Sultry Groove (Reckless Beat Book 4)

by Eden Summers

  “Sean.” This time she shoved him, making him stumble back.

  Christ. What had he done? She brushed away something at her waist and slid her fingers lower, gliding her hand cautiously over the material from her hip to her knee.

  He eyed the champagne flute in his grip. Fuck. He may be plastered, but he knew he hadn’t consumed the liquid that had once filled his glass. No, this drunken drummer boy had spilled it all over her.

  “I’m sorry, Red.” He lowered to one knee, resting the glass on the lawn before reaching out to wipe the liquid from her left leg.

  “Don’t.” She slid back, her face a mask of annoyance as she tried to squeeze liquid from the hard material of her corset. “Please leave it alone.”

  Drops of champagne fell to the ground, each one stabbing him with guilt. He was such a pathetic fuck-up right now. “I’m sorry.”

  She ignored him and continued righting her clothing. “I better get going.”

  Damn it to hell. “I’m sure Sidney has some spare clothes you could wear.” He hung his head the moment his lips said the haunting name. Everything always reverted back to her. The unforgettable Sidney Higgins. Why the heck couldn’t he get her out of his mind?

  He reached for Red again, placing his hand on her thigh in the hope of wiping away some of the moisture. Before he could slide his palm lower, she gasped as if he’d struck her and slid out of reach.

  “I said don’t!”

  He stiffened at the venom in her tone, and not in the groin department. He’d severely fucked up, maybe even ruined her outfit. Clothing care wasn’t his forte. He didn’t have a clue at the damage he’d done.

  “I’ll pay to replace them.” He sat on his haunches, watching as her shoulders slumped.

  The sound of mingling guests and the live band melted into the background as Red shook her head. He waited for her to speak, to calm the hyperventilating breaths and look him in the eye. It took longer than he would’ve hoped. Then again, he was drunk and time either happened in fast-forward or slow motion. There was no in-between.

  “I’m sorry.” She straightened, her hands falling to her sides and a sad smile tilting her lips. “I didn’t mean to overreact.”

  “I’ll replace them.”

  “No.” She gave a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s not the clothes.”

  He waited for her to elaborate. Instead, she held out a hand, helping him to his feet.

  “I better get going. I have an early start tomorrow.”

  Jesus fuckin’ Christ. When was he going to catch a break? “Can I at least walk you out?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Stay. I don’t want you to leave the party. I drove here, and the valet won’t take long to find my car.”

  He contemplated asking for a ride home. If he stayed, his first task would be finding a waitress for another tray of numbing solace. He’d drink himself into oblivion and back again, and there was nothing Leah could do to stop him.

  “I did have fun tonight, though,” she murmured. “I think we’re going to enjoy working together.”

  The glowing lights from the marquees bathed her in a magical radiance, her unique hair resting against her shoulders in a gentle wave. He contemplated her features, wondering if she was trying to ease the awkwardness through a few mistruths. He didn’t know her well enough to form a conclusion. Hell, he didn’t know her at all.

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He bridged the distance between them, remaining on alert in case he made another wrong move.

  “Me too.” Her genuine smile returned, yanking his erection back to life like a dog on a leash.

  “You sure you want to leave?”

  “Yes.” Her smile grew as she retreated a step. “You’re way too drunk. And I’m way too sober. Not a great mix for complete strangers who need to work together.”

  “I’m sobering up.” Kind of. “What if I promise to stop hitting on you?” It wasn’t a vow he was confident of sticking to, but he’d throw it out there nonetheless. He liked this woman. He liked the way she distracted him from all the shit in his life and made it easy to smile.

  She snickered. “What’s the fun in that?”

  Sean stared at the pixie in front of him, noting the confident curve of her lips. She wasn’t intimidated by him. He probably should’ve been annoyed that his lack of celebrity status in comparison to Mason hadn’t daunted her. Instead, he found it endearing. She wouldn’t wither under his desires. In fact, he had a feeling this little sprite was more than capable of matching him in the bedroom.

