Sing Your Heart Out
A Sinful Serenade Novel
Crystal Kaswell
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM STRUM YOUR HEART OUT
CHAPTER ONE
The line for the bathroom snakes around the corner. It's flat-out irresponsible—hosting a hundred-person party and making all but one bathroom off-limits. People have to pee.
The living room is still throbbing with beautiful people dancing, grinding, flirting. Kara must know where the other bathroom is. Wherever she is.
I push through the crowd, but there's no sign of my best friend.
Someone bumps into me, her hip pressing firmly against my pelvis.
Screw upstairs being off-limits. This isn't a church. It’s a band's Hollywood mansion. I'm not about to pee my pants respecting the sanctity of rock stars' bedrooms.
I sneak to the second floor. All the noise from the party is just as loud here—a mix of music and muffled voices.
The long hallway has five identical doors. I scan the wall, trying to figure out which is attached to the smallest room. There. Second on the left. That must be it.
I turn the knob and push the door open.
Not a bathroom.
Definitely not a bathroom.
There are two people in here. They're tangled on the bed. The woman on all fours. The man kneeling behind her.
They're naked.
They're having sex.
His gaze goes to me. There's no sign of embarrassment or awkwardness on his face. He's totally unmoved.
The woman shrieks and scrambles off the bed, pulling a sheet over her chest.
"Miles, you fucker. I told you I don't do threesomes!"
I try to move, but my legs aren't cooperating. It's like a fiery train wreck. I can't bring myself to look away.
He's still kneeling on the bed. Wearing nothing but a condom. I scan his body for a split second. It's enough to register all the important details. He's tall, broad shoulders and chest, sculpted abs, and below his bellybutton...
He's hard.
He's hard and he's huge.
A blush spreads across my checks. I stammer, attempting and failing to speak. I've never seen that before. Not in person. In movies, sure. Textbooks, of course.
But never in person.
The guy, Miles, makes eye contact. He's completely unaffected. "You mind?"
I take a step back. My legs are finally bending to my will. "Excuse me. I thought this was the bathroom."
"Next door on the left."
I know I’m red. Beet red. "Thanks."
I pull the door closed so I'm alone in the hallway. Next door on the left.
I step into the bathroom, lock the door, and die of embarrassment.
***
It takes twenty minutes for my cheeks to return to a normal color. I slink back to the main room and do my best to blend in. The main room is huge with tall ceilings and a curving staircase against the wall. Every foot is covered with people drinking, dancing, or flirting.
I find an empty corner. Only, there's a couple sucking face next to me, not at all bothered by their recently acquired audience. If anything, they’re going at it faster and harder, like they're getting off on me watching.
I scan the room for a better hiding place. Something else catches my eyes. Miles is leaning against the wall, flirting with someone. Not the woman he was screwing upstairs, but a completely different person. This one is thin with impossibly large breasts and impossibly red hair.
His eyes catch mine and stay there. He's staring right at me, smiling. Heat spreads across my cheeks. I’m blushing. It's as bad as it was before. My head fills with the image of him naked, as unfazed as the couple dry-humping next to me.
Why did I let Kara talk me into coming to this party?
I push my way through the crowd, trying to get as far away from Miles's gaze as possible. There. I stop at the mostly empty kitchen. There must be something worth drinking in this huge, stainless steel fridge.
"You're not big on respecting people's privacy, huh?"
There's a voice behind me. No mistaking it. The same voice I heard upstairs. That must be Miles.
I turn. Yep. Miles. His features shine in the light. He has a strong jaw and messy brown hair. His eyes are a gorgeous blue. I couldn't see them in his room, but here, they're clear as day. They're fixed on me, staring at me, picking me apart.
"Actually, I'm not big on alcohol or soda," I say. "You have anything else to drink?"
He reaches past me. His hand brushes against my shoulder as he pulls open the fridge. He nods to a row of water bottles on the middle shelf. "Help yourself."
I grab a bottle of water and hold it against my chest. Something to cool me down. Miles looks so familiar. And his voice is familiar too. Almost like he...
No way. That's not possible.
There's no way this guy is the vocalist of Sinful Serenade, the guy who sings In Pieces, the guy who’s been haunting my thoughts for the last two months with his breathy, tortured voice.
That guy does not plow through groupies.
"Thank you," I say. "I'm sorry about before. I really was looking for the bathroom."
"Mhmm."
"Really."
His eyes connect with mine. "Get an eyeful?"
My cheeks flush again. That's close enough to a yes. "Excuse me. I should go."
"You're not going to let me formally introduce myself?"
"Okay." I offer my hand to shake. "I'm Meg Smart."
"Miles Webb." He takes my hand with a strong grip. His eyes pass over me like he's trying to place me. "How is it we haven't met before?"
"I don't go to parties."
