by Lilli Feisty
“You like them?”
“W-what?”
Mark shook his wrist. “These. You were staring at them.”
“No. I mean yes. They’re lovely.” Lovely?
That damn brow of his went higher.
She felt hot. All over. Which compelled her to take a calming sip of the drink he’d handed her. As a rule, she didn’t drink at her own events, but so far she’d broken her own rule twice in one night. First with Meg, now with Mark. Mark something St. Crow.
“Do you have a middle name?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “Why?”
“Um. Just wondering.” Seriously, her legs were trembling.
“Let’s sit.” Was he reading her mind now?
He led her to a table in a corner. And the only reason she took the seat he offered was because of Emmett. Really, it was. Emmett wanted to record this band, and, as his wife’s best friend, she felt an obligation to do whatever she could to help out. And if that meant making small talk with a young man who wore black glasses and smelled like leather and looked at her like she was the only woman in the room, so be it.
She stifled a shiver.
“You cold?”
“Nope. Uh-uh. Not at all.” In fact, she was burning up. Conversation. Make conversation. “So. You’re in a band.” Real clever.
“Yup. Sure am.” Why did he always seem to be holding back a smile?
She went on. “What do you play?”
“Everything. Piano, guitar. The Bazantar—”
“You play the Bazantar?” she said, her eyes wide.
“On occasion. You know what it is?”
“It’s a five-string double bass, invented by Mark Deutsch.”
He stared a second too long. “Wow. I’m impressed.”
“So am I. That you play it, I mean.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, what else do you do?”
“I sing. I’m a bit of a control freak about performing, actually.”
She couldn’t help but find that interesting. Mark St. Crow was a control freak. He seemed the opposite of her, and yet she often referred to herself with that same exact phrase. Well, everyone referred to her that way, didn’t they? “What kind of music does your band play?” she asked.
“Rock and roll. Punk. Electronic. Everything.” Now he did smile before he tilted his beer bottle to his lips. She surmised that, by now, he must have realized she had no idea who his band was. It didn’t seem to bother him.
Which was even more interesting. But she shook the thoughts out of her head. She really should be checking in with the caterer, mingling. So she had no idea why she asked: “Didn’t we have a deal? Were you going to name forty songs with the name Ruby in the title?” So now she was asking him to serenade her. Niiiice. Not flirting at all.
“This might not be in chronological order; I’m a bit rusty.”
“I understand.”
He coughed into his hand, cleared his throat. Made a show of it. She bit her lip, trying not to laugh at his silliness. With all this charm, no doubt he had girls falling over him every night. The thought sobered her up, and she straightened in her seat.
Suddenly she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched and she looked up to find the woman Mark had arrived with staring at her. Tall, with a supermodel’s figure and sparkling green eyes, the redhead was stunning. And, judging from the intense expression on her face, she disapproved of Mark talking to Ruby.
“What’s up?” Mark asked.
Ruby tried to shrug indifferently. “Your girlfriend doesn’t look too happy.”
“That’s Yvette, my singer. She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Are you sure she knows that?”
“Yeah. I already ventured down that road, and it didn’t work out so well. Hit a dead end so, to speak.” He chuckled, his laugh was deep and husky and made her soften even more.
So, he’d been with Yvette. Who cared? Ruby had no idea why it mattered that Mark’s gorgeous, talented, soon-to-be-famous ex-girlfriend was staring at them like she would be perfectly happy if a hole opened up and swallowed Ruby alive.
“Don’t mind Yvette. She’s just overprotective. We go way back.”
“I don’t mind,” Ruby said as Yvette turned away. “Not at all. It’s great to have good friends. Anyway, I should be going. I have to check on… things.” As if she didn’t have every detail, down to the exact number of hand towels in the bathroom, under control.
His hand on her knee made her pause. “But I haven’t finished my side of the deal yet. So sit back and listen, my darling Ruby.”
She flicked his hand away. “I’m not your darling anything.”
“I know. It’s a song. By Mossa.”
“Oh.”
“House music.”
“I don’t listen to house.”
“Understood. It’s not nearly as good as the hair-band music you have going on here.”
She bristled. “Eighties rock is back.”
“Sadly.”
She agreed but didn’t say it. And she really wished he would stop smiling like that. It did funny things to her stomach.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted. “So you’re on. List every song with Ruby in the title. And, just for fun, how about you do it by genre?” She smiled innocently.
“A bit of a challenge, but I’ll give it a try. What should I start with? Not house. Rock? Alternative? Jazz—”
“Jazz.” Ruby loved jazz and was quite sure this young rock star would be stumped. Which, bizarrely, would please her.
“Jazz it is. Okay, then. A-hem. Of course we have ‘Ruby, My Dear’ by Thelonious Monk; ‘Ruby, I Need You’ by the Steel Brothers; ‘Ruby’ by Ambrose Akinmusire; ‘Ruby’ by Art Farmer; ‘Ruby’ by Jimmy Smith; ‘Ruby’ by Benny Carter—”
She froze. “You’ve heard of Benny Carter?”
“You seem surprised.”
“I am. Not many people know jazz.”
