Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) (9 page)

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“That’s too complicated to remember. I’m asleep right now.” Which should be obvious. Her eyes were even closed.

The heavy soles of Hank’s combat boots tapped a decisive rhythm as he crossed the room. “You haven’t been anywhere but the market and the apartment in days. This is your day off, and how many hours have you been closed up in this closet of a room?”

Too long. But there was paperwork to do, things to research, vendors to contact—the list went on and on. And despite him asking, Hank knew all that. She settled for a grunt in response.

Warm hands settled heavily on her shoulders. Sage jumped, startled at Hank’s touch, his heat. When he squeezed down, massaging her aching muscles, she couldn’t hold back a moan, no matter how much it embarrassed her. And she was too damn tired to worry about blushing.

Hard thumbs dug into the knots just under her shoulder blades, the ones created by hunching over the desk. “I have a proposal.”

Sage’s sluggish heart thumped hard as she turned over his words, his tone in her mind. What did he want? And would it be as good as his hands on her shoulders? She shouldn’t want to know, but…

She carefully kept any hint of excitement out of her voice; in fact, she added an extra measure of grumpy. “If it requires getting up, forget it.”

Hank tugged until she was upright in her chair, ignoring her words and the disgruntled sigh she made sure he could hear. Sage made a hasty grab for a pay stub that stuck to her now flushed cheek before Hank could see it. At least, she hoped she’d gotten it before he saw it, though knowing her luck…

“Come out with me.”

She spun the office chair around so hard it almost threw her out. Only Hank’s grip on both chair arms stopped the spinning. It also trapped her practically underneath him as he leaned in—and oh, the fantasies that conjured. Her breath caught. Tension invaded lax limbs. Sweet heat pooled below her belly button. And when she caught a glimpse of the determination in his eyes? Oh boy. “Uh, Hank?”

“Come on.” He pushed forward on his muscled forearms, and for one panicked moment Sage thought he would kiss her. And he did, just not on the mouth. No, his lips landed safely on the top of her head, big-brother style. That’s all this was, just Hank looking out for her, like a sibling would.

Right. Then why couldn’t she breathe?

Hank seemed oblivious to the chaos he was causing. “I’m getting you out of here before you turn into a mole. Let someone else take care of you for a change.” He straightened, and Sage held back a whimper of disappointment. “We’re going to dinner.”

“Dinner? You mean, like a date?” The squeak in her voice couldn’t be missed.

“Is that such a terrible option?”

Her reaction to the amusement in those hazel eyes, curving those full lips, screamed yes! She gripped the arms of the chair to keep from throwing herself at him. “Are you really trying to make me feel sorry for you? You’re a rock star. I don’t think you’re hurting for dates.”

“But none of them would be you.” And then, with the worst puppy-dog imitation she’d ever seen, complete with pouting bottom lip, “Please?”

He’s a flirt. Just flirting. It’s nothing personal, really.
And he’d convinced her back at “none of them would be you.” Still, she groaned as if irritated just to save face. “I guess.”

Hank didn’t look fooled, and his hand out to her seemed more demand than suggestion, but she took it anyway.

“Let’s go then.” From the careful way he spoke, she figured he was trying to keep triumph out of his voice. Which was a good idea, because really, bragging would only get him the sharp end of her knee in an uncomfortable place. Not like she was going to be needing said “place” working, anyway.

He gave her time for a quick shower, then hustled her into the Jeep, leaving the windows open to the fresh, tangy air. “Why don’t you sleep for a bit?” he suggested.

Sleep? With Hank right next to her? What if she drooled? What if she— Wait. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He drew down dark sunglasses against the glare of the sun, but his amusement still shown clearly on his full lips. “Sleep.”

Surprisingly enough, she did. Without drooling. When she woke, it was to Hank’s warmth against her side where she’d slid over to rest against him. God, he felt good. Smelled good. He’d just lifted his hand from her leg to shift gears—she knew because his palm’s heat still branded her thigh.

