Turn It Up

by Inez Kelley

  The fortress around her heart cracked, a fissure running up the walls threatening the foundation. Tremors coursed through her, fueled by fear and something bitter she was afraid to examine. Inside the long white gloves, her palms began to sweat. She shrank from the introspection, and her bitch burst forth.

  “I can’t see a thing. You’re going to mess up my hair. Take this blindfold off right now.”

  His chuckle caressed the outer shell of her ear and a shiver shimmied through her belly. “Just hold my hand and trust me a minute, will you?”

  Her snort grated the stillness. “The last man I trusted with a blindfold left me alone while he went and got a beer.”

  Cold stone met her bare back as she was pressed against some sort of wall. The icy smoothness seeped into her spine. This wasn’t Bastian. Bastian was sweet and gentle, the perfect high-school date. Dr. Hot, the naughty boy hiding a sexual verve behind the airwaves, ground against her until her knees turned to watery jelly and her panties flooded with warmth. Roses faded from the night and the pure essence of a hungry man filled her nostrils. Greedily, she breathed deep.

  Firm hands cupped her shoulders, fingers biting into skin that craved his touch. Heated breath warmed her cheek. A drum beat beneath his ribs, pounded against hers, and her nipples beaded in want. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said he was nowhere near submissive. Trapped by his body and blinded by cotton, she wanted to beg for his dominance.

  His voice, jazz laced with the pulse of blues, licked along her skin. “Never again, do you hear me? I don’t want to hear about what you did or who you did it with ever again. They don’t exist. Ghosts, all they are, are ghosts. Let them die a slow death because you belong to me. If there’s a blindfold in our future, you can bet your sweet ass I won’t be leaving you to go get a fucking beer.”

  Fruit punch blended with spearmint on his tongue, a tonic of heady and immediate lust. The barrier of her gloves prevented her from feeling him and, although longing tore through her, Charlie knew it was for the best. It would be too much if she could actually feel the skin that warmed her fingers. But there was no masking the insatiable need in the mouth plundering hers or in the growl emanating from his chest.

  Her hands slid around his waist and up his back under his jacket. Hard muscles tensed. Pushed her back. Covered her. Heated her. Enflamed her. A scored line of nips and kisses marked her neck. Hunger spiked her stomach, twisting it into a ball aching to be filled, nourished and sated.

  The blindfold stole her sight but Bastian inundated her with the scent, taste and sound of his yearning. The feel of him—hard, ready, almost angry in his claim—weakened her knees and thrilled her blood. She snagged his bottom lip with sharp teeth and drove her tongue deeper, to taste him deeper, to take him deeper. God, she couldn’t wait to get him into bed. He’d barely touched her, and a pulsating ache stretched inside her.

  His tongue lapped at the corners of her mouth then dipped beneath her chin, along the hollow of her throat and down. His hands sizzled upward, from her waist to her ribs and higher. She didn’t anticipate the cool breeze flitting across suddenly exposed nipples when he yanked the bodice of her gown down in one harsh tug. The moist inferno of his mouth captured one peak and a cry wrenched from her belly. All her active senses lasered on Bastian—his hands cupping her, his mouth sucking at her breast, his scent filling the night. A husky rasp of his breath echoed beside her heartbeat, loud and frantic in her ear. Her eyes saw nothing but black.

  A quick nip with his teeth bowed her back. “Bastian, please.”

  “Beg me.” He lightly bit her nipple again. “I want to hear you beg me, just me. No other man.”

  “Oh God. I’ll beg. Please, just please, touch me.”

  The tight confines of her dress strained as she parted her legs, waiting, aching for him to slide his hand up and cup her wet center. His hands cupped her face instead. A soft kiss skimmed her gasping mouth.

  “No. Not yet. The next time I touch you, I’ll be touching my wife.” He tugged the bodice back into place.

  Charlie stood in stunned rejection. Blood was pumping through her at breakneck speed and he stopped? “You bastard.”

  “Hey, I play dirty. You want me? Marry me.” He caught her hands before she could rip the blindfold away. “Can’t take the same stuff you’re dishing out?”

