by Lane Hayes
Carter moved toward the kitchen and opened a cabinet. He set two wineglasses on the island, then motioned for me to take a seat.
“Red or white?”
“Neither. Water is good.”
“Pellegrino, then.”
He poured the sparkling water into both glasses, then handed me one and raised his own in a toast.
“To chance.”
I smiled and took a sip, keeping my gaze locked on him. Carter was one seriously hot man. If this condo looked like something straight out of an Architectural Digest spread, Carter could have been the GQ model posed against one of the pillars to give the photo added sex appeal. There was something undeniably sensual about his confident gait. The way he moved effortlessly around our friends’ high-end home brought out an aristocratic element I’d noticed in him when we’d first met. Unlike me, who’d landed in the first-class section in a wild twist of fate, I had a strong feeling he was accustomed to an elite lifestyle.
“This is… odd,” I muttered, idly swirling the fizzy contents in my glass before pushing it aside.
Carter chuckled as he skirted the island. He bumped my knee and sat on the stool next to me. The slight contact sent a shiver up my spine. I wanted to blame my edgy state on the vodka, but I’d only had one drink tonight. There was no point in trying to fool myself. It was him.
“It’s very odd,” he agreed. “The funny thing is, I knew in LA that you looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.”
“Really? How?”
“You’re kidding, I hope. I’m a big Spiral fan. I loved your first album. I’ve even seen you guys in concert three times. And thanks to Benny, I’ve seen a ton of promotional photos. Maybe it was the beard. Either way, I can’t believe I didn’t catch it. I suppose seeing you at that awful bar was so out of context, I would have never put it together. The baseball hat should have tipped me off.”
I wasn’t sure what the joke was, but the playful glint in his eyes made me relax. “The Orioles almost gave me away, huh?”
“Definitely. So what’s your story, Tim? Is your name really Tim? Or is it a rock-star alias?”
I huffed a half laugh. “If I’d been going for an alias, I’d have chosen something more exciting.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something starting with an X… Xavier or Xander. Something mysterious. Tim is as plain as it gets. It’s right up there with James,” I teased. “Must be why you go by Carter.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Nah. James was my father. It had more to do with minimizing confusion than cool factor.” Carter narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. “Out of curiosity, who’s Gary?”
“He was my driver that night,” I admitted with a shrug. “Never met him before in my life.”
I loved Carter’s smile. It was genuine and had a jocular quality that made me think that in spite of his erudite bearing, he had a great sense of humor. Sure, he was a six-foot-two Adonis with incredible abs and a sexy ass, but I was equally attracted to his open, friendly manner. This could have been horribly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. It was weird as fuck, but… somehow promising too.
“Your driver?”
“Yeah, um… look. The other night… that was unusual for me and I—”
“Hey, your secret is safe with me. We had fun, but it was one night. I get it. If memory serves me correctly, you also have a gorgeous model girlfriend. Or was the part about a recent breakup true? I’d have thought it would have been in the tabloids already or on TMZ.”
“It’s coming. Miranda doesn’t go for subtle. She’s probably looking for the appropriate replacement so the public thinks she dumped me instead of vice versa. I’ll let the PR team deal with that bullshit. I’m just happy to be single again. She was… exhausting. I think I was in over my head from day one. She had an agenda, and I hadn’t quite figured out that my wit and charm weren’t necessarily what she was after.”
“Is this where I get out the violin?”
I snorted and twisted my wrist to flash my middle finger at him as I reached for my water. “I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m stating facts. She was like the unexpectedly awesome dream that quickly turns into a nightmare. I’m going to take the next couple of months before we head into the studio to record to just… relax and try to escape the bullshit. At least for a little while.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. What about you? I remember something about finance, a kink for crappy motels, and a fetish for truck drivers with tats. Preferably married ones. Was all that true?”
Carter burst out laughing and swiveled in his seat to face me with his legs spread. It was a casual pose, but my dick twitched with heady awareness. As my pulse sped up and my heart skipped a beat, it occurred to me that this guy was dangerous. I couldn’t stop staring at him. Now that I knew who he was and that he appeared to be a relatively sane man, I couldn’t help thinking there had to be a way to repeat the other night.
“More or less. I own a financial consulting firm. Hamilton-Temple and Barney, and I—”
“Whoa! I’m one of your clients. I have an accountant who deals with my investments, but I think my advisor at your firm is Mark. I’ve met him a couple times to discuss my ‘portfolio,’” I said, affecting a snobby tone.
Carter chuckled. “Mark’s a good man, but feel free to come by the office sometime. I’d be happy to take a look at your… holdings.” I gulped at his suddenly sultry voice. “You were right, by the way.”
“About what?”
“Me. I try to avoid complications like married men, but the rest is true. I have a thing for bad boys. A muscular man covered in tats wearing a tight T-shirt, ripped jeans, and boots gets me every time. I can’t explain why, but I get off on the notion of having raunchy sex with a stranger who isn’t where he’s supposed to be. It’s a little sick, but what can I say? I’m a pervert.”
