by Jayne Frost
“What’s your name?” I asked the kid wiggling to free himself from my hold. “Calm the fuck down and tell me your name.”
The kid quit squirming long enough to wheeze, “Jake.”
“Well, I’d say manhandling a lady qualifies as something, Jake,” I growled. “Ask Seth here for your cover charge back and then use it for a cab to carry your ass home.”
“He’s got a friend, boss,” Seth advised as he retrieved some cash from the lockbox.
Jake nodded vigorously. “Yeah, a friend. I’ve got a friend.”
The kid had a pleading tone as if he were trying to convince me there was someone inside the club that would report this incident if he did, indeed, go missing.
Releasing Jake’s arm in favor of a strong hold on his neck, I nudged him toward the door. “Wait outside, and someone will send your friend right out.”
“Yes, sir. I mean … thank you … sir,” Jake stammered.
And then he was off, lumbering toward the exit with a couple backward glances to make sure I wasn’t following. When I turned my attention back to Taryn she was biting her lip to keep from laughing.
I wasn’t amused. “Are you okay?” I tilted her chin so I could examine her face. “Did he do something to you? Touch you?”
“No. It’s fine. He was just drunk.” A nervous bubble of laughter tripped from her pretty lips. “It’s my fault. I forgot my cash, and I couldn’t get in without paying the cover.”
My gaze snapped to Seth. “What?”
He held up his hands. “She wasn’t on the list, boss.”
“I’m not talking about the cover,” I growled. “That dude was pawing her, or didn’t you notice?”
Warm fingers trailed down my arm. “Are you under the impression I can’t take care of myself?” Taryn asked.
I blew out a breath and returned my attention to Seth. “We’ll talk later. Put her name on the list.”
“Got it. Karen, right?”
Taryn shifted her feet. “No, it’s, um … Taryn.”
I could see the exact moment when Seth put it together. His eyes widened, and his shoulders straightened. He no longer registered my presence because all of his focus was on Taryn. “Shit … I didn’t recognize you.” He slid off the stool to get a better look. “You’re her … You’re Taryn Ayers.”
The small crowd waiting to turn over their cover charges went quiet, and Taryn dropped her gaze to the floor. “I … um … Yeah.”
At the subtle shift in energy, I pulled Taryn to my side. She kept her head down as I spun us toward the main floor. After elbowing my way through the crowd, we emerged on the other side of the bar, and I ushered her through the door marked No Admittance and into the hallway that led to my loft.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she said, her breath uneven. “Do you have a back entrance?”
I rounded on her, and when I caught sight of those eyes, impossibly large as she blinked up at me, I couldn’t help myself.
My mouth crashed into hers, my tongue demanding entry as I maneuvered her against the wall. Her lips parted on a gasp. But then her hands were in my hair, and it was all hot breath and soft moans. And fuck, the taste. Like strawberries fresh from the vine.
“Fuck, you’re sweet.” My palms glided up her sides, inching towards her breasts. “I knew you’d be sweet.”
Her little pants warmed the hollow of my neck. “So are you.”
I stroked her jaw with the pad of my thumb, and even in the dim light, I saw the flush color her cheeks.
“One more taste.”
It wasn’t a question. More like a vow. One more taste and I’d peel her off the wall. One more taste and we’d go get that drink I’d promised. One more taste and I’d be able to control myself.
My lips ghosted over hers. But this time it wasn’t my restraint in question. Taryn levered up on her toes, and twining her fingers into my hair, she pulled my mouth to hers. Frustration poured off of her as she fumbled to find her rhythm.
Cupping her cheek, I broke our connection. “Easy, Taryn … I’m right here.”
When our lips met again, our tongues tangled in perfect sync. As we fell deeper into the kiss, one thought rolled around in my head. I wanted Taryn in my loft. In the one place she shouldn’t be. The craving won out, like I knew it would. “Come upstairs with me?”
Smiling, she whispered, “What’s upstairs?” as if it were a secret. And maybe it was. Because I sure as fuck couldn’t tell anyone.