  “Then let’s go to my place.” He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “We can have a whole heap of fun there.” His chest throbbed with every heavy heartbeat, waiting for her reply.

  She tilted her head into his touch, her lids briefly closing before her long lashes fluttered open again. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. I admit, I encouraged your behavior, but this isn’t a great way to start a working relationship.”

  “Then we don’t have to go anywhere at all.” He sounded pathetic. He couldn’t help it. She was the first woman to set foot on his radar since Sidney hijacked his life.

  Red released a bark of laughter, her face brightening with humor. “If you’re looking to get lucky tonight, you really should focus your attention elsewhere. I have early dance classes in the morning and no room for lethargy.”

  He could push. He had a million and one lines up his sleeve, only problem was the potency of her smile was fading the more time he spent trying to convince her to stay.

  “Hint taken.” He bowed his head in defeat. “Just so you know, there won’t be anyone else for me tonight.”

  Her gaze narrowed, searching for insincerity. She wouldn’t find any. This thing with Sidney had been going on for too long. He’d helped her move in with Mason. He’d been a shoulder for her to cry on when she’d been worried about his best friend’s health. Fuck, he’d even stayed in Richmond so he could be on call to give them a hand with their engagement party plans when he should’ve been getting as far away as possible.

  He was ready to move on from that at any cost. Red wasn’t merely a distraction, she was hope. He just needed to move at a different pace, and maybe not fuck up the next time they were together.

  “Good to know,” she murmured, reaching on her toes to place the sweetest, gentlest kiss on his cheek. “I’ll see you at your first dance lesson.”

  He inclined his head, devoid of words or expression that wouldn’t end in him pleading for her to stay. Instead, he gripped the tree branch beside him and watched her leave, already counting down the minutes until he’d have her back to steal his focus again.

  Sean squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off the bright daylight and wishing he’d had the sense to close the curtains before he stumbled into bed. His skull pounded, threatening to explode. His brain felt like it was trying to wring itself of the toxic liquid he’d consumed in abundance the night before.

  He groaned into the silence. Why had he fallen into the old habit of drinking beyond his body’s capabilities? Ahh, that’s right. Sidney. Mason. Bright smiles. Happiness. Wedding bells. Christ. No wonder he felt like someone had gone at his head with a blow torch.

  He rolled over, smothering his face into the pillow and wondered where he should go from here. Back to New York, he supposed. At least for a little while. Until he started working on the music video.

  Music video. Oh, shit.

  He pushed up on his hands, and his head protested with the sudden movement. “Motherfucker.” He scowled against the pain, trying to bring clarity to the parts of last night he couldn’t piece together. There’d been a woman. A cute little pixie with big beautiful eyes and a lithe body. Red.

  He smiled at the vague recollection. Surely the image in his mind had to be a drunk hallucination. The woman he’d met couldn’t be as gorgeous as his beer goggles led him to believe. The flawless, strawberry-blonde hair, the petite figure, the smile. The need for her still flowed through his veins, even
though he couldn’t clearly recall her image. She had to be an illusion.

  He rolled onto his back and winced at the light smothering his vision. The brightness was sucking the life from him. What little he had left. Thankfully, he lived in the penthouse. Nobody would be able to see his morning wood standing tall and proud, completely immune to his epic hangover. However, he wasn’t sure if his virtue made it home safely intact. He’d lost his clothes somewhere along the way and could only pray they wound up inside the safety of his apartment.

  He’d driven to the engagement party vowing not to rely on alcohol to get him through the night. Then, as soon as Sidney hugged him—her warm body sinking into his—he’d known there was no way he could remain sober.

  This morning, he had a renewed stance on never drinking champagne again. Or wine. And maybe beer had to be scrubbed off the list, too. Alcohol was the devil, and he was sick of feeling like hell.

  Dragging himself to sit on the side of the mattress, he rested his elbows on his knees and sank his head into his hands. From his vague recollection of the night before, he hadn’t made a great first impression on Red.

