by Eden Summers
Red tilted toward him, scrutinizing him long enough to make his heart throb in anticipation. And OK, other parts of his body, too.
“I won’t be able to stay long.” Fucking-A. “I have a big week ahead trying to perfect the routine for your song.”
“No problem at all. All you have to do is tell me when you want to leave, and I’ll take you.” He broke eye contact and checked for oncoming cars before reentering the lane of traffic. “Trust me, Red, their food will leave you wanting more.” And by the time he drove her home, he hoped she would feel the same way about him, too.
***
Stanterio’s? He was taking her to Stanterio’s? One of the most pretentious restaurants in Richmond, set on the banks of the James River at Rocketts Landing. What the heck happened to low-key?
“Sean, I’m not dressed to go to a place like this.” The faintest hint of apprehension marred her voice.
Fine dining wasn’t a new experience. She’d grown up with money, and at the height of her dancing career men had taken her to places like this all the time, not only in Richmond, but in cities all over the world while touring. She was familiar with mingling amongst the snobbiest of people. She also knew walking inside dressed in cargo pants and a skin-tight, revealing top would attract attention she no longer wanted.
“Trust me, you look gorgeous.”
His compliment didn’t lower her blood pressure in the slightest. The old Melody wouldn’t have cared. The woman she used to be could’ve walked into the fanciest restaurant in her thread-bare flannel pajamas and flirted her way into a seat. That Melody was hard to replicate.
She no longer had the confidence to use her looks to her advantage. Although her scars were hidden, they weren’t ever far from her mind. Like a guilty conscience, the reminders bubbled to the surface at the most inopportune times, clinging to her emotions.
In times of stress or fatigue, the ache in her leg was hard to ignore. The throbbing became incessant. Only, it didn’t compare to the heartache that ricocheted through her chest whenever she stared at the expanse of skin that had once been toned to perfection.
Her doctors didn’t understand. They thought she was fortunate because the damage hadn’t affected her nerves or muscles. Lucky, even.
Ha.
Every morning since the accident, she’d awoken to shattered dreams. Every day she stared at a leg that belonged on Freddy Krueger’s body. And each and every night, she fell asleep hoping to wake up from this nightmare.
“Sean…”
He turned to her, grabbed her hand, and then stole her breath and the ability to think by bringing her knuckles to his lips for a quick kiss. “Trust me. I know these guys. They’re not going to care how we’re dressed.”
She swallowed, blinked away the haze of this player’s A-game, and pulled her thoughts back on track. It was easy for him to wave away the faux pas; his presence brooked no argument. In a pair of dark grey shorts that reached his knees and a loose white tank top, he was sex on a stick in an entirely thug-for-hire kind of way. If it weren’t for the bright blue eyes that lessened the harshness of his buzz-cut and full jaw of stubble, she would’ve been running herself. The restaurant staff probably let him get away with the break in dress code because they valued their teeth.
He tugged her to his side and pushed his free hand against the front door, exposing her to the cool air inside. Her left thigh throbbed, making itself known like it always did when she was nervous or anxious.
“Sean, please.”
He continued forward, ignoring her as the delicate tune of a harp entered her ears, filtering through speakers in the roof. Chandeliers glowed in the dimming daylight, and the tempting scent of cooking meat made her stomach growl with earnest. The restaurant was peaceful, private, and completely out of her comfort zone.
“Mr. Taiden, nice to see you again.” A middle-aged man approached them in a tailored suit and a jovial smile on his clean-shaven face. “Are you interested in being seated for a meal, or would you prefer to stay at the bar?”
“Dinner tonight, thanks, Shane.”
The maître d’ inclined his head. “Of course. The restaurant isn’t busy as yet. If you’ll spare me a moment, I’ll check to see if your usual table is available. Would you like me to escort you and your guest to the bar for a drink while you wait?”
“You know I don’t put up with your upper-class bullshit.” Sean’s grin increased. “We can find our own way to the bar if necessary.”