His matter-of-fact delivery should have been funny, but I was rendered speechless. I couldn’t even begin to formulate a sentence. And that was saying something. I was in a rock-and-roll band, for fuck’s sake. I’d been surrounded by some of the crudest button-pushers in the industry for a few years. Rand could try the patience of a saint with his irreverent tongue, and Isaac wasn’t much better. The shock factor had to be Carter’s polished exterior versus his frank admission. It surprised me. And yeah, it turned me on.
The familiar potent electricity crackled between us, begging one of us to act. I stood slowly and pushed at his knee to stand between his thighs. I hooked my arms over his shoulders, then leaned in to press my lips against his. We were so close I could smell his aftershave and feel the steady drum of his heart through his blue oxford shirt. We didn’t move for a long moment. I wanted him to be the one to deepen the connection. I needed to know it wasn’t me spinning with infatuation for the first guy I’d fucked in years. My thoughts were too muddled and—
Carter shoved his tongue down my throat, cradling my head between his hands to hold me still while he plundered. This was no romantic overture. This was pure heat, fired by lust and hunger. I groaned into his mouth as his tongue slid enticingly over mine. He raked his fingers through my hair and tilted my head, diving deeper. He bit my bottom lip, then sucked it before pulling back slightly for breath. I took advantage of his shifted momentum and yanked him hard against me. The feel of our stiff pricks straining the zippers of our jeans pushed me over the edge. I moved my hands down his back and over his ass, drawing him close as we kissed in a passionate frenzy.
The insistent buzz from a cell jolted us back to reality. I broke the kiss and took a step back, panting for air while Carter checked his phone.
“Someone’s looking for me. I should go.” He gave me a lopsided smile before reaching out to trace my jaw. Then he kissed my mouth sweetly and turned away.
I grabbed his hand to stop him. “Wait! I want to see you again.”
Carter cocked his head and studied me for a moment. “I don’t know if that’s a good i
dea.”
“It’s not a bad one. No one needs to know. It can be secret. Look, I like you and—”
“You don’t know me. Hell, I didn’t know your real name until fifteen minutes ago. What you really want is sex, Tim. And while I’m usually all for it, I’m pretty sure it would be a big mistake to get too cozy with my best friend’s husband’s friend. Especially if he’s a closet case.”
“I’m not a closet case. I’m just a public relations… predicament.”
“That could prove a PR problem for me too. LA wasn’t real. This is. This is where we both live and work and have mutual friends. You have to agree we’d have a tough time explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain. We may not know each other, but what we do know is just enough to make this… safe.”
“Safe?”
My heart was racing toward an uncertain finish line. There was literally no thought behind my words. I was wingin’ it and hoping I didn’t alienate him. I was banking on his naughty side because for some reason, I wasn’t ready to let our one-night stand be. It was reckless on too many levels, but I couldn’t let go of the notion that meeting him tonight felt like providence. Suddenly LA felt more real than anything in my life, though I couldn’t begin to explain why.
“Sure. We can continue where we left off… cowboy boots included. Or you can leave them behind and play the stressed-out businessman, lost in the wrong part of town and I’ll be the bad boy who gets you back to your hotel. For a price.”
“That’s really… corny.”
I wrinkled my nose and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that was terrible. Like I said, I’m rusty. You can be in charge of the storyline.”
“Stop.” Carter put up his hand and chuckled.
“Fine. You have my number. Or Mark does in my file. Call me.”
Carter studied me for a moment before heading toward the front door. “We should go back upstairs. My date’s probably wondering where I am and—”
“Your date?” I stopped in my tracks.
“He’s—it’s complicated. Nonetheless, I’m being rude.”
I shook my head in bemusement and then backed him against the door before he could open it, pleased at his gasp of surprise. I wanted his complete attention. I rocked my hips against his and licked his jaw. “I can’t wait to meet your date. Are you guys role-playing tonight? Is he older than you or younger? Is he gonna spank you for—”
“Stop,” he groaned, angling his chin to meet my lips in another searing kiss.
“You don’t want me to stop. Not really. You want me to keep going. You like it nasty. You may not know me, but you want me. Not some sophisticated bore with a Harvard degree and four or five names like you.”
Carter bit my bottom lip and pulled back slightly. “What makes you think—oh fuck.”
I slid my hand over his jean-clad hard-on and leaned in to nuzzle his jaw before covering his mouth one last time. He groaned in frustration when I pulled away. It was oddly gratifying to know I wasn’t the only one strung out.
“Lucky guess.” I gave him a tight-lipped grin as I reached for the door. “Give me a call, James Carter the Fourth. We can meet in Greenwich Village for a cup of coffee or at a Chinatown motel to screw our brains out. Your choice. See ya.”
I didn’t bother turning around to gauge his reaction. I could feel his gaze like a physical thing. If nothing else, I had a good feeling he’d be thinking about me for the rest of the night.
The volume on the rooftop seemed to have gone up a notch in the short time we’d been gone. The heavy synthesized beat jostled my brain like a jackhammer. I felt off-balance and tense. Getting drunk would have helped, but I was leery of drowning my angst in alcohol. I had to be in complete control of my senses or risk making an ass of myself. I’d come to Benny’s birthday celebration tonight thinking my biggest worry might be dodging questions about Miranda. I never could have dreamed a scenario where my one-night stand from LA would end up being here. With a date. This was crazy. Crazier still was that I was jealous.
