8
Weston’s vision went dark. Everything blackened except for one woman and the man behind her, the scene so wrong anger clouded his eyes and his finger snagged on the volume. Just a second. That was all it took to fuck up his set. Silence flared. A boulder lodged in his stomach. He realigned the music with the video feed, then normalized the volume.
There was nothing normal about the angry kick of his pulse.
Annie was here. A quick glimpse of her lower body revealed sinful red boots, a micro-mini skirt, exquisite legs. Her sequined halter top caught the flashing lights, as bright and beautiful as the woman lost to his music.
But she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be at home with Felix, the emotionally stunted rabbit-squirrel. A foolish plan he shouldn’t have implemented. Idiotic or not, she’d lied to him. Ignored his request. All of which was enough to bring his blood to a boil. Seeing Duncan with her made him seethe.
He’d told Duncan to forget Annie’s name. He’d told Annie the guy was trouble. He wasn’t sure who’d initiated this little outing, but the sight of Duncan’s hands on Annie’s hips, his body moving against hers—fuck no. Not okay.
Tonight was supposed to be about playing with the video feeds. Sussing out the effect on the crowd, testing if the gimmick could be used to say something more meaningful. Make a bigger difference like when he’d volunteered as a kid. People didn’t listen to lyrics if they didn’t like the beat. They didn’t pay attention to the world’s problems if they didn’t feel connected to them. The video stage was a first step toward a larger vision.
All he could do was watch Annie.
He played his set by rote, feeling disconnected from the crowd, furious at Duncan, at Annie, but mostly at himself. He couldn’t quit picturing himself dancing with her, letting his hands roam over her curves, stealing touches of her the way he’d gripped her tightly when she’d plowed into him from the elevator. A tantalizing feel he shouldn’t have stolen. He shouldn’t feel this roar of attraction now, but there was no denying the hard pump of his blood.
He swallowed roughly, forced himself to remember why this was wrong.
“Take care of Annie,” Leo had whispered the night he’d died. Weston had pressed his hands to the bullet wound, shaking, telling his best friend over and over he’d be okay. The blood had seeped everywhere, through his fingers, onto the floor. The sharp bite of copper had stung his nose.
“She has no one,” Leo had croaked. “You gotta keep her safe. And don’t…don’t you dare let her date an asshole like you.” Because only he’d crack a joke as he struggled to breathe. But it was his last choppy words that would forever keep Weston awake some nights.
I’m scared.
Don’t wanna die.
Please. Oh, God…please. It hurts.
Can’t leave her.
You gotta…
Then he was gone. All because Weston was a selfish bastard.
He was pretty sure “Don’t you dare let her date an asshole like you” was equivalent to “don’t date my sister.” Not that it mattered. Weston couldn’t date Annie when he’d lied to her about her brother’s death. She’d never forgive him for his deception, and Weston didn’t do relationships. The one time he’d tried had been a Titanic-sized disaster. And he needed Annie in his life. Someone to argue with, to ground him, let him eat Cup Noodles on her couch, no judgment. With her, he imagined his mother smiling down on him, pleased her son had a place he could relax, laugh, and bicker teasingly. Forget about work for a minute.
Aldrich Pharma gave him purpose. DJing eased his guilt over the past. Annie Ward gave him peace, when she wasn’t antagonizing him. Adding intimacy was a fast track to losing her.
He struggled through his set, one of his worst to date, even with the video feed. The crowd sensed when a DJ’s head wasn’t in the game. The energy was lower. People left the dance floor. He cursed when Duncan used the space to turn Annie around. They were face-to-face, and Duncan grabbed her ass. Weston’s adrenaline slammed into fifth gear.
He was half a second from jumping off the stage, but Annie wiggled out of his grip—good girl—and swiveled back to face the stage. Duncan didn’t take the hint. He pushed up behind her, grabbed her waist.
Weston snapped.
He pointed at Annie and crooked his finger, motioning for her to join him on stage. Because he’d apparently lost his mind. Avoiding fans was how he kept this secret, and Annie was no ordinary fan. But he was beyond rational thought, only needing her away from Duncan.
