by Desiree Holt, Lisabet Sarai, Lily Harlem, Elizabeth Coldwell, Wendi Zwaduk, Imari Jade
Desiree loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com
Also by Desiree Holt
Crude Oil
Beg Me
Afternoon Delight
Down and Dirty
Cat’s Eyes: Pretty Kitty
The Sentinels: The Edge of Morning
The Sentinels: Night Moves
The Sentinels: Dark Stranger
The Sentinels: Animal Instinct
The Sentinels: Mated
The Sentinels: Silent Hunters
Wet Dreams and Fantasies: Interlude
Wet Dreams and Fantasies: Intermission
Wet Dreams and Fantasies: Game On
Brit Party: Four Play
Heatwave: Summer Spice
Night of the Senses: Carnal Caresses
Caught in the Middle: Swingtime
Threefold: Party of Three
Feral: Black Cat Fever
Christmas Goes Camo: Melting the Ice
WILD ABOUT THAT THING
Lisabet Sarai
Dedication
To Cole, with thanks
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Heineken Beer: Heineken International
Time Out: Time Out New York
Jim Beam: Jim Beam Brands Co.
Ivory Soap: Proctor & Gamble Company
Juicy Fruit: William Wrigley Jr. Company
Johnny Walker: Diageo
Alka-Seltzer: Bayer Schering Pharma AG
I’m Wild About That Thing: Lyrics by Spencer Williams
Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out: Jimmy Cox
When Things Go Wrong (It Hurts Me Too): Big Bill Broonzy
The Sky is Crying: Elmore James
Born Under a Bad Sign: William Bell
Rock Me Baby: B.B. King
Chapter One
Ruby could feel it in her bones. It was going to be a good night. Only ten thirty, but most of the tables clustered ‘round the stage were full. Lori had already lugged two extra cases of Heineken—tonight’s beer special—up from the basement, and from the looks of the empties accumulating in front the customers, they were going fast. The bartender caught Ruby’s eye and gave her a thumbs up. Everything under control.
Up front, the Night Travellers hit a dark groove, wailing through Born Under a Bad Sign. Zeke’s fingers flew over the strings, improvising a high riff, while Jojo’s bass kept the song grounded. “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” Zeke growled, torturing his guitar to match the pain in his voice. Damn, but the man sounded black, despite the mop of straw-coloured hair he kept pushing out of his eyes. Born in Mississippi, he must’ve soaked up blues in the water and the air. Certainly he could play with the best. Ruby was lucky to have him and his band, given the pittance she could afford to pay them.
As if he sensed her attention, Zeke picked her out of the shadows at the back of the club. She felt the warmth of the smile he beamed to her, a smile totally at odds with the desperate mood of the song. You know why Zeke plays here, her inner critic commented. You’re just taking advantage of him.
He gets what he wants, she argued with the internal voice that sounded so very much like her mother’s. I treat him fine. Of course, she got as much out of their relationship as he did. Zeke was a strong man with powerful desires. He could set her on fire. It wasn’t her fault that he was so sentimental. You wouldn’t expect it from a rough and tumble guy like Zeke Chambers—ten years a New York cabbie, a guy who’d seen every horror the city could dish out.
Her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, interrupting her train of thought.
“Hey, hon. What’s up? You should be in bed.”
“I’m going, Mama. I just want to finish this chapter…”
“Isaiah Jones, it’s nearly eleven and tomorrow’s a school night! You shut your light off right now!”
“Okay, okay, Mama! But don’t forget about your meeting tomorrow with Ms Rodriguez.”
“Oh, right.” Ruby sighed. Isaiah’s grades were good but he was so small that he tended to get bullied. She needed to put a stop to that, somehow. “Thanks, hon. Three thirty, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“I’ll be there, don’t worry. Then we’ll walk back home together. Maybe stop for a banana split.”
“Yum!”
“But only if you go to bed right now, you understand? I don’t want to have to come upstairs and make you!”
“Of course. Good night, Mama.”
