just say you want to fuck me?”
“Oh, come on.” He scoffed and tipped back his head to blow smoke at the moon, so fat and shiny and smug. “You can’t pretend to be surprised. It’s hardly a newsflash.”
“It is to me.” Her soft voice curled around him as insidiously as the smoke.
“Really?” Tucking his lighter in his pocket, he chanced a look at her through the smoky veil that hung in the air. “Have you seen you?”
Her husky laughter took him by surprise. All of a sudden he wasn’t just standing around talking for a few minutes before he barricaded himself in his basement. The moment changed, the space between them becoming charged thanks to the words he’d thoughtlessly tossed at her in the hopes of chasing her away.
Yeah, so that hadn’t worked.
Obviously whatever result he wanted, he should do the opposite of what his instincts told him to, since Jazz didn’t look like she intended to leave anytime soon. In fact, she edged even closer, hooking her fingers in the belt loops of his jeans to haul him against her distracting body. A place he really should not be, despite his cock’s urgent interest in the proceedings.
“So, you want to sleep with me, huh?” She tilted her head as he blew smoke to the side and tried desperately not to react to her nearness.
Not that his dick was helping matters. The thing would probably bust through his jeans any second now. So much for playing it cool.
Ha. Cool. As if he had any. This chick brushed against him and he got shakier than freaking Snake after a week in rehab.
“Never mentioned anything about sleep.”
A corner of her mouth ticked up. “You know what I mean.”
“It may have crossed my mind once or twice.” Don’t breathe in anything but nicotine. She does not smell like brown sugar. Her pussy is not a tight sinkhole and your dick is not a drill. “You know, idly.”
“Idly. Right. So, ah, how would you do it? If you were to fuck me.”
Was her voice shaking? Or was that him? “The standard way would work well enough.” Temptation arrived in the form of her licking her lips, and he gave in. “At first.”
“So what’s the standard way? Missionary?” She rubbed his bicep through his shirt and holy hell, that did it. His cock jerked between them so hard that she glanced down and smiled a secretive smile. “One vote for missionary.”
It took breath he currently didn’t have in his overtaxed lungs, but he managed not to pant in her ear like a perv. “That vote doesn’t count.”
“How about girl on top? Or doggy style? Or, I know, maybe you’d rather fuck my—”
Sanity returned and he clapped a hand over her mouth. Apparently it was the only way to shut her up. “Unless you’d like a live demo of my preferences in the parking lot, let’s just drop it, okay? You’re cute and yeah, you get me going. But you don’t know what you’re playing with, baby girl, and I’m not in the mood to be anyone’s teacher.”
He couldn’t see if she pouted since her mouth was pressed against his palm, but her eyes sure did. Then she licked his hand. Frigging licked him.
Swearing under his breath, he let her go and took one last hit off his cigarette. He pitched the butt into the darkness and lightly blew the smoke in her face, tired of this game. “This is not happening. Got it? Go home and find your rabbit, because that’s the only thing you’ll be getting between your sweet thighs tonight.”
Nick picked up his guitar and turned to go, hoping like hell she took the hint and beat it.
Then he could beat it, without any witnesses.
“What if you don’t have to teach me?” Her voice, clear and resolute, stopped him cold. He hunched his shoulders, not prepared for the erotic feel of her arms winding around his torso from behind. Her palms flattened to his chest, and she kneaded his pecs like he was a damn loaf of bread. Rising, rising… “We don’t know each other very well yet, so I’m not sure I’d spread my legs for you anyway. Not until I see how you play. But you can put it in my mouth.” She nipped the cords of his neck with sharp teeth and he hissed. “Would you like that? I’d get just as wet if you were between my lips as if you were in me. Actually,” she breathed out a laugh that strummed through his
entire body, “I’m wet right now.”
That was it. He’d passed the point of being smart about six questions ago. She said she didn’t have a boyfriend, and her word was good enough for him.
Besides, it wasn’t like he intended to take out a billboard to announce that he’d bent their hot little drummer over the coffee table and nailed her until she screamed.
