MidnightInk-epub

by MI

  Wasn’t that why he held back earlier when all he’d wanted to do was kiss her? The only thing that helped him step away was the thought that he would see her tonight. Now that he had, all he could think about was getting her to agree to date number two. Then three. Getting her into his arms.

  From the moment he followed her into the shop he’d been like this, and he knew why. When he looked into her eyes today, it had given him the same sensation he’d gotten when he held his first guitar. He was only ten at the time, but he’d known with every cell in his body that he’d found his path.

  This, he’d thought. This is supposed to be mine. This is right.

  His guitar couldn’t disagree, but Etta was a beautiful woman capable of making her own decisions. It was possible she didn’t feel the same pull. The same intense attraction he did. Maybe she wasn’t ready to move on.

  It was difficult to believe desire like this could be one-sided, but he couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t like this had ever happened to him before. The only thing he could think to do was be patient. Take it easy with her, be a gentleman, or at least give it his best damn shot.

  Two weeks. That wasn’t a hell of a lot of time.

  Patience.

  She’d mentioned the band they’d come to listen to. He glanced up, suddenly grateful for the distraction. “Their front man is working his way to our table before he has to start his next set, so we don’t have much time. What do you think of them?” Etta was sipping from the narrow red straw in her glass and he grinned at her startled expression. “I told you I liked your taste in music. I’m interested.”

  “I don’t think he’s that interested,” she responded with a wry twist of her lips. “But they’re good. And he’s a real fan. That last song? It reminded me of Daddy Bone.”

  Christie choked on his beer. “Sorry about that. I didn’t… How do you know that song? It was a B-side that never made it to the radio.”

  “It should have,” Etta assured him.

  “I wish you’d gotten to vote,” he joked. “I was just glad to have the chance to record some old school swamp rock.”

  He’d actually written it for Henry Lee, the one who’d raised him on legends of the voodoo spirit named Bone Daddy—a sexual devil that would give a man or woman anything they desired, if they were willing to pay his price.

  The song hadn’t made any ripples on the charts, but the story was one of many tall tales people told around here to this day. In fact, some of the nuttier brands of bar drunks had connected the spirit with Etta’s cousin, Rousseau.

  Small world.

  Etta still hadn’t answered him. Was she blushing again?

  “How?” he repeated.

  “I was friends with Rosie before you had a band, you know. Once you started touring, you were kind of a big deal with the repressed Catholic schoolgirl demographic.” She took another sip of her drink. “She might tell you I had a crush on you, but don’t believe her.”

  He was a depraved man, because he’d forgotten about his song in an instant and now all he could think about was grown-up Etta in a Catholic school uniform, and the ways he could take advantage of her crush.

  He had a feeling it was going to be his new favorite fantasy. “So you didn’t have a crush on me and you’re surprised you’re having fun. My ego is getting a beating tonight.”

  She licked liquid off her upper lip, and then added insult to injury. “It was your bass player. I thought he was hot.”

  “Tweedle Todd? You thought he was hot? The man has been wearing the same two shirts for the last eighteen years, and he refuses to cut his hair, like he hasn’t lost most of what’s on to—” He noticed her shoulders shaking with silent laughter and stopped himself.

  She was teasing him. Damn if he didn’t like it. “You’re right. That last song did sound familiar. Should I mention it? Make him squirm?”

  Etta stopped smiling again and shook her head. “Oh no, please don’t. He’s so excited that you’re here and it would ruin his big moment.”

  Christie studied her long, graceful fingers fiddling with the candle in the center of their small table and wishing they were on him instead. God, she was as sweet as she looked. “I wouldn’t.”

  She shifted in her seat to make room for someone walking by her chair and jumped when the candle’s wax dripped on her fingers. When she lifted them to her mouth and blew, Christie groaned. He couldn’t resist the erotic images that sprang to mind. Didn’t want to.

  Patience, damn it.

  “How is your leg feeling? Sore?”