“My loft.”
She inclined her head, a funny smile curving her lips. “You sleep here?”
“And shower.” Twirling a lock of her hair around my finger, I grinned. “And watch TV. Cook, on occasion.”
Taryn’s gaze shifted unknowingly to the door to my loft. To the place where I wanted her.
I dipped low and whispered in her ear, “Say yes.”
And to my amazement, she did.
Chapter 7
Taryn
Chase held my hand as he led me up the narrow staircase. Despite our hot and heavy make-out session in the hallway, my stomach churned with apprehension.
Are you really doing this?
A one-night stand.
Throughout my career, I’d seen more walks of shame from hotel rooms, tour buses, and broom closets than anyone should witness in three lifetimes.
But I’d never had one. I was a relationship girl.
My already queasy stomach dropped when I thought about where that had gotten me. All the years I’d wasted with Beckett.
You think too much …
Chase was right. Very wise for a guy who lived above a bar.
I glimpsed his ass as we climbed. With a body and a face like his, he could afford to be a free spirit. He didn’t have to spend much time in his loft with a room full of women downstairs who’d give their eye teeth to take him home.
We topped the stairs, and Chase flicked a switch, flooding the space with light. “You hungry? I could call the kitchen and order some appetizers.”
He let go of my hand, and I swayed in my spot as I gazed around. I’d expected a dank space with empty cases of liquor and a mattress on the floor. But this was not that. Three white, overstuffed couches in the living area cupped a theater-sized flat screen. A formal dining table with hand carved clawed feet that seated … twelve? My breath hitched when I spotted the alcove lined with bookcases that went up, and up, all the way to the twenty-five-foot ceiling.
And in the gourmet kitchen with all the gleaming stainless-steel appliances stood Chase, hands in his pockets, watching me.
“You hungry?” he repeated.
His features were schooled into a mask, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“I … uh … yeah, I guess.”
I guess?
I sounded like a teenager. Biting my lip, I twisted the strap on the wallet attached to my wrist.
Chase inhaled a controlled breath and then slid around the island, his boots echoing like thunderclaps off the high ceiling as he closed the gap between us.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Five minutes ago, I was ready to jump Chase in the hallway, but I flinched when he took my hand. If he noticed, he didn’t show it, placing a feather light kiss to each of my knuckles.
“Talk to me,” he urged as he laced our fingers and pulled me toward one of the sofas. I sank down next to him, and he slipped my wallet off my wrist and tossed it onto the table. “Now, what’s up?”
“Nothing.” I stared down at our joined hands. His were large. Not rough exactly, but not smooth. Capable. “I’m just … this is a really nice place.”
“Thank you.”
A nervous laugh bubbled up. “It’s not what I expected.”
Chase dipped his head, searching for my eyes. Reluctantly, I lifted my gaze.
“What did you expect?” he asked, a small smile tugging his lips.
God, those lips.
“I don’t know. You’re a bar manager.”
It was his turn to avoid eye contact. Wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger, he examined the curl. “Actually …” He looked at me then, searching my face, “I own the place. The bar and the building.”
I felt my brows rise. “Oh …”
He tugged the wisp of hair coiling his finger, smiling. “You got something against bars?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Bar owners?” he persisted, inching forward. I shook my head, too enthralled by his voice and his eyes to form a verbal response. “Guys with tattoos?”
That startled an honest-to-goodness laugh out of me. “No.”
But then he knew that. Chase knew everything about me, or at least he could without much effort. A Google search would yield anything from my kindergarten picture to a photo of me cussing out a photographer in the middle of Whole Foods.
I frowned, and Chase tipped my chin with his index finger. “There’s that look. You thinkin’ again, Sweet Taryn?”
My shoulders slumped, and I wondered how he did that—read me so well. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
A victory smile curved his lips, and he moved in slowly. “We can’t have that.”
