Any Way You Want It (18 page)

Just as he was getting ready to release her and head back up to the stage, her friends came into the bar. From their identical amused looks, they were obviously pleased for their friend; happy she’d found her holiday fling.

Again his happiness flickered. Then he reprimanded himself. That was all he was going to get out of this relationship. He knew that, so there was no point wishing for more.

He was fling boy. And frankly, he should just embrace that role. It wasn’t as if he’d ever seen any relationships, once past the rosy glow of newness, that lasted anyway. And if the relationship did last, it didn’t remain happy.

He hugged Maggie against him before releasing her. Her hand came up to squeeze his arm. The exchange seemed oddly intimate. But he did let her go and headed back to the stage, waving to her friends as he bounded up the steps.

When he looked back to Maggie, she was greeting them. A big pleased smile curved her small bow lips. A smile he’d put there. He could take satisfaction in that.

Then Erika asked her something which made Maggie blush. He could guess what. He smiled.

Then Maggie looked up at him, her smile still wide and beautiful, and solely for him.

Yeah, he just needed to have fun with this. Just enjoy Maggie and what he could have. Hadn’t he learned a long time ago that there was no point longing for things that could never be? Live in the here and now. Or rather, exist in the here and now.

“Look at him.” Erika sighed. “He adores you.”

Maggie’s cheeks grew even hotter at her friend’s pronouncement. Ren had been watching her most of the night, and in truth, she did see desire there. Adoration seemed like a stretch, but she knew he wanted her. And that felt pretty good. Almost as good as adoration.

“He really is smitten.” Jo nodded, taking a sip of her drink.

“I wouldn’t say that.” In truth, Maggie didn’t even want to hear things like that. She and Ren had a deal and she needed to keep everything in perspective. Hearing words like “adoration” and

“smitten” made it altogether too tempting to hope for more than a fling.

She’d told him that she wasn’t sure she would want to be in love with someone like him, and that was true. He was still too far out of her realm of experience to know if she could handle being in love with him. But there was a small part of her, a little kernel deep inside, that would like to take a shot at it. And she was afraid that if the idea was encouraged, it just might grow.

She didn’t want that. She couldn’t let it happen. Her battered heart didn’t need any more abuse.

This whole fling idea was intended to make her feel better, not worse.

So she needed to focus on what was good. The way Ren looked at her was good—but she needed to remember it was lust she saw in his eyes, not adoration.

“Well, you can believe whatever you want, but I know what I see,” Erika said, not realizing her words weren’t helping.

Maggie didn’t bother to argue. Erika was a romantic, which was a huge part of her artistic nature, so Maggie would let her see whatever she wanted. But Maggie wasn’t going to believe the same thing.

“We’re going to take a short break,” Ren announced. “Visit the bar and we’ll be right back.”

He came down off the stage, making a beeline right to Maggie. He stopped close to her, but didn’t touch her.

“This is the longest night of my life,” he said. Then he smiled at Maggie’s friends.

“You’re doing a great job,” Erika said.

“Thanks,” Ren said. “Although I’d be happy if we didn’t have to do another set.” He gave Maggie a slow smile that he knew revealed everything he would rather be doing.

As expected, she blushed.

“So how long have you been with The Impalers?” Jo asked.

Ren had already realized that Erika was the more easygoing of Maggie’s friends, whereas Jo was the more straightforward, no-nonsense type. Ren liked both women, and he did appreciate Jo’s candor, but she would be the harder of the two to put off if questions became too candid. She seemed like someone who expected direct answers—which he couldn’t always supply. Like now, for example.

“Quite a while.”

“Have you always been a lead singer?” Again, a direct question from Jo.

“No,” he heard himself saying. “I was a keyboard player for a while.”

He felt Maggie’s gaze on him. He didn’t need to look at her to sense her curiosity. The whole keyboard and piano thing intrigued her, and understandably so. After all, she had seemed to know that piece he was playing, and she was an authenticator. Did she honestly know that sonata? He’d been so taken with her, he’d almost forgotten her reaction to his music.

