Captivated

by Susan Scott Shelley

  Strong hands slipped up her neck and into her hair. He angled her face and came closer, dark eyes locked with hers. Her lips parted and her eyes fluttered closed. She strained toward him, like a magnet seeing its mate. Warm breath feathered over her face, and then firm lips closed over hers. Fisting his shirt collar, she parted her lips, teasing his tongue with hers. She tasted wine and his own flavor, darker and more potent. He groaned and drove the kiss deeper. One hand roamed her back, blunt fingers flexing on her spine. He pressed her into the counter.

  Their joined lips covered her cry when the counter’s edge dug into her back. She twisted away and into six-plus feet of hard male.

  He murmured his approval and lifted his head. “You okay?”

  “The counter.”

  “Sorry.” Keeping her in his hold, he spun her in a slow dance to the middle of the room. His hand drifted to where hers massaged the sore spot. “Let me.”

  Chocolate-brown eyes gazed into hers and a slow smile lifted his lips. His fingers stroked in a circle and soothed the pain. The last time she’d been wrapped in a man’s arms, she’d been naive to his motives. The last time she’d been with a man, he hadn’t been as tall or as strong, or as caring as the man holding her now. Everything about Dom was different. Bigger. Better.

  Champ banged into their legs. She glanced down at him and rubbed his head. “Someone wants attention.”

  “He has the worst timing.” But Dom smiled when he spoke. He laced his fingers with hers and drew her into the living room. “Have a seat. I’ll get the wine.”

  She chose the middle couch cushion, and Champ promptly climbed up beside her and rested his head in her lap. “Don’t worry.” She patted his back. “You’re not being left out.” She’d always been comfortable around animals. They’d been less intimidating than the people and culture she’d been thrust into as a kid.

  When Dom returned, he laughed. “He’s made himself at home. Champ, down. Not everyone wants to be a pillow for you.”

  “No, he’s fine.” She smiled and rubbed the dog’s head. “What a good boy.”

  Dom placed the wine glasses on the coffee table. Dark denim rubbed against her knee as he sat next to her. He draped his arm over the top of the cushions behind her and her nerves skittered when his fingers played with her dress strap, stroking the material against her skin. “He can always tell when I have a road trip coming up. He sticks closer to me than usual.”

  “Then I’m really glad we came back here so you can spend as much time with him as possible before you go.” Leaning into him felt so natural. His lips grazed her temple and then her cheek. She turned her head, her mouth seeking his.

  He brought his far arm around and rested his hand on her knee. The hand on her shoulder slipped up to cup her neck. She lifted her hand to his cheek, scraping over stubble, then into his hair, holding him close as her mouth took what it needed. He groaned and his thumb stroked the inside of her knee, stoking the fire in her body. Hungry lips sucked and nibbled, teasing and taunting her to demand more. She twisted toward him. Her hands roamed his back, molding his muscles, feeling his strength.

  A deep bark as loud as thunder boomed out beside her. She flinched and bit Dom’s lip.

  “Champ. No. Down.” He pulled back, touching his lip. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Or she would be, as soon as her heartbeat stopped galloping.

  Champ jumped off the couch, nosed a rubber ball until it bumped Dom’s foot, then barked again.

  Laughing, Irisa shifted against the cushion. “He wants to play.”

  “See what I mean about the timing?” Dom kept his arm around her as he tossed the ball to the opposite side of the room. Champ lunged for it, knocking into a leather recliner. He bounded back with the ball, ready for more. It was easy to see he loved Dom, and the feeling was mutual. They played for a few minutes, until the ball became wedged under the recliner. Champ whined and pawed at the chair.

  “Hold on, buddy.” Dom rose to rescue the toy.

  The absence of his body chilled her skin, and knocked reason into her brain. Her reaction to Dom scared her a little. After going for so long without any real interest in anyone, the chemistry between them was overwhelming. She didn’t like that she lost her head so quickly, or that a large part of her craved feeling his lips and his touch again. Irisa sat up straight, finger-combing her hair. “I should probably go. It’s getting late.”

