Limelight (NSB Book 4)

by Alyson Santos

  “Make sense of what?”

  Her gaze traces my features, lands on my mouth again.

  “This. You.”

  She leans in. I’m already there.

  Her lips are soft and demanding. They dig into mine, hunting, until I groan. I reach into those gorgeous tresses. Lace and satin on my fingers, I tug to release a whimper from her. She tastes like angels’ breath and rainbows and all the things she’s not. Her hand threads into my own messy hair and locks us together. I part her lips to find her tongue, so damn ravenous we are. When her palm slides up my thigh and grips me hard, I’m done for.

  “Fuck,” I let out as she massages to the rhythm of her own breaths.

  “God, I wanted this.” She attacks my mouth again, shoving me into the wall of the booth this time. Her hand slides into my jeans and time just… stops. The room, the noise, everything is gone. Just a pulsating connection, heavy, thunderous.

  Sparks rush through the black space around us, pinging my skin and slicing through to my blood. When I reach under her shirt, she gasps out the most delicious response. I’m starving for the rest.

  I run my finger under the wire of her bra, enjoying the way dark lashes respond to the brush of tender skin.

  “Going for another headline?” I mean it too. I know this isn’t real. I know… I don’t know. No, I don’t, and I hate this woman for making me desperate for her poison. My brain is already reading tomorrow’s post but my body doesn’t care. It’s experiencing a connection that’s worth the pain.

  “No! No.” She pulls back. Her palms lock on my cheeks and direct me to her eyes. I’m jolted awake with a view of the entire bar staring at us. I still don’t care.

  “I’m sorry, Jesse. This isn’t why I came.”

  “To seduce me?”

  “For a headline.”

  “So you were trying to seduce me?”

  She returns my smile, lips hovering just a breath away from mine. I still feel the heat of her embers, even pinker after our collision. I run my tongue over them and draw her in again. She softens into me, her hands running up my back and curving around my shoulders.

  “Do you live close by?” she whispers.

  “Two blocks.”

  “Can we go to yours?”

  “I live with the band.”

  “So?”

  “So they hate you.”

  “More than you do?”

  She does it again. Draws that smile people don’t earn anymore.

  “Nobody hates you more than I do. Let’s go.”

  ∞∞∞

  “This is Jane,” I announce as we brush past the guys sprawled out in front of the TV.

  A few mumbled hellos drift over, but it’s game-time so my roommates barely look up from the screen as I pull her toward my room.

  Her sexy smile is back when I close the door. “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “This.” She waves her hand in the air.

  “My room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a mess, sorry.”

  She shakes her head. “This is exactly how I pictured it.” She moves from pile to pile, stopping at the desk for a closer inspection.

  “You pictured me as a slob.”

  She chuckles and holds up my notebook. “No, I pictured you as a mad genius. This is Einstein’s lair if he were a musician instead of a scientist.”

  My amusement fades as her gaze moves over me again before resting on the bed. At least my sheets are clean. Parker has his neuroses; I have mine. Pristine bed: another relic of my NEC days.

  “So, is this it?” She holds up my notebook and lowers herself to the mattress when I nod.

  She shouldn’t be touching that. No one gets to touch that. Even Parker knows better, but here I am watching a stranger I hate rummage through my fucked-up head. She stops on the last page, and my stomach constricts. Her expression, so confident a moment ago shatters before my eyes.

  “Who’s Jonas?” Her voice is barely audible.

  I don’t answer. I don’t have to. It’s not a common name.

  “Oh my god. Jesse…” She drops the notebook and moves toward me.

  “Jonas Everett did me no favors.”

  Those glacial eyes melt as her fingers sink into my arms. Slide down until they fasten on my wrists and wrench our bodies together. I don’t need more than that.

  I grip the collar of my shirt and pull it over my head. Her gaze… turns me rock hard when her surprise transitions into desire. She’s seen pictures too, and there’s nothing hotter than meeting expectations. Her palms slide up my chest and tighten behind my neck to pull me in again. We’re one body now, moving with coordinated friction toward the same goal.