“Maggie, you said you authenticate classical music. Do you often find long-lost compositions?”

Maggie seemed almost surprised that he mentioned her work—maybe because he’d shut her down so quickly last time she’d mentioned it.

“Quite often,” she said. “I’ve discovered pieces by Friedrich Kiel and Walter Rummel. I also verify whether pieces are indeed written by who they are attributed to.”

Ren nodded, his mind whirling. Had she really seen that sonata? It certainly seemed possibile.

She’d seemed sure of it.

“Have you always played rock and roll?”

This time Erika questioned him.

“No. I’ve played all sorts of music.” Again, he felt the need to be truthful—even if vague.

“Maggie plays too,” Erika offered, and it was Maggie’s turn to be put on the spot.

Ren moved closer to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Is that so?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

Her response didn’t stop his curiosity. “What do you play?”

“Piano,” she admitted reluctantly. “But not very well. Hence my career as an authenticator.”

“Piano? You will have to play for me.” He grinned at her.

“If you play for me.”

Ren’s grin widened. She hadn’t missed a beat with that one—and for a moment, he got the distinct feeling she was thinking about the piece he’d been playing when they’d met. Just as he had been.

“She plays great,” Erika told him. “She just doubts herself because of Peter. Thank God, you are nothing like Peter.”

Peter? Ren’s smile faded. “Who’s Peter?”

Maggie resisted the urge to kick Erika under the table. The last person she wanted to tell Ren about was Peter. Like she needed to reveal any of that embarrassment to him.

“Peter was my old boyfriend.” Old made it sound like they’d been broken up for much longer than six months. And “boyfriend” certainly didn’t imply the seriousness of being engaged. Hopefully that would satisfy his curiosity.

“Peter didn’t think you were a good pianist?”

Maggie gritted her teeth. She really did not want to talk about this.

Luckily, Jo seemed to realize that, although Erika still seemed oblivious to the turmoil she’d stirred up in Maggie.

“Peter was a jerk. Not worth talking about. Maggie is a good pianist.”

Maggie appreciated the finality in Jo’s voice. Of course, Maggie also noted that Jo only said she was good. Not great. And that was true. Peter hadn’t been wrong about that.

Ren’s eyes roamed over Maggie’s face as if he wanted to ask more, but he took Jo’s hint and let the topic drop. Thankfully.

“So what are you working on now?” His tone was casual, but Maggie thought she sensed an undercurrent in his voice.

“I just received a large shipment of unsigned compositions, but I didn’t get much chance to look at them before I left.”

He nodded, his brows raised slightly with mild interest, mild enough that she felt he was masking the real level of his interest. Had he been playing a little known piece of music? That question still bothered Maggie.

“One of the pieces I did look at was very similar to—”

“Yo, Ren, get your ass up here,” the guitarist with the goatee called over his mic.

Maggie saw relief wash over Ren’s features.

“Back to work,” he said with an easy smile, but she still felt as if he was hiding something.

As soon as he was back up on the stage, Maggie did give Erika a soft kick under the table.

“What?” Erika asked, confused.

“Why did you bring up Peter?”

“I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“Well, it’s not sexy to look like a heartbroken ninny,” Maggie pointed out.

“That’s true,” Jo agreed. “You should go for strong and mysterious.”

Okay, she probably wasn’t going to pull that off, but Maggie didn’t want Ren feeling sorry for her.

That was the last thing she wanted.

“Sorry,” Erika said contritely. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just happy that he isn’t anything like Peter.

That’s a very good thing.”

Maggie looked back up at the stage. Ren flipped his hair back as he sang out the lyrics to “You Shook Me All Night Long.” No, he definitely wasn’t anything like Peter. And that was indeed a good thing.

“I like your friends,” Ren said as they headed toward his place after his last set.

Maggie smiled. That was another difference between Ren and Peter. Peter hadn’t liked either Erika or Jo. Of course, the feeling had been mutual.

“They are very dear to me,” she said, realizing how true that was—and how important it was for the one she loved to like all the people she cared about. Peter hadn’t even given them a chance.