“’Night, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” Ruby fought against the wave of guilt that threatened to swamp her. Sure, it would be better if she could awaken with her son, make him breakfast and see him off to school like a “normal” mom. But the club kept her up until three a.m. most nights.
Isaiah understood. She’d tried staying up until after he’d left, but he had seen how wiped out that made her. He insisted she needed her sleep. At thirteen, he didn’t have any problem dressing and feeding himself—heck, he’d been doing it for the past two years, ever since she’d opened the Crossroads Blues Bar. He knew the club was her dream—the dream that had kept her alive after his bastard father took off with his leggy hygienist.
And the bar was finally starting to take off. Just last week, Time Out had published a feature about Crossroads. “A bit of Chicago or the Delta transplanted to Fourteenth Street,” the reviewer had raved. That glowing memory almost balanced the effects of the letter she’d received this afternoon.
The crowd erupted into claps and whistles as the Travellers finished their number. “Thank you kindly, ladies and gentlemen.” A decade in New York hadn’t erased the softness of the South from Zeke’s speech. “Welcome to our first open mic night here at the Crossroads. Hope you brought your axe, your sax or your harp—if you didn’t, well, hell, you can borrow ours! Everybody gets the blues sometimes. This is the place to let it all out!”
Fresh applause greeted Zeke’s invitation. He stood up there on the platform—his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans jacket, his axe hanging around his neck—and grinned like the country boy he used to be. At six-foot-one, with the solid build of a halfback, Zeke was an imposing figure. He’d broken up more than one drunken brawl for her over the past two years and he had a temper that could be scary. To Ruby and Isaiah, though, he’d been nothing but kind. Whatever success the Crossroads could claim was largely due to him.
“To kick things off tonight, I want to invite a very special lady to join us here on stage. She’s been through some hard times, friends, and she knows the blues. It’s in her blood, passed on from her daddy, Jimmy ‘The Harp’ Jones. When she sings, she spills her soul. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Ruby Jones, the lovely owner of the Crossroads Blues Bar!”
Applause filled the club. Zeke’s invitation hadn’t been a surprise. They’d discussed having her warm up the crowd, and of course, she’d been performing since she was a kid. Nevertheless, his effusive introduction made her feel self-conscious. Ruby wished she’d worn something a bit more glamorous than her usual jeans and tailored shirt.
She picked her way between the tables, headed for the stage. Zeke held out a big hand. When she grasped it, he swung her onto the platform, and quite neatly, into his arms. The crowd roared.
Zeke brushed his lips across hers. His distinctive scent engulfed her—clean sweat, Jim Beam and Ivory Soap. It was like turning on a movie—she instantly remembered the last time he’d been inside her. His blond stubble grazed her cheek. She saw him in her mind’s eye—body suspended above hers on powerful arms as he buried his cock in her pussy, fucking her with a smooth, steady rhythm while he scanned her face, focussed on her pleasure. She felt again the way he stretched and filled her. The seam of her jeans teased her suddenly swollen clit. She wondered if Zeke could smell her g
rowing dampness. Hell, what about the rest of the band?
“Stop it,” she whispered, pushing against his rock-hard chest.
Zeke released her with obvious reluctance. “I love her,” he told the audience, eliciting a chorus of hoots and whistles. Aching, hungry and guilt-ridden, Ruby knew he meant every word.
She smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse, noting in passing the tautness of her nipples, and took a deep breath. “Good evening,” she said into the microphone. As always, the amplified sound of her low alto startled her with its depth and richness. “I’m so glad to see you all. I hope you have a great time—that’s why I’m here, to make that happen if I can. Like Zeke says, the blues is in my blood. I can’t get away from it. I just gotta give in and let it out.”
She turned to nod at Zeke and the other musicians. They picked up the intro to Bessie Smith’s famous lament.
“Once I lived the life of a millionaire,
Spending my money, I didn’t care.
