Dirty Lyrics

by Lana Sky

  The venue—a sprawling mansion on the outskirts of the city—seemed promising enough. Even from the outside, I could tell that the polished walls teemed with more vice than a girl could handle.

  Playboy billionaires.

  Rock stars.

  Music executives.

  I was more than eager to get back on the horse and work everything and everyone else out of my system.

  “Let’s split up,” Perry suggested, eyeing a group of men who sipped brightly colored cocktails and loitered on a wide veranda. I could tell from the gleam in his eye that he was eager to find his own proverbial pony to ride. “Good luck, bitch! If you’re not bringing a man home tonight, then don’t come home at all.”

  With that bit of encouragement, he slipped into the crowd, leaving me to hunt for my own distraction.

  Not a problem, I told myself, sucking in a steadying gulp of air. If there was one thing I’d never had a problem with—until recently at least—it was getting laid.

  I scanned the well-dressed attendees through the eyeholes of my face mask and caught plenty of admiring looks from the men I passed on my way toward the entryway, but…

  They weren’t blue.

  The babble of voices didn’t contain a heavy southern drawl, and among the perfectly coiffed heads, there were no untamed dark curls.

  Stop it, I scolded myself, gritting my teeth. I tried to recall my usual type: buff, rough, and sporting a wallet full of cash. There were certainly plenty of men, strutting around in fancy tailored suits, who more than fit that bill.

  But I couldn’t silence the annoying voice at the back of my mind telling me that those things weren’t what I really wanted, and without the mind-numbing spoonfuls of rocky road to chase the thoughts away, they just kept coming.

  Pushed forward by the crowd, I crossed over the mansion’s threshold and into a stunning foyer. The décor was dark, keeping with the mysterious masquerade theme. A monstrous chandelier had been dimmed, casting wide swaths of shadow over the marble floor, which made it easier for me to slip into obscurity and make a beeline straight for the bar. There, I ordered the hardest liquor available.

  Two shots later, I found myself perched on a chaise in a corner, watching the party play out from the sidelines.

  If Bret were here, I knew he’d be pushing me to make connections and rub shoulders with industry bigwigs. Networking, Abby, he liked to snap. Ironically, I couldn’t even bring myself to rub anything with anyone.

  Recalling Perry’s challenge, I scoped out the crowd once again. A few of the faces I recognized from the industry or past dealings with METRO. Half were married, making them off limits. The other half I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. A small handful I’d already slept with.

  Been there, done that.

  Another shot didn’t help to make any of the eligible men attractive, and as secluded as I was, no one approached me.

  All in all, the night out was turning out to be a total bust—for me, at least. Perry, on the other hand, had already sauntered off with some blond hottie, leaving me to drown my thoughts.

  But it was like trying to fill an ocean with bottled water—an ocean teeming with words rather than fish: Jason Daniels didn’t want me.

  A part of me just wanted to assume he was gay and leave it at that. Though I knew, deep down, that a man who wasn’t interested in women could have never kissed or touched me the way he had in the copy room.

  I hadn’t been the only one eager for a hotel room…but it had been so easy for him to turn me down, and I couldn’t understand why.

  Was I not pretty enough?

  Smart enough?

  More importantly, why the fuck did I give a damn?

  Damn it, Abby! Get a grip.

  After downing the rest of my drink, I stood, struggling to move amid the weight of my dress. The allure of being fashionable had worn off, and now the yards of silky fabric felt like chains, dragging me down. Pushing my way through the crowd, I spent all of five minutes looking for Perry before the need to escape overrode concern, even for him.

  I fished my cell phone from my clutch, intending to text him some halfhearted excuse, and caught sight of the time flashing across the home screen: 10:45. A sudden realization struck me like a punch to the chest. For the first time since freshman year of college, I was leaving a party before midnight. Alone.

  Hell, I wasn’t even drunk.

