by Eden Summers
Things wouldn’t be as bad if he’d caught the private jet across the globe, but he’d wanted to see Gabi, which meant he had to leave earlier than the rest of the band and slum it on a commercial airline. Not that first class was lacking, he just couldn’t sleep when people were staring at him. And there had been many people staring, all of them curious and eager for the opportunity to speak to him.
He could deal, though. He could deal with anything right about now. For years, he’d held a flame for a woman he’d never seen. Almost fifteen-hundred days in which he’d fallen head over heels for someone who may likely be a five-hundred pound yeti.
Four fucking years.
When Blake finally sucked up the guts to tell her who he was, not just a weak, drug addicted asshole from the US, but all of the above plus the bass guitarist for a world famous band, Gabi had taken a step back, openly telling him she wanted to remain anonymous.
For the most part she had.
It took over a year to learn her full name. Then another to determine what part of Australia she lived in. He still didn’t know what she looked like, and her reluctance to share a photo of herself spoke louder than words. Only he wasn’t listening.
Gabi was his best friend. His savior. His angel.
Yeti or not, he would always love her. Although, his interest may change from the sexually charged emotions that kept him hard at night to a brotherly affection, if she resembled an NFL linebacker. He just needed to see her once and for all. To stop his imagination from running wild every time they spoke. Or emailed. Or chatted online.
She had the sweetest, most playful voice he’d ever heard. And her laugh. It drove him senseless.
He shook his head and continued down the street, ignoring the curious glances from people who strode by. If he stopped, even paused, they’d be on him like groupies on gig night. For once in his life, lady luck shined down on him and nobody paid him more than an inquisitive stare. That would all change if he slowed his pace. The people he passed would have more chance to scrutinize his appearance and figure out who the hell he was. So he kept walking, pounding out the pavement, his heart thrumming in anticipation.
Vibrations from dance music surrounded him, and up ahead, he read the name of a familiar club. He paused in front of the glass windows, double checked the business name in his cell, and then glanced back at the blue neon sign on the front of the building—Pink Ox.
This was the place.
He’d been anxious for the last month, knowing what the end of the UK part of the tour would bring. Women had never fazed him before. Yeah, he loved to enjoy them as much as the next guy, to talk to the ones with half a brain and get between the thighs of the attractive ones who were less fortunate. He didn’t do the whole nervous thing. Yet, right now, standing a few feet away from the bouncer of the Pink Ox night club, his hands tingled with something akin to terror.
No backing out now.
He stepped up to the guy who had a chest the size of a fridge and jerked his head in greeting. “Hey.”
The man raised a brow and looked Blake over. The reaction wasn’t new. With Blake’s preference for dark clothes, the black spiked hair, leather wrist cuffs, and all visible skin on his arms inked, he was trouble personified. The fuck-you expression he currently sported wouldn’t help.
“You got I.D.?”
Blake suppressed a scoff. He didn’t look a day under his thirty years. Obviously the guy wasn’t a Reckless fan.
“No problem.” He reached into the back pocket of his charcoal stone-washed jeans, contemplated pulling out a middle finger salute, and showed the bouncer his identification.
The man grunted and Blake stepped past, assuming the caveman reaction meant he was allowed entry. Inside, the noise grew. The main bass beat came from upstairs, vibrating through the walls and muffling the lyrics. Couples sat in booths and along the bar. None of them paid him any attention, all of them engrossed in their conversations. He took his time scrutinizing every female, his heart in his throat, and so far he couldn’t find the cluster of partying women he was looking for.
He headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The music became louder with every step, pulsing through his chest, as if he needed it to pound harder. When he reached the top, he paused and surveyed the room.
The bar glowed in dark purple light, bathing the rest of the club in shadow. A mass of people danced in the far corner, strobe lights and lasers slicing over the crowd. More booths lined the floor to ceiling windows facing a balcony. A man approached him, ramming Blake’s shoulder in an effort to drunkenly get down the stairs. He ignored it, too caught up in finding Gabi to give a shit about some jerk who couldn’t figure out the basic fundamentals of walking.
