Uninhibited

by Melody Grace

  UNINHIBITED

  BEACHWOOD BAY: THE CALLAHANS

  BOOK #8

  BY

  Melody Grace

  Copyright © 2014 by Melody Grace

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover photo copyright Dylan Borgman

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  Table of Contents

  1. Dex

  2. Alicia

  3. Alicia

  4. Alicia

  5. Alicia

  6. Alicia

  7. Dex

  8. Alicia

  9. Alicia

  10. Alicia

  11. Dex

  12. Alicia

  13. Alicia

  14. Dex

  15. Alicia

  16. Alicia

  17. Alicia

  18. Alicia

  19. Dex

  20. Alicia

  21. Alicia

  22. Dex

  23. Alicia

  24. Alicia

  25. Dex

  26. Alicia

  27. Alicia

  28. Alicia

  29. Alicia

  30. Dex

  31. Alicia

  32. Alicia

  33. Alicia

  34. Dex

  35. Alicia

  Excerpt from Unstoppable

  Beachwood Bay Series

  Connect with Melody

  Author’s note: Uninhibited can be read as a stand-alone book, but you may also enjoy reading Unrequited, a novella which introduces Dex and Alicia on the first night they meet.

  1.

  DEX

  A few months ago...

  I pace back and forth in the narrow back alleyway, flipping an unlit cigarette back and forth between my fingers. I’ve quit a hundred times over, but somehow I always go back to them in the end.

  Old habits die hard.

  I take a long breath, trying to calm the hell down. It’s just a private party, barely a couple of hundred people. I’ve sold out stadiums before; played to thousands of screaming fans without a flinch. Hell, I even played the Grammys drunk out of my mind—the only thing I remember from that night is the three blonde backup dancers I took back to the hotel for a very special after-party.

  This should be a breeze.

  Except I haven’t played in public since that night in London, over a year ago. The night I’d rather forget, the one that haunts me through every waking moment and sleepless night. After that, I swore I was done with music for good. The label begged me, threatened all kinds of legal bullshit. I had a contract, I couldn’t just quit in the middle of a sold-out world tour. I didn’t care—I walked away from the band and left it all behind without a second thought. I left LA, bought a house on the beach away from the clubs and paparazzi, and turned off my cellphone for the first time since this whole whirlwind began. Ready to start a new life, away from the madness and fucked-up world that had become normal to me.

  Until the cravings started. My urge, my own private drug.

  Music.

  The rush of performing. The power of the spotlight. It’s a high like no other, and hell, I would know. I’ve spent the past year trying desperately to replace it, and nothing has even come close.

  Old habits die hard.

  I could feel it creeping back again, the itch getting stronger. My old manager could tell: he started calling round the clock, offering new shows, a small tour, an EP on an indie label. If I didn’t want the major label scene, then we’d do it differently this time: my rules, my way.

  He doesn’t understand the real reason I can’t go back to that life.

  The back door of the restaurant opens. A guy pokes his head out, Garrett, his name is. The bartender from the place in Beachwood. “Hey, Dex,” Garrett calls back to me. “We’ll be ready in like, ten minutes?”

  “Sure, great.” I nod, jittery.

  The guy pauses. “I really appreciate you doing this.”

  “No problem,” I wave the thanks away. “I owe you, man.”

  Garrett nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  The door shuts. I throw the cigarette down on the ground, unlit, and grind it with my heel. I can’t bail now—I agreed to play this opening to make up for leaving them in the lurch back in the spring.

  It’s what you wanted: a hit of the spotlight again. So what’s your damn problem?

  The problem is, I know, just one hit can never be enough. My whole life has been a parade of reckless excess: too much booze, too many girls, too many damn regrets. I’ve clawed my way out of the viper’s nest one time, but I can tell, I’m right back on the edge again.

  Your favorite place: one step from oblivion, two steps from the end.

  The back door crashes open again, interrupting my black thoughts. I look up in time to see a woman fly out, tears streaming down her face. She doesn’t see me back here in the shadows, and I watch as she leans back against the wall, trying like hell to pull herself together.

  She’s too pretty to be crying, that’s for sure. Her red hair is pinned back, too tight, and she’s wearing a simple black dress that’s cut way too low on the leg and high on the chest for my liking. Still, there’s something innocent in her expression that draws me in, a heartache in her gaze that’s just about the most real, honest thing I’ve seen in years.

  I need a distraction, and here the universe just handed her up on a plate.

  I stroll out of the dark. “You look like you could use a cigarette,” I drawl.

  She startles. “You scared me!” she manages to say, quickly wiping at her face. Her eyes flick over me, and I wait for the look of recognition: that moment when it all clicks into place, and women turn on their flirtatious smiles, angling for a night with the famous rock star they can boast about to their friends—and the tabloids, come morning light.

