by Karen Cimms
“Yes, thank you.” She pulled her hands back as soon as he let go and tucked them under her legs. With an appraising look, she rocked forward in her seat. “Are you a model or something?”
Caught off guard, he laughed. “Nope. Just a musician.” He rested his forearms on the table and leaned closer. “You’re pretty cute, Katie. Did you know that?” Her smile was slow and a bit off-center.
Guns N’ Roses was playing on the jukebox. He glanced at his watch. There was time before the next set.
“C’mon.” He pulled her to her feet. “Dance with me.”
Kate pointed to the small space in front of the stage and shook her head. “I don’t think they allow dancing.”
“I don’t care.” He leaned so close, his nose almost touched hers. “I wanna dance with you.”
“Sweet Child O’ Mine” wasn’t exactly suited to slow dancing, but he’d make it work. He’d never done anything like this at a gig before, and he wasn’t sure why he was doing it now. Well, that wasn’t completely true. He wanted an excuse to touch her. He felt her body tense as he slipped his arm around her waist. She tried to step back, but he tightened his hold until he felt her relax. In spite of the pace of the music, she followed him easily.
After a while, she giggled.
“That tickles.”
It took a moment to realize he’d been mindlessly playing the notes to the lead break against her spine. “Sorry,” he whispered, catching a soft, citrusy scent as he lowered his head.
“It’s OK.” She sighed and rested her forehead against his chest.
He slipped his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, then played the bare skin along her vertebrae like he was fingering the frets of his guitar. He felt her tremble. Sometimes it was almost too easy.
When the song ended, he twirled her to her chair, whispered a quick thank-you, and hopped back onto the stage.
Throughout the next set, Kate couldn’t focus on much more than the memory of his calloused fingertips against her spine. He didn’t ask her to dance again, but he bought her drinks and sat with her during every break, ignoring the crush of girls that mobbed him at the bar. She’d gone from being invisible, to feeling as if she was the most important person in the room.
It was pretty awesome, and other than a tricky trip to the ladies room, steadying herself along the crush of bodies, she was having fun.
Toni frowned as Kate staggered back to her seat. “I think you’ve had enough.” She moved a drink that had appeared soon after Kate had finished the last one.
Kate shook her head, almost losing her balance, and plopped into her chair.
“I’m fine.” She leaned forward, bumping the table and knocking over a half-empty bottle of beer. “I don’t think I’ve ever been finer!”
“You’re officially flagged.” Toni chuckled as she reached for a handful of napkins to sop up the mess. Kate tried to help, but was unable to pluck the napkins from the holder.
“Ready to head out?”
She shook her head, sending the room into a spin. Bad idea. “No,” she said, keeping her head perfectly still. “I wanna hear the band.”
“I think they’re about done. It’s almost two. Besides, I have plans. I want to make sure you get back safely.” Toni scanned the crowded barroom. “Anyone here you know?”
“Just him.” She pointed at Billy.
Toni cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. I think that one might be trouble.”
When Kate looked up to disagree, Billy caught her eye and grinned. A thousand butterflies took flight inside her chest.
Toni moved closer. “Look, I have someone waiting for me. Either you go with me now or find another way home.”
She didn’t want to go, but Toni wasn’t giving her much choice. She was fighting with the twisted sleeve of her jacket when Billy leaned away from the microphone, calling out to her.
“Where’re you going? We’re not done yet.”
Dragging the offending garment behind her, she took a few steps toward the stage. “I have to go. My walk is leaving.”
“Don’t go. I’ll take you home.” He glanced at Toni, mouthing the words, “I promise.”
Toni hesitated, then stalked across the dance floor and motioned for Billy to lean forward. She ignored the dirty look from his partner, who was belting out a lyric from Sonic Youth’s “Teen Age Riot.”
“Don’t fuck with her,” she yelled up at him. “I swear to God. Don’t fuck with her.”