  Only God knew what Bret had done to get these damn tickets. In fact, there was still a crowd fighting to get into the party as I attempted to slip out. One man in particular seemed especially pissed that the bouncer wouldn’t let him through and was holding up the line.

  “Sir,” the bouncer began. I could tell from his body language that he was five seconds from calling for backup. “I can’t let you in if your name isn’t on the list.”

  “I’m just looking for someone,” came the frustrated reply. “I—”

  No.

  The husky southern drawl stopped me dead in my tracks, and for a second, I was terrified that alcohol paired with sugar had caused me to hallucinate.

  No fucking way…

  My heart threatened to burst from my chest as I turned, catching sight of the intruder from around the bouncer’s bulk.

  Surprise, surprise, he wasn’t a dream.

  Blue eyes widened with recognition, flicking over me.

  Once.

  Twice.

  His gaze settled over the cleavage straining above the gown’s dangerously low neckline, and I didn’t know if I imagined the way a muscle in his jaw twitched. Or the sound he made—a single word spoken so gutturally that it could have been a growl—“Abigail.”

  For a split-second, nothing else existed. Not the six-foot tall man standing between us or the hordes of other guests.

  Just Jason and the thudding sound of my own heartbeat…

  Suddenly, someone at the back of the line shouted, and the spell broke.

  I swayed. Within the span of five seconds, this season’s latest fashion must-have had become a vice in danger of squeezing every ounce of breath from my lungs.

  Keep it together, Abby!

  It took me ages to remember how to move. Once I could, I didn’t acknowledge him, other than to sidestep the line all together and continue past with my head held high.

  Up ahead, a uniform-clad valet was directing the parade of luxury cars—but someone had broken the rules. A truck idled in the middle of the road, as if the driver had been too impatient to find a spot among the expensive sports cars.

  I thought about walking past it and taking my chances at finding a taxi to deliver me back to the world of Lucille Ball and melted ice cream.

  I could have run.

  It would have been easy and probably a hell of a lot smarter than what I did instead.

  I sensed footsteps approaching from behind as I headed straight for the passenger side of the truck. My nostrils flared, catching his scent: leather, sweat, and cologne. Seconds later, a muscular arm brushed past my shoulder to yank open the door.

  Pop!

  We didn’t exchange a single word—the air between us felt too charged. Electric.

  I couldn’t even bring myself to ask the obvious questions: Why was he there? Just who had he been searching for?

  Damn this dress. I was asphyxiating beneath layers of expensive fabric. It was impossible to think like my normal self in this—impossible to think at all.

  Jason’s heat was disrupting every cell in my body, throwing my entire being into dismay, and I desperately needed to regain some ounce of control.

  Fuck it. After sending up a silent apology to Perry, I hooked one arm around my back and tugged at the dress’s zipper, heedless of the hundreds of guests milling around the front yard. My manicured nails scrambled for purchase to no avail. The damned thing wouldn’t budge. My chest heaved behind yards of ribbon and silk. I was suffocating…

  “Here.”

  A shudder went through me as firm fingers seized the zipper without
hesitation and yanked.

  The pressure released in an instant, and clarity flooded back on a wave of oxygen. Desperate for freedom, I wiggled my hips, and calloused hands came to assist me, dragging the garment down my legs.

  I stepped out of it—ignoring the alarmed glances tossed my way—and stooped to bunch the fabric in my fists.

  “Throw it in the back.” The command grated against my earlobe.

  In that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to care too much for the priceless bit of material. Ignoring thoughts of Perry’s wrath should anything happen to the dress, I turned back to the cabin of the truck.

  Fire consumed me, encasing my bare limbs, as I climbed on the passenger-side seat wearing only a lace thong and a bra. The door slammed behind me. Alone, I could only count the footsteps that circled around to the other side.

  Two.

  Four.

  Seven.

  The driver’s side door opened with a burst of cold air, and a body settled on the seat beside me.

  Seconds later, the engine roared to life, and I could feel my nerves revving up right along with it.