“Is this your way of making up for lying to Gray about me?” Refusing to look back at her, he gripped her hands in one of his and held them tight against his chest. “Pity BJ now, then what, maybe you’ll make me a pie and send me to bed with a glass of warm milk?”
“The only way I’m sending you to bed is if I’m coming with you.” Her teeth found his earlobe, and she bit down hard enough to make him wince. And strain against the confine of his jeans. Frayed seams and Jazz Edwards were not a match in heaven made. “Can we please stop talking now?” Her tongue licked its way into his ear. “I’ve got something else for your lips.”
“Jesus Christ.” He finally glanced over his shoulder. Alcohol had never gotten him as drunk as just one glance into her sultry eyes. “If you need to call someone to let them know where you are, better do it now.”
That was her last chance to go home. Then he was taking a match to his Scout uniform.
Defiantly, she reached down and withdrew her cell from the bag at her hip. She made a show of turning it off, then tossed it in the general direction of the bushes. Guess she really did not want to be interrupted. “As you were saying?”
Swallowing hard, he looked down and laced his fingers through hers. His other hand fisted around his guitar. “I might bruise you for real this time. On purpose.”
“I might like it.” She squeezed his hand, and hell if he didn’t appreciate her trying to reassure him. Why this felt so huge, he didn’t understand. She was just a woman he barely knew.
Just a cog that fit really well already into a wheel he’d begun to believe might be irreparably broken.
“Bruise me, Nick,” she murmured when he didn’t speak. “Use me to forget. Just like I’ll use you.”
It really could be that simple. She wasn’t looking for him to call her tomorrow, and he wasn’t offering to be her man. He wasn’t fit to be anyone’s guy, not now.
But he could be for an hour, maybe two, and that would be enough.
Without saying anything further, he released her hands and stepped back to hook an arm around her waist, hauling her into his side. He brushed a kiss over her temple as they strode toward the basement entrance. “The minute I shut that door behind us, I want your skirt and panties off. Understand me?”
She shuddered. “Yes.”
“What’s off-limits?” When she didn’t respond, he jockeyed his guitar until he could seize her chin and yank her face closer to his. “Jasmine. What’s off-limits?”
Her gaze seared into his and left him smoking. “Nothing,” she whispered.
Six
Simon: Twice The Heat
Even knowing she’ll flay me alive,
I follow the beacon of her flame
“Yo, Simon!” Trevor, the usual bartender, thunked a fresh drink on the bar.
Damn, he could get used to this. He didn’t even have to sweet talk anyone for it.
Simon settled between to the two blondes that had become his shadow. Three hours off stage and the adrenaline high was crashing into half a bottle of vodka. Usually the band was given little more than a clap on the back and a free beer from Trevor. Not tonight. Tonight there had been dozens of people willing to buy them a drink and Phil, the owner of the Rhino, was grinning like the Joker on a dose of laughing gas.
Nick had taken off directly after the show. During the rounds of hand-slapping backstage, Gray had made sure Jazz was tucked in beside him to discourage the rather disgusting amount of pussy that was being offered up to the guy. But their new guitarist didn’t seem to be comfortable with the attention. He’d hustled Jazz out of the club hours ago.
This was the dream. A phenomenal set, actual fans, beer and laughter with a side of pretty ladies. And no one wanted to share it with him. What was up with that?
Well, screw them. He didn’t need them to have a good time. Simon slung an arm around one of the two blondes that were looking for a little after-party action. The scent of shampoo and hairspray was cut with a light flowery scent.
God, nothing smelled quite as good as a woman.
Especially when it was a naked woman with her thighs hugging his ears.
He’d always enjoyed chicks. From the age of fourteen he’d been fascinated by their smell, their taste and their softness. He’d craved connection of any kind and learned early on that women were drawn to him for some reason. Some wanted to save him, some just wanted to sleep with him, and he was all right with that. In a world that was as disposable as a Solo cup, he held on to any softness that was offered.
Life before the band had been filled with stale beer and honing the ability to dodge a drunken fist thanks to a father that couldn’t get past the loss of his wife. A vague memory of Chanel perfume and blue eyes were all he could recall of his mother.
