Turn up the Tempo (Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 4)

by Charli B. Rose

  Some of the rage melted off her rigid form. The look on her face held a hint of hope, like she wanted to believe me.

  “Misty is my mom. One of our mentors told us early on to never store numbers in our phones using family relationships to label them. So no mom, dad, wife, sister, whatever. Because if our phones were ever compromised, someone would have direct access to the people we love,” I explained.

  Understanding dawned on her features, but she still didn’t speak.

  “I sang to my mom that time you overheard because it helps to calm her down when she’s starting to panic. The reason I’ve had to keep rushing away from you is because my mom is sick. She’s recently been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. This last time I disappeared, she set the house on fire,” my voice trembled when I spoke the words out loud.

  “Oh no,” Britt exclaimed, throwing her arms around me. “I’m so sorry. Is she OK?”

  I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. “She’s fine from the fire. I’m actually moving her and my sister out here so Mom can get better care and I can be closer,” I said, tightening my arms around Britt, reveling in her embrace.

  She ran her hands over my shoulders, soothing away all the tension.

  I leaned back so I could gaze into her gorgeous eyes. The blue was so deep, I felt like I could swim in them. Dive into their depths and discover her secrets.

  My fingers traced along her cheek, memorizing the softness of her skin beneath mine. I hoped she saw the love shining on my face like a beacon.

  Like a helpless moth drawn to her fiery flame, my head dipped toward hers, lowering my mouth in tiny increments so I could enjoy every millisecond of claiming her with my heart and not just my body. When our lips finally connected, it was a slow, delicate brush. I nibbled from one corner to the other, taking my time.

  Brittany whimpered, making her plush lower lip vibrate against mine. A shot of lust zipped straight to my cock. Her fingers scraped up my back to bury themselves in my hair. When I still didn’t deepen our kiss, she yanked the strands in frustration.

  Chuckling, I smiled against her mouth then licked along her answering grin, seeking entrance to heaven. Eagerly, she granted me admittance. Then she kissed me like it was the only way for the two of us to survive a nuclear fallout in the midst of an earthquake wrapped in a hurricane.

  When we finally parted, I felt new. Reborn. I rested my forehead against hers.

  “Call my phone, angel,” I whispered.

  “What?” she asked confused.

  “Just call my phone,” I pleaded.

  Sighing, she pulled back and dug her phone from her pocket. I grabbed mine from the couch cushion beside me so she could see the screen.

  She navigated to my name in her contact list and pressed the call icon.

  My phone lit up with the word ANGEL across the screen as Jeff Healey began to croon about being a guy who never learned to dance and wondering what he could’ve possibly done to turn her angel eyes his way.

  “See, angel, you do have a special ringtone. You have the most special one.” I tossed my phone aside and sent hers in the same direction. I needed to hold her, love her, reassure her. Reassure myself.

  ♪ Angel Eyes by Jeff Healey Band

  Chapter 33

  Britt

  ♪ Clumsy by Fergie

  He said he loved me. Love. I was giddy. I was scared shitless. The words danced on my tongue, but I swallowed them down. I couldn’t throw them out there. Not yet.

  My heart was so light I wasn’t certain it wouldn’t float right out of my chest. Was that what love felt like?

  And if it was love, what did that mean? Was love even possible between two people like us?

  Neither of us had ever done the whole relationship thing—we hadn’t ever even wanted to. What did we know about making a relationship work?

  My nerves jangled, making my stomach roil. I closed my eyes and buried my face farther into his neck as he instinctively held me tighter. He was probably freaking out that he’d used the L-word. He probably wanted to take it back but didn’t know how.

  I’d never been so scared of something in all my life than I was that he’d retract his admission. I was just as frightened of him saying it again though.

  I was going to be leaving for at least a month, maybe six months. How could a relationship with Brooks survive a six-month separation? Both of us reigned supreme in the one-night stand department. Celibacy wasn’t something we were familiar with. Neither was monogamy. Commitment.

  For now, I just wanted to revel in his embrace, the safety and comfort of being held by him. Being … loved by him.