  I was painstakingly aware of every desperate pull of air crawling through my lungs. With each passing second, I felt more of myself slip away, down some dark abyss, leaving nothing behind but a primal energy that terrified me.

  The rush of alcohol surging through my veins made it easier to face the truth: he terrified me.

  For nearly ten minutes, we sat there in the middle of the driveway. Or maybe it was five. Seconds? Hours? Who knows?

  I was convinced that, at any minute, security would appear to usher us from the premises. I almost wished they would—anything to shatter the tension.

  Just when I couldn’t stand the sound of my own surging pulse for another second, Jason moved, tipping the scales of balance in his favor. The shadow of his forearm approached from the corner of my eye, only to disappear into the backseat at the last possible second. He snatched something and tossed whatever it was on my lap with a grunt.

  “Put it on.”

  A part of me bristled at the command. I was Abby Newman, I didn’t take orders, yadda yadda—but without comment, I reached down, seizing what turned out to be a cotton shirt in a trembling fist.

  It smelled like him. Masculine musk unfurled with every slight manipulation of the fabric, flooding my senses. I managed to get my arm within a sleeve as the engine purred to life again. As I shimmied to work my hand through the other sleeve, the vehicle lurched into drive.

  Minutes later, the truck was cruising toward the city.

  I had to smother down the urge to throw myself against the passenger door just to escape the lethal friction. I couldn’t even look at the man beside me and, instead, struggled to register the scenery of the quickly approaching city.

  I couldn’t understand why I was so damn nervous. This certainly wasn’t the first time I’d found myself almost naked within a virtual stranger’s truck—God knew it wouldn’t be the last.

  But tonight, Jason held all the cards, and I envied his control. The car never strayed over the speed limit, despite how my heartbeat nearly tripled in tempo by the time he turned onto the street that led to my apartment building.

  I couldn’t help recalling Perry’s challenge as my gaze fell over the brightly lit lobby through a layer of glass. If you’re not bringing a man home tonight, then don’t come home at all.

  Sadly, my only concern at the moment was how the hell I was going to sneak past the doorman wearing only a Victoria’s Secret underwear set and a flannel shirt.

  But, Jason threw me off once again and kept driving. My nails dug into the material of my seatbelt as block after block blew past in a blur.

  A million possible destinations raced through my head—the city was still teeming with life this early in the night—but a small pizza parlor on the outskirts of downtown admittedly wasn’t on the list.

  Romeo’s was a square building sandwiched between a laundromat and a corner store. The snob in me wanted to snort, but for some reason, the venue seemed more intimidating than anything else.

  It was too casual. Too…normal.

  I could navigate fancy galas and high-end clubs, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in a place that served cheap beer on tap.

  “It’s cold out,” Jason grunted before shouldering open his door and snapping me out of my thoughts.

  Something in me twisted at the sound of his voice—eerily calm, save for a tell-tale tremor over “out.” Mr. Country Star was losing his cool.

  I didn’t feel too steady myself, as he came around to my side of the truck and wrenched the door open to a blast of cool air that raised goosebumps over my skin.

  His shirt hung down to the middle of my thighs, but my ebony heels gave a wicked edge to the makeshift ensemble. I probably looked like a countrified hooker as I shimmied out of the truck. True to form, I tried to maintain the image of effortless poise, but my heel caught a loose bit of pavement, upsetting my balance.

  Before I could even begin to sway, Jason reached for me, but I shimmied out of reach and caught myself against the body of his truck.

  Something about his touch seemed lethal—a bolt of lightning when I was sopping wet and standing under the biggest tree in the fucking forest.

  Thankfully, he didn’t try to touch me again. I was able to steady myself and follow him toward the glass doors of Romeo’s with some shred of dignity.

  Inside, a yawning waitress showed us to a booth at the back of the sparsely filled dining room. Cigarette smoke tinged the air, and the faint pangs of classical music drifted from a stereo in the corner.