“How do you know so much about jazz, Ruby So Sweet?”
“My dad turned me on to it.” She just stopped herself from adding, before he left. “When I was a little girl. Not many people have heard of Benny Carter.”
“My father was a jazz musician. Upright bass. I’ll never forget the first time he caught me listening to the Ramones. I thought he’d have a heart attack right there in my bedroom.”
Ah, yes, the Ramones. Their album had come out when Mark was what? Ten?
She asked, “Was he a successful musician? Your father, I mean.”
“In his time. Played with some of the greats. Monk, Brubeck, Hancock.”
She leaned back, studying the way he coolly listed some of the greatest names in jazz. “Impressive.”
He shrugged, and for just a second his eyes flashed with an emotion she couldn’t place. “At the time. He gave it up when I came along.”
“Really? Why?”
His laugh was wry. “The usual. Mom didn’t like the late nights, the travel. The unpredictable income.”
“That’s understandable.”
He eyed her over his beer. “Maybe. Anyway, he taught me everything I know about music. So, Ruby baby. Shall I continue?”
Nodding, she settled into her chair and listened. And listened. And listened. Finally, she waved him to stop. “Fine! I get it. There are a lot of songs with the name Ruby in the title!”
“As there should be.”
She rolled her eyes and bit back a grin. Yeah, he was a charmer, all right. And she’d fallen right into his trap. But why her? Why had he picked her to flirt with? Glancing around the room, she saw half a dozen gorgeous young things, some of whom she’d hired herself as eye candy. And that they were. In her vintage suit and high-buttoned shirt, Ruby felt downright dowdy in comparison. At least her red peep-toe pumps were sexy.
Straightening her blazer, Ruby took a deep, calming breath. But then she looked up and her heart stopped. Because Mark wasn’t just looking at her, he was scrutinizing her. She found herself pinned
under his gaze as if he’d tied her to the chair.
He took a slow swig from his beer. “I noticed the tattoo on the back of your neck. It’s nice work.”
She wore her hair in a high ponytail, and her hand went to the cherry blossom tattoo at the top of her spine. “Thank you.”
If possible, his gaze became even more intense. “It looks familiar. In fact, it looks exactly like something on a piece of art I bought recently. Here, in San Francisco.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. No. It couldn’t be. Ash had promised to never sell any of the photographs he’d taken of her. He was a narcissistic, chronically late, tortured artist who, on occasion, cheated on his girlfriend. But he wasn’t evil.
Was he?
Mark went on. “The thing is, this piece I bought? It’s of a woman, bound in rope. It was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.” Still watching her, he took another casual swig from his beer. “Until now.”
She met his gaze, silent for a minute. Then she started laughing. High-pitched hysterical giggles that had him looking at her with an expression of confusion.
Finally, her laugh died out. “So that’s what this is about.”
“What ‘what’ is about?”
She flapped her hand between them. “This. You talking to me. You think I’m easy because I posed—past tense—naked in erotic photographs. You think I’ll tie you up, let you worship my shoes or something.” She pushed herself to her feet. “And this is exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know it was me in those pictures. You let someone take a few nude photographs, and the next thing you know, guys are begging you to spank them—”
A firm grip on her wrist stopped her midturn, midsentence. He was standing now and she jerked her chin up, confronting his stare.
“Ruby, I’m never the one begging to be spanked. Trust me on that.”
He used two fingers to tilt her chin up just a fraction, and the scent of his leather bracelets assaulted her. His brown eyes told her everything: There was nothing submissive about Mark St. Crow.
He said, “You’re vibrating.”
She shook her head. “I’m not.”
That smile again. “You are.” He slid his free hand into her blazer pocket like he had every right to do so, and the heat from his arm made her shiver more than she already was. Releasing her wrist, he placed her phone in her palm. The phone that was, in fact, vibrating.
“You might want to get that. Could be important.”
“Right. Thanks.” Without looking at the caller ID, she turned away and flipped the cell open. “This is Ruby.”
“Are you okay?”
Glancing over her shoulder at a grinning Mark, Ruby took a few more steps away from him and scanned the room. “Meg? Where are you?”
“Hiding behind a palm tree. Did you know these things are fakes? Anyway, I saw the way Mark was holding your arm. Is everything all right?”
She looked behind her to find Mark still watching her. She turned away. “Yes. Fine. Turns out Ash sold one of those photographs, and guess who happened to buy one?”
“No way!”
“Way.”
“So why was he holding on to your wrist? Does he think you’re easy or something ’cause of those pictures? Fuck the recording contract. I’m gonna kick his ass.”
“No! No. It’s fine, really.” Ruby didn’t know how she knew this, she just did. And she couldn’t help the fact that a part of her was enjoying their banter. Enjoying him. Yeah, as a musician he was a sworn-off species, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a little flirting, did it? She was thirty-seven. Even if the lighting was soft, it felt good to have a hot young guy hitting on her. Not to mention her wrist still burned from where he’d held her. And that excited her even as it freaked her out.
