Rockers After Dark: 6 Book Bundle of Sexy Musicians

by Chase, Deanna

  “Thanks.”

  I stand on my porch as she backs out of my driveway and disappears down Highway 1. Before I go inside, I wander around to the back deck. Rainwater is pooled on the chairs, and the skies are still overcast from last night’s storm. The gloom matches my mood. I lean forward on the deck railing, losing myself in the surf churning below. This spot, right here on Dad’s deck, is the one that usually calms me, brings me peace when everything else is unsettled.

  But not today. There’s a war going on inside me. My connection to Cadan when we sing together. The way we seem to see into each other’s souls and know each other so well. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced with anyone. I don’t know if I can give it up forever. Yet, I can’t be with him either. Not with the way he is now. Selfish, self-centered, and arrogant.

  And then there’s Seth. I’ve just met him, and while I know whatever we might have together will never be as intense as the soul connection I have with Cadan, he makes me feel things I’ve never experienced before. Wanted, respected, maybe even cherished.

  Or was that just the kind of lover he was? Maybe in a few weeks he’d turn into every other guy I knew and move on to someone new. Today you belong to no one but me.

  Today. Yeah. That said it all.

  When the chill from the ocean is too much to bear, I let myself in the back door and head straight for the fireplace. The wood is already stacked, and all I need to do is light the fire starter. Before long, heat fills the living room and the wood crackles under the flames.

  In the kitchen, I start simmering a cup of milk for homemade hot chocolate. The familiar pang of loss hits me hard and tears sting my eyes. How many times did Dad and I stand in this spot making hot cocoa together on a cold winter night?

  The shrill of the house phone snaps me out of my memory, and without thinking, I grab the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Lucile Marie,” Mom says.

  Shit! I bite back a sigh. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Don’t hi me. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

  My teeth grind together as I clench my jaw. “I was with Jax.” It’s sort of true.

  Silence.

  “Mom?”

  “Cadan is here.”

  This time I can’t stop the sigh. “And?”

  “You’re ruining your life.”

  The phone creaks as my hand tightens around the phone. “If that’s all you wanted to say, Mother, I’ve heard it before. I’ve got something on the stove. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Lucy? Wait.”

  I debate pretending I didn’t hear her, but can’t bring myself to hang up. She’s still my mother, after all. “I’m here.”

  “You’ll be here Friday, won’t you?”

  Friday is Christmas Eve and her house is the last place I want to be. Her husband will spend the entire day talking about how screwed up the music industry is and tell me what a shame it is that music is my talent. Then he’ll move on to everyone else who has ever wronged him. The bitch fest will go on until he finally passes out from too much rum in his eggnog. And Mom will take every chance she can to get me to go back to Cadan. She’ll preface her argument with all the money I’ll be giving up and how stupid I am for throwing my life away. “Yes,” I say because she’s the only family I have. Being alone on Christmas for the first time since I lost Dad is unthinkable.

  “Four o’clock.” There’s a beep and then the line goes dead.

  “Bye,” I say, staring at the phone, and then I throw the cordless on the counter. Ugh!

  I grab my phone and start texting Jax, but before I can hit Send, a message comes in.

  Seth. Need someone to keep you warm?

  A strangled laugh bubbles up from the depths of my throat. I type back. Why, Seth, are you trying to invite yourself over?

  Only if the answer is yes.

  I stare at the message, not sure what to do. After the call from Mom, I feel more alone than ever. Jax would let me rant to her over the phone, but she has to work at Mendocino Cuisine waiting tables.

  My phone buzzes. Or maybe dinner?

  Whoa! Is Seth Keenan asking a girl out on a date?

  His answer is almost immediate. Damn right he is. You don’t want to crush a vulnerable man, do you?

  No. I definitely don’t want to do that. Come over. Bring dinner. The second I hit Send, a weight lifts from my chest. The pressure from my mom and Cadan vanishes as I look forward to an easy night with the sexy guy I can’t seem to stay away from.

  Be there in an hour.

  The milk is steaming on the stove, but instead of tossing in the chocolate, I turn the stove off and head upstairs. I have a date.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Seth

  Did I really just ask a chick out on a date? That’s probably not what Jax had in mind when she’d grilled and then berated me for getting involved with her best friend. The one who was still tied to her soul mate. But dammit if I couldn’t get Lucy out of my head. And the fact that I always want to paint after seeing her has me texting against my better judgment.

  After she’d left this morning, it was all I could do to get Mike out the door so I could spend the day in my studio. My fingers had ached with the need to paint. And after I’d put the finishing touches on one of the portraits, I sent that text without thinking it through.

  I don’t chase girls. Not like this. Hit on them? Flirt my way into their beds? Hell yes. But dating was out. Not my style.

  Whatever it is with Lucy is different. The sheer fact that just being around her stirs my passion for painting is enough to make me pursue her for as long as she’ll let me. I’ll deal with the fallout later. The only thing I know for sure is I can’t stay away.

  I shower quickly, and with my hair still damp, I grab my keys and head over to the Seafood Café. My buddy Dean is the chef here. What he creates with his wife, Ashley, is almost better than sex. A solid second for sure. I bypass the busy entrance, shaking my head at the amount of patrons who came out on a Monday night in December for his famous lemon-grass halibut, and use the back door to walk right into the kitchen.