The crowd, reenergized by this new development, cheered and parted for her. Excitement lit her face, so genuine a crush of pleasure swamped him.
She’s looking at Falcon, he reminded himself. Not him. And he was doing this to get her away from Duncan, not to work out this unrelenting attraction.
People helped her on stage while his mind spun ahead to the end of the night. Duncan would invite her to his condo, show her his fancy new bed. A growl rumbled low in Weston’s throat.
He grabbed the paper and pen he kept by his equipment. The notepad was a place to jot down thoughts during a set. Quick points he’d use when analyzing and modifying his playlist later. He scribbled the only thing that would keep Annie away from Duncan tonight and tucked it in his pocket.
She ran to his side, breathless, her cheeks flushed. Goddamn beautiful. He didn’t speak. If she heard his voice, she might guess who was behind the mask. He was thankful he went as far as wearing different cologne, but he found himself at a loss. He suddenly wanted to confess he’d been thinking about her, wanting her, this woman who anchored his world. Then tell her all the reasons it couldn’t happen, drill that reality into his uncooperative brain, anything to squash this growing urge to slam his lips on hers.
Buying himself a minute, he lined up his last song, not trusting himself to work spontaneously.
She shifted nervously beside him. “I’ve been dying to talk to you.” Her eyes flitted between him and his equipment. “I’m a DJ, too. Not yet. Actually, not at all. But I will be. I’m a quick study. Which is why I’ve been trying to catch your attention.”
She was glowing with excitement, and affection caught him square in the chest. The DJ comment, however, was a surprise. It explained her relentless pursuit of him. It hadn’t been attraction. She hadn’t felt the connection between them, hadn’t been dancing for his pleasure. His relief should be palpable. All he felt was disappointment.
She waited on him to speak. Not happening. Duncan moved to the side of the dance floor and glared at them, arms crossed.
Suck it, buddy.
Without many options, Weston danced. He couldn’t let Annie leave the stage yet, not when Duncan might pull her into another hip grind. Annie responded eagerly, respecting his distance at first, then closing the space between them. She didn’t put her hands on his body, but her hips bumped against his, her breasts brushed his chest. Her head lolled as her hands wove up into the sultry air.
He was radioactive, an atom about to split.
“I’ve been chasing you for weeks,” she yelled over the speakers. “Trying to ask if you’d teach me. I want to be your apprentice. I’ll do anything. I won’t be a bother. I just…I really need this.”
The desperation in her voice was unfamiliar. The Annie he knew was Wonder Woman strong. She’d gone into foster care after Leo’s death with her chin ticked up. Weston had tried convincing his father to take her in, but that had been a lost cause. She’d moved through three families, never once complaining or breaking down. She’d finished high school on the honor roll and got along with everyone and had a thousand hobbies to feed her natural creativity. To be this well-adjusted was no small feat. She was also a walking hurricane, flitting from job to job, her endless chatter and flighty nature beyond maddening, but she was so incredibly resilient.
Maybe this music did for her what it did for him, kept memories of Leo alive. A connection to the past. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be the one to give her that gift.
He maneuvered them in front of the TV monitors, gave the club a show. Blooming nature behind them, two dancers to watch. He only had eyes for Annie: the subtle curve of her lips, that birthmark sinking into the crease by her luscious mouth, the lazy sweep of her eyelids, like she was drunk on him. Annie’s hazel eyes often shifted colors. Sometimes they were vivid shamrock, fun and mischievous. Other times they were woven with slivers of gingerbread, sweet and daring. Tonight they were a seductive hit of chocolate-laced jade.
The room faded. Heat built between them. Her familiar smell of sage and honey mixed with the sweat-tinged air. He didn’t know when he’d pressed his hand to her lower back, drawing her to him. He hadn’t been aware of his erection rubbing against her belly, only the hot throb of his blood as they moved together. Those eyes. Those lips.
The curtain came down in front of them. Timing he’d arranged with his tech guy. The crowd cheered. His music blended into the usual after-performance song, a steady beat, slower but still catchy. Annie stopped dancing. He couldn’t catch his breath. He should step away, let her go. He slammed his mouth against hers.
