by Shari Copell
It was purely a spur-of-the-moment thing. She lifted a hand to caress his cheek. Her gaze shifted across sharp cheekbones, a chin barely peppered with black stubble, obsidian eyes that widened with shock. He was just so... touchable.
He didn’t move. His eyes glazed over as he stared at her, his head at an angle. “I wonder what you’d taste like if I kissed you.”
She shook her head, dazed at how sexy those perfectly innocuous words sounded coming out of his mouth. “I don’t know.”
“Would you be sweet like strawberries? Bubblegum? Cotton Candy?”
Her heart picked up the pace, determined to match her breathing.
“Or would you burn me? Like whiskey?”
She ran light fingertips over his brow, his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids. For some reason, the nerve endings in her fingers seemed to have a direct path to her pussy.
“Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” she whispered.
The lid of the guitar case fell closed with a puff of air as he pushed himself up and over her, pressing her back into the soft carpeting with the length of his body.
Nicks caught and held every single sensation as he lay atop her: The fluttering thump of his heart against her chest, the insistent hardness pressing between her legs, the way his breathing had morphed into tight little gasps. She was a stick of sexual dynamite, and Stone Jensen was flicking his Bic.
She closed her eyes as soft lips brushed hers, asking permission first, then taking a bolder taste. He finally covered her mouth completely with his own.
The man knew how to freaking kiss. With his lips on hers, he reduced her to the very basest primal core. She arched her body off the floor against him, jungle drums pounding a rhythm in her head.
The kiss grew fierce. Teeth behind lips—his and her own—bruised her as he ground his mouth on hers. He was asking a question, pressing for an answer. Will you be mine? Will you let me...?
She said yes by slipping her tongue into his mouth.
He propped himself up on one hand and stared down at her. She felt like she was drunk.
“Oh God. If I touch you...at all...anywhere... I’m going to come so hard my cock will be shooting tombstone dust.” Breathing seemed to be a struggle for him. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, but not here. Not like this...on the floor of your bedroom. You deserve wine and roses and dinner and candlelight. You deserve the best I can give you.”
“Oh, sure. Start something you’re not prepared to finish.” She rolled her eyes. Her body was a tension-loaded spring. Something had to give, or she was going to explode.
She moved him off her, over to the side, took his hand, and pushed it between her legs. Jesus Christ, I’ve been reduced to this.
He blew out a breath, unzipped her jeans, and pushed a frantic hand down inside her panties. He certainly knew what he was doing, but that was a given. His fingers sought and found her clit. He dipped into her wetness then circled her nub with tiny, tight spirals, over and over and over again.
More...keep it up....go...go...yes...more...
A familiar tightening ache pulled through her pelvis. She recognized it but this was different somehow. This one was going to be a barnburner of an O.
“Shit!” He jammed his mouth down on hers and fingered her rougher, harder. She was almost there...almost.
Her pelvis involuntarily lifted off the floor and pushed against his hand in an explosion of intense sensation, so strong it felt as though she’d had an out-of-body experience. She bit her lip to keep from moaning out loud. Several more spasms shook her before she relaxed down onto the floor.
Yeah, he’s way better than a Les Paul.
Stone suddenly rolled away and drew his legs up into the fetal position. She could tell his hands were between his legs, his head bent to his chest.
“Jesus...fuck...hell...fuck...God...stop!”
“Stone, are you all right?” Nicks sat up, alarmed. “God, you hurt yourself on my zipper when you yanked your hand out, didn’t you? Are you bleeding?”
He was panting but not moving. She didn’t think that was a good sign.
“Well, it sure as hell hurt, but in the best possible way.” He half-rolled toward her, his gaze bleary and unfocused. “That’s the first time that ever happened. At least without my hand being wrapped around it.”
Her eyes grew round. “Oh my God, did you...did you...come?”
“I sure as hell did. I can’t tell if I won the lottery or got hit in the face with a two-by-four. At this point, I’d have to say they feel exactly the same.”
