Authors: Lynne Connolly
He turned his attention to her, his gaze searing her from
her head to her feet. “I do a mixture of stuff right now, picking up work where
I can. I don’t have to tell you that this album could make my studio’s name, so
if you don’t come up to scratch, you don’t make the final cut. But if it’s
good, then work will come. Not because of me, but because of the band. Murder
City Ravens is going stellar. If the session works out and you want it, you can
have a credit, but that’s up to you.” Having a credit on the album would spread
her name around.
“Yes,” she said impulsively. “I want it.”
Claud picked up her sax and dropped a kiss on her cheek.
“Don’t stay out late, baby girl.”
She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Claud.
I mean, it’s early now, right?”
Claud gave the gravelly chuckle, reminding her that,
although he didn’t smoke now, it wasn’t too long ago he’d had his last
cigarette. Much to the relief of the family. He stepped down from the low dais,
slower now from the arthritis he always worried would attack his hands one day,
and grabbed his coat.
Her cousin George had packed up his double bass and stood
grimly to one side. She’d been aware of his steady regard all through the
exchange. George hadn’t missed a thing, but when his father spoke, George stayed
silent. Unless he was needed, George spoke through his music.
The men sauntered toward the exit, Claud glancing behind as
if he’d changed his mind and wanted to come back.
“Very protective, your—”
“Uncle,” she said firmly.
She stepped down from the stage, pretending not to notice
his outstretched hand. She wanted to brace herself before he touched her.
Enough tension sizzled between them now so fuck knew what would happen when
they finally made physical contact.
He took her to a table at the back. That was why she hadn’t
seen him when he’d first entered, only sensed him. The dim lighting meant she
couldn’t see him until he’d approached the stage.
He grinned. “I can’t think why I haven’t found this place
before. I like it.” He glanced around at the plain wooden chairs and the tables
scarred by generations of glasses and cigarettes. They gleamed with the kind of
polish not gained from a can, but from years of elbows and arms rubbing against
it.
She stared at the tabletop and traced a ring with the tip of
her finger. “Why is it so hot tonight?” she wondered before she looked up and
saw why.
Most of the heat was generated by his avid gaze. She’d
glanced up too fast for him to look away, or maybe he never meant to.
His gaze met hers and they burned together. She’d never felt
closer to anyone in her life before, never felt anyone’s soul pass into her and
through her, taking her on a wild journey to a new country.
She blinked, deliberately breaking the connection, and
forced a laugh. “Fuck, you’re good. Is that what you did to your fans?” She
didn’t have to ask. She’d seen him once, when the band had come to Chicago on
its one and only world tour when he’d sung lead.
Now she knew charisma wasn’t intangible. It existed. It sat
at this table with her, watching her, daring her to do—what?
“What did I do to my fans? You saw me?”
“I-I— Yes, I saw you.” She decided to come clean. Surely she
could talk about that without the situation getting worse? “You came to Chicago
on your world tour. I saw what you could do then. You grabbed the audience by
the balls and didn’t let go. You held them in the palm of your hand.”
He grinned and leaned back, the flimsy bentwood chair
creaking under him. “It’s okay, I know what you mean. I used to watch myself
and wonder what was happening. I knew I could sing, but other people sang
better, did more. I had something else. I can’t define it, but you have it too.
“I couldn’t walk by the club tonight. I was getting some air
and wondering how to perk up this song I’m producing. It’s a great song, and
it’s definitely standout, but if I could add something else it would get to the
top. Rock bands say they despise the pop single, but give them a number one,
and suddenly it’s the greatest art form known to man.”
She laughed, feeling the tension splinter around them like
shattering ice. “All because of you, huh?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. They write a kickass song and then
forget the arrangement. I show them how they can turn something good into
great, or add a few tweaks that make a track commercial.”
She knew that was far too modest. A good arranger and a good
producer could make a good recording amazing. “Is that what you’re doing?
Making the Murder City Ravens track commercial?”
He lost the smile and shook his head. “No. It’s very, very
good. It’ll sell because it can’t help itself.” He paused and bit his lower
lip, his teeth gleaming in the low light. “But when we listened to it today I
felt it could do with something more. That’s you.” His smile warmed her, and
she couldn’t help but smile back.
“When did you come in tonight?”