  “Surprisingly good actually. I can’t wait to show it off. She told me that would happen but I didn’t believe her. It’s a little…pinchy?” She made a face. “As you can see I’ve successfully kept all that wordy medical jargon from cluttering up my post-graduation brain. But other than that, it’s fine. Why?”

  He lifted his gaze, unable to stem his words. “Because I’m going to tell this hungry young picker that he‘s got the chops, give him a number to call if he wants more gigs, and then ask him to play something slow that we can sway to. We’ll be careful. Rosie would kill me if I did anything to destroy her artwork and I don’t want you hurting, but I think we should give it a shot.”

  He wanted her in his arms now. Had to feel her body against his. The mantra wasn’t working, and he was out of patience.

  Her hazel eyes went wide and her lips parted. “Oh. Okay. I don’t think swaying was on her list of don’ts for tattoo recovery.”

  “Good.”

  He didn’t get a chance to say more because the young man wearing a faded Midnight Ryder t-shirt was standing in front of him with fire and hope in his eyes. Trying not to smile, Christie reached for his wallet and handed the boy his favorite promoter’s card. He used to be this boy—just starting out, ready for the music to shoot him into the stratosphere. Ready to pay any price to play.

  When he headed back to the stage, Christie turned toward Etta. “How’d I do?”

  She was looking up at him with an indecipherable expression on her face. “That was very generous. Very professional. I think you made his year.”

  He shrugged. “The year is only a few days old. And if the expressions of those girls near the stage are any indication, I’ll be a distant memory by this time tomorrow. Dance with me?”

  Etta placed her hand in his and he had to hide his instant reaction to the heat of her touch. The electricity. Her lips curved shyly and he knew she sensed it too.

  “Technically, I believe I only agreed to swaying,” she said, her teasing smile unconsciously seductive.

  “How do you feel about shuffling?”

  “The same way I do about boot-scooting.”

  “Which is?”

  “No.”

  He laughed out loud. Had he ever just plain liked a woman he wanted this badly before, or vice versa? If he did he couldn’t remember. She was phenomenal.

  The band began to play and he groaned out loud, glaring at the stage and frowning at Etta when she laughed.

  “Speaking of semantics. You said you wanted a slow song. You didn’t tell him it couldn’t be one of yours.”

  “It’s an unwritten rule,” Christie grumbled, guiding her through the crowed and onto the small wooden dance floor. “Especially when it comes to this song. No one should have to suffer through it again.”

  She turned to him and slid her arms hesitantly around his neck. “I don’t mind.”

  When his hands were curled around her waist, his fingers splayed low on her back, he didn’t mind either.

  Yeah, it wasn’t his best song. He’d written the lyrics early in his career when he was young and foolish and more than a little hard up. His drummer had called it his Fuck Me song. Midnight Ryder’s anthem to copulatory begging. But touching Etta made him feel like he was hearing it for the first time.

  It was about need. About rocking back and forth with her body pressed against his and being unable to think about anything but her. Her fingertips on the bare skin on t
he back of his neck, making him hard.

  Etta tilted her head, listening to the lead singer’s impassioned plea. When she spoke, her voice sounded sultrier than it had before. A little breathless.

  “I’m not just saying this because you’re my ride home, but I think you sing this one better than he does.”

  And that was why there were rules.

  “You think?” He wasn’t sure what came over him then, but he leaned his forehead against hers and pulled her closer when he heard the chorus, singing too softly for anyone else to hear. “I can feel you in my blood, I can smell you on my skin. Don’t leave me out here in the cold, come on baby, let me in. Let me show you how it feels, how it cuts me to the bone. To think that I can’t have tonight, babe don’t leave me here alone.”

  Etta released a shaky sigh and pulled her head back to look into his eyes. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, couldn’t think of anything but how the woman pressed up against him. What he wanted to do to her.

  She’s special, remember? Rein it in.

