by BETH KERY
“See what I mean?” Mrs. Brunson whispered with a pointed glanced of disapproval.
At ten minutes after eight o’clock, the crowd was getting wilder by the second judging from the increased volume level and the pockets of chants that started up and waned as people waited for the main act to begin. The traffic through the lobby had slowed down considerably as people remained fixed in their seats in anticipation. Megan had just sorted the money they’d collected neatly in the box and closed the lid when the band was being announced.
“I knew I was right—some S&M thing—Lash Her Down,” Mrs. Brunson said, clearly scandalized.
The applause was so thunderous that Megan couldn’t even hear a thing for thirty seconds after the introduction. Eventually, she heard the opening notes of the music. They were obviously starting out with a crowd favorite, because the audience roared again with approval. Megan found herself moving her foot to the hard, vibrant beat that was no less aggressive than the previous band had been, but that sounded far more sophisticated and skilled to Megan’s ears.
“They’re good,” Megan admitted to Mrs. Brunson. The guitarist was alternating between coaxing wild, funky sounds out of his instrument to fingering it with superhuman clarity and rapidity. It was like nothing Megan had heard before, but the sound was strangely familiar, too.
Then she heard the raspy, resonant voice and her foot stilled.
“What’s wrong, Megan?” Mrs. Brunson wondered, seeing her frozen expression.
“Nothing. Do you mind if I go out for a minute and listen to the band?”
“Of course not, dear. They’ll be here to pick up the money in a minute anyway. You go enjoy yourself. This band isn’t half-bad, but I could do without the kinky references.”
Megan wondered vaguely what Mrs. Brunson would think if she told her that the kinky references were coming completely from her own mind. The night had cooled off nicely since she’d been indoors. The security guards for the condominium nodded to her when she came out, but didn’t stop her from standing in the entry and watching Lasher Down from a prime viewing spot.
Why hadn’t he told her he was going to perform?
The second thought that broke through her fog of shock was that she now understood how Christian could eat as much as he did and yet stay so whipcord lean. The song was boisterous and stormy; the lyrics were moody. Christian epitomized the music. He was always in motion. His singular voice belted out with raw, rough power one moment and strummed softly the next, always in perfect counterbalance to the driving beat of the band.
She could see him surprisingly well from where she stood. He wore his typical casual, low-rise jeans that fit his long legs and slim hips to perfection. At the end of the final refrain, he bowed his back as he held a long final note. Megan admired the way his strong throat convulsed around his voice, controlling the vibrations with such meticulous precision. The bottom of his dark green T-shirt rose up to show a flat, bronzed abdomen and the masculine strip of hair that she’d traced with her finger just last night.
The drummer crashed down resoundingly on the last note. Megan blinked as it broke the spell.
The audience’s approval was deafening. Seth immediately led the band into another hard driving anthem that had the entire audience standing, clapping, and dancing. The young woman she had watched from the lobby was shaking it shamelessly. Megan found herself being easily swept up by the energy of the band. None of the members of Lasher Down gave half measure, Christian least of all. By the end of the rowdy second song, his hair was soaked at his nape and his T-shirt was visibly becoming wet.
Christian must have thought she was an idiot for not knowing who he was. She could easily understand why the media would eat him up. He was utterly mesmerizing—a natural showman. He exuded sexuality.
At the break in between songs, Christian greeted his old neighborhood and it responded with wild applause. He teased the people in the high rises for watching the show for free. People in the balconies and terraces from eight blocks around cheered loudly while the ground dwellers jeered. Christian jokingly admonished the sky dwellers by dedicating the next song to them, called Cheap Thrills.
The crowd immediately settled down at Seth’s opening notes for the fourth song. It had a slower tempo, but was no less muscular than the previous songs. When Christian began to sing, his performance was closer to the bluesy, moody style that she’d heard him perform at Emilio’s the other night. Megan was amazed that almost the entire crowd knew the lyrics and sang along with him.
The song captured the definition of longing, distilled the meaning of mourning. The refrain beseeched the singer’s lover to hear his words of forgiveness, to acknowledge his love. But in the end, the singer lamented that while those in heaven may hear, they have no speech with the living, and while he can speak of his regrets, he does so in solitude.
Megan’s eyes squeezed shut as genuine pain coursed through her at the final refrain of the song. She loved Christian. She hated to think of him ever being in so much misery, so alone. She knew without a doubt that Christian had written the mournful ballad for his dead wife.
Cecilia.
Was Christian still in love with her? If the song was any indication of the degree of love that Christian had felt at one time, Megan doubted there was any way that he couldn’t be. She felt guilty about it, but she couldn’t help but feel jealous of the woman who had inspired such a poignant love song from Christian.
She felt drained as the music ended, sick and heart sore.
Maybe Hilary was right. What did she really know about Christian? She didn’t believe any of the sleazy insinuations Hilary had made. It wasn’t that. But he was so complex, and he shared so little of himself with her. How many times would she discover a totally new, surprising dimension to his character? She found the prospect intimidating.