His gaze raked every seated group of people, every person sitting on a stool by the bar. When he reached the middle booth, with its table of laughing women, he paused. Swallowed. They were well into their night of drinking—at the easy-to-get-their-panties-off stage. Empty glasses covered the table, along with more half full. He scanned each face, waiting for a buzz, a connection, some sign of familiarity.
Nothing came.
One lady caught his eye and her gaze brightened. Oh, fuck, was that his angel? He stopped breathing. She was tall, big enough to make him feel like a midget, with broad swimmer shoulders and a healthy tan.
Gabi swam. She loved to surf. This could easily be her.
She slid from the booth, stumbled a little, then righted herself, her expression now alight with a goofy grin. His heart beat harder as she approached. He tried to convince himself it came from nervousness, but he couldn’t lie to himself. There was no spark, none of the fairytale love at first sight bullshit he’d hoped for. Instead of moping, he concentrated on being the best friend he was supposed to be and plastered a smile on his face.
“Gabi?” he called over the music.
The woman raised her eyebrows and tilted her head back with a snort. At least he thought that’s what that animalistic sound was.
“No, I’m Tammy.” She placed a hand on her chest, over a huge amount of exposed cleavage.
Ahh, Gabi’s friend. Thank fuck for that.
“Gabi’s out there.” She pointed to the corner behind him.
He sucked in a breath, let it out, and slowly turned toward the dance floor. The group of people bounced to an unfamiliar song. Most were men, all vying for the few pieces of ass to grind against.
“She’s requesting a song,” Tammy’s voice yelled over his shoulder.
His attention shot to the D.J. and the woman bent over the speakers. Her toned legs were lit up from the surrounding lights—on full display—the lace material at the bottom of her dress riding up her thighs as she leaned in to speak to the guy.
Blake gravitated forward, stopping at a stomach-high table close to the edge of the dance floor. He rested his elbows on the cool wood and stared.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Tammy yelled.
He should’ve replied, at least thanked Gabi’s friend for all her help in setting up tonight, only he couldn’t function. His mind had drowned in awe and deprived him of speech. He stood fascinated, his greedy gaze eating up the woman his heart had claimed as his own.
She was blonde, just like he imagined, with short, wavy hair cut above her shoulders. Her body, from the back view, showed off mouthwatering curves. The black dress she wore hugged her ass and tightened over a lean waist and delicate shoulders.
She was flawless. It didn’t take much for a guy with a healthy sexual appetite to imagine those delicious legs wrapped around his hips—or face for that matter.
He shook his head, dislodging the depravity. She had to have a coyote-ugly face. He believed in karma and knew he didn’t deserve the front side of her body to match the spank bank material of the back.
She nodded at the D.J. The fucker flashed his teeth in a heated smile like he was getting his pole smoked by a supermodel. Jealousy reared its ugly head, and Blake fought hard to contain it. He gripped the s
ide of the table, and for the first time in a damn long time, he wished he had a stiff drink in his hands. A little something to take away his nerves, his jealousy, his obsession.
She turned.
“Fuck. Me.” The words whispered from his lips. He snapped his mouth shut and kept his fingers busy by wiping the sweat from his palms onto his T-shirt.
His angel was gorgeous. A mix of sweet beauty and confident sexuality. Her blonde hair framed a face he itched to see close up and her lips were tilted in a man-eater grin as she maneuvered into the center of the dancing crowd, her arms above her head, swaying to the beat.
The song finished and another began. One he knew by heart. It was her song—Angel of Mine. The one he wrote with Mason Lynch, the lead singer of Reckless Beat, and Sidney Higgins, a world famous songwriter with a knack for brutally raw and heartbreaking lyrics.
