Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two

by Regent, Renee

  The food was excellent, though the portions were tiny, artfully arranged on the plate to impress the senses more than satisfy hunger. Champagne and cognac flowed, as did the conversation. I joined in but was distracted by Melanie’s hand on my thigh, squeezing. This prompted an under-the-table exploration of my own. Caressing her knee, my fingers ventured higher, the softness of her inner thigh an invitation. She squirmed in her chair, removing my fingers from her lap discreetly. I leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  “You started it.”

  Her slight nod of acknowledgement didn’t get her off the hook. I settled my hand back between her thighs, resting it there. Her dark chocolate gaze held a warning but also a heat she couldn’t disguise. I was tempted to meet her in the restroom and take her in one of the stalls but decided to wait. Simmering with desire for a few hours would be far more pleasurable.

  Daris asked Melanie a question, breaking me out of my lust-induced trance.

  “Have you written many other songs, Miss Melanie?” Before she answered, he turned to Franco and Lena, explaining, “We laid down a track today written by these two. Pretty awesome.”

  He had nodded at Melanie and me, but I remained silent. This was her moment.

  “Several. We play many of our original songs when my band Sparker performs at gigs around town.”

  Franco perked up, his dark eyes showing interest. He was a bit older than the rest of us, his dark, curly hair shot through with bits of silver, as was his close-cropped beard.

  “What type of music do y’all play?”

  She went on to describe their playlist and some of the places they had performed. I gained a new respect, as they had played at several festivals and even some of the more upscale venues. It was a shame they had to break up, just as they were gaining a reputation as a solid band.

  Franco grinned, leaning back in his chair. He lifted his glass of cognac to his lips, taking a long sip as he assessed her.

  “I’d love to hear your band play sometime. I’ll give you my card.”

  His wife opened the gold-beaded clutch she’d left on the table and slid a business card toward Melanie. She thanked them and placed it in her purse. Then she gestured to me.

  “I don’t know if any of you know this, but Spencer is a prolific composer. He has an impressive catalogue of original songs.”

  Daris’ eyes went wide, and he steepled his fingers under his chin.

  “So, you kept on writing, eh? Good for you, dude. I knew you wouldn’t give it up.”

  I shrugged. As much as I wanted to be recognized for it, I was still uncomfortable discussing my music. I had repressed it for so long, that any attention made me feel exposed.

  “Yeah, it’s in my blood, I guess. It’s therapy, more than anything. It passes the time when I’m alone.”

  Melanie’s eyes were bright with disbelief.

  “He’s being modest, which is unusual.” She glanced at Daris. “Am I right?”

  His response was swift. “Too true, my lady. Too true.”

  Everyone laughed, including me. Perhaps there’d come a day when my music would take the spotlight, but we were here to promote Melanie. If Daris decided to offer her a recording deal, she would have to stay in Atlanta. Plus, it would be a dream come true for her.

  Which would be a dream come true for me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Melanie

  It was close to midnight. We’d been sitting in a private lounge area on the second floor of the crowded nightclub with Daris and his entourage. Various people came and went, but the low, plush black sofas were filled at every moment. Drinks flowed, the music pumped, and a sea of bodies undulated on the dance floor below. I was on the end, so I watched the crowd from over the railing. Strobe lights and colored lasers bounced off bodies. The music was a techno hip-hop mash up, blending from one song to another without a break. The scent of sweat, smoke, and perfume assaulted my nose, and my head began to swim from the two martinis I’d consumed. Only Spencer’s arm about my waist kept me from slipping onto the floor to take a nap.

  Damn, am I getting old? I used to party like this all night.

  When I was performing, I kept going without a problem. But that was my job, my passion. This was simply a night out. Still, I wanted so much to make a good impression on Daris and his music business friends. It was hard to hold a conversation with all the noise, so I smiled and watched while Daris held court.

  Another half-hour came and went, and I knew I needed to move around. I stood, holding onto Spencer’s shoulder for balance. He looked up at me, concern on his face.