“I heard
Summertime
from outside the club.” He
paused. “I’d have come in anyway, just to listen. You’re very talented.”
She glanced down, taking in her sexy though not overly
revealing gold dress. “Yeah, right.”
He laughed. “Believe me, you’re the model of Victorian
modesty compared to some of the outfits I’ve seen in my time. Shared a stage
with on occasion.” He leaned forward slightly, not enough to intimidate, enough
to set up an air of increased intimacy. “But you are ten times sexier.”
Waves of heat washed over her, making her feel helpless
under his gaze. She felt sexy, wanted, and although she’d felt that way before,
it hadn’t happened for a long time.
The lights went out over the stage area and she looked
around, startled. “Sorry. They’re getting ready to close.”
He got to his feet. “You have a coat?”
“In this weather? You bet.” She grabbed her coat from the
stand by the door, then went to the bar, where the barman had her bag ready.
She carried only a small purse, but since it held her credit card and keys,
they always locked it away for her when she performed. Ernie winked as he
handed it over and murmured, in a voice so low she wasn’t entirely sure she’d
heard him right, “You go, girl. But take care, you hear?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s like I never left home.”
“There’s a reason for that.” Ernie picked up a rag and wiped
the bar, dropping her a wink. Ernie, her uncle’s best friend. He lived over the
bar, so usually closed the place up. Only one other member of the bar staff
remained, so pretty soon they’d have dropped the lock on the front door. Those
routines came as second nature to V.
She lifted her coat only to find it taken out of her hands
and held so she could put it on. She wasn’t used to that kind of treatment, except
from her older relatives and she found it kind of sweet that he had such
old-fashioned courtesy. Even Ernie’s deadpan expression, honed from years as a
barkeep, softened a little.
She picked up her purse. “Shall we leave Ernie in peace?”
Ernie followed them to the door and, as they stepped out
into the chill evening, the lock snicked behind them, followed by the sound of
bolts being thrown. Now Ernie would set the alarms, clear the empty glasses and
make his way to his apartment upstairs.
A few people still wandered about outside. This area didn’t
sleep, and some of the clubs stayed open until much later. This wasn’t one of
their late nights. But she felt as if she were in a bubble with him.
She glanced around but decided to walk to the busier street
five minutes away. “Do you have far to go?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not far. I have a place in River North.”
He raised a brow. “Coincidence, because my place is there
too.”
She gave him a sly smile. “Bet you have one of those swanky
loft apartments.”
He laughed. “Don’t you?”
“Not exactly. Do you mind walking, or do you want to get a
cab?”
For answer, he raised his arm and like magic, a taxi drew up
at the curb. She climbed in and gave him her address. “I’ll get out with you,”
he said. “I don’t live far away. There are some advantages to having a
well-known face,” he said, and grimaced.
“What are you talking about?”
“Would you have climbed into a cab with me if you’d just met
me tonight?”
Now she understood. “Nope.” She spared him a glance. The
lights of the city flickering past gave him a changeable expression, lighting
up those remarkable eyes and then casting them into shadow. He sat so still,
she suspected that was part of his appeal, that tranquility he projected
seemingly without effort.
He was right. If she hadn’t known him for sure, she’d never
have left the bar with him, much less gotten into a taxi. “Must be useful
sometimes.”
He grunted an assent. “Sometimes. Sometimes it can be a pain
in the ass.”
“Fans?”
“Nope. Whatever people say, fans are good. Most of them are
respectful of your space, and in any case, it’s easy to put them off if you
want to. But there are other people, less straightforward.”
Should she go there? Damn right she should. “Drug dealers.”
“For sure. And other people too. People who want something.
To meet the lead guitarist. To sleep with you. To hang around backstage.” He
shrugged. “I don’t miss those.”
“I see.” While she could understand it intellectually, she
couldn’t take the last step that took her to his exact position, but she could
imagine how terrible she’d find being the center of attention all the time.
The cab drew up and they got out. He touched her waist,
steadying her. The contact shimmered right through her. How could she resist
this urge, stronger than anything else she could ever remember feeling before?
Apart from showing a general attraction and calling her sexy, he didn’t seem
affected the same way. Not so all-consuming, with that ache of sheer hunger
inside, longing to be—completed.