  He swallowed a groan, trying to smile, but his skin felt too tight. “Little did you know when you agreed to come tonight you’d be serenaded with my homage to hair band ballads. I really know how to show a birthday girl a good time, right?”

  “Little did you know that I’m a hair band ballad fan,” she murmured, studying his chin as if it were fascinating. “But personally I think you could sing the drink menu and every woman in here would melt into a puddle at your feet.”

  His fingers tightened on her hips as the last notes of the song faded and the crowd cheered. “What was that you said earlier? That thing about flattery getting you anything and everything you wanted?”

  Etta’s lips parted and it looked as if she were about to say something, but she shook her head subtly and stopped moving in time to the music. “I—Maybe we should get out of here. Do you mind?”

  Yes, damn it. “Whatever you want.”

  He tried not to let his disappointment show on his face. It was too soon. He’d only had her for a few hours. He’d said whatever she wanted, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his own desires.

  He wanted to close the place down, talking until he knew everything about her. What she liked. What she loved. What she dreamt about.

  He wanted to take her home. His home. He wanted to do undeniably dirty things to her sweet, edible body and hear her begging for release.

  What is it that you don’t understand about that phrase, man? Rein it the fuck in.

  Christie placed his hand on her back as they moved through the crowd and out the door toward his car. He needed a plan to ease his frustration. He’d take her back to her aunt’s house, but he’d see her again tomorrow for her appointment with Rosie. After that he would have to charm her into going out with him again, because the idea of having to wait out the week without seeing her was unacceptable.

  It was official. He’d fallen into the deep end with this woman. The strangest thing was…he wasn’t struggling to get out. Not cursing his fate or running in the opposite direction. He wanted to be exactly where he was—unless naked in his bed was an option.

  He helped her into his car, realizing as he walked around to his side that neither one of them had said a word since they left the dance floor. Had she been put off by tonight’s outing? Did she think he was trying to impress her by having that guitar player flatter his ego and play his song? Hell, the way he was feeling, he probably wasn’t above that, but that wasn’t why he’d asked her to come.

  He got in and started the car, turning on the heater to warm the swiftly chilling air.

  “Christie? Do you remember when you said you’d tell me something about you that I didn’t already know?”

  He angled his body toward hers and noticed that her hands were tightly clenched together. Cold or nerves? “Yes?”

  “Can I pick the subject?”

  Now he was nervous. “Of course. I’ve got nothing to hide. You already know about my pie prejudice.”

  She turned toward him and looked into his eyes in the darkness. Even in the dim light he could see she was blushing. “Kissing. That is, that’s the subject.”

  “Kissing is a broad topic,” he spoke slowly, carefully, forcing himself not to get overexcited. He wasn’t sure where this conversation would lead. “I’m in favor of it as a general rule, but did you have anything specific in mind?”

  If you don’t, I can promise you I do.

  Etta huffed out a nervous laugh. “Sorry. I could say I’m out of practice at this, but that usually implies previous experience. I mean with asking. That came out wrong. I’m not saying that I’ve never kissed anyone before. I mean I was marri—”

  “Yes,” Christie interrupted, grimacing at the obvious grit of need in his voice. “If your question has anything to do with me kissing you, the answer is yes.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Yes?”

  He lifted his hand to her warm cheek, cupping it and caressing her skin with his thumb. It was like silk. “Yes, I want to. Yes, I’ve been thinking about it all day. Yes, I’ll regret it forever if I don’t do it now. Was that what you wanted to know?”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak and he held his breath. It seemed like hours before she leaned her cheek into his hand and nodded silently.

  “Thank God,” he murmured.

  As soon as her lips parted beneath his, he groaned and deepened the kiss. The fierce hunger shouldn’t have taken him by surprise. He‘d known she would taste like this. Sweet. Hot. Addictive. Known one kiss from her would completely steal his control.