  “I need some air,” I announced.

  He rose, taking my hand. He stopped in front of Daris, leaning down to say something, close to his ear. It was the only way he could be heard over the roar of the music and the crowd. Daris nodded, said something back. Then he pulled on Spencer’s arm, indicating he wanted him to stay.

  A young woman had taken the seat next to Daris, and he had his arm about her shoulder. She was striking, curvaceous but slim with long, dark hair shot through with streaks of silver. She reminded me of a younger, prettier version of a lady vampire in an old-time movie. Barely old enough to be in a nightclub, her vacant stare conveyed boredom, despite her too-bright smile.

  Daris motioned to me to come in closer, so I leaned over to hear him.

  “I want you guys to meet a special lady. This is Quira.”

  Spencer extended a hand, which she politely shook.

  “I’m Spencer, and this is Melanie.”

  She waved to me and announced, “I’m Quira. Spelled with a Q, not a K.”

  Daris had his arm around her shoulder and was beaming like he had just discovered the holy grail. “Remember that name. She’s gonna be the next big thing. Trust me.”

  I heard Spencer say something like, “Nice to meet you,” but another couple had appeared and the girl’s attention shifted to the newcomers. Daris was introducing Quira With A Q to them, and we had already been forgotten.

  Suddenly the music shifted into a popular song and the crowd went wild, hollering and whistling. Spencer took my hand again and led me away, heading toward the exit. Moments later we were outside, but the humidity was stifling, permeating the air with the promise of a late-night thunderstorm. Spencer craned his neck, looking for someone. Then he turned back to me.

  “Come on. I have a surprise.”

  We walked a half block, approaching a limousine that had just pulled up to the curb. Spencer spoke to the chauffer, a young man in a suit and black cap with curly blond hair peeking out to brush his collar. He opened the back door for me, and I climbed in, wondering where we were going. I saw Spencer slip money into the young man’s hand, and they nodded at each other with identical grins.

  Something was up, and I had a suspicion I was going to enjoy it. As he sat next to me, he placed an arm around my shoulder.

  “Daris said we could use his ride for a while,” he explained, kissing the side of my neck provocatively.

  “Great,” was all I could muster. Still feeling the effects of the drinks and so little food, I took a deep breath and tried to gain my equilibrium.

  Soft, jazzy music played through the speakers, and though we could see out of the windows, the tint would keep anyone from seeing inside. The darkened glass between us and the driver was up, so we were alone. Spencer opened a small refrigerator to reveal bottles of water and small splits of champagne. He opened a bottle of water and handed it to me. I took a long sip, exhaling as the cool beverage went down.

  “Feeling better?”

  The car had pulled away from the curb and was merging into traffic.

  “A bit. Thanks for getting me out of there, but where are we going?”

  His smile was cryptic. “Nowhere. Everywhere.”

  He leaned in to place a soft, quick kiss on my lips. I sat back in the seat and sipped the water, the pounding in my head beginning to subside. But the pounding of my heart increased when he set the water aside
and pulled me close. Placing a hand on my hip, he lifted my leg so that I half straddled him on the seat. His face was an inch away, his eyes a dark honey-brown in the muted light of the limousine.

  “God, I want you. Now.”

  I couldn’t answer with his mouth crushing mine, but words had escaped me, anyway. I wanted him, too, in the worst way. We’d been simmering in a stew of desire since morning. Flirting, touching, teasing each other with innuendos. It was great fun, but I’d almost reached a boiling point. Now his frantic, passionate touch caused my pent-up desire to explode.

  He maneuvered in the plush leather seat so that I could straddle him fully. His hands were all over me, under my skirt, teasing the straps of my dress from my shoulders. I was busy kissing his neck, at the same time unbuttoning his dress shirt. I felt like a kid on prom night about to lose my virginity—except for the fact I knew exactly how damn good it was going to feel to have him inside me.