“Cross my heart,” he said. Then turning to Kate, he winked.
She stared up at him, doe-eyed, a dreamy smile plastered across her face. This girl was freaking adorable—and hot, in an innocent sort of way. She had a dancer’s body, but softer. No hard edges. At least, none he’d detected on the dance floor.
Bouncers herded the last of the stragglers out the door. Up on the stage, Pete unplugged instruments and wound cords as a tipsy blonde sat nearby, jabbering away. Definitely Pete’s type; he’d likely score a quick blow job in the parking lot or head to her place for a couple hours.
Billy could’ve easily found someone like her if he’d wanted. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Kate, but he was willing to find out. And she was certainly pretty. In a couple years, she might even be what he would call beautiful. Too bad he wouldn’t be around to see that.
“Do you want another drink?” he asked. “Maybe some coffee?”
Coffee? What the hell? He wasn’t typically one to sober a girl up, unless she had to drive, and that was usually later.
“No.” Kate sighed, her eyes half-closed, her chin resting on her open palm. “I’m good.”
He almost laughed. She wasn’t good; she was smashed. “Okay. You sit tight. Then I’ll get you home.”
After everything had been loaded into his van, Billy drove around front. The temperature had dropped, and he blew on his hands to keep warm while he waited for someone to unlock the door. Kate sat on a wooden bench inside the entrance. She jumped when he knocked, then gave him a loopy smile.
He felt guilty. In spite of the way she looked, this was not the kind of girl he should be messing with. He should just take her home, call it a night.
After the bartender let him in, he helped her to her feet.
“Wanna dance?” Leaning against him, she looped her arms around his neck.
“There’s no music,” he answered, breathing in the scent of her hair. Oranges? No. Sweeter. Whatever it was, she smelled amazing.
She pouted, and he found he couldn’t resist. Singing softly, he waltzed her toward the exit. When he opened the door, she stumbled.
“You OK?” He tightened his grip around her waist.
She looked startled, then nodded. “I’ll be fine once the air hits me.”
Only she wasn’t. As soon as they stepped into the frosty night, her head rolled back and her knees buckled.
“Shit!” He caught her before she hit the sidewalk. Lifting her up, he carried her to the van and propped her against the door.
A pair of jocks in Rutgers jackets passed as he fumbled for the keys.
“Need any help?” one called. “We’ll take her off your hands.”
“I got it,” he snarled. They snickered and strolled on, boasting about what they’d do with a drunk girl, given the opportunity. If his hands hadn’t been full, he’d have banged their heads against the sidewalk a few times, although the subtlety would’ve probably been lost on them. “Dickheads,” he muttered as he lifted Kate into the van and buckled her seatbelt. He rushed around to the other side and climbed in beside her, then he lowered her seat and adjusted her head. He opened her window a few inches. Maybe the cool air would bring her around.
He shifted the van into gear, then slammed on the brakes. Where the hell was he taking her?
“Katie,” he called, tapping his fingers gently on her cheek. Nothing.
“Damn it.” He dug through the pockets of her jacket, finding a wallet, some keys, a wad of dollar bills, and her ID.
“Ni
ce try, sweetheart,” he said, scanning the ID. “No way in hell are you twenty-three.”
He dipped into her wallet and pulled out her driver’s license: July 19, 1970. Eighteen. He sighed in relief, then checked the address. Where the hell is Belleville? She probably lived on campus. At least he hoped so. He didn’t want to worry about her father calling the cops when she didn’t come home—but she was left in his care. His only option was to take her with him.
She was still out cold when he pulled into the motel parking lot. He maneuvered her out of the van, then lifted her into his arms, holding her tighter when she shivered against his chest.
“Good thing you don’t weigh much,” he muttered, slowly climbing the metal steps. He was making his way along the balcony when a door opened. A thickset man in a sleeveless undershirt stepped out, a foul-smelling cigar clenched between his teeth.
“Everything all right?” the man asked, angling his head for a better look at Kate.