It spoke of Blake’s savior. His angel. The woman who pulled him from the cliff’s edge and gave him strength to live. The one and only song he had contributed to lyrically meant more to him than any other career achievement. During his dark days, when Gabi was on the other side of the world, fast asleep, this song gave him the will to carry on. It reminded him of where he’d been and how he’d survived. Only he hadn’t told his band mates that the lyrics were his reality. He’d lied, again, telling them that his emotions came from the experiences of an old friend.
You saved my soul. Gave me new meaning.
Fought against my demons, while I lay sleeping.
Did she know this was her song? He’d never mentioned it. Couldn’t. The cryptic lyrics held too much significance. They laid out his soul for the world to see, and although Gabi knew she was important to him, she wouldn’t have a clue how much he cherished her. He’d hidden that behind a computer screen and a cocky persona for the duration of their friendship.
He smiled, watching her dance, trying not to blink. Every second that passed made him want to be out there with her, beside her, against her soft body. If only he could move. His legs were glued to the spot, and he doubted his brain would work to string together a coherent sentence, let alone the monumental words he should’ve prepared for the first time they met.
He admired her as men brushed against her, devouring her body with their gaze. Not once did she pay them attention. She thrust her arms about to the hard beat, shook her hips in time and became one with the music. It was like he was in a dream. His angel dancing to the music of his soul.
My savior with a heart of gold.
The song ended and she squeezed her way through the crowd, smiling at men who grinned at her and apologizing to others she bumped into. When she reached the edge of the dance floor, her gaze skimmed past him, toward the bar. She faltered, then paused, stiffening her posture as her attention snapped back to where he stood. Her mouth slowly opened and time stood still.
He was done for. Completely and utterly lost in her eyes. His mind yelled at him to move closer to determine the color. And he would’ve if he knew how to walk. The club was too dark, the techno lights flashing too quickly to give him the confirmation he craved.
A man bumped into her from behind, and she stumbled on her sexy black heels. Blake jerked to attention, ready to run to her. Unaided, she righted herself and moved forward, her attention never leaving him. With each step, her facial features gained more clarity—the curve of her petite nose, the soft lips, the tanned skin. Each characteristic held beauty, and together they made his mouth dry.
She walked up to him, stopping a foot away. The smoothness of her forehead wrinkled in a frown as her gaze scanned his face.
Blue. Her irises were a light shade of sky-blue, cool and calm and completely intoxicating.
His nervousness faded under her confusion. Gabi was made for him. There was no question. No doubt. Fate had pushed them together, and now, he only needed to prove that he deserved to keep the gift.
He grinned at her, trying to show all the heated emotion he’d kept bottled inside for years. “Hello, angel.”
Gabi stared at the man who haunted her fantasies and tried to control her shaking knees. She’d only been drinking for the last two hours, right? Surely she couldn’t be drunk enough to hallucinate.
“Blake?” Her voice wavered, barely registering over the loud thrum of music.
The man’s smile tilted up a notch. “Happy birthday, gorgeous.” He stepped to the side of the table, moving closer, giving her a complete view of his deliciousness.
Her body went into meltdown, overwhelmed and unsure whether to heat up in arousal or panic under his scrutiny. Bloody hell. Nobody should be that sinful. A rich, talented, bad boy all rolled up into a package of I-don’t-give-a-shit, I-know-how-good-I-look.
What was he doing here? How did he get here? And how did he find her? The questions kept coming, assailing her, making it harder to concentrate.
She sucked in a ragged breath, blinking back the moisture in her vision, and covered her gaping mouth with a numb hand. He was a dream. An illusion. He had to be. Maybe someone slipped something into her drink and her heart’s desire had miraculously come to life.
He was menacing and downright dangerous—in appearance and to her heart. A leather cuff hugged his right wrist, with colorful tattoos on either side, running all the way up his toned arms and underneath a T-shirt that strained against muscled pecs. She’d memorized the ink that adorned his body, had fallen under their spell and knew the way they contorted when he played his guitar. His short raven hair was spiked and his sinful irises blended with the color of his pupils in the dim light.