  He looked disappointed, but didn’t push her to stay. “I’ll walk you down.”

  “It’s one floor away. I’ll be fine.”

  He shook his head. “I’m curious which side of my apartment you’re under. I’ll go.”

  When she stood and walked to the door, the dog followed. “Looks like he wants to come, too.”

  “Of course he does.” Dom smiled, then grabbed a leash from a hook by the door. “But don’t say the W-A-L-K word. Otherwise, I won’t be able to get him to calm down. I’m hoping one lap of the sixteenth floor will be enough for him.”

  During the brief elevator ride, she thought about kissing him again. He was near enough, and the way he was looking at her suggested he wanted it, too. Their arms brushed as they walked to her door. She paused, keys in hand. Invite him in, or no? He was so strong and tall and kissably close. As much as she wanted to prove her own resolve, she wasn’t quite ready to say good night. “I had a good time tonight.”

  “Me too. There’s just…one thing…” His gaze landed on her mouth. His thumb brushed across her lips seconds before his mouth crashed down.

  Her eyes fluttered closed. Warm lips tasting of wine coaxed hers apart. She leaned into him and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to anchor herself. His fingers glided over her shoulders and then firm hands caressed her back.

  Champ barked and jumped up on them. Tail wagging, the dog whined and pawed at their arms.

  “Champ, down.” After the dog obeyed, Dom smoothed Irisa’s dress straps and bodice into place. “I should go before his nails rip your dress or mark your skin. Next time, I’m leaving him at home.”

  She wanted him to stay. But she didn’t want to make a mistake. Or move too fast. “Maybe give me a call from the road.”

  “I will.” With a final kiss, he stepped aside, drawing his dog with him.

  “Good luck in your game tomorrow. I’ll be watching.”

  “Yeah? Then I’ll make sure to get a home run for you.”

  She reluctantly closed the door behind him, more certain than before that she was in over her head with him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Stowing their gear onto the tour bus was the least of her problems. Irisa sat in the middle of the bus, surrounded by her computer, her phone, and a to-do list the length of her arm.

  Jayne sat by her side, sipping tea and watching the California landscape roll by. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Relinquishing control was hard, but necessary. “Can you double-check the hotel bookings?”

  “Already done. Everything’s good.”

  “Awesome. You can send out promos for the upcoming concerts.” She passed her a sheet of paper. “Here’s the usernames and passwords for all of our accounts. I’ll email you the promos. Just copy and paste them and send them out.”

  “Sure.”

  Having the extra set of hands, eyes, and brain relieved her of half the list. She turned back to her screen and task of lining up a few more radio interviews for the cities tagged onto the end of the tour. She pulled up her list of contacts.

  “Irisa?” Jayne tapped her arm. “Do the guys handle their own social media pages?”

  She leaned back and stretched her arms overhead. “Everyone except Zander. He always forgets, so I take care of his. Why?”

  Jayne tilted her laptop screen toward her. “Luke responded to a fan’s complaint on the band’s page, and shared it on his own page too. The notification just popped up. It’s a little, uh, blistering.”

  Blistering wasn’t good. Blistering brought two words to mind
—damage control. Irisa read the rant and winced. Rampant with expletives, the rant questioned the fan’s musical background and dropped insults right and left. “Delete it.”

  When Jayne’s fingers fumbled, Irisa grabbed the computer and took it down herself. “You said it’s on his own page, too?”

  At Jayne’s nod, she jumped to her feet. Voices sounded from the bus’s back room. She wrenched the door open. Zander and Luke sat on opposite sides of the space. Her brother held his guitar. Luke held his laptop.

  “Take down your post. You can’t say things like that.”

  “Did you read what that guy said about our last show? Saying I sounded like crap live and that I really can’t sing, and the only reason I’m a singer is because of some, quote, recording engineer’s studio magic, unquote. I can’t have that.”