  He grins and waves me over to where he’s sautéing some mussels. The mouthwatering scent of garlic and coconut permeates the air, and my stomach growls.

  “Hey, man. What’s going on?” he asks.

  I clap him on the back. “Any chance I can con you out of two takeout orders of whatever your special is tonight?”

  He quirks a curious eyebrow. “Your sister in town?”

  Lillian and Dean used to date before he met Ashley. While she adores his food, she’s not too excited about seeing her ex so happy when he’s the one who dumped her. I shake my head. “No. Not until later this week.”

  He raises his other eyebrow. “Date?”

  I give a noncommittal shrug.

  “Oh, ho! Keenan has a date,” he says with a grin. “About damn time, man.”

  “It’s no big deal.” I shift uncomfortably. What Lucy and I do or don’t do together is no one’s business but ours. Dean isn’t likely to talk, but I’m conscious of the fact she’s a public figure. And the last thing she needs is reporters sniffing around if anyone hears she’s seeing someone. Or even appears to be seeing someone.

  “Right,” he says and bobs his head, indicating he doesn’t believe me for a second. He knows me better than almost anyone. A date is unprecedented.

  “The meals?” I prompt.

  He laughs. “Yeah, sure. It’s halibut tonight. Go have a drink at the bar. I’ll have Ash bring them out to you.”

  “Thanks.” I head to the bar, but I don’t drink. I’m driving, and ever since that horrific night, I haven’t touched one ounce of booze and then slid behind the wheel. Not once.

  In the twenty minutes it takes for the food to arrive, I fend off not one but two lo
cals who clearly would like nothing more than to take me home with them. A week ago, I’d have already ditched dinner and had my tongue down the brunette’s throat. Tonight, I’m less than interested. Downright annoyed actually.

  “Pardon me, ladies,” Ashley says, squeezing by them. “This man has a date waiting.”

  One of them gives me a look of pure disappointment. The other shrugs and immediately moves on to start flirting with the bartender.

  “Thanks, Ash.”

  She smiles and puts the bag on the counter. “Anytime, Seth. Anytime. Now, go on and have your mysterious date before Dean’s curiosity gets the best of him and he demands all the gory details.”

  I chuckle. “It’s driving him crazy, isn’t it?”

  She nods and leans in for a half-hug. “Bordering on obsessive. Go. Have fun.”

  I hug her back and kiss her on the top of her head. “You’re the best.”

  “I know.” She gives me a gentle push toward the door.

  “Wait.” I pull out my wallet. “I need to pay the bill.”

  She shakes her head. “Not tonight you don’t. It’s on me.”

  I’m holding my credit card out to her, but she pushes it back. And knowing there’s no way I’ll win the argument, I stuff the card and wallet back in my pocket. I’ll settle up later. One way or another.

  The drive down Highway 1 seems to take forever. Just my luck, I get behind the one driver who is clearly a tourist on the Pacific Coast Highway. He slows to a crawl around every corner and slight bend. Though it’s probably for the best. I’m so anxious to see Lucy that if I’d been given open road, I more than likely would’ve ended up at the bottom of a cliff.

  The lights shine bright from her gray seaside home. I pull to a stop in her gravel driveway and take a moment to collect myself. Suddenly I’m filled with nervous energy. What am I doing here? Setting myself up for disaster. That’s for certain.

  With food in hand, I stride onto her porch, and before I can knock, the door swings open. Lucy’s face brightens with a smile as she leans against the open door, dressed in a flared skirt, leggings, and a form-fitting T-shirt. Her feet are bare except for the bright pink toenail polish that hadn’t been there this morning.

  “Hi,” I say as I lean in and brush my lips over hers.

  “Hey.” Her smile turns mischievous and then she grabs my shirt and yanks me inside.

  “Whoa. Did you miss me already?” I laugh at her.

  She shakes her head. “No. But one more minute on the porch and I was going to turn into a Popsicle.”

  We’re standing in the foyer in front of the staircase. To the left is a short hallway into what appears to be the living room. To the right is a dining room table. I set the food down and pull Lucy into my arms, kissing her deeply and so thoroughly she’s breathless when I finally let go.

  “Oh,” she says, her face flushed. “Hello to you, too.”

  I grin and head through the dining room to her kitchen. “Wine?”

  She grabs the bag of food and follows me. “White or red?”

  “White.”

  She opens the refrigerator door and hands me a full bottle of sauvignon blanc, followed by a corkscrew.

  “Perfect,” I say.

  While I open the wine, she turns to pull dishes from the white cabinets. As she reaches up to grab them, her T-shirt rides up, exposing the creamy flesh of her lower back. In an effort to control myself, I turn toward the window for something else to focus on. “Jesus, Lucy.”

  “What?” She spins around, holding the plates to her chest.

  “This view is fucking amazing.” The night is crystal clear, and the moon lights up the Pacific.

  “Yeah,” she says. “This was my dad’s house. He was an oceanographer before he retired. Being close to the ocean gave him peace.”