So. Damn. Hot.
She swallowed. Hard. Then took a breath and did it again.
He laughed and the flawless smile he shot her way brightened his devilish features. “Do I get a hug from the birthday girl?”
A noise escaped her lips, something between a whimper and a moan. Thank goodness for the loud music.
She stepped forward, her heart beating wildly, and flung herself into his waiting arms. His chest was rock hard, and she fought to wipe the fantasy of her best friend’s naked body from her mind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she snuggled into him, gripping him tight, never wanting to let go. The alluring scent of his aftershave infiltrated her lungs, increasing the slight intoxicated buzz whizzing through her veins. When he pulled back to look down at her, she bit her lip and tried not to drown in his darker-than-chocolate eyes.
It didn’t help that the cheeky bastard couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face.
“Can I get the birthday girl a drink?” he raised his voice to speak over the thrum of music.
She glanced at the bar, at all the liquor bottles lining the wall behind it and smiled through her sudden panic. Blake shouldn’t be here, in a bar, surrounded by alcohol.
“I’ll get it.” With reluctance, she released her arms from around his waist and immediately missed the sudden loss of his warmth. “What drink do you want?”
A slight frown marred his brow. “I can get it, Gabi.”
She shook her head and reached up on the tips of her toes, leaning into his ear so she didn’t have to yell. Well, all right, it was because she wanted to touch him again, but the proximity would help him hear. “The least I can do is buy you a drink after you came so far to surprise me. Did you want lemonade?”
His frown deepened, then slowly he nodded.
With a nod of her own, she maneuvered around him and headed for the bar. She tapped her foot, drummed her fingers along the polished wood, and nibbled on her lip while waiting to be served. Once she had their drinks, she strode back to him, unable to bear missing a single moment in his presence. When she rested his drink on the table in front of him, his attention remained on the dance floor, his expression blank.
“Here ya go.”
He grabbed the glass and turned to her. She felt his gaze caress her skin causing her spine to tingle with awareness. Instead of licking her lips like instinct commanded, she sipped her water.
“You’re not drinking
?”
She struggled to hear his raised voice over the loud bass. “No.” Well, not anymore. For starters, she didn’t want to drink in front of him, and she needed to sober up so she could remember every second they spent together. “Do you want to go out onto the balcony?” she motioned to her ears, “I can’t hear a thing.”
He nodded. It was a simple movement, just a tilt of his head, but damn, he owned it. It was like he was the god of smooth. And yes, she was entirely aware that her obsession with a mere nod didn’t bode well. It wouldn’t be long before she made a fool of herself and announced with her actions that her feelings for him went beyond friendship.
Breaking eye contact, she walked to the balcony and opened the sliding glass door to the warm night air. Blake followed behind her, his proximity keeping her nerves on high alert. A group of people were banked up outside, waiting to get back in. People she recognized and had no intention of speaking to.
Apprehension turned her stomach. She couldn’t flee. Blake was stuck to her back like a second skin—a delicious, toe curling second skin—not allowing an escape route. She lowered her gaze and continued forward. There was enough room for both parties to easily pass, yet someone rammed into her shoulder and the cool chill of liquid splashed down her spine.
“Shit. Sorry, Gabi.” Blake’s hand rested on her shoulder. “Fuckin’ asshole,” he added, louder.
His hand yanked from her shoulder and she turned to find him standing chest to chest with a man she wished she didn’t know. Both their shoulders were straight, chins raised as they glared at each other.
“Blake, no!” She swiped the droplets of fluid off her and pushed between them, facing the other man. “Back off, John.”
“You know this asshole?” Blake growled from behind her.
She ignored the question and implored John with her gaze. He ignored her, his scowl drifting over her shoulder to Blake. Placing her hands on his chest, she slowly pushed him back. “John, please.”
“What are you doing with this piece of shit, Gab?” John’s pupils were unnaturally dilated from drug use. “You need to steer clear of guys like him.”