  “Take it down. You don’t want that getting re-shared and going viral. You’re not going to win a social media fight. It’s only going to make you and the band look bad.”

  “But—”

  “You have a thousand posts from fans saying how much they love you guys. You can’t let a few internet trolls get to you.”

  Zander nodded and strummed his guitar. “Dude, just take it down.”

  “How would you feel if they said you can’t really play guitar, and that the only reason you sound good is thanks to an engineering whiz behind the scenes?”

  “That would suck,” her brother acknowledged with a smile. “And you might take that one a little personally, sis.”

  “I take them all personally because you guys are all like my brothers, but you have to temper your responses. Nothing says you can’t vent to me or the guys.” She crossed to Luke. “Take. It. Down.”

  “Fine.”

  “Now.” She sat beside him, because if she didn’t, he wouldn’t get around to doing it. The post had garnered a few comments of outraged fans sticking up for him.

  He muttered a curse but deleted the post. “Happy?”

  The roiling in her stomach eased. “Yes.”

  Brendan wandered in. “What’s going on?”

  “Social media etiquette.”

  “Crap. Was I supposed to do something on my page?”

  “No. You’re good.”

  Luke pointed to him. “What would you do if troll took a crack at your drumming skills?”

  “Last time, I used my laptop as a drum. Stupid move, but better than letting those kinds of people see that what they said got to me. And Landry gets his revenge in some song lyrics.”

  She laughed. “So, that’s where he got the idea for ‘My Fist, Your Face’?”

  “Yeah.”

  Luke still didn’t look happy, but what else could she say? She left the guys and returned to her seat by Jayne. “Thanks for pointing that out to me.”

  “Is everything okay now?”

  “I hope so. If you wouldn’t mind monitoring his pages, I’d appreciate it.” Putting aside work for a moment, she opened her browser and went to the Riptide’s site. A photo of Dom filled the screen. She couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face.

  “How was your date with him?”

  “It wasn’t a date. Not really.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “His place.”

  “Oh.” Jayne stretched the word over several syllables.

  “No. It wasn’t like that. You know me.” Irisa turned back to the screen. Her eyes followed the line of his body. “It was nice.”

  “Nice?”

  “I met his dog, we had some wine, and then he kissed me breathless.”

  “That sounds better than just nice.”

  “It was.” She closed the window and returned to her list. After the last romance had blown up in her face, sharing details of whatever was happening between her and Dom almost seemed like tempting fate.

  San Francisco’s ballpark was nicer than the Riptide’s, but their mascot, Honk the Seal, had nothing on Liam. Dom sat in the dugout, next to Slade, his roommate on the road, comparing notes. Scouting for their buddy and reporting back on other mascots’ antics and athletic feats made it seem like Liam was there with them.

  “Was that two backflips, or three?” Slade passed him the bag of sunflower seeds.

  Dom dug out a handful. “Two. Liam doesn’t need to worry about that shark bait showing him up during the All-Star Game.”

  “Look, there’s The Fury.”

  “Where?” Dom whipped his head toward the crowd. Too late, he remembered that Irisa and the band weren’t in San Francisco.

  “The screen. On the screen. Just their tour dates, man.” Slade poked him in his side. “Is something going on with you and Irisa? I can’t believe she’s your freaking neighbor.”

  “I definitely picked the right building to live in. We’re up.” He stood, grabbed his mitt, and followed his teammates on to the field.

  Nine innings, a walk, two runs, and an error later, he celebrated a Riptide win, then headed back to the hotel. After a drink with the guys at the hotel bar, he made his way to his room. Irisa had been on his mind all day. He wanted to talk to her but maybe he should hold off. His last relationship had been a nightmare. He’d thought of Irisa too much for her to only be a casual fling. But as he paused over her name in his contact list, his dad called in. Better get it over with.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “What were you looking at tonight when you bobbled the ball? That should’ve been an easy catch.”