  Something about the artificial lighting and the scent of Italian food snapped the tension inside of me, and I slumped onto the seat across from Jason without argument.

  “If I only order water, does it still count as dinner?” I tiredly quipped as he settled on the bench.

  A vicious expression curved his lips, but he didn't respond, and I attempted to disguise my nerves with a sip of the water the waitress placed on the table. The icy liquid was a much needed jolt to my system, chilling some of the fire lingering in my veins from our rendezvous in the copy room.

  I hated that. Hated feeling so powerless in the senseless travesty that was Jason Daniels. The man was as cool as they came and yet could set me on edge with a single look. It was the same exact look he was giving me now from across a basket of steaming breadsticks.

  “Can I get you anything else?” The waitress asked around another exhausted yawn

  Jason raised an eyebrow. “Abigail?”

  It was the first time he’d spoken to me directly, and something in my belly tightened.

  I was hungry all right—starving—but nothing listed on the menu could satisfy the gnawing ache in my abdomen.

  “The Caesar salad,” I eventually managed to croak.

  Jason's face was expressionless. “Same.”

  The moment the waitress retreated, he leaned back against the cushions of the booth, and I found myself mirroring him. I had buttoned his shirt all the way up to my chin, and yet I felt completely naked as those blue eyes pierced me straight down to the bone.

  Damn.

  He was still wearing the same crisp outfit from that morning. His now untidy hair—wild as if his fingers had torn through it—betrayed an uncharacteristic moment of frustration.

  “Long day?” The ballsy jab did little to hide the breathlessness that had leeched into my voice.

  He shifted forward, placing both hands on his knees. “The longest.” His voice was gruff, devoid of any humor, and I felt my brazenness shy away from another verbal provocation.

  Instead, I took another sip of water, swallowed, and blurted a question on a sharp exhale.

  “What do you want?” When he didn’t respond quickly enough, I couldn’t keep my voice steady. “We’re here. Dinner.” I gestured to the neat bundles of silverware resting over the table. Of course, I hadn’t forgotten his little request from
earlier, and I tried my damnedest to act like it didn’t matter. “So, now what?”

  “Now,” Jason echoed. “We eat. We talk. And afterwards…I’m taking you to my hotel.”

  Chapter 10

  I clutched the edge of the table just to keep from pitching over.

  “Changed your mind?” I croaked once I finally righted myself.

  Jason inclined his head, his expression masterfully blank. “Have you?”

  I held my tongue. Admitting the truth would have meant that I still wanted him—otherwise known as plain surrender—but lying…

  For the first time in my natural-born life, I didn’t think I could. I couldn’t look into his eyes and deny the desire he brought to life as easily as flicking a switch.

  “No.” I swallowed hard. There was no hope of playing off the admission with a blasé smirk. “I can’t—”

  “Here you are!” With a false bit of enthusiasm, the waitress appeared to place our food between us.

  I couldn’t find the strength to reach for my surprisingly appealing Caesar salad. Likewise, Jason made no move of his own. After the waitress scuttled into the shadows, the minutes passed like hours. Then, suddenly, we both wound up reaching for our waters at the same time. In near sync, we drank from the rims, all the while maintaining eye contact, an electric current sizzling with every delicate sip.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  As I set down my glass, Jason did the same. In the end, he was the one who broke the silence.

  “Eat.” He tempered the harshness of the command by reaching for his own fork and stabbing a piece of lettuce. I watched with baited breath as he brought it to his mouth, and my exhausted brain conjured all sorts of sinful replacements for that crisp piece of produce.

  Without stopping to consider the consequences of giving in, I allowed my fingers to hover over my own fork before I changed tact and seized a breadstick instead. I couldn’t meet his gaze, so I settled for staring down at the table as I swirled my tongue around the oiled surface of the bread and took a bite.

  “We ate,” I said after forcing down a swallow. “Now—”