A quick glance around only disoriented her. Sage cleared her throat and straightened away from Hank despite her body’s complaints. “Where are we?”

“Seaway Amphitheater.”

She wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought that was about an hour and a half south. “Why?”

Hank raised his glasses just enough to flash those green-brown eyes. “Amphitheater…music…” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Fun? You do remember fun, right?”

Did she really seem that bad off? Yeah, the last week or two had been hectic, but… Okay, she probably did seem that bad off. “I don’t think I’m familiar with that word.”

Hank tweaked her nose. “Funny, Ms. Smart-ass. Let’s go.”

And he made sure she did with a big palm pressed into the small of her back.

The jumble of buildings turned out to be a promenade filled with food vendors, band T-shirts and CDs, even a microbrewery. That was, of course, Hank’s first stop. “Light or dark?” he asked, gathering her close in the crowd. The heat of his hand so close to her butt, the packed muscle pressing against her curves blanked her mind for a moment.

“What?”

“Light or dark?” He nodded at the menu board.

Oh. “Light, please.” The lighter the better. Her head was already spinning, and she hadn’t taken a sip of alcohol yet.

Hank ordered a light ale for her and a lager for himself. The two plastic cups frothed over as the waiter set them on the counter. Sage noticed Hank was careful to wipe them both down with napkins before he passed hers over, then nodded for her to precede him. Thoughtful and bossy. Her inner sub melted.

Sage took a deep drink of her beer, trying to buy time to hide her emotions. “So who are we here to see?”

Hank led her along a wooded path that curved around a hill behind the promenade. “A friend of mine.”

She eyed the crowds. “Which friend?” Someone popular, if she had any guess.

“Isaac Anschau.”

Sage choked on the swallow she’d just taken. “Friend?” Isaac Anschau was a little more than a mere “friend.” The man had burst onto the music scene a couple of years ago with a mix of talent and sex appeal that had propelled him to super stardom immediately. “That’s like saying you’re friends with Hugh Jackman or Chris Hemsworth or…or…”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “I get it.”

Was that a sour note she heard? She would’ve searched closer to find out, but Hank propelled her forward before she could get a good look. She really wished he’d get his hand off the small of her back. It was just too much. She couldn’t think with him touching her. She doubted even the infamous Isaac Anschau would have the ability to scramble her brains like Hank did, no matter what kind of sex appeal he oozed. One look at Hank, the dark lines of his tattoos climbing that thick neck to his rugged face, and her knees went too weak to climb the steps down to their row in the amphitheater.

The front row.

“Hank?”

He glanced back and finally seemed to register her uncertainty. “Don’t worry.” His free hand came up to brush her bangs back behind one ear, leaving a trail of fire along her skin. “Ike really is a good friend. He sends me tickets whenever he’s in town. I thought—” He shrugged, and she could’ve sworn a hint of a blush colored his high cheekbones. “I thought it would be a nice treat for you.”

Nicer than anything anyone had done for her in a while. “Thank you.” Taking a chance, she went up on tiptoe and brushed her lips along the stubble on his cheek.

Hank turned his head.

When their lips met, Sage froze. Her eyes were wide open, locked with Hank’s, and she was too close to miss the flare of hunger she saw there. Too close to look away. Hank’s gaze held hers as his lips parted, molded to hers, his hops-scented breath filling her lungs. That was all, just their mouths touching, but it felt like an avalanche, it shook her so hard.

When the crowd erupted in cheers, Sage thought for a moment they were applauding Hank’s kiss. Only the sudden surge of sound from the stage—the opening band—broke the moment. Hank didn’t seem in any hurry, though. He eased back, a satisfied smile pulling at those full, soft—God, they’d been so soft—lips. “Come sit.”

No apology, no embarrassment. Just taking what he wanted.

This man was so, so dangerous.