  He listened, murmured or grunted agreement at the appropriate times, and then ended the call as soon as he could. His anger rose and swirled, hot in his gut. His dad had never managed to break into the majors, but he always, always had criticism for how Dom played and tips for how he could improve.

  Prowling the room, he couldn’t cage his energy. He wanted someone to talk to, some sort of distraction. But Slade wasn’t back yet. And Adam was secluded in his own room with Gemma. The pang of loneliness hit fast and unexpected.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Irisa. He dialed her number.

  “Hello?” Her sexy voice came through the line. Immediately, his body tightened.

  “Hey, how’s my favorite manager?”

  “I’m your favorite manager?”

  “Well, my favorite sure isn’t the loudmouth who rides our bench.”

  Her laughter flowed across the line. “In that case, thanks. Congrats on your win today.”

  “Did you see the game?” He sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I listened to the last few innings on the way to the hotel tonight and I listened to the post-game show, too. And I’m angry about the way some of the callers blamed you for one of the runs. So you made an error—so what? Musicians hit wrong notes sometimes. People shouldn’t be so mean. You guys still won the game. I was going to call the radio station and tell them that, but Zander told me to hold off.”

  He smiled as she defended him. The words a balm to his frustration. “I appreciate that. By the way, the electronic billboard over the outfield featured your tour dates a few times during the game.”

  “That’s a nice stadium. We’ve played a few shows there. Wait, my band distracted you during the game?”

  “No distractions from playing, but it was nice to look up and be reminded of you.” Nice to think about her, and that kiss, and how perfectly she’d fit in his arms.

  “How’s Champ doing? Have you heard from Liam?”

  “He sent me a video of Champ and Bear—that’s Adam’s dog—eating breakfast this morning.”

  “Aww.”

  “Yeah, so what are you doing now?” He wandered the room, stepping over Slade’s clothes and the room service tray.

  “I’m in my hotel room, at the desk, trying to reschedule an interview and meet-and-greet for the band and come up with ways to make sure Zander and Luke don’t kill each other.” Her laugh seemed forced.

  “That’s right. You did say you felt like you were babysitting them when we first met.”

  “We’ve been touring
or recording nonstop for years. It’s too much togetherness. We all really need a break, and instead, we get eight weeks of touring Cali. The stress and strain will be worth it if the new album goes platinum.” She stifled a yawn.

  Green numbers glowed from the alarm clock, clicking from very late night to very early day. “It’s midnight. You need to get some sleep.”

  “I have to finish up these things first.”

  He knew how hard sleeping on the road could be—endless strings of different hotels and beds and messed up body clocks. “You’re going to wear yourself out.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve been doing this for”—she yawned again—“years.”

  All the more reason to stop. “If I were there, I’d make you take a break.”

  “You think so, hmm? What would you do?” Her voice softened.

  Really? Countless images flashed through his mind. “Get into bed and I’ll tell you.”

  Shuffling sounds echoed back, then her voice, breathless and soft. “Okay, I’m in bed.”

  He stretched out across his mattress. “The first thing I’d do is massage your shoulders. I’m sure they’re tight. I’d work out the tension there and in your neck.”

  “Mmm. That would feel good. Then what?”

  “Then I’d rub your back. Loosen the muscles stiff from sitting hunched over your desk.” The picture came to him, crystal clear. Her, lying on a soft bed, wrapped in white sheets, while he straddled her and worked his magic. Her muscles would go lax under his hands. He could almost feel her skin against his palms.

  “When would you kiss me? I keep thinking about you kissing me.”

  Heat flowed south, hot and hard. His fantasy Irisa flipped over on that mattress, and he devoured her. “I’d do that as soon as I saw you. That’s all I’ve thought about since I walked away from your door. But once I’d relaxed you, I’d wrap you in my arms and kiss you until we were both straining for more.”

  Her breath hitched. “Would you lie down with me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” His voice pitched low. His body reacted like she was right there, gliding against his skin.