  An immeasurable amount of time passed while Brooks held me. Eventually, his lips pressed a kiss to the pulse point in my neck.

  “I have to admit when I saw you in that strip club, dancing for Juice, I saw red. I wanted to storm in there, throw you over my shoulder and find somewhere private for you to dance like that for just my eyes,” he rasped.

  I leaned back so I could smirk up at him. “Is that so?”

  “His hands on your skin enraged me. My head understood that you were just acting, but my heart was not getting the message. You were just acting, right?” his tone was so vulnerable.

  I cupped his cheek in my palm. He leaned into my touch. “How about I dance for you, and you can be the judge of whether I was acting or not?” I whispered seductively.

  “Yes, please,” he growled.

  “Why don’t you head out to the pool house, and I’ll join you in a few minutes?” I suggested.

  He got to his feet, pulling me up with him and tucking both our phones into his pocket. “Thank you for giving me a chance to expl—”

  I pressed my index finger to his lips, halting his words, knowing he was about to launch into another apology. “I shouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions. Let’s move forward. From now on, no hasty conclusions drawn.”

  “Agreed.” His mouth puckered beneath my finger. He ran his palm down my arm to lace our digits together. Without a word, he spun toward the stairs. Eagerly, he marched up them, tugging me behind him.

  In the living room, I halted. Our joined arms stretched between us as he moved toward the back door. He turned to look at me. I gave him my brightest, truest smile.

  “Don’t make me wait long, angel,” he murmured, his voice coarse with need.

  I squeezed the tips of his fingers before dropping his hand and turning to head upstairs.

  With purpose, I sifted through the clothes in the dresser drawers in the room I’d been using. In the back corner, I found what I was looking for. The sexiest, skimpiest pair of panties I owned. I’d bought them and a matching bra when I went shopping with Cleo the other day to replace what Lyric had stashed somewhere. After sliding the top drawer shut, I opened the next one and plucked out the cutest crop top. It would leave my midriff bare, a necessity for the pole moves I hoped to pull off in front of Brooks. From the bottom drawer, I grabbed a pair of booty shorts with angel written across the butt in sequins. Another purchase from my shopping trip with Cleo.

  After the world’s fastest shower, I dressed in my sexy ensemble, piled my hair in a messy knot on top of my head, slid my feet into a pair of wedges and shrugged into a fluffy robe. Nerves rattled along the surface of my skin as I made my way to the pool house. I hadn’t felt this jittery before dancing in ages. A lot was riding on this performance for one. I had things to say to him, to prove to him. Things I couldn’t say out loud, so I hoped my other way of communicating—dancing—would get the point across.

  When I opened the French doors, the only thing I could see was Brooks across the open expanse of hardwood, slouched casually against one of the mirrored walls. Damn, even when he wasn’t trying, he made my heart race and my blood heat. A soft click echoed in the room as I pulled the door shut behind me.

  He got to his feet but didn’t approach me.

  “I’m going to need my phone.” I took a few steps in his direction.


  When he held it out to me, I took great efforts to not touch him as I closed my fingers around it. I knew if I did, I’d never be able to dance for him. His skin on mine was too addictive to walk away from. I shuffled back a couple of steps.

  I held up my hand when he shifted his weight to move forward. “Stay,” I ordered as I connected my phone to the sound system and then dropped it into the pocket of my robe.

  Then I strode across the room to the threshold of the kitchen. I grabbed a chair from the tiny kitchen table and hauled it over to the gleaming, metal pole off to the side of the dance floor. Carefully, I adjusted the seat so it was close enough for a good view but not close enough for him to touch me.

  Crooking my finger, I motioned come here to Brooks.

  He stalked toward me like a lion about to launch his muscular body onto a helpless baby gazelle, dragging his tongue across his lip. His approach must have put me in some sort of daze because I blanked out until the next thing I was aware of was his cinnamon-scented breath washing over my face.