One side of the maître d’s lips twitched in a contained smile, and he bowed his head in acknowledgement. “My apologies. One can never assume these things, especially when you have such a lovely lady at your side.” The stranger shot her a wink. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“See,” Sean taunted as the man strode from the entry into the main dining area. “Nobody cares about how we’re dressed.”
The staff may not care, but the other patrons would notice and stare at her like a bug on display, their eager gazes vying to pick her apart. Or that’s what it would feel like. One naïve walk from the hospital in a short skirt was all it took to wound her confidence permanently.
Simon, her ex, had been right. Her injuries changed her fate. She would no longer glow under gleaming lights. Strangers would always stare. People would always judge. And working in an industry where perfection was the be all and end all meant she was no longer worthy to continue in the career she loved.
Sean turned to her, his smile fading as he raised her hand, eyeing their joined fingers with a frown. “That’s a tight grip you’ve got there, Red.”
Hell. She loosened her hold and tried to pull her hand away. “Sorry.” She was nervous, and daunted, and maybe the slightest bit angry. The first twelve years of her life had been spent overcoming stage fright and concern over what people thought of her. Once she conquered her fear, nothing could get in her way. Until the accident. That day transformed her back into a child, dealing with the sickening stomach butterflies and coalescing build of hypertension that awakened when she thought people were talking about her.
“That wasn’t an invitation to let go of my hand.” His gaze narrowed. “What’s up with you being in here? Too swanky? You’re right. We should’ve gone somewhere casual.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not a fussy eater. It’s just…” Crap. How did she explain herself without exposing her flaws? “I don’t want to look out of place.” She indicated her clothes with a wave of her free hand. “I’ve been to places like this all my life. It’s the way I’m dressed that doesn’t sit comfortably. I guess the pride my parents taught me as a child is a little too engrained.”
Yes, her pride was definitely a problem. Her vanity, too.
Sean scrutinized her, unraveling her secrets. His fingers tangled between hers, an intimate sensation she shouldn’t be encouraging and didn’t have the power to stop. It felt nice to have a man’s touch against her skin. To have a little comfort and support.
“Well, why don’t we order and then go sit at the bar? Once our meals are ready, I’ll get Shane to box them up, and we can go to my place.”
Warning. Warning. Sexy man in a private setting is far more dangerous to your health.
His place wasn’t an option. Her body was already giving the term eager beaver a whole new definition. She had no immunity to Sean’s charm. The intensity in his eyes made her want to forget about the new Melody and see how long she could hold the charade of being perfect, which was dangerous.
“No.” She cleared the frog in her throat. “I’ll be fine.”
Sean started to grin, the highly confident curve of lips that made her senseless. She frowned in annoyance and broke eye contact, not wishing him any more power over her hormones. He was too damn tempting. That huge, muscular frame of his making her wonder what it would be like to have all that hard flesh on top of her. Then reality rushed to the forefront, giving her a full dose of it’s-never-gonna-happen.
It was fine and dandy to daydream abou
t sweaty, nasty sex, but once she was stripped bare the only thing getting fucked over would be her ego. Like her ex, Sean would see her scars, and flee. To distract herself, she focused on the wall sconces, the delicate trim of the curtains, and the loops in the thin carpet pile. She could feel his focus on her, the heat of his gaze blazing a trail along her neck, over her chest, and lower. Much, much lower.
“Mr. Taiden, your table is available if you’d like to follow me.”
Melody released a breath, eager to place space between them and gain a valid reason for ditching the hand holding. His palm was too intimidating around her tiny fingers. Every inch of him was large. Strong. Christ, imagining what lay beneath those grey shorts was making her sweat. As they followed the maître d’, she cleared her throat of the discomfort and the sound came out more of a mewl.
“What’s up with the blush, Red?” Sean whispered close to her ear.