  “Screw you!”

  Shoving his hands away, she tore the blindfold off and threw it at him. Every cell in her body quivered with unfulfilled yearning. She stomped away, the clicks of her heels like gunshots in the night. The sidewalk rimmed a dark golf course and she was in the mood to swing a club at a few balls in particular so Bastian better stay away. He did, following at a slower pace. She wanted to turn around and smack the smug smile off his face. How dare he? Of all the names she’d ever been called, a cock tease wasn’t one of them. Bastian, on the other hand…

  Grumbling under her breath, Charlie rounded the stone wall separating the golf course from the parking lot.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. An open carriage pulled by two snowy white horses stood waiting, as if Cinderella was about to run from the ball at the stroke of twelve. Devin jumped down from the driver’s seat, which was also occupied by a young girl in a sparkly red dress. He placed a carriage block step in front of the coach, bowed low and extended a welcoming arm.

  “Your carriage awaits.”

  “My what?”

  “Your carriage.” Bastian walked to the coach and held out his hand. “Come take a ride with me.”

  Chest heaving with sexual frustration and knees trembling with anger, Charlie stared at him. He’d rented a horse-drawn carriage? Wasn’t that only for weddings? What the hell kind of fairy-tale crap was he trying to pull? He’d just sexually sent her senses swirling and now he wanted to play Sir Galahad? No way was she going to…

  Somehow her gloved hand slid into his.

  He helped her up the step and into the carriage bed. She caught Devin’s smirk as he leaned into Bastian. “Dr. Talbot, you might want to, uh, wipe the lipstick off.”

  Bastian swiped his palm across his mouth then grinned. “Back at ya, Devin.”

  Devin blushed and scrubbed at his lips. His eyes darted toward the front seat. “Mel said she’d keep me company. Thanks for whatever you did when you danced with her.”

  “No problem.” Bastian vaulted into the carriage.

  The carriage jostled slightly as Devin jumped back beside the young girl. He snapped the reins, and the horses’ hooves clop-clopped on the blacktop. Bastian settled beside her and stretched his long arm along the seatback. “Surprised?”

  “You could say that.” Charlie shook her head. “Why are you doing this? I’m a sure bet. You don’t have to try this hard.”

  “I don’t want your body. Strike that, I do. I just want it for more than a night or two.” He toyed with the back of her hair. “I know you can screw me into a puddle. I understand that you need me as your friend. I get that if I was down to my last dollar, I could turn to you. I just want you to feel like my princess, my queen, my everything. There aren’t words to tell you how much I love you, so I’m trying to show you.”

  A shiver danced along her skin, and Bastian reached down to the floorboard. A red-and-white letterman’s jacket that had seen better days was wrapped around her shoulders. She didn’t have to see the school emblem or the boy’s name on the back to figure out it had been Bastian’s a long time ago. She fingered the frayed cuffs and her eyes welled. She buried her face in the fabric, inhaling the sweet scent of cedar but imagining the fragrance of cold football game nights, uncontrolled teenaged hormones and stolen beers in a backseat.

  Once upon a lifetime ago, she’d watched other girls proudly sporting their boyfriends’ school jackets or jerseys. She’d scoffed at the immaturity. She didn’t need high school theatrics. The men, not boys, she dated had long outgrown such childish nonsense. But deep down, she’d longed to feel that much connection with one person. She’d never found it until Bas
tian.

  Fighting back her tears, she burrowed against his side and just let the rhythmic sound of the horses’ gait soothe her. In front of them, the girl’s arm looped through Devin’s and her head rested on his shoulder. Charlie squeezed her eyes shut. Bastian was giving her back a bit of innocence, a watery dream she’d never admitted to having.

  The carriage stopped near a bright glow. Bastian hopped out and held his hand to her. She thrust her arms into the jacket before climbing out. It engulfed her and made her feel small, feminine and completely cared for. The night sky was decked in light. Hundreds of strands of white Christmas lights outlined a gazebo, illuminating the darkness and shining down on a picnic for two.

  The carriage pulled away and Bastian led her under the lights.

  “Where’s he going?”