  Those magic fingers. The ones that wrought beautiful, poetic, exquisite sounds from his piano were about to play me. I lifted up on my knees slightly to allow him access, all the while feeling like a wanton slut and the most powerful woman in the world, at the same time. Fingertips brushed the edge of my panties, caressed the junction of my thighs, making me tremble. I bit into his shoulder, not hard, but enough to show him my reaction to his attentions.

  “Like that, do you?” he whispered, his voice husky with need.

  Oh, yes, Yes, I do.

  I couldn’t say the words, so I squirmed, I panted and moaned. There would be no doubt as to what I was feeling.

  I had worked his shirt open now, so all that remained was his trousers. His erection was attempting to break through, zipper or no, so I reached down to unzip them. He helped, and in seconds, his pants were on the floor around his ankles. I felt his hardness through my soaking panties and feared I might pass out and miss the best part.

  He reached inside his shirt pocket to retrieve a condom. I moved back slightly to allow him room to put it on. It took only seconds, and I sat down on his lap again.

  Another scorching, deep kiss, leaving me breathless. His hands cupped my butt under the dress, squeezing. One hand moved to caress my most intimate part through the filmy fabric, the friction causing me to gasp with delight. When he slipped a finger inside the material to touch my slick, wet opening, I cried out.

  He then hooked his fingers in the sides of my panties, slowly sliding them down, tossing them to the floor. Hot skin met hot skin, velvety smooth and hard at the same time, sliding in so easily I wondered how I ever existed when he was not inside me. Hands gripped my ass firmly, moving me up and down, spearing me with deliciously rough strokes. My dress had fallen from my shoulders, my breasts exposed and poised where he could kiss them.

  Which he did, his hot tongue tracing a nipple, teasing me. We moved together, creating a song of another kind—a collaboration of our bodies, hearts, and minds. All that mattered was this union, this moment. Sensation built upon sensation until we reached a crescendo, my orgasm coming over me moments before his. I had a fleeting thought that the driver might have heard our cries, but I was too caught up in euphoric bliss to give a damn.

  I collapsed onto his shoulder, panting. The air-conditioned vehicle now felt as steamy as the streets of Atlanta. Sweat dampened the hair on my neck and between my breasts. I was sure I looked a mess, but it had been worth it.

  I moved to sit on the seat, and he handed me the water again. I took a sip, gazing out the window at the city streets. Spencer had dressed and leaned his head on my shoulder.

  No words were said. None were needed. It was the perfect end to an exciting day. I smiled, unwilling to think anything but good thoughts. Our song pitch went well, and I was sitting next to one of the best guys I’d ever dated. My other problems would work themselves out in time. I finally had hope, once again, that maybe the universe was going to come through for me, after all.

  * * *

  Spencer

  I walked into CB Resorts International on Monday morning with my head held high. Despite my earlier nervousness, it seemed everything was working out fine. Melanie had gone back to her apartment yesterday, after a leisurely brunch at a café near my condo. She was in high spirits and rightly so. Daris had been impressed with the song, and his video producer friend, Franco, had been interested in hearing Melanie’s band. It was the first time since we met that I’d seen her so excited about her career, and opportunities seemed to be springing up.

  We’d even talked about the possibility of her staying in Atlanta. She’d already given notice on her apartment and had been having a tough time keeping up with the expense of it, anyway. I offered her a place to stay—my place—at least until she decided what to do. She had protested at first.

  “I can’t impose on you like that. I’ll stay with Mackie or Donna.”

  “You could do that, but I will be most persuasive at tempting you to sleep here, anyway.”

  I had given her a wink, but it wasn’t necessary. She knew exactly what I meant.

  In the end, she had decided to put most of her belongings in a storage unit, since there was no room at her sister’s place in Florida. This would give her time to work things out and decide where she was going to land. I insisted on paying the first six month’s fees on the storage unit, which she had also refused.