  Right as he reached for me, I shook my head. “I’m sorry, sir, but you know the rules. Patrons aren’t allowed to touch the dancers,” I teased in a scolding tone.

  He growled, but a tiny smirk tipped up the corner of his lip just enough to make that sexy dimple appear. His hands shot up in the space between us, palms out in an I won’t touch gesture.

  “Have a seat in that chair over there, and then your private dance will begin.” I pointed to the chair behind him.

  Amusement spread across his face as he sank into the wooden seat, knees spread, body slouched, gaze fixed on me.

  My fingers dipped into my pocket and closed around my cell phone. Turning my back to Brooks, I navigated through the options on my playlist, finally settling on “Skin” by Rihanna. I set my phone on the window ledge so it wouldn’t get stepped on.

  ♪ Skin by Rihanna

  Inhaling deeply, I turned back to face the man who laid his heart on the line for me earlier. The first low beat hit from the song, slow and steady like the thump of a heart. A vulnerable heart, waiting for an answer.

  Shyly, I slipped my fingers into the knot of the sash tied around my waist. My teeth captured my lower lip as I shrugged my shoulders, allowing a cloud of terrycloth to flutter to the floor.

  I sashayed over to the pole. With the pole positioned between me and Brooks, I wrapped one hand around the smooth metal at eye level. In rhythm with the music, I bent my knees and dropped my butt, swiveling my hips in a slow circle.

  Heat flickered in Brooks’s eyes, turning the green orbs electric. With calculated steps, I moved to the left, slowly removing the pole from between the two of us. Both hands clasped the gleaming metal as I undulated my body in a slow roll up. The move wound up putting me back on the other side of the pole. I bent over into a backbend until my palms were flat on the floor.

  Briefly, I watched Brooks from my upside-down position. When Rihanna sang of dropping to the floor, I did in a practiced move. A sexy roll positioned my back to Brooks again. Seductively, I got to my hands and knees, putting the sequined word printed on my shorts on full display.

  I knew the moment he read the sparkly letters, because he rasped, “Angel.” That one word, two syllables, five letters held so much need, heat flooded my core. I’d never gotten turned on dancing for someone before.

  Mentally reminding myself of my routine, I arched my back, stood and hooked a leg around the pole, executing a sexy twirl. Reaching as high as I could, I clutched the metal rod and jumped, wrapping my torso around it. I carefully dropped myself down until my feet were planted on the floor again.

  With my legs parted, I dipped and gyrated, running my hands up my torso, dragging my cropped top up incrementally slow. Brooks leaned forward, his elbows on his knees propping up his chin on his fists. It took all my willpower to stay out of his reach. I reversed direction with my hands, not revealing more than the hint of my bra.

  Brooks groaned in frustration at my teasing maneuvers.

  I dragged my hands up my thighs to my abdomen, up my sides to tangle in my hair. The music flowed through me, directing my every movement. I whirled around, eroticism in my motions. This time I rewarded Brooks’s patience and lifted my shirt. I peeked over my shoulder at him. He was on the edge of his seat, barely sitting. Finally, I whirled back to face him.

  “Angel,” he moaned. His fist rose to his mouth, and he bit down on his knuckles.

  His palpable desire for me made me feel so powerful, so beautiful. I tucked my fingers into my shorts and eased them down my legs. I didn’t bother with doing it slowly or even seductively. My patience was wearing thin with my strip tease. I was ready to please.

  “You’re killing me,” Brooks whispered so softly. But somehow, I heard him over the sensual lyrics pouring through the speakers.

  Slowly, I sashayed over to Brooks, who sat up straight and leaned back in his chair, clearing the way for me. His hands dropped to his sides. I stepped between his spread knees and bent toward him, thrusting my chest at him.

  His nostrils flared as heat simmered and crackled between us. Cinnamon wafted over me. His warm breath washed along my revealed skin, lifting goosebumps across my chest. Noticing them, he blew a heavy breath in my direction.

  I spun around, giving him his first view of my new panties from behind. Bending at the waist, I grabbed his ankles with both hands. Gradually, I dragged my palms up his legs but left my nearly bare backside in his face.