She watched him up on the stage as he brushed back his hair and leaned over to speak to Seth. He abruptly turned his head to the left. Megan watched in puzzlement as both Seth and Christian stared at what looked like a shirt being swung around over the crowd’s head.
“Chris!” Megan heard a woman yell over the clamor of the crowd.
She couldn’t hear the rest of the words, but she recognized the shouter. It was the pretty drunk girl who had been dancing nearby a while ago. She must have made her way closer to the stage. Megan looked on in confusion as the audience recognized that something was drawing the band members’ attention. She saw the shirt that the girl was flinging around fly toward the stage, miss, and slither to the ground.
“Well, thank you, ma’am,” Christian drawled with dubious amusement into the microphone.
The crowd roared with laughter and whistled. Two Chicago cops bustled up to take the arms of the half-naked, resisting girl.
At first, Christian cued the band to begin their next song despite the minor tussle that was taking place close to the stage. After a few seconds, though, he made a slashing motion with his hand. He placed the microphone in the stand and whipped his T-shirt over his head in one fluid motion. A host of women screamed and whistled their at the revelation of his naked torso. He balled up the T-shirt and sauntered over to the cops who were taking away the restrained, topless girl.
“Hey!” Megan heard Christian yell. “Give this to her.”
The crowd roared and clapped when the cop let the girl put on the sweaty T-shirt. When the cops brought her right past Megan, the young woman was handcuffed, but grinning from ear to ear.
Her breath caught when she saw Christian’s amused gaze follow the cops and the girl’s progress, brush over Megan, then return to her with focus. The sight of him caused her already frothing emotions to boil. He was lean and sinewy. Every muscle was clearly delineated beneath smooth, tanned skin. His obvious insouciance about performing half-naked in front of a multitude only seemed to highlight their differences from one another.
They technically weren’t that far apart. She was standing relatively alone and unhindered by the ch
aos of the crowd. For a split second, their gazes held, then an urgent chord on Seth’s guitar called Christian back to the microphone and his performance.
She had seen enough. She fought her way through the sweaty, rowdy crowd with Christian’s voice haunting her from behind, still seducing her even in her disoriented, muddled flight from it.
Chapter 11
A hard fist crashed repeatedly on the door.
“Damn it, Megan, I know you’re in there. Open this door!”
Anxiety and longing warred with defiance inside her breast. She left her bedroom and stood in the living room, wishing Christian would just go away and leave her to her confusion. The racket he made rattled her nerves.
She was so surprised when she heard the key sliding smoothly in the lock she didn’t have time to move an inch. Given the tumultuous events that had happened, Megan had completely forgotten that Christian had a key to her loft.
She had enough presence of mind not to back away when she saw him, but only just. He entered the room like a storm that was about to break.
“Why weren’t you answering?” Christian asked abruptly when he saw her standing in the living room. Her arms crossed under her breasts, unintentionally plumping them beneath the fitted fabric of the red dress. He closed the door without taking his eyes off of her. Peter had told him that Megan had been crying and upset when she came in earlier. She didn’t look particularly fragile right now, though. She looked haughty and feisty, and…beautiful. Still, his voice became unintentionally demanding in his concern for her.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“You’re what’s wrong.”
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself as regret, anger and worry warred inside him all at once. “If you mean because I didn’t tell you about the St. Cat’s block party, I can explain about that. I didn’t think you would be there.”
“Oh, so it’s okay, as long as I don’t know about things? The St. Cat’s block party isn’t the point, Christian, and you know it.”
He tried to exhale some of the frustration and tension that had gathered in him. Two seconds after he’d caught sight of her at the concert, he’d glanced back only to see her huffy exit and elegant, tempting bare back. Christian couldn’t say precisely what had her so worked up, but he knew whatever it was, she was blaming him for it.
“Why don’t you tell me what the point is exactly, Megan?”
“The point is that you’re secretive and manipulative and…sneaky. Why do you get to know all about my sordid past and I can’t even know where you live, or what you do for a living, or that you were married.”
Christian’s eyelids narrowed. “Hilary?”
She lifted her jaw defiantly. “What if it was?”
He moved toward her. “So you think I’m sneaky, huh?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.
She stood her ground.
“I think you tell me whatever suits you whenever it suits you.” Her eyes flickered down over his body. He hadn’t showered after the concert, just thrown on a white button-down shirt and bolted, he’d been so anxious to find her.
“I see that you found another shirt to wear,” she said sarcastically. “Girls must take off their shirts for you all the time. The crowd loved it when you gave that girl yours, especially the women. I guess you probably always bring an extra. Or maybe you have to bring several shirts? Maybe you consider just one pair of bared breasts a slow night.”
His lip curled in rising anger. “Yeah, that’s right. Having drunk teenage girls strip for me is just one of my many perverse pleasures. That and seducing twenty-six-year-old virgins. I have to admit, you ladies are kind of a challenge to find, but that just makes the end result so much more rewarding.”