“Really, Meg. It’s fine. Thanks for checking, though.” She flipped her phone shut and faced Mark. He was, of course, still staring at her. But now he was sitting again, sipping his beer. Looking innocent. But there was nothing innocent about him. And there was something in his eyes that made her go liquid inside. Made her heart flutter. Flutter.
Shit.
Stiffly, she sat back down, picked up her drink and took a sip. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what was being offered. A one-off with a gorgeous young man who made her pulse race. A fast fuck with a man who purchased erotic art and probably thought she had more experience than she had with BDSM. A man who’d said he was never the one begging to be spanked, worded in such a way to imply there was, in fact, someone who had begged for such a thing.
She couldn’t get that smell of leather out of her nose.
His gaze darted to the patio door and back to her. “Have a cigarette with me,” he said, and she looked up to find those intense brown eyes of his boring into hers.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Neither do I.”
A heartbeat later, she nodded.
Mark placed his beer bottle on the table, and then he took her hand. She loved the feel of his dry, strong fingers laced with hers. Loved the way he confidently led her through the crowd. Even as she broke rule number two—never leave your own event—she loved the way her heart hammered as she followed him onto the terrace. Besides, if anyone needed anything, she was just outside the door.
On this empty patio. All alone. With Mark St. Crow. Her heart started to race in a way it hadn’t in a long time, in an anxious pace that made her palms moist.
But then his hand was on her arm, stroking softly. The feeling passed.
She met his gaze and her heart quickened, but in a much more pleasant manner than it had just a moment ago. Were they going to do it now? Have sex? Here?
It suddenly dawned on her that she was about to have a quickie on the patio with a man she’d just met. Why else would he have led her out here?
Why else would she have let him?
Just do it and get it out of your system!
Hell, they were halfway there anyway, right? He’d already seen her at her most vulnerable. The man possessed pictures of her, not just nude, but in bondage. Rope wrapped around her breasts, her arms, between her legs. Totally bound. God, he’d seen more of her than any man had in over a year.
Turning, she smiled shyly at Mark. “You’ve seen me naked.”
“Don’t think I’m not thinking about that.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a mischievous smile as he took a step closer to her.
She lifted her chin a fraction, then jumped into the unknown. “Do you just admire the art you buy, or do you play?” Her entire body seemed to shake as she waited for him to answer.
His hand went to his belt buckle, where he lightly stroked the brass. “I’m interested in all aspects of power exchange.”
And she wanted to give him that power over her.
How had he brought out this side of her so fast? Because she wanted to sink to her knees before him, give herself to him right then. She’d forgotten what that craving was like, how encompassing it could be.
She shook her head. All this talk about leather and bondage and spanking had her head spinning, had her acting crazy.
Instinct told her to run, but then he pulled her to him and cupped her face between his hands. “I’m going to kiss you, but only if you promise to come to my show and then wait for me afterward.”
“What if I hate the way you kiss?”
“You won’t.”
“You’re so sure of yourself?”
He lightly stroked the top of her ear. “Yes.”
She had no intention of going to his show, but he didn’t need to know that. She pulled him down toward her. She loved the way a man’s neck felt in her palm, and she closed her eyes and savored the seconds before their first kiss. Then his lips touched hers briefly and she opened her mouth, slid her tongue gently toward his. She tasted him. Took pleasure in the easy way they connected.
She’d forgotten what a kiss could be like. How it could make her legs tingle. How it set loose butterflies in her belly. How it melted her.<
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His hands were roaming her back, pressing her body against his. Desire hit her like lightning, shooting through her veins in a hot bolt. Their kiss became harder, more intense. His hands held her steady as he explored her mouth, and she groaned against his lips.
Slowly, he moved his fingertips from her shoulder to graze the outside of her breast, down her rib cage and over her hip bone until his hand clenched around her upper thigh. With two steps he had her backed up against the wall. She went limp as he covered her, until she was sandwiched between his hot body and the hard concrete, still warm from the day’s muted sun.
His hands were in her hair, loosening the strands. Stroking and pulling, pulling until she gasped from the sharp sting. Her legs quivered and he brought her closer, tilting her head so he could run his tongue across her teeth in just such a way it sent little quivers shooting through her. When he brought her hands together and stretched her arms to hold them high above her head, she allowed it.
How easily she followed his lead. How easy it was to let him direct her. How could this be happening so fast? The feeling was too intense, and it was exactly what she was afraid of. Letting go, craving something she couldn’t control. Craving the need to let go.
So why did it feel so good?
He released her arms, but she kept them over her head and she felt his hands at her chest, steady as he undid the first few buttons of her blouse. Still he kissed her. His knuckles were warm on her skin as he spread the fabric and then his fingertips found her nipple. She gasped into his mouth as he pinched, twisted. The pain shot through her, straight to her sex.
Ash, the others, had always been gentle.
She realized she did not want Mark to be gentle.
She was getting wet. Wet between her legs, but she didn’t want him to touch her there, not yet. She wanted to feel the void, feel the want. The journey was as good as the destination, and she wanted to enjoy every moment of the ride, make it last.
Which was bad. Very bad. This was supposed to be a quickie, nothing more. She pulled back. “Do you have a condom?”