Smooth: A New Love Romance Novel (Bad Boy Musicians)

by Hazel Redgate

  ‘Not when I have the right partner.’

  ‘And how am I matching up?’

  ‘You’ll do,’ I say. Oh, you’ll do nicely.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he says. The music is slow, the beats of it dwarfed by the manic thumping of my heart in my chest. To be this close to him, to have his body pressed so closely to my own, feels like the coda to a long and beautiful story. Can it really only have been four days? It feels like I’ve known Jack for a lifetime. We fit together too well for it to be anything but.

  And so we dance: a slow undulation on the floor, two bodies in perfect sync. There are no fancy twirls, no theatrical movements. It’s just the two of us together, breathing in the other, barely speaking, barely believing that it has come to this, until one of us finally snaps.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I say.

  ‘You’re sure?’ he asks. ‘You don’t want to stay a while longer?’

  ‘Just a sec. Let me say my goodbyes.’

  Lauren and Drew are off alone in a corner, like schoolkids at a prom, just sharing each other’s company. Well, damn, I think as I watch them, gazing longingly at each other. They really are perfect for each other. How the hell did I not see that before?

  No matter. They made it. That’s all that counts.

  ‘We’re going to take off,’ I say. ‘Is that OK?’

  Lauren smiles. ‘We only booked him until ten-thirty. What you two get up to after that is your business.’

  ~~~

  The elevator ride to my hotel room seems to take forever, even though it’s only four floors. No matter how many times I tap the button, I can’t seem to will that little steel box to come faster. I’ve waited long enough. If I have to wait any longer – even a second – I might just explode.

  Or you could just throw myself on him right here. Give whoever’s watching the security camera a real show.

  Just as I’m considering it, the elevator deposits me outside my room, and then we’re alone.

  There’s no hesitation this time, no expectation of gentlemanly conduct. As I turn my back to him, he immediately picks up on my signal; his gentle fingers trace down my arm, before sliding the zipper of my dress downwards. His hand lingers for a moment in the small of my back, and I savour his warmth.

  Every inch of my skin feels as though it’s on fire, flushed with alcohol and good feelings. When he slips the dress down off my shoulders, revealing the matching lace underwear I had picked out especially for the big day – designed to give me a boost, to make me feel good, little suspecting that anyone would ever actually see it – I hear him let out a soft little groan. ‘Beautiful,’ he says. ‘You were the most beautiful woman at that reception. No contest.’

  I smile. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s bad form for a guest to say that at a wedding, you know.’

  ‘Good job I’m not a guest then, eh?’ He spins me round, grips me tight, and kisses me again: a firm, lingering kiss that turns my knees to jelly.

  I need him. I need him, and I think he needs me too. I can feel the hunger in his kiss, the desperation not just for sex but for me – the want, the sheer unbridled desire, billowing up until it threatens to overwhelm us both. Not that I’d mind that, of course.

  He sweeps me off my feet and carries me towards the bed, bouncing me down as he undresses himself. The shirt is barely off, the firm brown torso barely revealed, before he’s on the bed next to me, kissing and kissing and kissing everywhere he can find. His lips trace paths along every inch of me, taking their time and exploring this new conquest, this new world of pleasure that awaits us both.

  His hands join in then, the soft pads of his fingers running across the smoothness of my stomach, and then down to the panties. He pauses for a second, waiting for a signal from me – a nod of encouragement, a soft moan of enjoyment – and receives both.

  And then I am naked before him.

  ‘Fuck,’ he murmurs, almost to himself.

  ‘Something wrong?’ I ask.

  He shakes his head in the darkness of the hotel room. ‘No,’ he says. ‘God, no. Nothing at all. I just…’