Hank’s words were more mouthed than heard over the roar of the music, but he didn’t wait for them to register. He tugged her along to their seats, front row center. Sage had never been this close to a stage before. The drumbeat thumped so loud through the speakers that she felt it trip her heartbeat, not really helping it slow down from the frantic pace Hank had set off. The beer didn’t really help her desert-dry mouth, either, but she swallowed a good bit of it as they stood through the first song. When Hank sat, she sat, figuring he knew the protocol; it had been years since she’d taken the time to go to a concert, back in high school, maybe. And even if she went all the time, this would be different—this time Hank was beside her, and in addition to igniting all her senses with nothing more than his presence, he gave her a unique perspective on everything. Imagining him onstage, singing, playing bass, sweating… She fanned herself with a hand and took another sip of her drink.

She tried to keep her eyes on the bands and not on Hank, but he drew her despite her best intentions. She could see an almost animal pleasure taking him over, and it fascinated her. Hank in his kitchen, strumming a guitar, was one thing, but this man, the one who mastered the very air around him, the crowds? This was something altogether different. And when he stood—which he did at every opportunity—she had the close-up view of his muscled back in a painted-on T-shirt, his high, tight butt cupped lovingly in jeans that hid absolutely nothing. Her eyes wandered, her fingers itching to follow.

Hank must have felt a similar compulsion, because when he wasn’t standing, he was touching her—playing with her fingers, tapping out the bass line with their joined hands… It was like he needed something to occupy him since he wasn’t on the stage, but she didn’t think he was actually conscious of what he was doing. Or maybe he was just so used to women falling at his feet that he assumed she wouldn’t mind him appropriating her body for his amusement.

The bad thing was, she didn’t mind. At all.

By the time Isaac Anschau started his set, Sage felt like she was plugged into a live socket. Her skin was hypersensitive, her body hot with arousal. The entire crowd surged to their feet as the blond rock god ran onto the stage, excitement crackling through the air. Without asking, Hank pulled Sage in front of him and wrapped his arms around her. Warm. Protective. She squirmed against him, against giving in, only to discover Hank wasn’t as completely unaffected as she’d assumed.

“Careful, baby,” he growled in her ear. At least it sounded like a growl, but maybe the music was deceiving her, adding that gravelly quality that tingled along her spine all the way down to her curling toes. And when he pulled her harder against him? The helplessness that stole her strength had very little to do with Hank imposing his will and everything to do with the hard brand of his hard-on against the small of her back. All she could do was dig her fingers into the arms crossed just under her breasts and wait for him to let her go.

And hope that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Isaac went through two encores before the concert ended around eleven. The crowd emptied out quickly, but when Sage stood to follow, Hank gripped her hand. “We’ll catch Ike backstage for a few minutes before we go.”

“Oh. Okay.” She was going to speak to Isaac Anschau. Of course. No biggie.

Right.

And the rock god certainly lived up to the nickname in person. As tall as Hank, he was equally broad but personified “beach boy” in his casual shorts and flip-flops on his feet, as big a difference from his sexy image onstage as it was possible to get. The change made more sense when she heard the lyrical Australian accent coloring his words as he shook Hank’s hand. “Didn’t think you’d make it. How’s it hanging?”

“Great. Good show, man.” Hank turned to Sage. “This is Sage Lyndsey.”

“Sage. Call me Ike.” His handshake was firm, friendly, as was his grin. “Any friend of Hank’s is more than welcome.”

Was there a bit more emphasis on the word
friend
? She glanced between the two men, but other than smiles, she couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. “I very much enjoyed the show. Thank you for the tickets.”

“Anything for a beautiful lady.”

Her blush had more to do with Hank’s disapproving, “Stop with the flirting, dickhead,” than Ike’s compliment. The singer appeared unfazed, his innocent grin proclaiming him anything but. Hank’s arm wrapped possessively around her back, his fingertips far too close to the side of her breast for comfort, branded her as firmly off-limits, it seemed, because Ike steered the conversation toward music, for which Sage was grateful. The two men talked business for a few more minutes, and then Hank shook Ike’s hand with a meaningful glance over his friend’s shoulder at the waiting hordes. “We’ll leave you to it.”