  Shit. He may have even kissed her. He wasn’t entirely sure.

  Instead of lingering on his stupidity, he dragged himself from the bed, pulled on a pair of boxer briefs from his bedside table, and slunk to his home gym on the downstairs level. He’d exercise the demonic liquid from his system, starting with a five mile run.

  It took all his willpower to climb onto the treadmill. He had to scrounge around for more every time he sprinted off the conveyor belt to throw his guts up in the adjacent bathroom. By the time he finished, the liquor was out of his system and he’d rehydrated himself with enough water to flood a canyon.

  He showered, ate, kept hydrating, and crashed on the sofa to catch up on television he’d missed. Despite the hangover, the day didn’t turn out to be as bad as some he’d recently faced. His mind wasn’t heavy with regret. His chest didn’t ache from loss. He kept seeing Red, her lips lush and glistening, her cheeks pink with the cutest blush.

  He wanted to see more of her. To determine if the alcohol had been fucking with him last night, making her into something she wasn’t. God knew he’d been blindsided by the conniving effects of intoxication before.

  Pushing his lazy ass off the sofa, he dragged himself to the kitchen and grabbed his cell off the charger to dial Leah’s number. No point waiting around. Their first dance rehearsal wasn’t for another week, and he couldn’t let those big Bambi eyes haunt his memory that long. He needed to know, now, if the vague recollection of her was real.

  “How’s the head, big guy?”

  Damn. Not the greeting he was looking for. He must’ve put on one hell of a show last night. “Not too bad,” he muttered. “I actually need to ask you a favor.”

  “After tucking your naked ass into bed, I think you should be the one owing me favors.”

  Jesus. He winced, and contemplated being a chicken-shit and hanging up. “Umm, yeah, sorry ’bout that.”

  Leah laughed, not a sound she allowed him or any of the other Reckless Beat band members to hear all that often. “You’re forgiven. Now what can I help you with?”

  “I remember meeting the choreographer last night.” Somewhat vaguely.

  “Yeah…” Her voice lowered in warning. “And?”

  “Can you give me her number?”

  “No.” There was no pause for contemplation. She slammed down her answer in a matter of milliseconds.

  “Because?” He cringed, anticipating a reply that would point out a myriad of stupid things he’d done at the engagement party.

  “If she wanted you to have her number, she would’ve already given it to you,” she grated in the motherly tone she used to chastise the band members when they fucked up. “And I suspect the best thing for both of you is a little distance. At least until she’s had time to stop hatin’ on you for pouring your drink all over her.”

  Fuck. He remembered now. Closing his eyes, he rested against the kitchen counter and ran his fingers along the bump permanently marring the bridge of his nose. “I need to apologize.”

  “Then do it next Sunday at your first rehearsal.”

  “Leah…” He sighed. She wasn’t the type of woman to be swayed, but he needed this. He needed Red, at least to keep his thoughts away from Sidney. “Please. I can’t recall much of last night. I need to know…” If she’s as gorgeous as I remember. If my mind would continue to steer clear of Sidney if I saw Red again. How did he explain that without sounding like a pussy?

  “What do you need, Sean?” Her voice was softer now. Comforting. Sparking to life a memory of her trying to sober him up by pouring a shitload of water down his throat. What had she said? There’d been something important. Something he’d identified with. He couldn’t remember; it was smothered under a blur of fuzzy flashbacks.

  “I need…” He opened his eyes and glanced around the emptiness of his apartment. He didn’t do the alone thing very well. Mason had always been close by to fuck around with. Now, Sean tried to avoid spending time with his best friend because he was literally always fucking with Sidney. “I need a distraction.”

  Leah remained quiet for a moment, letting him stew in his miserable life. He really was pathetic. For years, he’d been hidden in Mason’s shadow. He was a slave to the music their band created, yet he received no credit for it. While Ryan, Blake, Mitch, and Mason were recognized almost daily for their contributions to Reckless Beat, Sean could probably count on one hand the times he’d been stopped for an autograph while on his own.