And when his date turned out to be an insanely hot African-American man who looked like a professional athlete slash body builder, I practically vibrated with envy. He was tall, dark, and extremely muscular. I didn’t know if he had that Ivy League education or the multiple names I’d predicted, but it hardly mattered. I stood at the bar nursing my second drink while Ella chattered about an amazing new restaurant in the East Village. I could barely concentrate. I stole covert glances at the striking couple nearby while dance music reverberated through my skull. I wanted out. I didn’t want to drink or dance or flirt with Benny’s cousin, and I especially didn’t want to watch Carter and his date all night.
“You okay? You seem distracted.” Ella cocked her head sideways and gave me a worried frown.
“I think I’m just tired. I’m gonna get going. It was great to see you, El—”
“There you are!” Rand came up from behind and slapped my back. He gave me a wide, shit-eating grin and pointed toward the dance floor. “Our instruments are here. Isaac set up your kit when you disappeared. Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” I grabbed his arm, making sure to pinch him until he squirmed out of my grasp. “What are you talking about? We aren’t playing tonight.”
“We’re surprising Benny.”
“You’re surprising me too. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I did. Didn’t I?” He pulled a silly face in an attempt to make me laugh. “Come on, Timmy. It’s for Benny. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you. We talked about it on the flight back from LA when you stayed to break up with you-know-who.”
“Nice try. You’ve been back for a week.”
“It’s Will’s fault. I’ve spent the week in bed. My brain’s a little mushy.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Two songs, man. Maybe three. Nothing you can’t do in your sleep. I brought your sticks and your earplugs too. Let’s go.” He cocked his head, waiting for my acquiescence, though he most likely knew I wouldn’t refuse.
“Do it, Tim. I’d love to—I mean, Benny would love it if you played,” Ella gushed earnestly as she clung to my arm.
I gave her a weak smile before turning to Rand with a scowl.
“I don’t know why I put up with you. You drive me fucking nuts.”
Rand chuckled and leaned in as if to kiss my cheek, but at the last second licked it instead. For the second time in an hour, I was wiping his slobber away like he was a damn Labrador. I rolled my eyes but had a hard time holding back a grin. He was such a dork. I followed him to the makeshift stage next to the dance floor. I had no idea what he’d planned, but it didn’t really matter. I’d been thrown off-balance when Benny introduced me to Carter. James. Memories of that night flooded my mind. The way his eyes twinkled with mirth, then sparked with desire when our knees brushed under the sticky bar. Or the way he’d clutched my ass when I moved inside him.
I swallowed hard in an attempt to shake off the flashback and the accompanying stab of unreasonable envy I had for the man at his side now. I was too tightly wound. Too edgy. I couldn’t seem to breathe properly until I finally sat on the stool behind my drums. Maybe this impromptu miniconcert was a blessing in disguise, I mused as I picked up my sticks and adjusted the height of the hi-hat before going through a couple runs. Playing the drums was the perfect diversion for me. I could get lost in the music now. This was my zone. This was where clarity came like a bell ringing in the dark. This was real.
Cory slung his bass guitar over his shoulder, then ambled toward me with a smile. We often joked that our instruments suited our personalities perfectly. We were content to provide the backbeat, looking vaguely like frat brothers, while Rand and Isaac handled the crowd like rock gods. In any band, the bassist and drummer were responsible for keeping time and playing rhythm. It was our job to create and sustain a measured tempo for Rand and Isaac to layer with bluesy riffs and sexy vocals. We’d become pretty damn good at it over the past decade or so we�
��d worked together. Like Rand said, we could all play Spiral’s older material in our sleep. The fun part was collaborating on fresh material, and the challenging part was performing to large audiences in gigantic venues. A couple songs for a small party was a walk in the park.
“What do you guys want to start with?” Cory asked, looking down as he plucked at his strings.
I wasn’t going to offer a suggestion. I was anxious to play now that I was here. Anything was fine. But at the last moment I clanged the hi-hat to get their attention.
“‘Do It Like This,’” I said in a decisive tone.
My bandmates turned to stare at me for a half second in surprise before Rand grinned. He knew there had to be a good reason for me choosing one of our “sexier” songs. When he opened his mouth to say something I was sure would piss me off, I did a quick run over the snare and tom-toms, and ended it by smacking his forehead with my drumsticks. He rubbed his head theatrically but nodded. It was a silent conversation between old friends who communicated best with grunts, gestures… and yes, music. He lifted the microphone to his mouth, then turned to face our small audience.
Rand was a gifted front man. He could make a commercial jingle sound like a number-one hit song with a raspy affectation and some provocative moves. Our fans loved his edgier style and his sense of humor. He could effortlessly bring thousands of screaming fans to their feet with tears in their eyes. I had no doubt it would take less than five minutes for him to do the same thing here. I scanned the party while he worked his magic. Everyone was beginning to flood the dance area, making it easier to view the corners and the bar from my perch behind the drums.