"Guess that makes this my lucky day." His hand brushes against my wrist. Then it's back at his side. He leans in a little closer, his eyes on mine. "What brought you to this party?"
"My friend. And you?" I bite my lip.
"That was my bedroom you burst into."
"Oh, so you're..."
"In the band. I'm the singer of Sinful Serenade."
My legs go weak. I roll the water bottle over my neck, but it's not cooling me down. There's no way this guy is the same guy who’s been singing me to sleep.
He runs a hand through his messy brown hair. His teeth sink into his lip. He's looking at me like he's picturing me naked.
I press my back against the fridge door. There's nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. I can't believe the pull this guy has over my body. One minute of conversation and I can't move a muscle.
I try to formulate some excuse for why I need to leave immediately, but nothing comes. "You're very talented."
He smiles, his exp
ression cocky. He's looking at me like he's sure I'll be in his bed in thirty minutes flat. No time to even change the sheets from his last romp.
A pang of desire shoots through me. My damn body isn’t obeying my commands. It can't help wanting Miles Webb. He has beautiful blue eyes, a strong jaw, and tattoos peeking out from his t-shirt. He's taller than I am.
He's bad news.
A player.
A rock star, even.
But I can't stop staring at him.
His eyes pass over me again. This time, it's slow, like he's relishing it.
Deep breath. No reason I should care what this player thinks about me. I’m not about to leave him with the impression that I’m a desperate fan.
"I hate to burst your ego, but I'm not here because I'm a fan," I say.
"My ego can take a lot." He raises an eyebrow as if to suggest that his ego is plenty big.
"My friend, Kara. She's tight with some guy in your band. They go way back."
"Oh, yeah, Drew's friend. Heard a lot about her on tour."
"So, I should really find her." I step aside. "And go home. I have to study. You know how it is. Or maybe not, being a rock star and all. But I have a test tomorrow."
I turn and make my way out of the kitchen.
There are footsteps behind me. "Meg?"
I spin, eye to eye with Miles again. Once again, my mind flashes with the image of him kneeling on that bed, wearing nothing but a condom, so effortlessly casual about me walking in on him having sex.
He's not a poet. He's a manwhore.
"Yes?"
"Your friend isn't in a state to drive."
He points to Kara, curled up on the couch. Her dark hair is a mess and her dark eyes are filled with an expression half drunk and half drunk in love. She looks especially short and curvy next to the tall, muscular guy pressed against her. He has short, black hair and deep brown eyes. That must be Drew.
"I can give you a ride," Miles says.
"No, it's fine. I'll take her home." Then it hits me. I can't drive Kara's car. It's a stick shift. Shit.
Without waiting for Miles's reply, I make my way to the couch. Kara beams when she sees me. She bounces to her feet and throws her arms around me.
"Are you having fun? Please, tell me you don’t completely hate the party." Her voice is sweet and sincere as she squeezes me tightly.
Kara is my best friend, and she really earns the title. She's been endlessly patient the last three months, doing everything she can to drag me out of mourning. I'm not going to ruin her night.
"I'm about ready to go home," I say. "I'll take a cab."
"No. I can drive," she says.
The dark-haired guy butts in. "Kendrick, you are way too drunk to drive. If you even think about getting in your car, I’ll throw you over my shoulder, carry you to my room, and strap you to my bed."
Her eyes light up the second he calls her by her last name. She looks like she’s about to explode.
“I didn’t know you were into that,” she says. “Do you have rope or handcuffs or what?”
“I’ll call you a fucking cab.” His voice is equal parts playful and protective.
She sticks her tongue out at him. “I have an early literature class tomorrow and I need my damn car for my tutoring job.” She nudges him and points to me. “This is my friend Meg, who you are so rudely ignoring in favor of lecturing me.”
He pushes off the couch and offers his hand. "Drew Denton. Nice to meet you.”
I shake. I can see why Kara likes him (not that she’d admit it). He’s handsome, broad, covered in tattoos. Can’t hurt that his deep brown eyes are constantly focused on her. "Meg Smart."
“Miles giving you a hard time?” Drew asks.
“No, he’s fine,” I say.
“If you won’t listen to reason—” Drew turns back to Kara, “Then I will drive you home.”
Kara looks Drew in the eyes. "You were drinking too."
Miles butts in. "I can drive you guys home."
Drew's eyes narrow. "If you so much as—"
"I won't." Miles looks at Kara. "Your keys."
"It's a manual." She digs through her purse.
"That’s fine." He smirks. "I'm good with a stick."
CHAPTER TWO
Kara takes the backseat. She directs Miles for a few minutes then curls into a little ball, closes her eyes, and falls fast asleep.
And now I'm as good as alone with him.
I try to make small talk, but nothing comes to me. Instead, I press my back into the seat and watch the city fly by the windows. "You want the Wilshire exit off the 405."
"That all?"
"Yes. That's all."
"Nothing else you'd like to discuss?"