Her heart palpitated. They were only words, yet her insides thrummed from the playfulness in his tone. The few couples in the room glanced their way as she tried to slink into Sean’s shadow.
Damn it, woman, gain some self-control. You were strong, self-assured, confident, and capable. Find that woman again and ditch this hopeless case.
She was the seductress. The one who made men melt into a puddle of longing. Not the other way around. Not only had her scars ruined her career and her lifestyle, they’d ruined her upper hand, too.
“Like I said,” she muttered, “I don’t feel comfortable in a fancy restaurant in my ghetto clothes.”
He snorted, loudly, and she winced at the additional attention they drew from staff.
“I doubt you own anything ghetto. But if you’d like help getting out of those clothes and into something more appropriate for our time together, just let me know.”
He released her hand, and she fought against every hyper-sensitive nerve in her body not to dive into the chair the maître d’ pulled out for her. Instead, she raised her chin, pretending to be in control while her skin turned to flames.
The two men stood side by side, chatting quietly about food, or life, or her, she had no clue. Her attention was entirely set on pulling herself together. Not even the unobstructed view of the James River could steal her focus. She’d never been this lust drunk before. And that was saying a lot.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Sean sink into the chair opposite her and hold up a hand to stay the maître d’ from placing the napkin over his lap. Taking her to a fancy-shmancy place, then brushing off all attempts to fit into the surroundings, was comical. Adorable, too. Damn it. Yet again, she was helpless against his charm.
“Mr. Taiden.” The maître d’ spoke in a soft murmur. “I know it’s unconventional, but you’re already familiar with the affection our bar staff has for you. Would you mind signing something for them before you leave tonight?”
Melody rubbed her forehead, hiding the slight twinge of envy pulling her brows together. She’d loved the attention dance fanatics once gave her. There weren’t many autograph requests; however, the hype and admiration had always been there. Only now it was a distant memory. She practically had to beg to get people to join her dance studio.
“Sure.” He pushed back in his seat and stood. “You don’t mind if I quickly speak to them now, do you Red?”
“Not at all.” She shook her head and gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile. As he strode away, she dragged her attention from the stretched material across his shoulders and fiddled with the cutlery in front of her. The decision to have dinner with him was turning into a bigger mistake than anticipated. No doubt coffee would’ve had the same outcome.
To add to the lascivious thoughts coursing through her mind, she now had a firm reminder of what she’d lost and what she would never have. There would be no more screams of praise from the crowd, no more first place competitions, or men fighting to be the one partnered with her at the front of a stage. All the attention was gone, and after eleven months dealing with the tragedy, it still hurt to think about.
Stop. Breathe. Find yourself.
She needed to focus on moving forward. To concentrate on the business relationship she needed to forge with Sean and remember that this was a steppingstone to a different kind of dream. One less shiny and fulfilling, but a dream all the same.
“Sorry about that.” He slid into his seat, practically buzzing, when all she wanted to do was crawl under a rock.
“Not a problem.” She met his gaze and immediately regretted it. Holy smokes, he was handsome.
“Can I get you a drink? Wine? Spirits?”
“Water, please.”
He frowned. “You aren’t concerned about me taking advantage, are you?”
She suppressed a snort at how far from the truth he was. If only he knew what type of girl she’d once been. She’d never believed in a wrong time or place when it came to pleasure. It didn’t matter if it was a disabled bathroom or a dimly lit alley. She loved sex. And it was turning out to be a hard habit to break.
“I’ve spent all day working up a sweat. I need to rehydrate.”
Humor glistened in his eyes, yet his lips remained in a flat line. “Two waters it is then.”
He took the liberty of ordering their drinks and then waited until they were alone before placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward to fix his potent gaze upon her. “Tell me about yourself, Red. What makes you tick?”
You. Those hypnotizing blue eyes. The deep, masculine voice. The remembered texture of your palm against mine. Sigh-worthy.