When she encountered unexpected or strong emotions, she
tried to put them aside, so she could draw on them another time, when she
played her sax. Every unusual feeling made her playing stronger. Not this time.
She didn’t care if it helped her artistry.
They stood on the sidewalk outside the café. “I know what
you’re thinking,” he said, his voice rumbling in the quiet. This place was
quieter, but lights glimmered behind some windows.
“What?” she challenged him, lifting her chin.
He caught his breath and in the next moment, he was looming
over her, smiling. “Musician, remember?” He tilted up her chin and stared at
her. This close he overwhelmed her, his warmth surrounded her. “Try putting
this into music,” he challenged before he bent his head and kissed her.
Chapter Two
Resistance was impossible, even if she’d wanted to. But she
didn’t. She met his lips with a gasp of relief. At last she could release some
of the tension building between them. Perhaps she could control it better then,
but even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was hopeless.
She moved closer, easing into his warmth, molding her frame
to his. His arms went around her, his big hands spreading over her back, and he
drew her inexorably closer. He took her mouth, owned it, and when she opened
for him, his tongue swept inside with an urgency that thrilled her to the
marrow. She wanted to snuggle, get closer, but that was so unlike her she
hardly recognized the urge. Men were cool, they were fun, but nothing more. Not
up to now, anyway.
Maybe this was another of the same. But she couldn’t afford
one of her fast, soon over affairs with him, because he’d offered her the job.
Oh, wait,
musician
. Sure, he’d understand. They personified one-night
stands.
So when he wanted more, she gave it. He slid his hands down
her body to rest on the upper slopes of her buttocks and pulled her close
enough to feel his erection. He wore jeans, and the zipper obscured his cock a
tad, but the ridge pressed into her stomach with an urgency that drove her own
up even more. She badly wanted it to press into another part of her.
What was she thinking? Musician or no, she’d never
subscribed to the one-man-each-week philosophy. Her affairs had been short for
the most part, but well-spaced and by short, she meant six months, not six
days. And the last one hadn’t been of the short variety. It had lasted two
years. Still lasted, in a way.
He didn’t stop kissing her. She was as eager as he, tasting
him voraciously when he drew back a little, thrusting her tongue into his mouth
to learn him in her turn. He finished the kiss softly, gradually, and then drew
back, gazing down at her. “Can you use that?”
“I-I—”
He laughed quietly. “I know. It doesn’t matter. I can use
the texture and taste too. But why wasn’t I thinking about that a minute ago?
You are gorgeous.”
“V.”
“Sorry?” A frown creased his brow.
“V. Call me V.”
“And that stands for…?”
She grimaced. “If we sign a contract you’ll find out, won’t
you? Violet. My full name is Violet. But everybody calls me V.”
“I’m not everybody.” He dropped a soft kiss on her lips.
“Violet. It suits you. But I’ll call you whatever you want.”
“I don’t like Violet. It’s old-fashioned.”
“And you’re not an old-fashioned girl?”
Too late she recognized the trap he’d set, but she walked
into its jaws with pleasure. “Not one bit.” Her mother would scold her for
saying that, but her mother wasn’t here. Thank the Lord. “Want me to prove it?”
“Are you sure?”
“As long as the offer still holds.”
He smiled. “There’s you and then there’s your playing. Sure,
it still holds. You’re just what I need for that track. But the business part
of the evening stops here.”
She nodded. He released her so she could open her purse and
find her keys. She pulled out the ring, jingling it. “Coffee?”
Then she put the key to the lock and saw the blinking light
inside. “Shit. I have to go home.”
“You don’t live here after all?”
“Yes, yes I do. I own the place. But my business partner has
put the new security code in and if I unlock that door, we’ll have half the
cops in Chicago rushing over here. Not least because we’re one of their
stopping places and they don’t want trouble here.”
She stepped back and restored her useless keys to her purse,
turning to face him. “Sorry. The security is a bit over the top. I told my
partner Jack I’d go to my parents’ house tonight, so he went ahead with the new
code. We change it every week. I won’t know what it is before I see him
tomorrow.”
She raised a brow and grinned. “Unless you want to take a
chance. I could try the last four codes, but by the time I’d entered those, the
time would be up and all hell would break loose.” She glanced up at the bell
set just below her bedroom window. “It’s old, but it works fine. There’s an
electronic backup too.”