He still got the stale beer thanks to the basement apartment Deacon had fallen into a few years ago, but he had enough women around to combat the gym locker life. To be honest, he didn’t care about any of that. He’d lived with far less.
Now he had a family.
And now the battered dreams he’d stubbornly held onto were so goddamn close. If he could just get everyone to see how close.
“Yo, Pretty Boy!”
Simon blinked back in and shot a glance in the direction of Deak’s voice. “Yeah?”
“Phil wants to see us.”
Simon dropped his arm from the girl’s shoulder. Sara? Stacy? He couldn’t remember. “Gotta go check in with the owner, ladies.”
Fan-like black lashes fluttered. “Aww. You’re coming back, right?”
“Of course. I’ve got nothing but plans for you two.” He leaned down, brushing his lips over her cotton candy pink-slicked lips. The girl went up on her toes and showed him just how talented her tongue was. He groaned into her mouth, dragging her against his chest and straining erection. Her friend, not to be outdone, slid her hand around him from the back and tucked the tips of her fingers into his jeans.
“You have no idea what kind of plans we have for you,” the other girl said into his ear.
Simon swallowed down a long, slow groan and broke the kiss.
Things were definitely looking up. He didn’t need the rest of the band to party the night away. “I can’t wait to hear all the strategies you two come up with.”
The blank look in the eyes of the stacked blonde dimmed some of his interest, but he was too horny to let his brain ruin the party that would be waiting for him. He just needed to take care of a little business first.
Untangling himself, he left them both with a playful kiss and rumbling laugh. Deacon stood at the end of the bar with his arms crossed over his massive chest.
Simon swiped a hand over his stubbled neck. “Don’t bust my balls, man.”
“No busting here.”
“Really? Then what’s with the I-gotta-kick-some-ass face?”
“Because I might need to do just that. Everyone’s gone and Phil’s looking to book us for additional dates. He was impressed.”
Simon pushed his overlong bangs out of his face and the room tilted slightly. “Well, screw ‘em. We can schedule it.”
“Christ, how drunk are you?”
“I’m not drunk.”
Deacon’s eyebrows snapped down.
Simon aimed a finger between Deak’s brows and pushed him back a step. “See, not drunk. I can touch your nose.”
Deacon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Let me do the talking.”
The boy needed to get laid and have a beer. He was strung way too tight. Simon bowed and waved his arm for Deacon to go ahead. “After you, coherent-manager-type-person who doesn’t know how to have a good time
.”
“Bite me.”
Simon smirked at his back, but followed dutifully. He knew they’d be in a world of hurt if Deacon didn’t take care of the scheduling and keeping them all in line. But one of these days he was going to get the shithead to enjoy a night. Maybe he could give up one of the blondes. The stacked one was just Deak’s type. He was a little too wasted to take care of two ladies tonight anyway.
If anyone needed some time between a woman’s thighs, it was Deak. He was way too locked into relationships. Deacon didn’t know how to have a one night stand, or even a fling. He had relationships and clingy, bitchy girlfriends that did nothing but complain about the apartment and their crazy-ass schedule.
Within a moment’s notice, they would pack up the van and drive six hours to do a show. They couldn’t afford to be picky. And that was one of the reasons they’d been at the Rhino for years.
Deak knocked on Phil’s door and they got an immediate response. “Come in, come in.”
Simon pushed his hands into his hair and pulled at the roots to get a slice of clarity before walking across the threshold into Phil’s office. Two huge rusted file cabinets were crammed into the back corner and posters covered every scrap of wall. A huge wooden desk scarred with knife marks, stickers and burn marks dominated the space.
Papers were piled on every available surface. A heavy ashtray held down the tallest stack and a fat cigar coughed out a vile stench that stuck to the back of Simon’s throat. Cigarettes he could handle, but cigars were disgusting.
Phil shuffled a pile of records and CD cases off one of the chairs and dumped it on the Jenga-like situation that was his desk. “Sit down.”