He wrapped her in his arms, hauled her lithe body against his bulk. He swept his tongue between her lips and groaned. She tasted like lime and salt and sinful heaven. He dove in deeper. She made a pained sound as the edge of his mask caught her cheek. Worried, he moved to pull back, but she dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her lips moved greedily, their tongues swirling, a sensual rhythm that rolled over him in a massive head rush. This was Annie. His Annie. Leo’s Annie. A woman he shouldn’t want. A woman who had no clue who she was kissing.
That reality had him wrenching away.
Her lips looked plump and well used. Her cheek was red from his mask. She oozed satisfaction, then her eyes flared and she flinched. He wanted to ask her what was wrong. Instead he dug the note he’d written from his pocket and thrust it into her hand. He stalked past her, desperate to get away from whatever the hell he’d just let happen.
Annie stood on the stage, stunned. She’d kissed Falcon. Or he’d kissed her. Kissing had just happened, and it had been a-mazing. Her body still tingled, so much unquenched pleasure pulsing below her skin. Falcon hadn’t been satisfied, either. Not judging by the hard ridge that had jammed into her stomach.
And that kiss? She was ruined for all future mortals.
The only downfall had been that split second where his eyes had looked familiar. In that instant she’d imagined Falcon as Wes. She’d pictured dragging him in for a deeper kiss, his body pounding into her. She’d flinched, and Falcon had up and split. Now she was ditched. And annoyed. She had to stop thinking about Wes. It was becoming a problem, and her hesitation had spooked Falcon. She should run after him, get his contact. She was too discombobulated to move.
A guy with muttonchops walked around her and began packing up Falcon’s equipment. She lifted the note in her hand and read it. Ditch your date. Meet me at the back exit in fifteen.
“Yes!”
The equipment guy looked at her and laughed. She grinned like a loon.
Falcon had gone from ditching her at every chance, to hauling her on stage and mauling her. Did he want to be her DJ instructor? Her kissing instructor? Either would be fine with her, as long as she squelched those dastardly Wes flashes. For now, she had to speak with Duncan, explain their date was over. He would be pissed. He probably was pissed. She’d left him high and dry to dance with another man. At least he hadn’t seen the kiss.
Still feeling flushed, she peered through the curtain’s edge. Vivian and Sarah, and Sarah’s twin, were at the bar. Duncan was beside them, typing aggressively into his phone. Complaining about his graceless date, likely. She took a fortifying breath and hopped off the stage.
Two steps out, a girl ambushed her. “Oh my God, that was so cool.” Fluorescent makeup lit up her eyelids and lips. “Did he talk to you? What does his voice sound like? Did you see his face?”
Based on her Freed by the Falcon shirt, this groupie wanted Falcon gossip. All Annie had was kissing intel—ovary exploding—which she wasn’t about to share. “We just danced. And I need to catch my friends.”
Two more groupies assaulted her before she made it to Duncan. He looked up and fumbled his phone, quickly shoving it into his pocket. He’d for sure been texting crap about her. Not that she could fault him. She’d have done the same. “I’m so sorry. That was unexpected and rude of me. I shouldn’t have left you in the lurch. It’s just, I’ve been trying to talk with Falcon for weeks.”
Duncan waved his hand casually. “No worries. You seemed like you were having fun up there. But…” He examined her face. “Looks like you scratched your cheek.”
“I must have grazed it on the curtain.” She touched the spot, remembered Falcon’s masculine grunts, their burst of passion. She’d done more than graze her cheek. Duncan wouldn’t know about that tonsil tennis, but he was surprisingly unruffled. “I’m still sorry for leaving you. It wasn’t nice.”
“Don’t give it another thought. Besides, the night isn’t over yet.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Actually, it kind of is.” She glanced at Vivian, who was watching her from a few feet away. Vivian pointed at the stage, swayed her hips suggestively, then flapped her arms like a human bird. Her version of charades: Annie dancing with Falcon. As absurdly hilarious as those moves were, Annie needed saving, not awkward charades.
She could do the hook-nose signal, flag Vivian for some help. She opted for honesty. “Thing is,” she told Duncan, “what I said before about trying to talk to Falcon was true. I’ve been taking DJ lessons and am dying to learn from him. He invited me to meet him tonight, and I can’t pass this up.”