His hand molded to my waist as he dropped a kiss to my lips. I opened for him, and our tongues tangled and twined. And then I was on my back, against the most comfortable heap of pillows I’d ever felt, with Chase on top of me.
“Fuck, you are sweet,” he rasped as he worked the buttons on my blouse. Not all of them. Just enough to expose my bra.
Chase scored his teeth down my neck to the tender flesh overflowing the sheer, lace cups. And then lower. When his mouth clamped around my nipple, I sunk my fingers into his hair, and he groaned in appreciation.
Heat pooled in my belly, and I rocked against him. “Chase …”
My brows dove together when I heard the echo. It wasn’t my voice though, but definitely female.
Chase heard it too because he cursed and propped up on his palms.
“Bridgette!” he roughed out through clenched teeth. “Don’t take another fucking step!”
“Sorry,” he said to me as he pulled me upright and then began to fumble with my buttons.
I brushed his hands away, my cheeks on fire. “I got it.”
Cursing, he pushed to his feet and stomped toward the stairs. Hushed voices drifted up as I stood on wobbly legs to smooth my jeans and tuck in my blouse. If there were another exit, I would’ve used it. My focus shifted to the floor to ceiling windows, and I briefly considered jumping.
Chase reentered the room, and to my horror, a redhead trailed behind.
Oh my God. He’s married.
But the woman didn’t seem angry. She was smiling. At me.
I blinked up at Chase, startled when his hand slid to my nape. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got a thing … downstairs. Can I get a raincheck?”
My gaze shifted back to the smiling redhead. His thing, I assumed. “Of course.”
Before I could bolt, he brushed a feather light kiss to my lips. “So fucking sweet.”
“Boss?” came a small voice, and Red smiled when we both looked her way. “I’m going to go downstairs. I can’t leave Megan in charge of the bar.”
“Yeah, go,” Chase replied, barely able to contain his agitation. “I’ll be there in a few.”
“She works for you?” I asked when we were alone. “She’s not …” Inclining his head, he narrowed his gaze and waited for me to finish. “Your girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Taryn. I don’t really …” I held my ground while he fumbled for the words to let me down easy. “I’m not good at relationships.”
“Neither am I.”
A beat of silence, and then Chase pulled me close. “One more taste.”
He wasn’t really asking. But it didn’t matter. I gladly reciprocated, opening for him when his lips touched mine. Because I knew what this was. Not quite a brushoff. But a missed opportunity.
My chances of seeing Chase Noble again were slim. So I took the little bit he offered and tucked it away with the other could’ve beens.
Sitting in my car in the underground parking garage in my building, I frantically searched for my clutch wallet. After one final sweep of the floorboards and the backseat, I came to the inevitable conclusion that I’d left the damn thing in Chase’s loft.
Shit.
I dug my phone from my back pocket, then realized that I didn’t have Chase’s number.
With a frustrated sigh, I headed the three blocks to Nite Owl. Miracle of miracles, I found a space out front. Since I still didn’t have any cash, I hoped Seth the bouncer hadn’t gone home for the evening.
To my relief, he was still at his post. When the big bruiser saw me marching up, he was all smiles. “Back so soon?”
Unfortunately.
I gave him a little shrug as I passed.
The bar was packed four-people deep, but I spotted the redhead from the loft a mile away.
Inching between two occupied barstools, I waited to get her attention. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
“Taryn.” She gulped. Visibly.
She was doing that deer in the headlights thing, so I took the opportunity to glance at her name tag.
“Hi, Bridgette.” I smiled, willing her to focus. “I left something in Chase’s loft. I know he’s busy, but can you get him for me? Just for a second.”
Bridgette’s head tilted in a peculiar way, her brows drawn so close together they formed one red slash above her confused green eyes. “Um … I can’t right now. You know … he’s …” She pointed her finger at the ceiling.
I looked up, as if Chase might be hovering above the bar Mission Impossible style. Then I heard it. His smooth voice pouring through the speakers mounted to the rafters.
The fuck?