Megan slapped his cheek. Hard. He blinked in amazement. When she tried to get past him, he stopped her by gripping her forearm.
“What’s wrong, Megan?” he asked her in a soft, taunting voice that belied his volatile state. “Isn’t that the line that Hilary fed you? Bored, immoral rock star seduces local innocent for a depraved thrill?”
“I’m not that innocent,” she seethed.
“Oh, yes you are,” he grated out through a tight jaw. “But you’re not going to be for much longer if I have my way about it.”
She gasped when he leaned down and seized her mouth in a searing kiss. Her heat, her taste, her scent: he wanted to drown himself in them.
He ravished her mouth, made free with it. In that moment, he was a slave to his need. He was sick and tired of caution. His stroking hands compelled her, demanding that she recognize her place in their sensual interplay, insisting that she be neither victim nor tragedy, only the woman who made his blood sing like no other had before.
She responded as naturally as a flower opening its petals to the sunlight. She moaned into his mouth and stroked his tongue with growing avidity. His fingertips ran over the silky skin of her back before they swept beneath her arm and caressed her breasts from the side. When his hands cupped her from beneath and shaped her into his palms, she arched her back, molding her flesh to his until he groaned.
Her fingers moved anxiously over his shoulders and back, before they moved to the front of him. She struggled with the few buttons on his shirt feverishly.
“Megan…” Christian ground out next to her lips when she spread her hands over his bare abdomen. Her fingers explored, making him shiver uncontrollably. She burrowed her nails into the hair on his chest. When she lightly scraped a nipple he lifted his head and hissed softly. For a taut moment, their gazes met and held. Then he felt her finger flick over the sensitive disc again, teasing him into a reaction.
He slid one hand behind her neck and pressing the other against her back, so that she was bowed tightly against his partially bared body. He grasped her soft curls in his hand and tugged, tilting her face upwards. He kissed her until his mind went black. It was like diving into a sea of raw need. His fingers moved as if they had a mind of their own. The halter around her neck fell first. He whipped it down between their bodies while his other hand worked on the zipper at her waist. They shared a groan of sensual gratification when her breasts were crushed into his bare chest. He greedily ate her moan of anticipation when the dress fell down her legs and pooled around her sandals.
His hands gloried in the softness of her skin and the way she curved so beautifully into his palms. He’d wanted to touch her for so long without restraint. Sweet, pretty Megan, with the soulful smile and the shining eyes, the calm, elegant demeanor and the fires that leapt just beneath her surface.
Her fires were burning him now.
She started to unfasten his jeans. Christian broke their kiss and buried his face in her neck. For a second, his mind did battle with the words he knew he should utter into her ear. He should force them to pause, ask her if she was certain…
But when her fingers moved, he didn’t take the noble route. Instead, he muttered hoarsely, “Touch me, Megan.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes wide. Her uncertainty melted him.
“I’ve never touched a man. I don’t know what to do,” she whispered anxiously next to his lips.
Without breaking their gaze, he reached for her hand. He covered it in his own and guided her between the opened fly of his jeans. He familiarized her with his shape and texture through the thin material of his briefs. They watched each other with tense desire. Megan began to map his contours on her own. He watched her, captivated. Her uncertainty segued to wonder…and then heat.
She plunged her fingers into his briefs and stroked his naked length avidly.
Christian bent at the knees and spread his hands over the cheeks of her bottom. When he raised himself, he brought her with him. She cried out in surprise at being swept off her feet, but then her legs wrapped naturally around his hips. He kissed her like a madman…like he was starved for her. She clung to his shoulders when he lowered her to the couch. But Christian resolutely removed her hands and stood.
He felt like he was go
ing to explode, implode…he didn’t know what as he studied her reclining, wearing only her sandals and white bikini underwear. He thought of the thousands of ways he wanted to savor her, pleasure her, love her. Then Megan said his name plaintively, and he shrugged out of his shirt, kicked off his shoes and lowered his jeans and briefs.
She looked dazed as she studied him when he stood naked before her. His breath burned his lungs when she raised her hand. Her sensitive, knowing touch was the hallmark of her art.
Sweat began to bead Christian’s brow and upper lip as he recognized her touch would be the hallmark of Megan’s lovemaking as well.
He willed himself to endure the pleasure of her alternating butterfly light touches and squeezing fist for as long as he could. But when she focused her curious fingers on the engorged tip of his erection, he reached his limit. His breath was coming ragged and harsh as he bent and removed her underwear. His urgency had become so great that he couldn’t take the time to appreciate how stunning she was when she was fully revealed to him. He was next to her before Megan could fully murmur his name.
He swallowed the end of her plea in a fiery kiss.
Their bodies responded naturally to their need to mate and join. But even though Megan opened for him, she was small and untried, and the space on the couch wasn’t large enough for her to spread further. Christian could feel her entrance with his erection. She was very wet. Her kisses and desperate hands told him that she was ready.
But he wasn’t going anywhere.