  She gasps when we land on the bed. Her grin as I stretch over her... Tantalizing blue fabric becomes heart-stopping lingerie just a shade darker when she unbuttons her top.

  Expectations. Can be exceeded too.

  I need to taste, touch, sample soft flesh billowing from navy blue lace. Her head falls back, chest arching to meet my mouth with every kiss, every suck.

  Delicious, intoxicating. I open the clasp for full access.

  “Damn,” I mutter, searing her image into my brain. “Alabaster queen of sapphire nights.”

  “Most call me Mila.” Her grin, though. She doesn’t hate my poetry.

  “Resistant scars ignite the fiercest flames, babe,” I mutter against her flat stomach.

  She grips my face with both hands and turns my head up.

  “You’re real, Jesse,” she whispers, searching my eyes. “You’re special.”

  No. I’m fucking screwed.

  ∞∞∞

  Sex with Mila Taylor is nothing like I’d imagined. She’s soft and vicious. Receptive and forceful in a deadly mix of passion. Sex as a physical act is fun. As a spiritual act? I’ve never given a woman my mind, body, and soul at the same time before. That’s all I want now.

  Once, twice, damn even a third, my body doesn’t tire of her. She releases the most beautiful moan as I pump the final notes of our latest duet, the perfect harmony for my own rush.

  “That was ace,” she whispers as I balance over her. “Again?”

  Damp hair hangs in my eyes, and I pull it back in a firm grip. “Damn, woman.” I push up with the other arm and land on my back beside her.

  “Need a break? I thought you rockers could go all night.”

  I shoot a look, and her smile… She cups my cheek and plants a gentle kiss on my lips.

  “I’m kidding. You’re…” The humor fades as her thumb moves over my cheek. Her eyes become mirrors, an arctic sea that swallows me.

  I want your sea to drown me, baby.

  Surround me, baby

  Sweep over and devour me, baby

  “Jesse?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Where’s your head at?”

  I kiss her slowly, deeply. “Sorry.”

  Her fingertips brush along my face, and I close my eyes.

  Heaven help me, I can’t swim

  I don’t want to swim. Consume me in this one moment I actually want to live.

  Warm fingers entwine with mine and draw me back.

  She squeezes my hand. “I’m posting a retraction tomorrow. I was wrong about you and your music. The world needs to know.”

  “Don’t.”

  She straightens up on her elbow. “What?”

  “You weren’t wrong.”

  “You’re not a fraud, Jesse.”

  “No, just wasted talent.” I cut her off with a kiss. “I don’t want to get into it now. Just—”

  “But one post from me and you’re on top!”

  “Yeah? Maybe I don’t want to be.”

  I pull away and swing my legs to the floor.

  “How can you not want what you deserve?”

  “And what do I deserve?” I say, twisting a look back at her.

  “I don’t know. Everything. You’re genuine. You’re special.”

  “Special,” I mutter, rising
to my feet. I clasp my head and stare at the wall.

  “You don’t think you are.”

  “I don’t think anyone is.”

  Arms slip around my waist and force our naked bodies together. I clench my eyes shut at the panic starting to move in.

  “I’ve seen loads of frauds.” Her voice is so soft against my back.

  “Why are you here, Mila?”

  “I told you. I—”

  “No, why are you here?” I face her and force her chin up to search her eyes.

  “You fought back. No one fights back.”

  I kiss her, and she relaxes into me.

  “At least, no one fights back just cos they don’t care what I think.”

  I close my eyes. Parker. Derrick. Reece. What do they deserve?

  “I was never in it for the spotlight.”

  “Just the limelight?”

  I take her in my arms. “Oh, she’s a comedian now.”

  Her hands move back into my hair and pull me down. “I’d do anything to see you smile.”

  “And a poet?”

  “Shut it.” Her laugh trickles up my spine. “Please let me fix this.”

  I sigh. For the guys? I owe them way more than that. “Okay, but...”