I carried my friends out for a good time,
Buyin’ them bootleg liquor, champagne and wine…”
The audience was as silent as a few dozen folks crammed into a low-ceilinged bar could be. Ruby dug deep and let the pain flow out into her song.
“Nobody knows you when you down and out
In my pocket not one penny
And my friends I haven’t any…”
Zeke and Jojo gave her solid backing, keeping it simple and strong to avoid drawing attention away from her vocals. She didn’t need to think—she’d learned this song at ten years old. She could sing it in her sleep.
She wanted to soar, to turn the sorrow in the piece into some kind of revelation, but worry weighed her down. She couldn’t get her mind off the letter. It was from some fancy uptown law firm, scorn hiding behind politeness. We regret to inform you…
She paused to give Zeke and Jojo their solos, blinking hard in a fight against looming tears. The new owner of the building at 127 Fourteenth Street has expressed an intention to not renew the lease. Two years of her sweat and sacrifice, not to mention every penny she owned, down the drain. Please vacate the premises on or before … The owner will be taking possession… Why did she have nothing but bad luck? Didn’t she deserve some happiness for a change? What was she going to do?
Zeke’s chord change signalled the end of their solos. She nearly missed the cue.
“Mmmmm…when you’re down and out…”
Ruby could feel Zeke gazing at her. If she lifted her head, she knew she’d see surprise and concern on his face. And he’d see the wet gleam in her eyes.
Down and out. Her voice wobbled, vibrating with emotion, as they brought the number to a close. The audience screamed its approval. Ruby bowed and tried to smile. She’d beaten the blues before. She wondered if she had the strength to do it again.
As the applause died down, Zeke and his boys struck the first chords of Rock Me Baby. Ruby launched into the rollicking tune, the driving beat automatically making her feel better.
“Rock me baby. I want you to rock me all night long.
Rock me baby, yeah, rock me all night long.
I want you to rock me baby, like my back ain’t got no bone.”
Zeke took up the second verse, giving her a chance to catch her breath. His sexy baritone vibrated deep in her stomach. He always managed to make this song sound so deliciously dirty, especially when they sang it together.
They reached the bridge. Zeke’s guitar wailed like a cat in heat. Ruby scanned the audience. Thirty or forty people at least, clustered around the tables or leaned against the bar. Practically every seat in the place was taken. Men predominated, but there were plenty of women, too. She saw black and white faces, age-grizzled hair and sleek, modern dos, ragged jeans and designer sweatshirts.
Young and old, black and white, rich and poor—everyone moved with the music. Everywhere she looked, her customers swayed to the beat—nodding their heads, shaking their shoulders or tapping their toes. That’s the way it was with the blues. You couldn’t help it.
Except for this one guy, who perched on a barstool pretty close to the stage. He had skin the colour of milky coffee, a shaved head, aquiline features, and wire-frame glasses. He wore the top two buttons of his white business shirt open, the sleeves turned halfway up his forearms and the tails outside his trim jeans. His polished leather shoes looked expensive. The thing that drew Ruby’s attention, though, was his aura of total concentration. One foot on the rung of the stool, he focussed on the band, drinking in the music. His lips pressed together. His hands, decorated with gold rings, lay still on his taut thighs. He wasn't grooving with the rest of the crowd, but Ruby could tell he was swallowing up every note.
As though he felt the weight of her gaze, the man turned his face towards her. Their eyes connected. His were dark as midnight, deep as a grave.
A bolt of heat flashed through Ruby’s body. She thought she’d melt, right there on stage. Her nipples contracted into rigid peaks. Her pussy, already damp from the effects of Zeke’s teasing, flooded with new moisture.
The man did not smile. His bottomless eyes burrowed into her soul.
Ruby felt an insane impulse to jump down and kneel at his feet. She teetered on her high-heeled boots, dizzy with desire, almost tumbling into the stranger’s lap.
“Everything okay, darlin’?”
Zeke’s whisper pulled her back from the brink. She sent him a quick, grateful smile as they joined their voices in the final verse.