  His hatred of social media didn’t help. He couldn’t work the virtual crowd like his friends, and nobody seemed to give a fuck about what he ate for breakfast. There was no gift of gab in these bones. Especially not for strangers. In contrast, the hardcore fans went batshit crazy over every post or tweet Mitch made. The asshole could strum for ten seconds on Instagram and get thousands of likes, not to mention blowjob offers and marriage proposals in the comments.

  When Sean did make tabloid headlines, it was for the wrong reasons—the sex scandal or the brutal shooting in Mason’s New York apartment. Very few reporters wanted to focus on him as a musician. He’d never been the big draw card, and he supposed over time he became complacent with standing in the shadows of his friends’ success.

  Not anymore. After all his hard work, he deserved the same recognition.

  He deserved happiness, too. All his friends were hooking up with beautiful women. Creating perfect futures while he was stuck on his own. Most of them hadn’t even been looking for love. And here he was, secretly wishing he’d had someone to share his ups and downs with, receiving nothing in return. He’d practically prayed for a relationship, just so he could have at least one person in his life to see him for who he really was. Instead, he kept attracting females who considered him a stepping stone to scoring with one of the more famous members of the band.

  Fuck that.

  It was his time now. And he wanted Red. At least the drunken version of her. If she had changed from a pixie to a dragon with his sobriety, then he’d chalk it up to karma and continue on with his miserable existence. But while he had hope, and a thankful distraction from the majority of his hurt, he didn’t want to lose it.

  “It’s not my place to tell you her private cell number,” Leah started. “However, I’m sure if you checked the online phone directory, you’d find her studio.”

  His heart rate kicked up a notch. “I don’t know the business name.”

  Leah released an annoyed sigh, the one she continuously used on Mason and Mitch. “Maybe, if you stop referring to her as Red, and actually put an effort into remembering her given name, you’d find it easy enough.”

  Fuck.

  “But—”

  “Sean,” she growled. “She’s an extremely beautiful and talented woman. If you can’t remember her name, you don’t deserve her number.”

  The line went dead.

  Typic
al Leah. She always had the final word. Clearing his cell screen to the main dashboard, he clicked on the online phone directory and then searched for local dance studios. Eleven results displayed on screen. Fucking fantastic. He scrolled through the list, mentally crossing off the businesses that didn’t spark familiarity. Then he found her, and his chest constricted at the name—Melodic Dance.

  That was her. Melody. Such a suitable description for a mesmerizing woman. Well, his intoxicated version, anyway.

  He saved the number, and committed the address to memory. He knew how to get there. The neighborhood was familiar. All he had to do now was figure out all the ways he’d embarrassed himself last night so his apology sounded legit.

  Melody stood in front of the class of youngsters and clapped her hands to mark the end of the session. “Great job, everyone. I’ll see you all next week.”

  A chorus of disappointed grumbling filled the room, and parents stood from their seated positions along the wooden benches lining the front wall. Melody loved the five-to-eight-year-old hip-hop class. It was all about fun and freedom, smiles and slip-ups. The older kids messed around with the young. It was one of the few classes immune from rivalry. It was also the last class of the week, which was an added bonus.

  “Come on, kiddos. Don’t get the grumps. I’ll meet you here next Sunday with a new song to mess around to. In the meantime, practice your step-touches and ball-changes. You’ll need them for next week.”

  Melody wiped the sweat from her brow with the hem of her shirt and smiled in farewell to some of the parents. It was time to put her feet up and relax. Two days with no classes went by too quickly, and she needed to make the most of tonight when the Monday and Tuesday she usually had off would be spent working herself ragged on the Reckless Beat choreography.

  “Did I do good today, Mel?” A sweet voice rose up from beside her before small hands tugged at her shirt.

  Melody faced the child and lowered to one knee, grinning at the beautiful six-year-old in front of her. “Of course. As always, you were my best student. Do you know why?”