“There isn’t much to tell. Since I was a child, my life has been about dancing and music. Nothing else has really mattered. How about you? Did you always want to be a drummer?” God, she loved the way he focused on her with intent. Her skin shivered with his attention, her heart beat in a rapid mix of lust and yearning.
“I started a band with Mason in high school. It was a good outlet for all those teenage hormones.” He shrugged. “I can’t remember what life was like before music, and I don’t really want to.”
“So, the limelight is everything you dreamed it would be?” It was for her. She couldn’t deny she was once an attention junkie. Working hard for praise and adoration was what she used to live for.
He sucked in a slow breath and leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t say that. There’re a lot of things I wish I could change. The fame, for instance.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No.” He frowned. “I don’t get enough of it.”
There was no humor in his features, no warmth in his tone. She paused, appreciating the glimpse to a side of him that wasn’t entirely made of innuendo.
“Reckless wouldn’t exist without me. Mason didn’t give a shit about music until I pushed him. And after all these years, I’m still an exchangeable part of the group. I could walk out tomorrow, and our legion of followers wouldn’t even notice. I hate that. It’s made me want to quit a time or two.”
Uh huh. The situation now made more sense. “So that’s the reason behind the music clip?”
He released a half-hearted breath of laughter. “Yeah, a strategic ploy from Mason to try to keep me happy. The label don’t give a shit, the fans don’t give a shit. Hell, most of them don’t even know who I am.”
She raised a brow and waved a lazy hand in the direction of the bar. “They obviously do.”
“Nah. They’re just nice. I spend a lot of money here. I practically pay their bills, so they tend to put on a show of affection if I make it in for a sit-down meal.”
Melody bit her tongue, reminding herself not to fall prey to his dangerously endearing vulnerable side. His gaze held a myriad of emotions, from desire, to playfulness and now disheartenment. He was real. He was also unlike any of the self-assured dancing partners she’d spent most of her life around.
“Is that pity I see in those gorgeous eyes, Red?”
Dread washed over her as she blinked away her thoughts and straightened. “No. Of course n
ot.” She hated pity. Couldn’t stand it.
“That’s a shame.” A devilish grin lifted his lips. “I was beginning to think I had a direct route to your heart.”
“Wow. A true shame,” she countered, her eyes wide in mock surprise as she tried to suppress her laughter. “Here I was, thinking you were trying to get into my pants, not my heart.”
She shouldn’t have encouraged him. She couldn’t help it. His interest swept away her defeated mood. She was falling deeper, becoming entranced. She couldn’t even regret playing along with the confident charade anymore because it felt so damn good.
His chuckle echoed over the low chatter in the room. “Trust me, when it comes to you, little Red, I’d be happy with either.”
Holy crap. She was in trouble. Not only was he calling her Red, but little too…and she was loving it. Devouring it. Savoring the words she’d hated all her life just because they drifted from the lips of a sex god.
“You better watch yourself,” he drawled. “Once I figure out what’s going on in that head of yours, I’ll know exactly how to work my magic on you.”
Too late. His spell had already taken hold, and she didn’t appreciate the ease with which he’d cast it on her.
“See.” He pointed directly at her. “That scowl drives me wild. You’re so cute, and tiny, and fragile, yet that show of angst proves you’ve got fire in your belly.” He leaned forward again, glancing around conspiratorially before meeting her gaze. “I’d bet a heavy sum that you’re an angel on stage and a devil in the sack.”
She snapped her gaping mouth shut. Oh, he was good. He knew it, too. He must be a major player with a list of slain women a mile long to give him the confidence to blurt out sordid lines like that to strangers.
“Are you always this nauseatingly flirty?” She crossed her arms over her chest, knowing the material of her camisole and the thin lace of her bra were worthless to hide the hardening of her nipples.
“Are you always this reluctant to have a good time?”
No. Never. The scars were the only thing stopping her from jumping him and cutting off his cocky words by slamming her mouth against his. “I’m not convinced you’d know what it takes to give me a good time, rock star.”