“Yeah,” Billy grumbled. “We’re newlyweds.”
“She don’t look so good.”
The jerk was taking up half the walkway.
“Yeah? Well, she’s fine.”
He unlocked the door to his room, kicking it closed behind him as he carried Kate to the bed.
“This is not how I pictured this evening ending.” He grunted as he pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the floor. He raised Kate into a sitting position and slipped off her jacket. As he knelt to unzip her boots, she moaned.
It was an all too familiar sound.
“Hang in there, sweetheart.” He scooped her up and raced toward the bathroom, but before he reached the toilet, she vomited over them both. Foul orange bile soaked their shirts and wet her hair.
“Shit.” He placed her on the floor, squatting behind her to keep her upright and pulling her hair out of the way as she continued to retch.
When she was finally done and had slipped back into semiconsciousness, he tugged his shirt off over his head. He ran a towel under warm water and wiped around her mouth, then began dabbing at the black smears pooled beneath her eyes. She was beginning to look a bit like Alice Cooper. In spite of the mess, he chuckled.
“See,” he said, cleaning her face, “I knew you’d be a beautiful girl.” When he’d finished, he peeled off her shirt and pants, explaining as he went along, even though she probably couldn’t hear him. “Sorry, honey, but I’m gonna bet you don’t wanna stay in these wet clothes. Besides, you kinda stink.”
He grabbed a paper coffee cup from the vanity, rinsed it out, then leaned her against the edge of the tub and washed her hair, careful not to move her too much so she wouldn’t get sick again. He wrapped her clean hair in a towel and moved her into the corner, propping her between the tub and the sink so she wouldn’t fall over.
After stripping out of his soiled pants, he rooted through his suitcase until he found a long-sleeved T-shirt. Behaving himself—although at this point, he didn’t know why—he turned her away from him, unsnapped her bra with one hand, then dropped the shirt over her head.
She moaned.
“Are you gonna be sick again?”
“Unh-uh.”
“That’s a good girl.”
He carried her into the bedroom, pulled back the covers, and guided her between the sheets.
“Here you go, sweetheart. Time for bed.”
She looked younger with her hair wet and with less of that black crap around her eyes, but she was still pretty, even like this. He ran a finger across her face, removing a damp strand of hair that clung to her cheek. Then he sat beside her, waiting until her breathing was soft and regular. When he was certain she was okay, he finished cleaning up, and took a quick shower.
It was after four when he finally slipped into bed beside her. He lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, just listening to her breathe.
Chapter Three
Pain stabbed behind her eyes and through her temples. If she lifted her head even a fraction of an inch, she was afraid it might explode. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Kate realized not only didn’t she know where she was, but she wasn’t alone. Someone much bigger pressed up against her. An arm draped over her waist, pinning her in place.
She wanted to scream, but no sound came from her dust-dry throat. She blinked frantically. Slowly, she lifted the blanket. In the light coming from a partially opened door, she could make out a braided leather bracelet and the bold, black strokes of a tattoo. She jerked, then froze as Billy shifted against her.
Oh my God! I’m a groupie!
Incoherent thoughts skittered through her marinated brain.
Kildare’s. And those peach-flavored drinks. At the thought, her stomach lurched so violently, she was surprised Billy didn’t feel it. She gulped for air, then tried to slow her breathing, afraid she would hyperventilate. Never again. She would never have another drink as long as she lived.
First things first. She needed to pee, but as she tried to slip out from under Billy’s arm, he tightened his hold around her waist.
“Not yet,” he mumbled into the back of her head.
She tried to remain still, but couldn’t.
“I have to use the bathroom,” she whispered.
“Hmm. Hurry back.” He raised his arm.
She staggered to the bathroom, groaning when she found her bra and jeans hanging on the rod over the shower. Her tank top was soaking in the sink, along with Billy’s blue chambray shirt. The shirt she was currently wearing, which grazed the middle of her thighs, must be his as well.