“Yeah, rock me pretty baby, baby rock me slow
Want you to rock me baby, till I don’t want no more.”
When she looked up, after their bows, the stranger was clapping along with everyone else. What was that all about? Ruby wondered as she introduced the first guest who’d signed up for the open mic. Never felt anything like that before. As she left the stage and headed for the ladies’, she didn’t allow her gaze to stray in the stranger’s direction, but that didn’t help. She knew his eyes were following her every step of the way.
Chapter Two
Get hold of yourself, girl. You gotta pay attention to your business.
Ruby splashed cold water on her cheeks and brow and ran her fingers through her riotous black curls. For once, she agreed with her inner critic. Her life was complicated enough without the addition of tempting strangers who inspired irresistible lust.
Her heart was still beating a mile a minute, though. She could see the pulse in her throat, making the brown skin twitch. She was hot-blooded—Zeke often told her that, and she knew it was true—but there was a time and place for sex, and this wasn’t it.
Her clit throbbed inside her soaked panties. Her nipples were so sensitive that the rubbing of her lace bra felt like burlap. She closed her eyes and tried to centre herself.
Breathe. That’s what her papa used to tell her, before she got up to sing. Inhale, then let all the feelings you don’t want pour out along with the bad air. The old trick still worked. Gradually, her skin cooled and her heart slowed to a more normal rate.
When she used the toilet, she saw that her bikini briefs were even wetter than she’d expected. Too bad she didn’t have time to nip upstairs for a fresh pair, but she’d been in the john too long already. She needed to get back to work.
Ruby struggled to pull the damp, tight jeans over her ample hips. It’s like I’m a teenager again, she thought with a bit of an inner grin. Maybe I’m ovulating or something. There’s gotta be some explanation.
After the relative brightness of the rest room, the dimness of the club left her momentarily blind. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust. It was a minute or two before she paid attention to what was happening on stage.
The band was playing The Sky is Crying, Zeke bent over his instrument, coaxing out mournful notes that almost sounded like sobs. Meanwhile, at the mic, in the spotlight, stood the stranger who’d made her sweat. He was picking at Jojo’s bass and singing the lead.
Ruby caught her breat
h. The guy was amazing. His solid tenor voice wrung every ounce of emotion from the lyrics. His fingers walked the strings with a confidence born of long experience. He was every bit as good at Zeke, in his own way. The real deal.
Even on stage, though, his lean body hardly moved. He didn’t tap his toes, or sway, or roll his hips. Ruby sensed the energy bottled up inside him, barely contained by his focus on the music. He was still but he was not at peace. The blues gnawed at his soul.
The lust she’d just managed to tame slammed back into her. The music coiled in her belly. Her clit pulsed in time with the beat. She rocked her pelvis and squeezed her thighs. She wanted him. She wanted to strip off her clothing and dance naked, shaking her full breasts and her ripe ass in his face. She wanted to break through his wall of control and make him beg for her.
Zeke raised his head from his picking, tossed his hair out of his eyes, and grinned at the crowd. Ruby’s lust expanded. Now she wanted Zeke’s burly arms around her, his blunt fingers teasing her aching nipples. She didn’t know what the stranger’s cock might be like, but oh, she could vividly imagine Zeke’s fat rod pounding into her, pushing her closer and closer to the sharp edge of release. She needed that, needed it right now. Otherwise, she’d go crazy.
Her body screamed for someone’s touch. She thought about easing her zipper down and slipping a hand inside her trousers. Would anyone notice? The bar was dark and all the customers were focused on the stage. It would be easy—she’d just have to keep quiet…
The end of the song released her from her trance of arousal. Ruby rushed towards the front of the bar, desperate to meet the mysterious bassist. The place had become more crowded, though. She had to inch her way forward through the sweating, clapping throng. By the time she arrived at the stage, the stranger was nowhere to be seen, though the audience was still applauding. Jojo’s bass lay abandoned at the foot of the mic stand.