  “No way, it’s my stuff, I’ll pay for it.”

  I reached for her hand over the table and gave it a squeeze.

  “Love, you really need to learn to let people help now and then. I’m doing this to make it easier for you, so you can focus on taking care of your family. Okay?”

  She smiled and relented. I loved her independent streak—the starving musician who suffered for her craft—but now she had other responsibilities.

  She looked beautiful as ever when she left, wearing the music symbol necklace I gave her. We had a difficult time saying goodbye, though she promised to return by Thursday, if her work was done. How I was going to last until then was a mystery.

  Petro greeted me at the door to my office, barely looking up at me as he said hello. He was usually the chipper one in the morning, and I had to tap his shoulder to get his attention.

  “You okay, bud? Tough weekend?”

  He looked up at me with reddened eyes. His black hair was sticking up in unruly tufts, and his shirt collar was wrinkled on one side. Not the impeccably dressed young urban professional I’d come to know.

  “My flight got delayed and I missed my connection. Got home really late. My report will have to wait. Sorry, boss.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll catch up later.”

  I was in too good a mood to give him a hard time. I wasn’t even worried about Uncle John any longer. When he blew up at me—and I knew he would—I’d make things right, somehow. Even if it meant flying to meet with his associate myself, to smooth things over. The deal was important but not something that couldn’t be handled at another time.

  I went to the kitchen to get coffee. I’d promised Petro to bring him a cup, on the condition he didn’t get used to me waiting on him. He knew I was teasing, but in his present condition, he did no more than half-smile. I had finished pouring the coffee and was searching for Petro’s preferred sweetener packet, when I heard a familiar, deep voice.

  “Good morning, cousin.”

  I turned, startled at the sight of Gibson in a suit, no less. His blond locks had been slicked back, and he wore a dress shirt with a suit jacket but no tie. What was he doing here on a Monday morning?

  “Hey, cuz. What brings you to the big city this early? And wearing big boy clothes too?”

  He leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. The stance was defensive, but his grin was relaxed. This was how we sparred, and we’d probably never quit.

  “I’m here for a meeting. You know, to work. You’ve heard of that phenomenon, right? Maybe someday you’ll actually try it.”

  “Only when I must. Which is, in fact, every d
ay. Unlike you, I don’t live at a resort.”

  He picked up the bottle of water that was next to him on the counter, and he turned to leave.

  “That resort has brought in plenty of clients—like the Avantes, who by the way, have made their purchase and are eager to get started. That’s why I’m here, to let Dad know.” He took a long sip of his water as he walked to the door of the breakroom. He stopped to look at me. “And to tell you, of course. We’re meeting with them and Dad at ten.”

  I raised a brow and took a leisurely sip of coffee. “I’ll see if I can clear my schedule.”

  I would be at the meeting, of course. There was no way I was going to let him take all the credit for bringing the Avantes on board. Plus, my involvement might smooth things over with my uncle when he found out about me skipping the conference.

  I spent the next two hours answering emails and returning phone calls. A few minutes before ten, I was walking to the conference room when my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at the screen to see Daris’ phone number, so I took the call.

  “Hey, man. Thanks again for everything. Melanie and I had a blast.”

  “My pleasure. You guys rock. In fact, that song is what I’m calling about.”

  My stomach did a little flip. I was standing outside the conference room, so I walked a bit farther down the hall for privacy. The door to the room was open, and I saw Gibson and the Avantes at the table, talking.

  “Cool. I thought you’d like it.”

  “I loved it, and I have some ideas I’d like discuss with you before I leave for London. Can you meet me today for lunch, near the airport?”

  “Sure. When and where?” He gave me the name of a restaurant a few minutes from Jackson-Hartsfield Airport. He had a trans-Atlantic flight leaving that afternoon, but we’d have at least an hour to ourselves. His excitement was a good sign. It occurred to me he might want Melanie in on the discussions, so I asked, “You want me to bring Melanie?”