  I understand. I understand him perfectly. There’s a gap where words no longer quite seem to matter, where language just isn’t quite enough. It’s a gap where only contact will suffice.

  Contact, and kisses. A nod of encouragement. A silent beckoning to continue.

  I hear the sound of clothes being discarded into a haphazard pile on the floor, a small foil packet being opened, and then the weight of his body on mine.

  Fuck…

  Jackson Robichaux, Jazzman of the Coeur de Vie. My nerves light up for him. My body seems to dance to his personal tune. When he kisses me, I feel a spark of excitement, of need. I feel his tongue part my lips and my back arching up despite myself as he presses down on my hips – so strong, and yet so gentle.

  I could, right now. It would be so easy for me to slip into orgasm. I haven’t felt so turned on in months – but it’s not his tongue I need. No, there will be time for that. Right now, in this moment, I need him inside me.

  ‘Please,’ I moan. The word takes everything out of me; breaking the silence of my own ecstasy is a herculean task. ‘Please.’

  He doesn’t need to ask what I want. He knows. How could he not? We are in tune, perfectly; what’s mine is his. I feel him rise up, position himself at my entrance, and then I see his smile in the darkness. ‘Anything,’ he whispers softly into my ear. His voice is breathy with lust for me. ‘Anything and everything, for you.’

  I only realise I’m holding my breath when I feel him slide into me, and exhale in one long, desperate moan of pleasure. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

  Anything and everything indeed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘You know, I was starting to think you were some kind of mythical creature.’

  Jack turns to me, naked and proud; the sheets were long ago cast to the floor. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Or, like, something nocturnal. I got this idea that you only came out at night. Seeing you in the daytime just seemed…’

  ‘Wrong?’ He’s smiling at me, his head propped up on his arm next to me in bed.

  ‘Something like that.’

  He reaches a hand across, takes mine in his, and brings it to his lips. ‘How about now?’ he says as he kisses along my fingers. ‘Still just a figment of your imagination?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘No, you said that I was a sort of mythical creature. Like a sexy Bigfoot.’

  ‘I never mentioned sexy either.’

  ‘It was implied,’ he says. By now his kisses have moved on, past the tips of my fingers and down towards my palm. He’s tracing a slow journey, step by step, one lingering press of his lips against my skin after another, and I am in heaven. How long has it been since someone has paid so much attention to me? How long has it been since I’ve had someone new, somehow who wants to investigate every curve, every line, every inch of my body?

  He turns my hand over and looks at it intently. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a long lifeline?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you believe all that crap too,’ I say.

  ‘What crap?’

  ‘Horoscopes. Spirits. Palm readings.’

  He shrugs. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I’m New Orleans born and raised. I know better than to write it off. I’ve got this cousin…’

  ‘Well, I mean, if it’s your cousin…’

  Jack carries on regardless. ‘I’ve got this cousin who went to a psychic. She was like you. Didn’t believe a word of it. Thought it was all just a tourist trap. Anyway, the guy told her that she’d find true love waiting for her when she least expected it.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘The psychic slipped her his phone number.’

  ‘How wonderfully corny. I guess this is where you tell me they were very happy together?’

  ‘Oh, definitely. But his wife was furious. It was the fourth time he’d tried the same stunt.’

 
The pillow I playfully throw at him would have been a dead strike in the centre of his big dumb face, it he didn’t put his hand up. When he pulls it down, he’s smiling inanely.

  ‘Was there a point to that story?’ I ask.

  He grins. ‘Oh, I just wanted to see the look on your face. You’re cute when you’re ever-so-slightly exasperated at me.’