I swung my gaze to the small stage, and there he was, under a single spotlight, crooning into the microphone. His fingers moved effortlessly across the fretboard as he strummed the worn six string, a perfect marriage between the wood and the flesh. Few people found that balance. Beckett. Paige. A handful of others that everyone knew by name.
And that voice. Mesmerizing. Pitch perfect.
I vaguely registered Bridgette calling my name as I pushed through the crowd, then managed to secure a spot in the shadows at the corner of the stage. Regardless of where I stood, I knew I’d be anonymous. Nothing was visible to Chase beyond the borders of the single spotlight.
The small crowd cheered enthusiastically when he finished his song.
A woman in the audience shouted, “I love you, Chase!” and like someone well accustomed to living in the light of the darkness the stage provided, he smiled in the general direction of the voice, and said, “I love you back, darlin’.”
Applause rose up, and Chase adjusted the strap on his guitar, grinning wider.
“I’ve been working on some new stuff recently. Let’s see what y’all think.”
As he plucked the opening chords, my focus shifted to the guitar. A Fender Concert Series. The instrument was at least fifteen years old, and as seasoned as the man playing it.
Maybe our chance meeting wasn’t chance at all?
As the truth sank in, I committed each feature of Chase’s face to memory. Even if he offered nothing more than a good time, I wouldn’t see him again.
Back at the bar, I flagged Bridgette down. “Could you do me a favor?” I picked up a pen abandoned next to someone’s credit card receipt and then jotted down the address for Twin Souls on a cocktail napkin. “Can you tell Chase I left my wallet in his loft and have him mail it here?”
She looked down at the napkin, confused. “Sure, but he’ll be finished in like fifteen minutes. If you want to wait, have a drink, I’m sure he wants to see you.”
I’m sure he does too.
My nails dug into my palms as I balled my hands into fists. “No. That’s okay. Just have him mail it. Thanks.”
As I spun to leave, I ran straight into the guy behind me. Cold beer breac
hed the rim of his cup, dousing my shoulder before trickling down the front of what used to be my favorite blouse.
And … it was official; the night couldn’t get any worse.
Mumbling an apology, I headed for the door, leaving Chase’s velvety smooth voice and handsome face in my rearview mirror.
Chapter 8
Chase
Sweat from the performance trickled down my back.
“I don’t understand.” I blinked at the address on the napkin, then up at Bridgette. “Taryn was here?” Bridgette chewed her lip, staring at the scrap of paper in my hand. “Just tell me what the fuck she said.”
Bridgette was still salty about the way I’d talked to her before the show. But, shit, she was the one who barged into my fucking living room.
Lifting her gaze, Bridgette peered at me with glacial green eyes. “She came in for her wallet. I guess she left it in your loft. But then she saw you on stage and got pissed off and left.”
I rolled my head to get out the kinks in my neck, and when that didn’t work, I swiped a bottle of Gentleman Jack from the top shelf.
As I poured three fingers into a rocks glass, Bridgette propped her hip against the bar and said, “When I saw Taryn in your loft, I thought maybe Logan and Cam finally wore you down—convinced you to use some of your connections to get them that introduction at Twin Souls they’ve been angling for. But after I saw you kiss her, I got the feeling it wasn’t business.”
Scanning the crowd over the rim of the glass, I ignored her question for as long as I could. But the girl was relentless. I finished my drink, and she still hadn’t moved an inch.
Pouring a second shot, I sighed. “Nope, not business.”
Bridgette sucked air through her teeth, shaking her head. “Then I’m assuming you fed her the standard ‘I’m only a bar manager’ line?”
Bridgette walked the razor’s edge of insubordination on a regular basis. Usually I didn’t mind. But I wasn’t about to stand here and let her dress me down in my own bar. On the clock, no less.
“Let it go, Bridge.”
Since I was the one that needed to let it go, I crumbled up the napkin and stuffed the wadded paper into my pocket. Whatever was between Taryn and me—crazy attraction, fascination, lust—it was over now.