Then she noticed the balcony, complete with wrought iron railing. As a child, she’d been fascinated with that particular ornate detail work, a part of the city’s charm. She loved the designs, the grace and strength of the metal, and had hoped to have a house full of it someday. Of course, then she’d grown up, and her current residence in St. Matthews had none of the Lowcountry’s decorative charm. Instead, her place was magazine chic, as though no one lived there at all. In some ways, no one really did.
Claire stepped onto the balcony. Traffic and horse-drawn carriages carrying tourists filled the street below. Even downtown, the salt-and-brine ocean scent overpowered the other scents of car exhaust and horses. A light breeze drifted from the water, tousling her hair. She lived not an hour away yet she’d forgotten how much she loved Charleston—its sights, sounds, smells, and history. And life. When had she forgotten how to live?
A solid form came up behind her. Ty rested his hands on the railing, pinning her against it. She noted his toned forearms and the black ink disappearing beneath his right shirtsleeve. Whatever Madame Eve had been thinking, picking him…Claire owed the woman a thank-you letter. Thank you for getting me to live again.
His cologne tickled her nose, a spicy, masculine scent with hints of cedar. Unwilling to have any space between them, she leaned back until the hard muscles of his chest and stomach molded to her, and an unmistakable, hardening erection pressed into her ass. He brushed her hair from her neck and brushed his lips against the sensitive skin, his scruff adding a hint of pain to the pleasure.
And then his cell rang.
Ty took a deep breath and removed the evil contraption from his pocket. It blared Jet’s “Cold, Hard Bitch.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I need to take this.”
“Sure, no problem.”
While he directed his attention to the phone call, she focused on the sounds around her to slow her erratic heartbeat: the clomping of hooves on the cobblestone streets, the chatter from passersby, seagull cries. She studied the flowers and trees in the park across the street, which boasted beautiful weeping willows, their drooping foliage nearly shielding an old fountain.
But Ty’s raised voice pulled her away from the sights around her. What on earth? Her blood started to boil. At least she’d put her cell on silent, mostly so Penny wouldn’t interrupt five hundred times, and Claire expected the same courtesy from him. Slowly, the blinders dropped from her eyes. Maybe Madame Eve’s thank-you letter would have to wait.
Another few minutes passed, with Ty’s tone growing more heated with each passing second. Enough. She’d had an idea for the scene in All Roads Lead to You that had been giving her fits. Trace and Ella were officially calling her name, and working on their story held more appeal than listening to an argument.
While his back was turned, she grabbed her purse and headed toward the door. As her hand landed on the doorknob and she swore never to listen to Penelope again, he cursed behind her. A soft thump indicated he’d probably tossed the cell phone on a nearby cushion.
“I am so sorry, Claire.”
“Whatever,” she said, inwardly cringing at sounding like a petulant teenager. “I have work to do.” She turned toward him. “And it sounds like you have business to attend to.”
He scraped a palm over his face, still hot as hell even in distress. “I’m sorry. It was…. Joss. My ex.”
Her heart almost stopped. A warning bell sounded in her mind, reminding her of the night she’d walked in on her then-boyfriend Neil—the only man she’d ever truly loved and wanted to be with forever—and his ex in a highly compromising position. As a result, the ultimate deal breaker for her had become a man maintaining contact with an ex-girlfriend. “As I said. Goodnight, Ty.”
“Wait.” The simple word froze her. Or maybe not the word, but the force of emotion behind it. The imploring tone.
Like an idiot, she set her purse on the floor. “Fine. But I think you owe me an explanation, and it better be a damn good one.”
Damn it, Joss. Ty gestured toward the dinette near the balcony. Claire sat and crossed her long legs, pretty face in a scowl, her aquamarine eyes full of fire. Unable to think, he stayed rooted in place, feeling like shit.
“Joss is a long story.” Wow. Lame.
“We’ve got plenty of time. Sit. Talk.”