  But her face doesn’t change. She shakes her head, a lock of that red hair slipping free around her face. “No, thank you,” she murmurs politely. “I don’t smoke.”

  “Neither do I.” I give a twisted grin. “Don’t you know these things will kill you?”

  Her brow knits, quizzical. “So why do it?”

  “Why do we do anything that’s bad for us?” I counter, teasing. “Because we like how it feels, living life on the edge.”

  “Speak for yourself,” the woman sighs. “I like it safe. Predictable. Easy.”

  Now I’ll be damned if that doesn’t sound like an invitation. I close the distance between us. “That’s a shame,” I murmur, reaching out and brushing the stray lock from her cheek. “Danger would sure look good on you.”

  Her mouth drops open at the boldness of my gesture. Our eyes lock, and I see the emotions skitter, clear as day, across her face. Shock, confusion, and then—the tell-tale flush of d
esire. She catches her breath, her chest rising under the cage of black silk, and God, I feel a bolt of lust strike through me. Her lips are perfect, pink: just begging to be kissed.

  “What are you doing?” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away. Her eyes are still fixed on me, golden brown, flecked with hazel. I can feel the heat of her breath; my thumb strays to her lip, rubbing gently over their pillowy softness.

  “What do you think?” I counter, amused by her innocence. She’s in her twenties, a grown woman, but the way she looks like a deer in headlights tells me she’s not used to this kind of blatant approach. After years of jaded groupies willing to blow half my entourage to get backstage, it’s a refreshing change, and damn if it doesn’t turn me on all the more.

  “I…I don’t know you.” The woman blinks up at me, and I can see her mind working at light-speed trying to make sense of this.

  “When was the last time you did something crazy?” I ask, my eyes never leaving hers. I slide my fingers lower, down the pale column of her throat. I feel a shiver echo through her body, responding like lightning to my touch.

  A rueful shadow crosses her face. “I don’t do crazy,” she whispers.

  Not yet. But I already know, a girl like this would be a miracle in bed. Innocence and sensuality all wrapped up in one tempting package.

  The things I could teach her. The moans that delicious mouth would make.

  “So try it,” I challenge her, teasing my fingertip lower, across her collarbone, along the high edge of her neckline. “I promise, I won’t tell.”

  For a moment, she stays, lost in my gaze. I can see the desire there, the struggle as she decides. Then she looks down, blushing. “You don’t know me. This isn’t…I’m not that kind of girl.”

  I stop, stunned. She’s turning me down?

  “I’m sorry.” The woman steps around me, heading back towards the door, and as she does, I catch a breath of her perfume. The burst of floral scent hits me like a drug, shooting through my system in a bolt of sweetness.

  Suddenly, this isn’t just a playful distraction anymore.

  I want her, with a fierce possession that takes me by surprise. I want her, right here against the wall. I want to taste all of her, make her forget the reason she came rushing out here in tears.

  I want a moment of that innocence, and all her wide-eyed control.

  “Wait,” I order her. And then, before she can say a word of protest, before I can think the better of it, I pull her into my arms, capturing her mouth in a hot, blazing kiss.

  Her lips open against mine in an ‘o’ of surprise but I don’t hesitate. I kiss her deeper, teasing her lips apart, wanting to show her the pleasure that awaits her, needing to tempt her to the dark side of life. Her body tenses at the invasion, then, in a blissful surrender, she melts. Her lips yield against mine, her body sways, soft against me.

  Damn, her sweetness is more than I ever imagined. Pure heat and joy flooding my system, rushing through my veins in a dark glitter of desire.

  More.

  I plunge my tongue deeper against hers, drinking her in, drowning in the wet pleasures of her mouth. She lets out a breathy moan, and then we’re stumbling back, hard against the wall. I feel her body, pressed against every inch of me, but it’s not enough. I thread one hand in her silken knot of hair, tugging it loose and yanking her lips closer as her body arches up against mine.

  I need her naked. I want her body, damp and breathless beneath mine.

  With a growl, I surface for air, pushing her head back and licking my way down her neck, tasting every inch of skin. She shudders under my touch, clinging onto me as I cup my hands around her perfect ass and lift, wrapping her legs around me shoving her back against the wall; molding her closer, grinding into her body with my aching hard-on. She makes a mewling noise, arching up against me, and fuck it, I’m lost to her now. I’m drowning in the rush of lust, the world gone, shattered, burning in ashes around us as I claim her lips again and kiss her, kiss her like there’s nothing left but us.

  “Mr. Callahan?”

  There’s a noise, I couldn’t care less, not with this girl’s body wrapped around me and her mouth so wet and sweet under mine.

  “Umm, Mr. Callahan?”