  He turned his head, tangling his tongue greedily with hers, drinking in her moans and reveling in the way she lifted her hands to his shoulders and tugged him closer. She wasn’t pushing him away. She was hungry too.

  Christie gripped the back of her head with one hand while his other fingers caressed the curved neckline of her soft pink sweater. Cotton candy. He wanted it to melt away like the spun sugar confection, knowing what was underneath would be even sweeter. The back of his hand brushed against one erect nipple through the fabric and they both moaned in surprised pleasure.

  He did it again, lingering this time on the hard point until he felt a shiver run through her body and she arched her back in a silent appeal for more of his touch. His mouth left hers and he kissed her jaw, her neck as he turned his hand and palmed the small handful of her breast.

  She whimpered, her body restless as it struggled to get closer to him in the small space. He squeezed her flesh and she cried out softly. She was sensitive. He’d known she would be. He wanted to thrust his cock deep inside her and hear her shouting his name when he sucked her nipple hard into his mouth.

  Now.

  His hand left her breast and dropped to her lap, gathering up her skirt until he could slip beneath the fabric and touch her smooth, bare thighs. They were wonderfully soft but he didn’t doubt they could hold on tight. He wanted them wrapped around his waist.

  She covered his hand with hers and guided it higher between her thighs, until his knuckles were pressed against damp cotton. Christie growled. She wanted him. He could push back the seat and lower her onto his lap right here. In minutes, he could be inside her, wrapped in the heat that was burning his fingers as they pushed past the elastic to tangle in her soaked curls.

  “Etta.” Christie groaned against her neck when she rocked her hips against his hand. He lifted his head to kiss her lips again, his tongue twining with hers as he slid one finger inside her sex. Tight. Oh damn, it would be a tight fit.

  His erection pressed painfully against the buttons of his jeans with the thought. He lifted his mouth. “Touch me, Etta.”

  Her hand slid from his shoulder to his side, then to the first button of his jeans. “Yes,” he murmured against her lips, drunk on her taste. He thrust his finger deeper inside her and she cried out softly. “Yes, Etta. I need you to—”

  She unbuttoned his jeans with shaky hands and Christie held his breath when she
hesitated before reaching inside to grip him with her fingers. Sweet Jesus. “That’s it. Oh baby, that’s fucking it.”

  His kiss grew wilder, his own hips mimicking the seductive rhythm of hers in the cramped confines of the Mustang. He wanted her in his bed. On his floor. Against his wall. Right now he’d take her anyway and anywhere he could get her.

  He could feel how close she was to coming on his hand. He wanted—

  The clapping and drunken whooping noises seeped in and Christie jerked as if he’d been punched in the gut, hurling a snarling glare out the window at the small group who’d paused by the car—no doubt on their way to one bar from the next.

  The look was enough to set them in motion again, but it was too late. Etta’s body had stiffened against him. The spell was broken and he could have kicked himself for being so reckless. Parked on a public street in the Quarter, groping his date like a hormone-driven teen. He hadn’t even thought about where they were. Hadn’t cared.

  “Etta, I…” Her face was pale as she lowered her skirt and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. Her expression was shocked. At him? At her own reaction? “I’m sorry.” She flinched and he reached for her again. “No, not for kissing you—”

  She wasn’t looking at him. “I know. And you don’t have to apologize. I asked. They surprised me, that’s all.”

  They’d done more than that. She was pulling away from him. Taking her smile and her lips, her raspy moans and her perfect breasts with her. Hell. He’d been sure she was as lost in what they were doing as he was, that her passion was as consuming as his.

  Had he been wrong?

  Chapter Five

  “So you know you’re dreaming, don’t you?”

  Etta smiled over at Manny as they ran side by side. “I had a feeling after the sharks floated over the crosswalk at the last red light. I wonder what that means.”

  She noticed he wasn’t wearing his sweatpants and black t-shirt today. His muscular arms and unusual tattoos were concealed by his long jacket. A trench coat and jeans wasn’t exactly his standard uniform.