  ‘So, constantly?’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying.’

  That’s one of my favourite things about Jack, I’ve decided: the way he disarms me with little compliments, little boosts to my mood, all without ever making them seem forced. He’s an engine that runs entirely on charm – easy, casual charm; the charm of someone who has a genuine lust for life and wants to share it with the world. Then again, I knew that the first time I saw him play.

  ‘You know, the girls dragged me to see a psychic,’ I say. ‘My first day here. Part of the New Orleans experience, they said.’

  ‘Oh really? What did he tell you?’

  Your boy. His star sign. He’s a Pisces, no question. I’d stake the farm on it.

  I haven’t thought about Chuck the Psychic in days, but for some reason that thought swims up in front of my mind. He was so sure about it, so confident… and yet it was nonsense, of course. Carter was an Aries through and through. But Carter isn’t in the picture anymore. Carter is gone.

  What was it he had said? Your love life ain’t over, not by a long shot. Whatever happened between the two of you, it’s a good thing – for both of you. It gives you some perspective. Means you can build to a stronger relationship. A happier relationship.

  Nonsense. Obviously.

  Don’t ask Jack when his birthday is.

  Or do.

  Maybe. What’s the harm? It’s just curiosity, right? Just a bit of fun?

  I shake the idea away. Even if it was, it wouldn’t mean anything. I mean, it’s a one in twelve shot, right? A random stab in the dark. No reason for it to be true. No reason for anyone to believe it, unless they’re a sucker.

  A little hope is a dangerous thing.

  ‘Nothing much,’ I pause. ‘Nothing important, anyway. Just the same usual crap they peddle to tourists, I guess.’

  ‘You’ll meet a tall dark stranger?’ He gestures down at himself. ‘And you say psychics aren’t real.’

  And oh, you’re in for some fun. Passion, lust, whatever you want to call it – but it’s coming up soon, ready or not. You just need to loosen up a little. Be open to the new experiences. Let the world come to you.

  Well, he certainly called that one. Lucky guess, perhaps… but I haven’t felt like this in years.

  ‘My flight isn’t until this afternoon,’ I say, steering the subject away from Jack’s taut, toned body laid out in front of me. ‘Do you want to… you know?’

  ‘Go again?’

  ‘I meant go and get brunch or something,’ I say, hoping that if I roll my eyes melodramatically enough he won’t see me grinning.

  ‘Brunch?’

  I nod. ‘There’s a big send-off for the wedding party. A sort of thank-you-for-everything deal from Lauren and Drew.’

  ‘And you want me to come along?’ Jack props himself up one elbow and looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind.

  ‘Sure. Why not? You seem to have made kind of a good impression with them so far, what with filling in with the band last minute, and walking me home, and…’

  ‘And don’t forget saving your life,’ he says.

  ‘Is that what we settled on? I seem to recall you insisting it was nothing.’

  Jack smiles. ‘Well, I’m modest like that.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely. Almost to a fault.’

  ‘It’s one of my worst traits. Honestly, I have no idea how you put up with it for so long.’

  ‘It’s been about twelve hours, loverboy,’ I smile. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Twelve hours?’ He shakes his head. ‘Oh, no. This has been days in the making. Ever since you first walked into the bar.’

  The smile that creeps across my face is impossible to hide. It blooms up like a flower in springtime, drawn towards the warmth. ‘So what do you say?’ I ask. ‘Do you want to come down and meet everyone properly? Or would you prefer to just spend the next couple of hours in bed with me?’

  ‘Both?’ he says as he leans forward, kissing me softly and resting his hand on my inner thigh. ‘I’m a big believer in compromise, you see.’ And then all of a sudden his hand isn’t resting anymore; quite the opposite, in fact.

  ‘Both…’ I murmur as his fingers trace their way northwards, exploring, playing, teasing. ‘Both is good.’

  Both is pretty much perfect.