  “Back to the prom. The carriage is for the King and Queen. We just borrowed it for a few minutes.”

  “And all this?” She twirled, looking up into thousands of twinkling lights.

  “Part of the hotel’s summer display. I got them to turn on this section for a little while.”

  A laugh poured from her. “And champagne? Nice. What’s in the basket?”

  “Foods for the adult palate. Not a potato chip in sight, I promise.”

  He fed her from his fingers—thin slices of melon, salty caviar, spicy prosciutto and buttery wafers. The champagne bubbles paled next to the joy fizzing in her body. A satisfied grin curved his mouth as he hit a button on a portable radio. Sultry music filled the air.

  “I wanted to dance with you again, without teenage eyes watching. Dance with me, birthday girl.”

  They danced to music from their generation, holding each other close. Hands slipped to caress and touch, stroke and tease, caught in a slow loop of foreplay that simmered rather than blazed.

  When one song faded, Bastian pulled his mouth from hers and tucked a hand in his jacket pocket. A ring box appeared and her breath caught.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said. “I wouldn’t do that. But I would like you to have this.” His high school class ring sparkled on a bed of white. The chunky gold held his initials and a football on each side of an oval ruby. His smile was a little goofy. “Okay, so it seems juvenile but…go steady with me?”

  Charlie laughed, the loud burst echoing off the gazebo roof. “You’re crazy. No one goes steady anymore. They go straight from flirting to oral sex.”

  He shrugged and slid the heavy ring on her finger. “Not us. We are steady. Solid. Unchanging. Forever. I never actually gave this to a girl in high school so you’re the first. Say yes. Consider it practice.”

  Her heart leaped in her chest and something bounced around her stomach. Her lips were dry and her throat scratchy. Her answer whispered out.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Come on, just a little while.”

  Bastian thumbed her lip and shook his head. “Nope, this is where I drop you off. If I go upstairs with you, I wouldn’t want to leave.”

  Charlie gripped his lapels and pulled him closer. Her tongue slicked between his lips and danced with his until he struggled to think. “This night has been…it’s been perfect No birthday has ever been better. End it with me right. Make love with me.”

  His balls twitched and blood surged to his groin, but he tugged her hands away. “Are you willing to say yes?”

  Her eyes were huge. “I don’t want to think about the bet. This isn’t about that. It’s just you and me, here, now. I want to be with you. Come with me.”

  He brought her hands to his mouth and kissed both knuckles. “Go inside, Charlie. A gentleman always waits until his lady is safe inside before leaving. I want to see the lights come on before I drive away.”

  Those wide blue eyes closed but she didn’t fight him. She nodded and stepped back. That single step shored up his courage more than any sexual act could. She was clinging to the magic of the night, of this one special innocent night he’d tried so hard to please her with.

  Swaddled in his old jacket, his class ring clutched to her finger by her fist, she darted to the doorway. For one second, she paused and looked back. Even if she couldn’t say it, the love shining on her face stole his breath. The outer door closed and he climbed into Caz’s Audi, watching the window. The instant the light flared, he keyed the engine.

  He knew what she would find when she walked into her apartment. Inside his chest, his heart thundered. She was close to believing him. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch. He just had to hold on a little longer. The thought carried him all the way home.

  No porch light was on and the house was dark but his SUV stood silent in the drive. He assumed Caz had gone to bed although one o’clock was early by his brother’s standards. So when he hit the porch and heard the music, he paused.

  Haunting in its simplicity, a saxophone cried into the night. Bastian placed the tune almost absently. “Take Good Care of My Baby” by Bobby Vinton sobbed from the horn in a way he’d never heard it. This version was slower, mourning, almost begging. His gut cramped as he stepped inside.

  The song hung on the air with a tearful moan. Caz’s eyes were red-rimmed, his hair tangled and loose. His body swayed, making love to the instrument. He wore only his boxer briefs. The tattoos along his back and arms flexed with each dancing step. A single candle burned on the coffee table.

  The flame gave Bastian no warmth. Candles meant fire and fire was used to melt all sorts of poisons. A prickle of unease formed along his spine. “Are you high?”