  His breaths came out in heavy pants. Desire crawled along my flesh, needing a release. Wet heat hovered over the small of my back. I glanced to the side and saw Brooks in the mirror, barely restraining himself from touching me. My hips dropped, pressing my rear in his crotch.

  An unintelligible sound rumbled from him. His erection strained against his pants beneath my grinding butt. I lifted off him and rotated. Widening my stance, I planted my high-heeled feet on either side of his knees.

  Brooks’s gaze raked over me from knees to face. He had yet to touch me. But, God, did I want him to. I did a body roll, bringing my chest mere millimeters from his. With each slow undulation, I dipped lower and lower until my scantily clad core brushed against denim. The friction was delicious and torturous at the same time. The two of us moaned in harmony, a sound of pleasure yet to be fulfilled.

  His eyes were fiery pits of lust and more. Pearl white teeth chewed on his lower lip. He was a perfect picture of restraint hanging by a thread. I dropped my hands to his taut shoulders. The tense muscles rippled beneath my fingers.

  “Touch me,” I whispered. I needed his hands on me, gripping me, guiding me, claiming me. My face descended toward his. I stopped just shy of melding our mouths together.

  “What about the rules, angel?” he croaked.

  “To hell with the rules.” I slipped my palm along his neck until my fingers speared in the hair at his nape.

  It was all the permission he needed. With a growl, his lips lifted to meet mine in a fierce kiss while his hands grasped my hips. The slight bite of his fingers pressing into my flesh hinted at his shaky control. He yanked my body down, seating me on his lap. Using his hands, he slid my core back and forth along his muscular thighs. His hard erection twitched beneath his jeans with each pass of my body over his.

  “Are you wet for me, angel?” he asked against my lips.

  My head dropped back, and I groaned out, “Mmhmm.”

  “Were you wet for him?” he asked, biting the tender skin on my neck.

  “For who?” I asked, confused.

  “Juice, Wilder, anyone but me?” He kissed along my collarbone, nipping here and there, making me squirm.

  “Only you,” I confessed, panting with need.

  “Good.” His arms wound around my back, planting one hand in the center of my spine and the other wrapping around my neck. He directed my head so he could capture my mouth again.

  As this man made love to my mouth with his, the ache in me coiled tighter. If something
didn’t happen soon, I was certain I’d spontaneously combust. Brooks’s hands were everywhere at once but at no one place long enough for me to relish his touch. A drag down my spine. A gentle sweep along my jaw. A caress along my shoulders. A swipe beneath the back waistband, following the ribbon of my thong. Fingertips cross my chest, dipping slightly into the satin of my bra but avoiding my nipples. Almost tickling trace of a touch down the center of my torso. Finger outlining the front of my panties, pressing the fabric between my swollen lower lips. A hint of pressure against my clit.

  All the while, he held my mouth hostage under the onslaught of his kiss. My hips inched forward, seeking more contact with him where I needed it. It wouldn’t take much for me to detonate.

  Suddenly, strong hands gripped the backs of my thighs, and Brooks got to his feet.

  “What are you doing?” I breathed against the mouth still fused with mine.

  Holding me against him, he took three long strides until my back was pressed against the cool, mirrored wall. Even with the drastic difference in the temperature of the glass and my heated body, my blood didn’t calm down any.

  Brooks’s arms moved up around my waist, letting my legs drop until I stood before him, trembling. “I’m going to live out one of the fantasies that’s been plaguing my dreams since the last time we were in this room.” His tongue traced the shell of my ear.

  Reaching up, he loosened my arms from around his neck and placed them on the barre. “Plié for me,” he said.

  Lightly gripping the wooden beam in my hands, I turned my heels toward each other, toes pointing outward. As gracefully as I could in a pair of wedges, I bent my knees, dropping into a less than perfect position.

  “That’s not the right one. Try a pirouette,” he requested.

  I executed a twirl.

  He shook his head. “Arabesque,” he croaked in frustration.