No, not plenty of time. One night. Obeying the order, he said, “Please, can we not discuss it?” He took her hand, rubbed small circles on the soft skin with the pad of his thumb. “I’d really like to get to know you.”
She smiled without any real warmth. “The first thing you need to know is that I don’t deal with bullshit.” Gently, she pulled away from him then crossed her arms on the tabletop. “You should have been honest with me downstairs and told me you had a girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. And I really didn’t think she’d call.” He’d said that plenty of times to plenty of would-be dates. “It won’t happen again.” Not tonight. I hope.
“If that’s true, turn off your phone.”
Missing one of Jocelyn’s calls almost caused his heart to stop. He hadn’t missed a single one in ten years. Pathetic didn’t even begin to describe him. But before he changed his mind, he retrieved the phone from the couch where he’d thrown it and did as she’d asked. “Done.” There. When he looked up, a genuine smile graced Claire’s face. Much better.
“Now, tell me the story. The real version.”
Phew. Tall order. “How about I make a deal with you?”
“Okay….”
“I’m not feeling this room right now. How about we find a place to unwind?” Sounded much better than: I need lots of alcohol to even begin talking about shit with Jocelyn Richards.
Claire looked him over once before nodding. “Sure. I think I know the right place.”
Chapter Four
The “right place” turned out to be a dive bar a few blocks from the hotel, much like the hundreds his band had played in before getting signed. Ty swallowed and held the door open for Claire, wondering what sort of evil woman would bring him to a place where someone might recognize him. He’d spent the years between 1997 and 2003 as a local Charleston celebrity, enjoying free drinks and plenty of adoration from the hard-rocking ladies in town.
Back then, he’d wanted to be well-known. Tonight, he wanted to make it through without someone asking him to sing “Beautiful Blaze.” In the past, a few, usually drunk, patrons had begged him to sing it, and he’d acquiesced with the hope he’d never have to sing it again. But he wouldn’t this time, not with the beautiful author on his arm. Joss needed to stay in distant memory, though the low-cost gear on the stage didn’t give him much hope. Especially since the bass drum head read Infamous Goat. They were all reminders of the old days, back when he and Jocelyn had been happy, playing gigs in dimly lit bars with bands with funny names before Dejected took off and everything fell apart.
As a classic country drinking song blared from the jukebox, they found a table and he counted his blessings that none of the patrons had even looked their way. He settled Claire and got her drink order, then approached the bar, heart hammering like a double-bass drum in his throat. Had he been in this particular place before? In his early years of heavy drinking, every bar looked the same, and while he’d seriously cut back on the booze, most bartenders had memories like elephants. The one behind the counter might recognize him.
He tapped on the bar to get the chick’s attention. Once upon a time, he would have hit on her, but even if he weren’t on a date, this woman reminded him too much of Jocelyn. Her jet-black hair matched the smudged black eyeliner and emerald eye shadow accented deep-set hazel eyes. With her sloped nose and high cheekbones, she could have been his ex’s twin.
She snapped her gaze from the customer she’d been talking to and focused—really focused in that scrutinizing way he hated—on him. Raising a pierced eyebrow, she propped her arms on the bar and tipped forward, giving him an eyeful of her corset-enhanced cleavage. “What can I ge
t you?”
“Jack and Coke, and a Bud.”
“Heavy drinker, huh?” She grinned.
He waited until she’d poured Claire’s drink before saying, “One’s for me. One’s for my date.” With as many bartenders as he’d flirted with to get free drinks, he couldn’t blame her for trying to get a good tip, which she would anyway. After thanking her, he returned to the table, where his gorgeous date waited with a smile and twinkling eyes.
“Thank you. Now, I think it’s story time.”
“Is this a writer thing? Being persistent?” he asked, half-joking.
“No, this is a woman thing, which is worse. So, spill.” Puckering her lips around the itty-bitty straw, she took a long drink, and for a moment his brain stopped working. When she set the glass back on the table and turned big, beautiful, shining eyes back to his, he remembered what he should be talking about—the long story that had spanned the last ten years.