He gave a low whistle. “So your relatives are keeping their
princess safe?”
“Something like that.”
“Nothing to be done, then. My place it is.”
She thought of her mother, who might not be waiting up but
slept lightly, and she’d certainly know when V didn’t show up for breakfast.
And her father, who’d placate her mother and scold her just as he did when she
was a teenager and stayed out at some rave or other. She’d told them she’d go
back to their place tonight, and her mother would call the apartment.
She decided it was worth it. This man had scrambled her
brain since the moment she’d laid eyes on him. She’d forgotten she’d planned to
go home because she wanted more time with him, and when he kissed her, he only
made it worse. Leaving him wouldn’t have worked for her tonight. Because she
knew who he was, knew his identity, she could do this. He was right. If he’d
been any Joe, even a Joe with a recording studio, she wouldn’t have taken the
chance.
“Okay. Just let me make a call.”
He stepped away and she pulled out her cell, breathing a
sigh of relief when it went to voicemail. “Mom? I won’t be back tonight after
all. I went to the café and I must have just missed Jack, because it’s closed
and I don’t know the new security number. I’m staying with a friend, okay?
Don’t call, I’m fine, I promise.”
She hung up and turned back to him. He was smiling, holding
out his hand. She took it. It felt like an agreement.
He was right, his apartment wasn’t far. Just as well,
because he pulled her into a couple of doorways on the way and by the time they
reached his building, she was panting to get inside. She had never wanted a man
this bad, never wanted anyone this much.
He showed her the same eagerness, touching her, sliding his
hand up her arm, around her shoulders. Even with her coat on, she felt it as if
he were branding her skin. Walking through the familiar streets had never been
so exciting. She loved walking here at night, when the lights shone brightly
behind closed windows, imagining what the people behind them were like, what
they were doing.
He stopped in front of one of the huge warehouses that lined
the river. Only of course they weren’t warehouses anymore. Once they’d held the
products of the cattle driven here from all over the West—horn, leather, meat.
No part of the animal remained unused, they used to boast. The industry had
died long before she was born, but she remembered people talking about it, had
seen the films and photos in class at school.
It seemed so distant now, in the well-paved, clean streets.
“One time it ran with blood around here,” she murmured.
“What?” He turned to her, key in hand. “Gangsters?”
“Slaughterhouses. For all the cattle they used to drive
here.”
“Ah. You gave me a shock. I thought I’d picked up some kind
of Jill the Ripper.” But he was smiling as he said it.
Her sharp laugh sounded nervous, even to her ears. “I never
thought of that. I know you, but you don’t know me, do you?”
“No, but I’m not sure where you’d hide a big-ass knife in
that getup.”
Her coat was a raincoat, thin with small pockets, and her
small purse wouldn’t hold much. Except a gun. She could fit a small gun in
there if she really wanted to. “Taking a chance on me?”
“Carried away with passion.” Grabbing her waist, he twirled
her around. “Intoxicated with it.”
Keeping his arm around her waist, he led her into the
building.
Of course he lived on the top floor. The penthouse
apartment. But the old service elevator had been replaced with a smoothly
gliding modern one, although they’d kept the original grilles and the style of
the foyer was grandly pompous. She liked it. It made her smile, reminded her of
all the self-made men and women who’d come from nothing, made their fortune and
wanted to prove it. They decorated everything that stayed still long enough.
And here she was, another of Chicago’s pushy kids, going for
the high one herself, and for tonight at least, getting it.
He opened the door and slammed it shut. Before she had a
chance to take in the apartment, he had her against the wall, pressing her body
against the hard wood, the panels scoring lines into her back. His kiss seared
her mouth, hard and unforgiving, but she needed his desperation, because it
echoed hers. Her whole body ached to be touched, learned, and she wanted to
feel him skin on skin.
He jerked back with a gasp. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I want you so
much. You’re beautiful, sexy, but it’s more than that.” As he regained a
semblance of civilization, a smile flickered across his mouth and then was
gone. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much.”
“Me too.” Honesty. She could try for that. Courtesy went
when she reached for his black shirt and began to undo the buttons feverishly.
As she revealed more of his skin, she moaned at the sight.