Duncan’s cheekbones sharpened, darkness flashing in his hollowed cheeks. The irritation she deserved. “You trust this guy to meet him alone?”
She replayed the kiss, how he’d been the one to pull back first, put on the brakes. It had been her who’d taken charge afterward, deepened their kiss. He hadn’t been pushy or overly aggressive, and being alone with him was the best way to talk music. “I trust him.”
He studied her, then deflated slightly. “Can’t say I’m pleased, but I get it. We’ll just have to do this again sometime.”
He smiled his player smile, and her stomach clenched. Turning a person down was never easy. “As nice as this has been, I’ll have to decline. I think we work better as friends.”
“That’s because I was out of my element. Let me take you out next week.”
So much for blunt honesty.
Out of options, Annie crooked her finger and jabbed at her nose. Duncan squinted at her. She looked like a nutcase, but she wasn’t the one hitting on an uninterested party.
Vivian spotted the signal and hurried over. “Annie, darling, didn’t you say you had to get up early tomorrow?”
“Nope. You must have me confused with Sarah’s sister. I’m actually meeting Falcon in…” She pulled her phone from the top of her thigh-high boot and cringed at the time. “In one minute, so I need to run. Maybe you can hang with Duncan?”
“At least let me walk you.” Duncan was gunning for Clueless Man of the Year award.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“We were actually just talking about you.” Vivian took hold of Duncan’s elbow. “You’ve got to tell me what dentist you use. I was thinking of having my teeth whitened. Or maybe getting fang implants.” She led a confused Duncan away, but glanced back at Annie and mouthed ohmygod Falcon.
There would be questions later.
Already a minute late, Annie rushed to the back exit, a slick of guilt coating her stomach as she hurried. Meeting Falcon had been a success, but she’d pawned off Wes’s favor to make it work, she’d used and ditched Duncan, and she’d kissed Falcon while on a date. Becoming a DJ was important to her, but this selfishness wasn’t cool. She’d have to apologize to Duncan again. Find a way to balance this growing music obsession so it didn’t turn her into a monster. For now, s
he had a mysterious DJ to meet.
She leaned into the door’s release bar and shoved it open, inhaling the warm night air. An overflowing garbage bin made her regret that deep inhale. People were lined up at a club across the way. Freed by the Falcon groupies smoked in cliques, chatting about tonight’s show. They weren’t griping about Falcon’s lackluster performance. They were talking about the video screens, the visual images, and her being dragged on stage.
The bouncer she’d chatted up earlier stood nearby, towering over the scene. He saw her and ambled over while cracking his knuckles. Gold rings glinted on his fingers. “Falcon told me to tell you he had to split.”
Her shoulders fell. “Seriously?”
“He also got you a cab. It’s out front. Paid for.” The man’s dark eyes roved over her outfit. “He don’t talk to fans. Or anybody, really. You must have made an impression.”
Not much of one if he’d stood her up. “Thanks, but I’ll get my own ride.”
The giant didn’t budge. “Sorry, no can do.”
“Excuse me?”
“I gotta get you in that cab. Falcon made that very clear.”
What was it with men wanting to control her? She’d rather march away and hoof it home, use the long walk to clear her mind, but this Goliath wasn’t having it. “Fine,” she said. “But only because my feet hurt.”
He shrugged and fanned a hand for her to go ahead.
Once in the cab, she brooded. Falcon had been the one to call her on stage. He’d kissed her, after grinding against her body. She still felt the imprint of his fingers digging into her hips and spine. Not the behavior of a guy who’d ghost her. Maybe his face was disfigured and he was shy about it. Or he had a girlfriend and had freaked out. Or he was in witness protection for saving puppies from a crazed drug lord who used them for smuggling, and seeing her would put her and those sweet puppies in harm’s way.
Her phone buzzed. She rolled her eyes at Duncan’s name, but the message put her at ease.
Duncan: Thanks for tonight, and don’t feel bad about the Falcon thing. I’m cool with us just being friends.
The Beat Match Page 8