  The music faded away, one note hanging soulfully in the emptiness. Caz lifted the sax strap from his neck and laid the instrument in its case as if he were laying an infant to rest. His fingers trembled violently on the keys.

  Bastian snapped on the overhead light, harsh illumination flooding the room. “Answer me!”

  A wet snort rang out. “Thought about it. Even called a dealer.”

  Bastian’s fists clenched. “Where is it?”

  “I told him forget it.” Caz picked up a beer bottle, licked his lip but didn’t bring it to his mouth. It was full and Bastian glanced at the floor for empties. There were none that he could see.

  “Are you drunk then?”

  “I keep trying to drink it but I can’t. I want it but I can’t, story of my fucking life.”

  Bastian stomped into the room and jerked the bottle out of his hand. Warm liquid spilled over his grip.

  Caz growled, “Quit trying to save me. If I want a fucking beer, I’ll have one.”

  “Not in this house.”

  “Half this goddamned house is mine! If I want to torch the fucker, I will.”

  Disgust twisted his mouth. “Grow up. Stop with this teenage rebellious shit and be a man.”

  One minute he was glaring at his baby brother, the next he was on his ass with his jaw throbbing. Blood streamed from his lip and dripped onto his pleated tuxedo shirt. He touched the wound and stared up at Caz.

  “Saint fucking Sebastian!” Caz’s chest heaved with exertion. “You’re not so goddamn perfect, big brother, so stop acting like I’m the only fuckup in the family.”

  Bastian pulled himself from the floor and dug the handkerchief out of his pocket. “I never claimed to be perfect.”

  “Good! Because you’re not, you wimp-assed pussy.” Licking two fingers, Caz leaned down and pinched the flame from the candle. Smoke curled from the wick.

  “I’m a pussy?” Bastian pressed the cloth to his mouth. “Exactly how do you get that? I wasn’t the one who tried to check out by shooting himself so full of crack he nearly died. No, I was the dumb shit they called to come and get your ass.”

  “Sebastian to the rescue.” Caz flipped him off. “You don’t know shit about my life so don’t even go there. Deal with your own issues before you preach to me.”

  Bastian yanked the bow tie off, throwing it on the couch. “All right, get it out. What the hell is up your ass?”

  His mouth opened but sna
pped closed with his teeth clenched. “Forget it.”

  “No, you started this earlier, so fucking finish it. What is your problem with me?”

  For one long cold minute, Caz glared. Somewhere inside him, a dam must have broken because his anger rushed at Bastian like a tidal wave.

  “All my life, you were the steady one, the big man, the one who never backed down. But when your own bully showed up, you ran. You had your fucking life mapped out and you bailed because your dick’s broke.”

  Icy fury raced down Bastian’s body. Using his sterility as ammo in an argument was lower than he’d ever imagined Caz would stoop. “Fuck you.”

  “Oh please, you fuck yourself every damn day,” Caz sneered. “You wanted to be a pediatrician! A kid doctor. You ran from it. You couldn’t even look at that little girl today.”

  Air whistled through his clenched teeth. “At least I didn’t try to commit suicide with a needle and a bottle of Jack. My bully was a little bit bigger than the hottest groupie turning me down.”

  Caz shoved his hair out of his bloodshot eyes. His nostrils flared. “I never denied I fucked up. All I do is fuck up. I am a champion fuckup! But I’ve got something you never will, asshole.”

  Bastian huffed. “Oh yeah, what, track marks?”

  “A daughter.”

  The silence fell like a rock. The iron taste of blood filled his mouth and he forced a swallow down. His whisper scraped his throat with a burn. “What?”

  Caz jerked around and pulled a picture from the depths of the sax case. It shook in his hand as he held it out. Bastian commanded his arm to reach out, to grasp the photo. His fingers were numb.

  An infant, too small and too fragile, lay in an NICU Isolette, tubes and wires everywhere. Her tiny face was nearly obscured by a breathing tube and eye patches, and her paper-thin skin glowed beneath a bili lamp. Bastian looked up, and the silver tracks on Caz’s face ripped through him.