  I ignore the voice, dull on the edge of my brain, but suddenly, the girl tenses in my arms. She lets out a cry of shock, and scrambles to push me away.

  “Oh my god!” She yanks her dress down, staring past me with a horrified look on her face.

  “Dammit!” I curse, whirling around to face our interruption. It’s a busboy from the restaurant, some kid looking mortified in the doorway. “What do you want?” I demand, breathing heavy.

  “I, umm, they’re ready for you.” He casts his eyes away, blushing.

  “Five minutes,” I curse again, turning back to the girl. I reach for her, but she skitters away from me. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide, her hair falling loose in reckless waves.

  She’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

  “I can’t believe I just did that,” she whispers, almost to herself. She shakes her head sternly, then turns to go.

  “Wait!” I call after her, “You can’t just leave!”

  But she does, fleeing back inside without even a backwards glance.

  I stand there in the dark alley, my heart racing like I’m playing Madison Square Garden to twenty thousand screaming fans. And I realize this girl is my only hope.

  My shot at salvation, the only thing that will keep me from oblivion again.

  I start after her, determination driving me through that door.

  I have to make her mine.

  2.

  ALICIA

  His hands grip my waist, clutching me to his toned, hard body.

  “Alicia?” Through the haze of memory, I hear my name being called, but it’s distant, lost under the rush of sensation I feel as I replay The Kiss over in my mind. His lips, branding me with a desperate, ragged desire. My body, crushed in his tattooed arms…

  “Alicia? We’re ready for your report.”

  I feel a sharp jab in my ribs and snap back to reality to find the whole boardroom staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  And maybe I have. Because it’s been two months since that night a mysterious stranger pushed me up against the wall and kissed my heartache away. Two months since that night we spent together, a night that was so intense and far from my ordinary life, it feels like a dream.

  A dream that’s rapidly threatening my career, I realize, looking around at the smirks and puzzled expressions. I’m usually the last one to drift off in the middle of an important meeting—if anything, I’m always the one keeping us on track.

  “The report,” my assistant, Lily, whispers to me. She’s my right-hand around the office—and the owner of that elbow that just left an indent on my ribs.

  “Right!” I bolt to my feet. “Sorry about that,” I apologize to everyone, moving to the front of the conference room. I smooth down my blouse and pencil skirt, thinking fast for an excuse. “I was just thinking about the Spring schedule.”

  I don’t know if they buy it, but as I launch into my analysis of costs and revenue for the coming season, my minor lapse in sanity is soon the last thing on everyone’s minds. As business affairs manager for a hot new fashion label, it’s my job to make sure the temperamental genius of the designer doesn’t wipe out any profits the company might hope to make.

  “This is outrageous!”

  Sure enough, the moment I finish breaking down my projections and cost-saving plans, Jacob Main leaps to his feet.

  “If you’ll just look at the balance sheet—” I try to interrupt him, but it’s no use. He launches into an impassioned rant about artistic integrity, and how he can’t possibly work under these conditions.

  I sit back down and let him ramble until the end of the meeting. He’s always like this: he likes to make a big scene about his precious designs, but once I’ve explained for the millionth time that if he uses pure
imported silk for his basic T-shirts, we’d have to retail them at $300 each, and he could wave goodbye to his department store orders, then he’ll settle down. He drives me crazy, but in the two years I’ve been working here, we’ve found a dysfunctional kind of balance to our dynamic. He’s the dreamer, I’m the voice of reason, and it’s my job to keep the lights turned on, and orders rolling in from around the country.

  Which is why it was so out of character for me to find myself making out with a devastatingly sexy stranger in a dark alley back in Sspring.

  I stifle a sigh of longing, trying to block the memories from flooding my mind again. It wasn’t just the one kiss, either. After the party was over, I needed to escape my secret heartbreak, and my mystery man, Dex, just happened to be standing outside with his motorcycle, offering me…

  Well, he was offering me whatever I wanted to take, and at that moment, I needed to get out of there.

  So, I went with him. In what had to be the most reckless, impulsive decision of my twenty-three years, I climbed on the back of that motorcycle with a handsome stranger, and I let him take me wherever he wanted to go. We wound up back at his place, watching the city lights from his rooftop and talking all night long.

  And doing more than talk…The voice in my head reminds me, and I feel my cheeks flush with guilt just at the memory. Luckily, Jacob finally runs out of steam, and I use the chance to end the meeting for lunch.

  “Remember, expense reports are due to accounting by the end of the day,” I remind everyone as they file out of the room in a chorus of sighs and grumbles.

  Lily stays to help me gather my papers. “Was it him again?” she asks knowingly, trailing me back to my office. I already regret confiding in her, even if I only told her half of the story. My face must give it away, because she claps her hands together in glee. “It was! I don’t understand why you don’t call him, it doesn’t make any sense.”