  “I’ll be typing right here,” she says, pointing to my bed.

  “Oh really? You’re optimistic.”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  She makes a move toward the door.

  “Not dressed like that! Damn.” I pull her back.

  I’m totally ready for round four.

  ∞∞∞

  I wake up beside a woman.

  Mila Taylor.

  I wake up beside Mila Taylor.

  In the history of WTF Moments this has to take the cake.

  She snuggles closer when I stretch my arm around her, and hell if I wouldn’t mind more mornings like this.

  The softest moan leaks from her lips. Sweet, carefree. Everything a guy dreams of but rarely gets.

  “You’re an enigma,” I mumble into her hair.

  She takes my hand and secures it to her chest.

  “If it keeps you interested, I’m fine with that.” She kisses my fingers, and I close my eyes to make it last longer. I still don’t know if I believe any of this, but she’ll be able to prove it soon.

  “So what’s in New York?”

  “Quite a bit, actually. You should visit.”

  “Hilarious. You know what I mean.”

  “This trip is for a meeting with my agent.”

  “What? No fucking way.”

  A swat lands on my shoulder, and I wrestle her to her back.

  “I do more than write music gossip, you know.” Her gaze fixates on mine as I straddle her. We’re all more than we seem.

  “So this agent?”

  “Literary agent.”

  “You wrote a book?”

  Another sly grin. Damn. As if I wasn’t already hooked.

  “Four, actually.”

  “Four?” I let out a breath and drop beside her again.

  “If I tell you a secret will you finally start to trust me?”

  “Depends on the secret.”

  She takes my hand and traces my fingers, lingering longer on each callous. I glance over as she draws in a deep inhale. “My pen name is Nicola Woods.”

  My laugh comes out as a snort. “Right. And I’m Luke from Night Shifts Black.”

  Her brows lift as she reaches for her phone. “Eh, you’ll be in the same league as Luke Craven before you know it.”

  I’m still smirking when she places the phone between us and puts it on speaker.

  “This is Maggie,” says a voice on the other end.

  “Maggie, hiya. It’s Nicola.”

  “Nicola! Good to hear from you, hon. Are we still on for tomorrow?”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m ringing, love. I’m a bit bogged down with another project. Can we reschedule until later next week?”

  “Of course, darling. I can’t wait to discuss the new draft. Our contact at Bristol Press is going to shit his pants over this one.”

  “Do you reckon?”

  “Definitely. They’ve been on my ass for edgy women’s fiction like this. It’s perfect for them.”

  “Okay. Well, send me a time that works for you. I wanted to pitch another idea as well.”

  “Oh really? I look forward to it.”

  “Ciao, love.”

  Mila hangs up and turns to me.

  I’m the one shitting my pants. “No fucking way.”

  ∞∞∞

  Raising yourself has its advantages. I’m a decent cook and manage a breakfast that even draws the guys from their rooms. Not bad considering I’m stuck with the crap we had in the fridge.

  “A girl,” Derrick announces, rubbing his sleep-matted hair.

  Parker shoves him and holds out his hand to Mila. “Jane, right?”

  “Yes,” I cut in. “I met her at Benson’s last night. Jane, this is Parker and Derrick.”

  “Nice to meet ya,” she says.

  Derrick claps as he drops to the stool beside her. “Hot as hell and a foreigner!”

  “Really, dude?” I toss back from the stove.

  Mila laughs. “Yorkshire, actually.”

  “Not the Connecticut one, right?”

  “England.”

  I shoot Derrick a look, and he holds up his hands. “Just asking, geez.”

  “What about you?” she asks him.

  “Philly. Born and raised,” Derrick replies.

  “All of us are,” Parker adds.

  “You and Jesse are brothers, aren’t ya?”

  Parker nods. “When we don’t want to kill each other.”

  I grunt and pull a toasted tortilla from the pan. “Hot sauce?” I ask Mila.

  “Totes.”

  Derrick practically jumps on the island for a better view of the pan. ”Ooh, is that the sausage thingy?”