She giggled. “I’m sorry.”
He rolled all the way over to face her, a lopsided grin on his face. “For what?”
“This is embarrassing. We don’t know each other very well.” She felt her cheeks go hot. “We shouldn’t have done this. It’s too soon.”
He sat up. “I’m the one who should be embarrassed, but I’m not. No way are you getting rid of me now, Nicks Sorenson. I want more. Tell me I have a chance at winning your heart.”
No one ever said it out loud, but she could tell her classmates thought she was a freak. She never got asked out on dates. She sat home during dances. It hurt, but she was too proud to give it much airtime in her head. She had better things to do.
This man acted as though she’d hung the moon. He wanted her.
He deserved an answer, though she was still shaking from that nuclear orgasm he’d given her. “If you haven’t won my heart tonight, you’ve certainly pinned it to the floor.”
“Yessss.” Stone scrunched his face up and did a comical fist pump. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?” He rose to his feet, his hand over his crotch. A dark stain had already started to show near the top of his zipper.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” She held her breath as she waited for an answer. She didn’t want the night to be over yet.
“Hell no. We still have guitars to inspect. But I have to clean up first.”
Stone stared in the mirror as he absent-mindedly wiped at his lower stomach with a wad of toilet paper. Ten cans of Red Bull in ten minutes wouldn’t have him this wired. He actually hurt, as though a length of dog chain had been pulled out of his balls and through the head of his cock.
It was a rookie thing to do, coming in his pants like that, but he truly wasn’t embarrassed. He just hadn’t expected... Jesus, she’d been wound up tighter than a... He’d never been so close to a woman who’d...
Well, she sure as hell was wet!
He shivered as he thought of how she’d reached out and touched his face. She had initiated the contact with him. Her fingertips had felt like butterfly wings on his skin. Who knew touching his cheeks that way would send waves of awesome to his cock? He had answers for every single question she’d been asking with those tiger-eyes of hers. God, she made him tingle all over.
He pulled his focus back to his reflection and shook his head. This evening was going to be one for the record books.
What the hell is wrong with me? What’s he going to think of me now?
Nicks had shown Stone to the bathroom near her room, deciding it might be best if he cleaned up and left after all. She didn’t know how she was ever going to face him if he came back.
When she heard doorknob to her room turn, she dropped down beside her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, her face buried in the crook of her right arm. Heat poured over her as she remembered how she’d arched her pelvis off the floor and forced her clit against his fingers. Was she that desperate? Or was he just amazing?
He laughed above her. “What are you doing down there?”
“Dying of embarrassment, if you must know,” she mumbled.
She heard her bed creak as he sat on it. “Why?”
“You must think I’m a real... Shit. I’m sure that happens to you a lot, but I don’t do stuff like that. I’m sorry.”
Stone got down beside her on the floor. She pushed her face harder into her arm. He’d be so smug and sure of himself now.
I got this. She’s eating out of my hand. She’d thrown her power away for a stupid orgasm, something she could’ve done for herself.
He settled a hand in the small of her back. “I know you don’t normally do things like that. I just think you and I have a chemistry neither one of us understands. Didn’t you feel the electricity? God, I vibrated when you touched me.”
She swallowed and nodded, staring at the black rug an inch from her nose. Electricity. Yeah, that was a pretty damned accurate word for it. His touch on her clit had been as subtle as a Taser to the side of the neck. “I don’t know you very well. I shouldn’t have allowed you to touch me...there.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. You haven’t done anything you should be ashamed of.” His hand rubbed gentle circles on her back. “Tell you what—I’ll take my cues from you, Nicks. We can go at your pace, but please don’t cut me off. I want...I need to be near you.”
She turned to face him. God, he had such gorgeous dark eyes. She stared into them and felt herself calm a little.
“Don’t you have more guitars to show me?” The most adorable smile crossed his face.
“I wasn’t sure I would, but I really like you.”