But then, Peter had always acted like he was doing her a favor by liking her. Maggie had bought into that one, too. Now she didn’t understand why.

Ren unlocked the large door that led into his courtyard, then waited for her to enter. She did, letting out another sigh at the lovely, lush garden. She did adore Ren’s home. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine living in a place like this. Then she quickly quashed the vision.

She wouldn’t imagine what couldn’t be. This was about the now. Acting on that very thought, she turned. Ren was directly behind her, and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him with all the desire she’d felt all night watching him up on the stage—with all the passion she felt whenever she looked at him, period.

He made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and his arms came around her, pulling her tight against him. The kiss made time stop, until Ren pulled back to smile at her.

“You must have read my mind. I wanted to do that all night.”

She smiled, pleased that he’d been thinking the very same way. “I’ve wanted to do a lot more than that all night.”

Ren actually looked surprised by her audacious admission, then that Cheshire cat smile unfurled.

“Maggie Gallagher, you are turning into a bad girl.”

She laughed at that. “Hmm. Me, a bad girl? I doubt that. But I am going to get better at getting what I want. And I want you.”

“I’m yours.”

She grinned again, then released him, only to grab his hand and lead him toward his apartment.

R en followed quite happily as Maggie pulled him inside and straight up the stairs. Then they were in the middle of his bedroom, kissing as if they’d been denied each other for days and months, rather than a matter of hours.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against her lips. Her curves were warm and soft under his roaming hands. Her own small hands moved over his shoulders, down his back.

“So do you.” She kissed his jawline, then his neck.

Shivers snaked down his spine as her teeth grazed the sensitive skin just below his earlobe.

Totally aroused, he pulled her tighter to him, grinding his erection against the curve of her belly.

Her smile curled against his skin, and he knew she was very pleased with the effect she had on him. And she should be. He was harder than nails, and damned near mad to be inside her.

His fingers moved to the buttons of her shirt, and then he remembered it was his shirt she wore.

With that realization, he tugged at the knot at her waist, then pulled, the buttons bouncing to the ground around their feet.

“I hate when women rip the buttons off my shirts, but I have to admit I don’t mind ripped buttons when it’s me doing it to you.”

Maggie blinked, apparently stunned both by his actions and his words. “Women rip the buttons off your shirts?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he answered, his attention already off that topic and on to the way her breasts looked barely encased by the pink lace of her bra.

But obviously Maggie wasn’t done with the idea. “Why?”

“They sometimes pull on my clothes when I lean over the stage to sing—or if I go out into the audience.”

“Oh,” Maggie said, still sounding baffled by the whole idea. “That’s rude.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he agreed as he nudged the buttonless garment off her shoulders, then leaned down to kiss the swell of her breasts.

She made a small noise, and the topic of destroyed clothing was promptly left behind.

Her hands slid into his hair.

His fingers moved to the hook at the back of her bra, desperate to taste the rosy nipples hidden beneath. Her own fingers attempted to undo the buttons of his shirt, but she gave up and slid her hands underneath, smoothing up over his belly and chest.

“I can see where ripping would be easier…” she commented, trailing off as he pulled one of her nipples into his mouth, working the hardened flesh with his lips.

“Rip away,” he said, his voice a rough vibrating against her skin as he moved to her other breast, teasing that nipple in the same fashion.

“No,” she breathed. “I don’t want to be like those women.”

“You aren’t. Not even close.”

Her hands were still for a moment, then resumed touching him. Stroking his belly, then his back.

Then they slipped out from underneath his shirt. He moaned, a sound of disappointment. He loved her hands on his bare skin. Small, deft hands arousing him to the point of sharp, intense longing.

But then they found the button of his jeans, working it open. Her fingers moved to the zipper, the rasp of the metal echoing the rasp of his breathing. Her finger slipped inside his jeans, inside his boxers.

His erection seemed to leap, greeting her, welcoming her touch.

His own hands came up and cupped her full breasts, testing their weight.