He downed half the beer before speaking again. “Why the hell do you care so much?”
“Because this woman has disrupted our date once already. I deserve to know why you let her.”
Damn. Verbal slap. No one ever asked “why” before. Joss had been in his life so long, he saw her as a natural phenomenon. Like thunderstorms, hurricanes, or blizzards, her calls happened, and he had to stay prepared. He’d never considered an alternative.
“Joss is like a wildfire,” he said, staring into the bottle. If he looked into Claire’s eyes right then, he’d fumble. “She takes hold, consumes, and you never wanted anything else. She started coming to shows with the girl who worked our merch table. We hit it off, and I fell in love.
“She started booking us bigger gigs, better ones. Stuff I couldn’t believe. Opening for national acts, playing at Bonnaroo, awesome shit that we never imagined. When we got signed, she came on tour with us.” He shrugged and took another swig. “I loved her more than I loved the band. I wrote our one big song for her. Then I learned the hard way that a fire like that can’t be contained. She moved on. The band broke up. But, for some reason, I can’t let her go. We were together for years and she’s a part of my life. A toxic part, maybe….” Finally, he met Claire’s intense gaze. “She still lives in nearby Hanahan, so we’re only an hour apart. Even saying all of this sounds stupid, but there you have it.”
“You still love her?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s fucking pathetic, I know. I just—”
She placed a hand on his forearm. “I get it. I do. Some people are difficult to leave behind.”
“Yeah.” He had to be the dumbest asshole on Earth. Thank God the band on stage started up right then, all eyes on the next generation, saving him from admitting more stupidity. Hopefully the Joss conversation wouldn’t have to happen again. He’d bought some time by taking her last call, but how much?
He focused on the four lanky band members. Though he doubted he was that much older than them, he couldn’t help seeing them as kids, still filled with the ignorance of youth, hoping to make it big someday, like it’d make all their dreams come true. Good to know what a bitter old fuck he’d become at the ripe age of twenty-eight.
As Infamous Goat went into their first song, he snuck a glance at Claire. The profile picture hadn’t done her justice. What he’d seen as beauty in the photo paled in comparison to the woman in front of him. In the low light, her hair looked black, highlighting her creamy skin, and her eyes still shone the same striking blue. Maybe she wore contacts? No, he doubted it. He refused to believe anything about her could be artificial.
She gestured toward the band. “They’re not bad.”
“No, they’re not. Their lead guy’s vocals need some refinement, but he’s got potential. Good riffs. Solid bass work. And that drummer kicks serious ass.”
Kind of like Dejected when it started out. And being with Jocelyn had taken his songwriting to a whole new level, one he wasn’t sure he could have achieved without her. “Beautiful Blaze” had been his crown jewel.
The riff he’d worked on earlier still resounded in his head though, and the more time he spent on the date, the stronger it got, until it took over his entire subconscious, pushing out his ex, his resentment, and his fear. The way it should be.
Grabbing one of the napkins, he took a pen out of his pocket and jotted down a couple of lines, started something new, not tainted by Joss or by Sleeping Angels. His alone.
When the band finished, Claire clapped and whooped, reminding him of the glory days before everything fell apart, when Dejected had played places like this and their dreams of stardom still meant being together. That one random drunk person would clap and whoop louder than any of their fans and friends. He missed those days. Right then, he even missed Anderson. For that, he blamed the alcohol.
He swigged the last of his drink and hoped Infamous Goat never made it further than this bar. The real world had teeth and claws that idealistic little bastards like them knew nothing about.
As the group went into a hard rock cover, Claire scooted her chair closer to his, leaving no space between them. At that point, he’d had enough liquid courage to place his hand on her thigh. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment then placed a quick kiss on his cheek before turning her attention back to the band and lightly singing along.
Without a second thought, he wrapped an arm around her. He wanted her close.