“You just made my night, beautiful. Hell, my whole week.” He sat up and tugged on her arm. “I want to see that black Strat now. You get some growly noises out of that thing. Will you tell me how you do it?”
“No.” She allowed herself to be pulled upright. “But I’ll show you.”
All of Nicks’s guitars fascinated Stone, but his attention kept drifting back to the white Les Paul.
“Go ahead and get it out again. You know you want to.” Nicks sat on the floor, plinking around on the Strat. “It’s probably delighted to be out of its case and in the hands of a guitarist like you.”
He retrieved the guitar and sat down beside her. It was a thing of beauty, a piece of art. The gold hardware gleamed against the pale cream body like jewels sparkling in white sand. He fantasized about playing it onstage somewhere, making it scream as only a Les Paul could.
Balancing it across his lap, he ran the pick over the strings and tuned it. “I’m blown away by this guitar. It’s in perfect condition. Whoever had it before you must not have ever touched it.”
“I guess not. It’s funny that it’s not my favorite. I like it, but the tobacco and I know each other like best friends. It just feels comfortable to me when it’s in my hands.”
Stone nodded. He knew what that felt like, to have a “go-to” instrument you knew would never let you down. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t tuned into this particular guitar like that. He swore he felt pulses of energy shooting down his arms when he held it.
“And you don’t know the name of the man who willed this to you?” Stone rolled the guitar over in his lap as he inspected it. He thought it was need-to-know information, but she seemed indifferent.
“No.”
“You don’t buy three Les Pauls and a Strat unless you have some level of talent. The guy must’ve been able to play.” He glanced at Nicks. Questions were starting to burn a hole in his brain.
“If it means that much to you, I can ask my dad who he was. I guess I wasn’t very curious about it. I’ve always had these guitars. It didn’t seem important.”
It was important, but Stone didn’t know why. The desire to know who owned these guitars was knocking against the inside of his skull like a frantic bird.
The door to Nicks’s bedroom opened; a smiling Mrs. Sorenson stuck her head in. “Sorry to break up the jam, but it’s a school night. Do you have your homework done?”
“Didn’t have any tonight,” Nicks answered.
“Okay. Ten more minutes, and then Stone has to go. Nothing personal.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Sorenson. I understand,” Stone said.
Chelsea’s gaze darted between the two. With another wry smile, she closed the door behind her.
Stone gave the guitar one last inspection, then moved to lay it down in the case. Something on the jack plate caught his attention. He tipped the end up to look.
The jack plate that the patch cord plugged into was engraved with two small letters, so ornate he could barely read them. He squinted and peered closer. “Hey Nicks, did you notice the engraving on the plate here?”
“Engraving? Where? Does it say something?” She put the Strat down on the carpet and rolled up on her hands and knees. “How did you ever see that tiny writing?”
“I’m just very observant. They look like initials to me. The first one is definitely an ‘A’. The second one looks like a ‘B’. No. No, it looks more like a ‘P’. AP. Do you suppose it could be the initials of the guy who left these to you?”
She shrugged. He wanted to shake her. She needed to know who’d owned these guitars, and he wasn’t sure why that was crucial.
“Do you want me to ask my mother in the morning?”
“Would you mind? I’m curious even if you’re not.”
Chelsea closed the door to her daughter’s bedroom, the sight of Nicks and Stone sitting side-by-side on the floor fixed in her mind. This was a momentous occasion.
If Nicks loved you, she loved you hard, and you stayed loved. But if Nicks found you lacking, you were pretty much consigned to the far reaches of the galaxy.
Stone Jensen had said some demeaning things about Nicks when Wild Angel started playing out locally. It was the first time her daughter had run into that kind of professional jealousy, and it had crushed her. In fact, things had gotten broken when Nicks heard what he said. That her stormy daughter had forgiven Stone enough to talk to him was nothing short of amazing.