  “Breakfast burrito? Yeah.”

  “Hell yeah!”

  I smirk and throw another tortilla in the pan.

  “Weren’t you going to the gym this morning?” Parker asks him.

  “That was before I knew Jess was having a breakfast girl over.”

  “A breakfast girl?” Mila asks, eyeing me with a playful glint.

  Ah, shit.

  “It’s not often our boy does breakfast for his girls. Only the special ones.”

  “His girls?”

  “Oh my god, D. Will you shut up?” I say.

  He cringes. “Fuck, that sounded bad. It’s not like he has a lot of girls over. Just Natasha, really.”

  “D!”

  “Natasha, eh? Should I be concerned?”

  “No, no. Sorry,” Derrick laughs, waving his hand. “She’s not his girlfriend or anything. Just his dealer—with benefits.”

  “Derrick!” I snap.

  The humor leaves her eyes as she locks them on me.

  “Besides, I’m done with all that.”

  Now I have Parker’s attention too. Dammit, the entire kitchen is staring at me, and I focus back on giving the egg/sausage mixture a stir. Last time I ever bring a girl home when Derrick’s here.

  “Natasha is no one,” I say as I shove a plate toward Mila. I try not to think about the long string of messages I deleted this morning as I drop the bottle of hot sauce on the island. “I don’t know how much you want. Need more coffee?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Damn, those eyes. I’m in for it when we’re alone. Fucking Derrick.

  Parker is quiet as well, but his attention is more centered on Mila. Shit.

  “So, Jane. What brings you from Yorkshire to Philly?”

  “I’m a huge Limelight fan. I heard you’re playing The Tunnel later this week.”

  Parker smiles at her teasing. “Right. Lots of fans fly across oceans for a Tunnel show.”

  “At least five hundred, I reckon.”

  “Seven on a good night.”

  “I’m here o
n business,” she says seriously. Her gaze crosses to me. “At least I was. Now…”

  “It’s pleasure.” Derrick contorts his hands in a universal “pleasure” gesture that only he knows. “Our boy is such a stud, huh?”

  “That he is,” she says.

  I shake my head and shove two more plates across the island. “Eat so you assholes can leave us alone.”

  My phone buzzes, and I glance down. Parker? I meet his gaze across the kitchen before opening the message.

  Mila Taylor? Are you out of your mind?

  ∞∞∞

  “Your bandmates seem fun,” Mila says once we’re alone in my room.

  “Fun? That’s generous. Sorry about Derrick.”

  “He’s hilarious.” She pulls my guitar off the stand. “Play me something.”

  “Nah.”

  She looks disappointed as she sits on the bed and balances it on her lap. “Tell me about Natasha then.”

  I flinch and grab the guitar. “What do you want to hear?”

  “‘Jonas.’”

  How does that name still have the power to gut me? “I… How about ‘Nothing I Want?’”

  She leans back on her elbows. “No. I hate that song.”

  “Really.” I huff a laugh. “That’s our biggest record.”

  “Yeah and it’s the most derivative. ‘Candlelight,’ what I saw of ‘Jonas’… It’s when you expose your soul that your music becomes exquisite.”

  “Exquisite, huh?” I smirk.

  “Why do you think I was so mad at you for buggering up your gift?”

  “Wow. Harsh.”

  “And fair.” She adjusts to face me. “Why, Jesse? What are you afraid of?”

  “Afraid?”

  She doesn’t back down. “You’re hiding. Behind chemicals, your failure—”

  “Hey, my failure is because of you.” I clench my fists. “You’re the one who screwed me over.”

  “I did you a favor,” she fires back. “You don’t belong with SauerStreet. They were destroying you. ‘Nothing I Want’ was bullshit and you know it. That was your father’s legacy, not yours.”

  “Oh right. Forgot you were an expert on my father. You really want to do me a favor? How about not telling the entire world how much I suck?”

  “I never said that.”

  “No? Just that I’m an overrated, garage band waste of talent.”