The band ended the song and, just when he thought leaving for the hotel was a good idea, the lead singer looked square at him. “Holy shit! Is that Ty Krause?”
The entire crowd turned to stare. He offered a half-smile and prayed he wouldn’t hear what he knew would come next.
“Man, we love Dejected. Come up here!”
“Yeah,” Claire said in his ear. “Go on up, rock star.” The sound of her voice sent ripples through him. In that tone, he’d do anything she asked.
To claps and cheers—most of them from her—he did as requested. The familiar strains of “The Song” filled the bar. God. Fucking. Damn it.
The sound wasn’t as tight as he liked, but apparently, Infamous Goat had played it more than a few times, probably to get laid at prom. He grabbed the mic, unused to being onstage without his bass, and let go.
I couldn’t explain if I tried a thousand years
And searched through every word in existence, baby
But your love, it boils and burns and sears
Ignites and scorches, leaves me defenseless, baby.
A million lifetimes, or this one I’m living
I’ll live it all in this love you’re giving.
As the music swelled toward the chorus, he looked over at his beautiful wordsmith, who sang along, seemingly entranced. And, for some reason, he loved watching her.
And we’re just learnin’, burnin’
Flames and embers
Baby, watch it flicker
Leaving me yearnin’
And you know the fumes—they consume
Fire so ashen
Drenched in passion
And it burns right through
This second, this moment, all these days
It’s a beautiful blaze.
The entire bar sang along, and rather than the disdain he usually experienced, he buzzed with the electricity in the air, and the second verse became Claire’s and hers alone.
Can’t shake how shaken you’re making me feel
Like you’re pouring me full of kerosene, baby
Every touch, what a blaze it’ll kindle
Blistering dance that is so serene, baby.
This time, the crowd sang the chorus for him. He held out the microphone, but he only cared about her. Her eyes closed and her mouth formed the words, and he started loving this song again, but for a different reason.
It was becoming his truth. For her.
Don’t wanna ever let this blaze burn low
Wanna see how long this fire will glow.
And we’re just learnin’, burnin’
Flame
s and embers
Baby, watch it flicker
Leaving me yearnin’
And you know the fumes—they consume
Fire so ashen
Drenched in passion
And it burns right through
This second, this moment, all these days
It’s a beautiful blaze.
Chills ran through Claire the moment Ty opened his mouth. Trepidation echoed in his voice, and heartbreak, but as he continued, he grew more confident in the lyrics until, by the end, he sounded triumphant, leading the crowd in a fevered sing-along. However, none of it compared to the way he looked at her. Sexy, hopeful. Ready.
When the music stopped, uproarious cheers erupted, and hers were the loudest, though she doubted he’d hear. After jumping off stage, high-fiving a few of the patrons, he beelined to her, enveloping her in his arms, and crushed his mouth to hers. The intensity in it demanded she yield, and she did without any other thought, letting him dominate her while relishing every second. With her body pressed tight to his, she couldn’t imagine being elsewhere and had never been so grateful to her heart for overriding her mind and preventing her from walking out the door.
In a matter of minutes, they were back in the Castillo Hotel, Downtown Charleston, fumbling for keycards, still kissing and nipping whatever they could touch. Finally managing to get the door open, they spilled inside in a tangle of limbs, tugging at clothing. Since thinking had become overrated, she operated purely on instinct and feeling, not at all concerned that a few hours earlier the man had been a stranger, and now he was the closest thing to a lover she’d had in almost half a decade.
The door slammed behind them, and he pushed her against it, pinning her with his hard body. Animal lust sparkled in his dark eyes, the same lust coursing through her. His song played in her mind while he maneuvered her panties down her legs. So close to him, she inhaled the cologne lingering on his neck and the underlying scent of pure male that, both scents together, created an irresistible concoction.
“Please,” she whispered, barely able to hear her voice above her racing heart.
Complete Me (A 1Night Stand Story) Page 2