  ~~~

  It’s an hour before we finally get out of bed – not that I’m complaining. By the time I’ve managed to convince myself that no, we really can’t just stay here under the sheets all morning, there’s only an hour or so before I’m supposed to be downstairs.

  Jack slips away from me, and I feel this weird, immediate sense of loss. The space where his arm rested against mine feels cold now, cold and bare, even though he’s all of three feet away from me. He stands up, stretches, yawns lazily. ‘Come on,’ he says, grinning in a way that suggests he’s not thrilled about having to give ourselves a little interlude either. ‘If you want to go to this brunch, we should probably get ready.’

  ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘Hey, I was promised food. Believe it or not, I worked up quite an appetite this morning.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Mm-hmm,’ he says. ‘And unless you want all of your friends to see me all sweaty, I should probably grab a shower. Do you mind?’

  I gesture towards the bathroom. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m already going to be showing up in yesterday’s clothes. Least I can do is be clean, right?’

  He pulls a towel off the pile by the bathroom door and heads for the door. ‘You know,’ I say, ‘If you need a little help with that, I might know a girl.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Wouldn’t want you to miss anything. My friends can be very particular.’

  ‘Well, if you think it would help me make a good impression…’ He walks back over to me and plants a kiss on my lips. I’m amazed at how tender his touch is, and the way he manages to make even those simple gestures seem meaningful. I’ve known Jack for all of three days, but everything about this just feels… easy.

  It can’t last, you know.

  The little voice in my ear chimes up, clawing its way out through my subconscious. All of this. It’s just a fling, that’s all. You’re a tourist, just passing through – and tomorrow you’ll go back to Chicago and you’ll try to pick up the pieces of your old life, all alone, and that will be that.

  Stop it.

  Jack won’t even remember your name, I bet.

  Stop it.

  Ellen who?

  Stop it stop it STOP IT –

  ‘Ella?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I think I lost you for a minute there. Everything OK?’

  I smile. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Just… you know. After this week, I’m still running on adrenaline. It’s been one thing going wrong after another.’

  He grins at me. ‘You sure do know how to flatter a guy,’ he says.

  ‘Not you,’ I say. ‘God, not you at all. I’m just… waiting for something to go wrong, I guess. Some big disaster I need to fix.’

  ‘And if I told you that everything was fine?’ He pauses. ‘I guess you wouldn’t believe me, would you?’

  I shake my head. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Force of habit.’

  ‘You want to quit that,’ he says. ‘Worrying, I mean. It’s like a pack-a-day habit for the soul. It’ll eat you up from the inside out.’

  ‘That’s your professional opinion, is it?’

  ‘You betcha,’ he says. ‘And who knows more about the blues than a jazz musician, eh?’ Jack pauses, and kneels down by the side of the bed. ‘For real, though,’ he says as he takes my ha
nd in his. ‘You don’t need to worry. Not here.’

  ‘In New Orleans?’

  ‘Well, I meant right here. In this hotel room, with me. But sure, in New Orleans. You’re here on vacation, Ella. Cut loose. Live a little. The rest of the world will wait until you get back to Chicago.’

  ‘This evening.’ Too soon. Far too soon.

  ‘All the more reason for us not to waste time worrying, right?’ He pauses. ‘I know you’ve got to go back. But I’m choosing not to think about that until I have to. The night ain’t over until the last couple leaves the dancefloor, right?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do. And right now, Ella Mossberg, I’m not ready to quit dancing. And I don’t think you are either. So what do you say? One more quick spin?’

  ‘I don’t think dancing’s going to be on the cards, somehow.’ I know well enough how Lauren’s family parties tend to go: the Irish Catholic in her keeps the liquor flowing freely, and no one leaves sober. ‘My guess is that everyone will be wearing sunglasses and crying out for a bit of hair-of-the-dog. Minimal movement.’

  He grins. ‘Then I’ll just have to find some other way to impress you, won’t I?’

  Oh, as if you could. As if there were any ways left.

  ‘You go and shower,’ I say, painting on my most convincing pageant smile and hoping it’s good enough. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, OK?’

  He nods. ‘Sure thing,’ he says, but he lingers for a moment before he walks to the bathroom. It’s almost as though he can tell there’s something on my mind, something burrowing away inside me just waiting to burst out and ruin whatever this is. I press my fingers deep against my temples, rubbing-rubbing-rubbing the way I do when I can feel a migraine coming on.

  What is it? Guilt? No. Regret? Definitely not. It’s just… hell, I don’t know. The fact that this is momentary. The fact that I can’t take this instant and put it in a bottle and keep it forever. The fact that Jack is at best a sticking-plaster solution to all of the problems in the rest of my life.