  The look on her face is so sad and tender I want to forget about dinner, pull her into my arms, and hold her until the pain fades.

  But she grabs two wineglasses and holds them out to me. “You pour. I’ll set the table.”

  Dinner it is. Moments later, the lemon-grass halibut is resting on a bed of rice and smells like heaven on earth.

  Lucy sits across from me, a fork poised in her hand. “This is amazing.”

  Not as amazing as she is.

  Her eyes sparkle with joy as she raises her wineglass in my direction. “To new friends.”

  I set my fork down and grab my glass but don’t raise it yet. “Is that what we are?”

  Uncertainty flickers in her expression. “Aren’t we?”

  Her pouty frown makes me want to forget the food and show her just how friendly I really want to be. But I’ve opened the door to the conversation no guy ever wants to have. Dumbass. Why did I ask that? “Of course we’re friends. But I don’t usually share my bed with friends, so this is new for me.”

  She lets out a startled laugh. “You mean you’re not friends with any of the girls you’ve slept with? Ever?”

  I shrug and give her a chagrined smile. “Only you.”

  “Well…” She picks up her glass again and holds it out. “Then this really calls for a toast.”

  Raising my glass, I nod. “To you, the singing pixie with a fiery voice.”

  She pauses and then giggles.

  Holy shit, I’ve never heard a sweeter sound. So far I’ve seen sassy Lucy, sexy-as-hell Lucy, rock-star Lucy, and supportive Lucy. But this Lucy? The one that’s relaxed and completely unguarded? This is the one I want the most.

  “And to you, the man with the gorgeous ink.” She casts a glance at my arm, eyeing the vibrant green dragon.

  It’s my design, but Mike inked it. I clink my glass to hers, and we watch each other as we both take a sip. After a few bites of fish, I put my fork down and lean in. “You were amazing on that stage, you know.”

  Her cheeks redden, but she gives me a pleased smile. “Thank you.”

  “Tell me you’re going to be a regular with the band. That you’ll be back on that stage next week.”

  Her eyes cloud over and she hangs her head, staring at her food.

  “Lucy?” I reach over and gently clasp her hand. “You were born for that stage.”

  Her head snaps up and her fire is back. “That’s what everyone says. But what if I don’t want that life?”

  I release her hand and sit back, studying her. “What life? One that puts that sexy smile on your face? One that clearly lights you up on the inside? I saw you on that stage. There wasn’t anything about it you don’t love. And I’m pretty sure if your ex hadn’t barged in, you would’ve stayed on that stage until the bar closed.”

  Her lips quirk up in a small smile before her expression turns serious again. “The other night, that’s not real. That’s not what being in the music business is about. All they care about is charts and how many seats can be filled. The label, the producers, the managers, they manage to take everything that’s good out of it. I can’t even record my own damn songs.” She bites her lip as if she’s said more than she wanted to. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. People would kill for the opportunity I’m throwing away.”

  The troubled expression on her face and the way she pushes her food around her plate makes me want to stuff my words back down my throat. Too late now. “That’s not ungrateful. Sounds like you’ve found out what you don’t want. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up music, does it?”

  She lets out a long sigh. “No. But almost everything I love about it is tainted now. The audience wants to see me sing with Cadan. And since I’m still under contract with my label, I can’t record anything new unless my lawyer manages to get me out of my contract. Which isn’t looking likely. Everything is a mess right now.”

  “And you left because of your ex?” Jax told me he was a cheating bastard, but I get the feeling there’s more to it than tha
t.

  “You could say that.” She grabs the wine bottle and refills her glass. After a sip, she peers at me. “What about you? How does a painter go from having work in galleries around the country to trading it in for a tattoo gun?”

  I choke mid-sip and my eyes water as I cough.

  She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to answer.

  Shit. I guess I deserve that. I’d pried into her life and what she plans to do with her gift. It’s only fair she should get to ask about mine. I clear my throat. “Elsa and I painted those pieces together.”

  Her expression turns soft, sympathetic. “Elsa was your soul mate?”

  “Yes.” It’s my turn to stare at the food. “After the accident… Well, I was pretty beat up.” It takes me a moment to find the courage needed for what I want to tell her. I rest my right arm on the table in front of me and run my hand over the dragon scales. “The accident was pretty horrible, and a piece of metal was lodged in my forearm right here.” I reach over and take her hand. Pressing her fingers to my arm, I guide them over the expertly camouflaged scar.

  “Oh wow,” she says with a gasp. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”

  We’ve only known each other for a couple of days, but we’d spent a lot of time exploring each other during that time. I shrug. “I do my best to avoid letting anyone touch the scar. It’s too painful.”

  She pulls her hand back as if she’d been burned. “It’s still sensitive after all this time.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh.” The look on her face says she knows exactly what I mean. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. But it was painful for a few months, so during that time I didn’t paint, even though it was all I could think about. I wanted to work, to block out the awful memories, but I couldn’t. Then when I healed, I found out blocking the memories were impossible. Every time I started a piece, I’d only see her. I had over two dozen pieces started when I finally gave up. The tattoo thing is just a way to stay creative and to make some money. It was never my passion.”