Chelsea entered the master bedroom then turned to close the door. Tage was lying in bed, shirtless, reading a wine magazine. He looked up when he heard the door close.
“They’re not making out, are they?” he demanded in a stern tone that made her giggle.
“Not sitting up with a guitar in each of their laps, unless you know something I don’t.”
He visibly relaxed. “I don’t like the idea of the two of them being alone in that room with the door closed.”
“Stone seemed more interested in the Les Paul he had in his lap than your daughter. They’re musicians. They were lovin’ on the guitars.” Chelsea stripped off her sweatshirt, bra, and jeans then dropped a nightshirt over her head.
“When Lindsay invites the quarterback of the football team home from school and takes him to her room, I’ll remind you they’re just lovin’ on a game.” Tage threw the magazine down on the comforter. Chelsea glanced at the glossy pile of paper then up at her husband.
The muscles of his chest and shoulders were bunched and taut. His blue eyes held a challenge. Chelsea deliberately softened her voice to diffuse the tension.
“Do I have remind you yet again that Nicks is nearly nineteen...and an adult... and Lindsay is thirteen? Big difference there.”
“No difference at all. Not under my roof.”
“My roof too. For God’s sake, they were only up there for twenty minutes alone. That’s not enough time to...”
He crinkled the magazine in his left hand. “That’s plenty of time. I don’t like it.”
Tage was playing brick wall tonight. He was an expert at it. “You’re doing it again. They were sitting there side by side on the other side of her bed with guitars in their laps. All clothing appeared to be intact. However, if it disturbs you that much, I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow at breakfast.”
He snorted. “Yeah, then I’ll be the overprotective, suspicious-father bad guy.”
Chelsea lifted her hands, palms up. “You can’t have it both ways. What do you want me to do?”
Tage scowled. “Ask if she would mind leaving the door open the next time...if there is a next time...he’s here, and they find it necessary to go to her room. I don’t see why they would object if they aren’t doing anything.”
Chelsea nodded. “See, sometimes you are capable of being reasonable.”
His exp
ression was one of wounded horror. “I love that little girl, Chels. Love her so much it hurts. I want everything good for all five of our ducklings. I don’t want Nicks to get pregnant.”
She flounced into bed beside him. “You mean like I did? I’m so sorry you had to settle for a soiled dove.”
He reached over, snagged her around the waist, and dragged her into his arms as she pushed at his chest and squealed. “I don’t settle for anything, Mrs. Sorenson. You, of all people, should know that.” He claimed her mouth with his own as she molded her body against him. God, she wanted him as much now as she did all those years ago.
He broke the kiss off and stared into her eyes. His own were so blue, like the ocean that lapped at a tropical island. A myriad of emotions that should’ve raised her hackles flickered in them—amusement, irritation, impatience—but she was also comforted. Tage Sorenson was as stubborn as a boulder sometimes, but Chelsea never doubted he loved them with all his heart. She didn’t always agree with his tactics, but she could never question his motives.
He brushed a finger across the hair that had fallen over her right eye during their tussle. “Why do we always do this?”
It was on the tip of Chelsea’s tongue to ask, “Why do you always do this?” but she held it. There would be no arguments about Nicks if she didn’t take the bait every single damned time. Why did she feel so compelled to defend her daughter?
They’d only started arguing about the girl when she began to play with Wild Angel. It was then that Nicks had copped an attitude onstage, complete with an X-rated mouth. Her daughter was stubborn and fiery, but Chelsea knew what she projected up there was only a stage persona. She wasn’t like that normally. Unfortunately, Tage had been horrified by her language. Yet, he’d only addressed it once, preferring to go through his wife instead.
Tage had accused Chelsea of favoring Nicks, but he didn’t recognize that he mostly left the discipline of their oldest child to her. Did he somehow feel he had no right since she wasn’t his biological daughter? Did he take a hands-off approach because he saw Asher in her? It was all there in Nicks’s eyes, the shape of her jaw...