“You’re killing me here.” With a powerful flex of muscle, he
bent and lifted her, heading for a room that turned out to be his bedroom. She
got a vague impression of muted colors and a large window before he joined her
and framed her face with his hands. Then he kissed her.
Several long, luscious kisses later, her dress came off and
so did his shirt. She ran her hands over his hot, smooth skin, pausing to tweak
his nipples. His sharp cry went a little way to assuage her. She wanted him to
want her as much as she wanted him, and it seemed he did from his eager
response. He cupped her breasts, still held in the soft bra she’d put on what
seemed like eons ago but was in reality earlier that evening, after her shower.
She sighed and moved from side to side, to feel his hands on her. He slipped
one hand under the strap and released the clasp of her bra with an ease that
spoke of years of practice.
But not now. Now there were only the two of them, for the
whole night.
He tossed her bra aside and it joined her dress somewhere on
the floor. Filling her gaze with him, she smoothed her hands down the powerful
muscles of his back and slipped the tips of her fingers under his belt, sliding
them around to the front. Then she cursed under her breath. He drew back,
rested his weight on his forearms and stared down at her, a smile quirking his
mobile lips. “Something wrong?”
“Double belt,” she said and groaned.
“Can’t stand the tension?”
“Two buckles.”
He laughed down at her. “Better get busy then. Because if
you don’t, I might just burst out.”
She paused, her hands on the first buckle. “That could be
interesting.” She got back to work. “Pity I can’t wait to find out.” Then she
paused again and glanced up at him. Strange to feel shy in this situation. “Do
you have protection?”
“Yes I do. If I hadn’t, I’d have toured Chicago and found
some.” He bent closer. “After I’d driven you mad first. Fingers and tongue,
darling, fingers and tongue.”
She shuddered, and he chose that moment to bend and take her
nipple into his mouth. She cried out and arched toward him, trying to push her
nipple deeper, feel more, get more—now.
Tearing open the dreaded buckles, she found a series of
buttons below. To distract her mind from the torment, she counted the buttons.
Four, there were four. Then his pants were down and off, and his underwear went
with them. He leaned across her to fumble in a drawer, the first time his touch
hadn’t been self-assured. Unconsciously he’d revealed his urgency and inwardly
she rejoiced. Because she felt exactly the same. Uncertain, anxious and most of
all, desperate.
Finally he was naked. As he returned to her with a fistful
of brightly colored packets, she used her feet to push her panties off and
away. He paused and raised a brow. “Impressive.”
“What?”
“Your suppleness and that gorgeous pussy.”
He dropped the packets on the pillow next to the one they
were using and spread his hand over her waist, up to briefly cup her breast,
and then down over the curve of her waist and down to trace the curls her spa
allowed her to keep, which wasn’t too much. But bare didn’t appeal to her, so
she made them leave a patch at the junction of her legs.
It appeared he approved. “A natural blonde,” he purred,
threading his fingers through the curls, ruffling them. “So pretty.” He glanced
up, his eyes alive with mischief. “Goldilocks.”
She laughed. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the quip,
but it sounded so much better in his low, rumbling voice. “My mom calls me that
sometimes.”
“But not like this I hope.”
“Never.” The word ended on a gasp as he finally finished
with her hair and moved lower, grazing her clit and moving past to trace her
folds. Forking his first and second fingers, he slid them along her crease, the
slick sound emphasizing his intimate movements. And she melted.
She’d wanted to touch him first, but with his soft,
persuasive strokes, he was reducing her to a quivering mass. She couldn’t think
straight. She stared at him, her hands at rest on his body while he worked her.
The sounds increased as she moaned and lifted her knees, keeping her legs apart
so he could reach her.
When he clamped his fingers together, catching her clit
between, she cried out. “Oh fuck, that’s amazing.”
“So are you, sweetheart, so are you.” He pinched her clit
and worked it for real, sliding the little peak of flesh between thumb and
forefinger. Watching him only added to her arousal. She wondered if he’d ever
played a musical instrument, because his fingers were as supple as a fiddle
player’s.
Her peak rose, internally and externally, and her grip on
his free arm tightened as her body rose to his command and she burst in a
shower of fiery notes. She heard his voice, but she couldn’t hear what he was
saying except he sounded encouraging and free. Then he reached over her and
grabbed something from the pillow.