I play with the seatbelt. "We're friends by association, so how about we agree never to discuss this again? I am sorry, and it was an accident."
A smug smile spreads across his face. "I can't agree to that."
"Why not?"
"You're too cute when you blush."
"I'm not cute." I bite my tongue so I don't snap. "Let's pretend it never happened."
"If it bothers you that much." He stops at a red light. "But it's not a big deal. Nothing you haven't done before."
Right. Because I'm a twenty-one-year-old college senior. And no normal college senior is quite so sexually inexperienced.
"Of course," I say.
Miles looks at me. That smug smile gets wider. He says nothing, but he's practically screaming with his eyes.
I try my most confident voice. "I'm very experienced. I had a boyfriend last year."
"There's no shame in being a virgin."
"I know, but I'm not."
He raises his eyebrow.
"It's not really any of your business."
The light turns green. Miles steps on the gas. Changes gears until he's going way over the speed limit. "What's your favorite sexual position?"
"I'd rather not discuss that with a stranger."
"What happened to us being friends by association?"
A compelling point. I shrug like I'm as unaffected as he is. "Missionary."
He turns to me for a second, shaking his head. "Now, I know you're lying. I've never met a girl who wanted to do missionary."
"Out of the ten thousand girls you've screwed, none wanted to do missionary?"
"Not one." He stops short at a yellow light. "If you want your first time to be good, I'm happy to throw you a bone."
"Excuse me?"
His eyes find mine. His expression is the epitome of cocky. "You do want to fuck me."
"I do not."
He shakes his head. "You do. The way you were staring at me in the living room—you were picturing me naked."
"Because I saw you naked. I couldn't help it."
"Mhmm." The light turns green and he slams on the gas. He turns the corner and speeds onto the freeway on-ramp. "And now you're thinking about it."
"I'm not."
"I'm better than whatever you're imagining."
"Did you even know that girl's name?"
"Yeah."
"What was it?"
"Stephanie. Pretty sure it was Stephanie." He shrugs. "It's just sex. You'd know if you ever—"
"Whatever." I cross my legs. "I don't need your pity sex offer."
"There'd be no pity about it," he says.
That same blush spreads across my cheeks. "What do you mean?"
His eyes turn towards me. "I want to fuck you, too."
"There's no ‘too.’ I do not want to have sex with you."
He smirks.
I bite my tongue. It's only getting me into trouble.
We drive in silence for a few minutes. It's too much, so I turn the car radio on. It's tuned to KROQ and, God help me, the station is playing a Sinful Serenade song. The vocals are a low moan, a sound meant to express an extreme outpouring of emotion. I can't get past the moan. Is that what Miles sounds like when he's mid orgasm?
My cheeks are still
scalding. They've been hot for the last fifteen minutes. I scramble to change the station. The next preset is another rock station. That won't do. There. The oldies station is sure to be free of Miles's voice.
He laughs. "You're cute when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous." I fold my arms over my chest. "Just not in the mood to listen to rock music."
"Mhmm."
Whatever. I watch the sky whiz by outside the windows. The rest of the drive, I only open my mouth to give Miles directions. It feels like an eternity passes, but finally we arrive at Kara's apartment.
Miles stays in the car, out of earshot, while I walk Kara up the stone staircase. I fish through her purse for her keys.
She looks at me with concern. "Thanks for coming out, but Meg—"
"Yeah?"
Her gaze drifts to Miles leaning against the car. "Be careful. Miles is a total whore."
"Drink some water."
She steps into her apartment. "He was flirting with you."
"You were listening?"
She smiles deviously, clearly not as drunk as she let on. “I worry about you.”
I shrug, attempting an effortlessly cool expression. It does nothing to convince her.
"Be careful." She shuts the door.
I turn around and rush down the steps. Now it's not just this Miles guy who's certain of my attraction. My best friend is in on it, too.
I set my foot on the last step, only it's not the last step. It's the ground. I try to steady myself, but it's not good. I go down, landing on all fours.
Ow. I inspect my wrists and knees. Nothing serious except for some scraped skin. Nothing a washcloth and a Band-Aid won't fix.
Someone offers his hand. Must be Miles. Fine. I take it, allowing him to help me to my feet.
He stares at me. "You went down—hard."
He said it that way on purpose. He must have.
"I'm fine," I say. "I can walk home from here. It's close."
"No way. Drew will kill me."
"He won't kill you for offering to take my virginity?"
"Some things are worth dying for."
Miles kneels, inspecting my knees. But I'm more concerned with how short my skirt is and how close his head is to the hem.
"That's a bad scrape," he says. "You have a first-aid kit?"
"Yeah. At home."
"I'll bandage it."
"It's nothing."
"I bruised plenty of knuckles in my day. I'm bandaging that." He rises to his feet. His eyes meet mine. "Either we do it at your apartment, or we go to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy."
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