Bracing herself on the edge of the tub, she leaned into the shower to wash her hands and face. A tube of toothpaste sat on the counter. She grabbed a clean washcloth, wet it, and used it to scrub her teeth and tongue. No matter how hard she rubbed, she couldn’t eliminate the bitter taste.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Her skin looked pasty and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. A shaving kit sat on the sink. On the floor next to the tub was an overnight bag. The counter was cluttered with minuscule bottles of shampoo and conditioner. A tiny bar of soap rested on the sink.
Where the hell am I? A motel?
Swallowing the nausea that burned her throat, she grabbed another washcloth, and as she scrubbed at the remaining black around her eyes, she tried to figure out what to do. She couldn’t sneak out. Even if she knew where she was, her clothes were wet. Besides, she was dizzy and her head hurt, and unfortunately, she needed to lie down or she was going to be sick—again. Fragments of memory assaulted her. Bad idea. Maybe forgetting was the way to go.
Billy didn’t open his eyes as she approached; he just lifted the covers. Against her better judgment, if she even possessed such a thing, she yanked the back of the shirt between her legs, then slid in beside him.
“Morning,” he whispered, curling himself against her back.
“Morning,” she answered, her throat scratchy. “But it might be afternoon.”
“I’m not surprised. We were up pretty late.”
“We were? What were we doing?”
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Probably not. What she did know was that she should have been freaking out over waking in the arms of a stranger. Instead, she’d willingly climbed back into bed beside him.
And she was also pretty sure this wasn’t what her mother meant when she said Kate needed to make new friends. At this moment? She didn’t really care.
Kate opened her eyes awhile later, surprised that she’d somehow fallen back to sleep. This behavior was so unlike her, she wondered if maybe he’d slipped something into her drink last night. She didn’t have much time to think about it as Billy stirred, yawned loudly, and rolled onto his back.
“I’m starving. You?” He addressed her as casually as if he woke up beside her every morning.
The throbbing in her head had receded, and she no longer felt seasick. “I might be able to eat.”
“Sounds good.” He slapped her on the ass, climbe
d out of bed, and shuffled toward the bathroom.
She was about to comment on his irksome sense of familiarity when he walked past her—naked. She clamped her eyes shut, but the image was already imprinted in her brain. Long, lean, and muscular, he looked like a Greek statue she’d seen at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Scratch that. He actually looked better than any statue she’d ever seen. She opened her eyes for another quick peek just as bathroom door snapped shut.
What is wrong with you, Kate, and what the hell was in those drinks?
She rolled toward the wall. In addition to drinking too much, maybe she’d fallen and hit her head.
The door opened a few minutes later.
“Going back to sleep?”
She stretched but didn’t turn around. “I’m awake.”
Billy chuckled. “Katie?”
Here goes nothing. She peeked over her shoulder. Still shirtless, he’d slipped into a pair of torn, faded jeans. She forced her eyes up from the hard stomach muscles and perfect pecs.
“There’s a restaurant on the corner,” he said, dragging a T-shirt over his head. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll bring it back. Your clothes are still wet.”
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Something light. Maybe a bagel and some tea. I’m feeling a little better, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
He grimaced. “Good idea.”
She groaned and pulled the covers over her head, which is where she stayed while he finished dressing.
“So tea and toast. Anything else?”
“No, thanks.” She peeked out from behind the sheet. He’d pulled his hair back into a low ponytail and was zipping up a black leather jacket.
“Holy shit!” He stood back from the open door.
She slipped out of bed to find that everything outside was white. Several inches of snow were already on the ground, and it was coming down hard. In the parking lot below, Pete was clearing off a station wagon.
“Hey, Rip Van Winkle!” he shouted when he saw Billy. “You’re on your own tonight. I called the bar in Tewksbury. They’re canceling because of the weather.” When he saw Kate, he laughed. “Guess you got it covered, though.”