Pure Iron (15 page)

Angelo shuddered dramatically and said, “I’ve been by that place. Looks like frat house. No telling where those girls have been or with how many.”

“You guys suddenly have standards?” Mick asked somewhat incredulously. He returned to his seat. “It’s not like the groupies you entertain are all that pure and innocent.”

Angelo leveled a hard look at his old friend and said, “Seeing what you have with Sonia makes me realize what each of us is missing. So, yeah, as of this week, I have standards.”

Mick pursed his lips, thinking. “If you’re that desperate, head for the Blue Urchin. It’s an upscale nightclub and the girls there are less likely to be carrying some loathsome disease than you’d find elsewhere.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience,” Jack said dryly.

“Yeah,” Mick admitted. A summer’s solitude on the beach sometimes got lonely.

“Sounds like a plan,” Davis said quietly.

“Just keep it clean, guys,” Mick asked.

“Clean?” Jack asked.

“No roofies or anything like that.”

“I’m insulted, Mick. I don’t need to force a woman. None of us does.”

“When did you grow a conscience?” Kristof asked.

Mick said nothing, but his glance toward the cottage was sufficient answer.

The band finished packing their instruments and carried them out to the SUV they had rented. Sonia walked out to the back patio bearing a platter loaded with steaks. Mick rose from the chair and said, “What do you need me to do, babe?”

“I’ve got these,” she said with a smile and handed him the platter. She adjusted the temperature and opened the grill. She deftly moved each thick steak from platter to grill, the meat hitting the metal with a satisfying sizzle. “There’s a salad in the refrigerator and baked potatoes in the oven. Would you mind setting out plates and such?”

He leaned over to press a chaste kiss on her cheek and left to fetch plates, bowls, glasses, and silverware. Kristof, returning from the car, watched them, a look of deep envy on his face. He had to admit, the stuff Mick had produced in so short a time was fantastic and he’d never seen Mick so happy. It was more than just the ephemeral high of a concert; this was something bone deep. He wanted that for himself.

He wanted Sonia for himself.

Soon the tantalizing fragrance of grilled meat had all six of them salivating. The men practically drooled and slavered when she piled the steaks onto a clean platter and covered them with foil to rest.

“Damn it, woman, we’re hungry,” Davis growled.

She smacked his hand as he reached for the platter. He snatched his hand back, eyes wide with affront. “Wait,” she commanded and ordered him to get everyone something to drink. With a sullen grunt, he obeyed.

The designated resting period passed in hungry anticipation. At Sonia’s quiet command of release, the five men surged for the food. Minutes later the patio was filled with moans and groans of appreciation for the expertly cooked steaks.

Sonia looked at the remaining half of the huge steak on her plate and said, “I can’t finish this.”

Mick grinned and swapped plates. The afternoon’s exercise had left him ravenous. Kristof glared at him.

“Get your own woman,” he said and popped a forkful of tender meat into his mouth.

Sonia took pity on the man’s hungry look and offered, “Kris, would you like some more salad?”

The bass guitarist’s expression turned from disgruntled to horrified. Expressions on the other men ranged from amused to sympathetic.

“No, of course, you don’t want more salad,” she murmured and shook her head at her own lack of understanding. She rose and carried Mick’s empty plate into the kitchen, returning momentarily with a large serving bowl of mixed berries and smaller dessert bowls. She set them down and said, “I didn’t have time to fix a proper desert, but the berries are really good.”

Jack set down his empty plate and rose to serve himself. He leaned over to place a friendly kiss on her cheek.

“Thanks, Sonia. This is wonderful.”

She turned pink with pleasure at the compliment. Just like the evening before, Mick herded the other men into the kitchen to wash dishes and tidy up. She reclined on a chaise lounge and looked up into the darkening sky. Wisps of cirrus clouds showed as darker blue smears against the firmament. The pale twinkle of stars peeked through the pinks and purples streaked across the horizon. She could hear the roar of the incoming tide a safe distance from the cottage.

“Mick, I’m going to take a walk,” she called out. She slipped off her sandals and walked toward the water until the foam bubbled over her toes. She absorbed the salt smell, the cool breeze, the soothing din of nature as she walked. The water soon rose over her ankles and she adjusted her path to accommodate the incoming tide.

Her thoughts raced as she walked. What an absolutely crazy week. Just one week. She shook her head in disbelief at herself, her impulsive actions.

“I never do stuff like that,” she said aloud to herself. “What has gotten into me?”

Well, Mick had gotten into her. Literally and figuratively, she thought with a giggle.

“Hey! Sonia!” she heard him call from behind as he jogged to catch up with her.

She stopped and looked back. He halted and drew her against his body, her back to his front.

“You shouldn’t walk alone. It’s dangerous.”

She looked up and down the beach and laughed lightly. “There’s no one out here but us.” What she did not say was that she had walked alone on the beach for a week and no one had objected, nothing bad had happened. He had not even noticed her.

“It’s not safe,” he said simply and took her hand. “I’ll walk with you.”

“You can’t walk with me when you’re on tour,” she pointed out reasonably.

“I don’t want you taking long walks like this in Las Vegas anyway. Too many weirdos.”

She laughed again and looked up at him, watched the breeze toss his hair. The setting sun cast shadows over the planes of his face, the prominent cheekbones, the sharp jaw. The stubble of his beard darkened his face further.

“I can’t live cloistered, Mick,” she said. He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “I know you just want to protect me—which I appreciate, really—but I’m a big girl. An adult. There are decisions I need to make and will make for myself.”

His hand tightened on hers. “Sonia, if anything happens to you …”

“Then we’ll deal with it. Until then, I cannot and will not live my life in fear of what might happen. After all, I’ll worry about you when you’re on tour.”

“We’ve got round-the-clock security. What’s to worry about?”

“That round-the-clock security doesn’t keep out the groupies,” she pointed out.

“I don’t want them,” he said. “I want you. Just you.”

“But they don’t know that or they won’t believe it or they just won’t care. I may be naïve, but I’m not stupid.” She knew that he wasn’t chaste when he married her. A week ago. Was it really only a week ago? So much had happened! “And just because you aren’t interested in having casual sex with lots of eager fans doesn’t mean that Kris, Jack, Angelo, and Davis aren’t.”

He stopped walking, turned her around, and settled his hands on her shoulders. “I know those guys as well as I know myself, Sonia. Angelo and Davis already regard you as a sister; they won’t do anything to hurt you by throwing temptation at me. Jack understands that you’re off-limits to him and that I’m off-limits to other women. He won’t sabotage us either.”

He paused to take a breath and continued slowly, reaching for the right words and not sure whether he succeeded. “But Kris wants you. I see the way he looks at you, the way his eyes follow you. I’m hoping that he’ll have enough respect for the band not to do something stupid that will break us apart.”

“And what do you think he will do?”

“I think he’ll try to sleep with you.”

It was Sonia’s turn to take a deep breath and search for the right words: “I won’t break my vows, Mick. And if Kris were to do something as awful as to force me, then the band is well rid of him.”

Mick closed his eyes against the very idea that Kris would rape anyone, much less his wife. He knew Kris liked it rough; hell, they all did occasionally. And there was no shortage of willing women. Maybe he and the others could make sure that Kris was kept well-occupied.

He felt Sonia’s arms wrap around him, pulling him into her embrace. Once they were pressed together, she reached up to cup the back of his head and pull his face to hers.

“Trust in me, Mick. Trust in us,” she said before rising to stand on tip-toe to kiss him.

He opened his mouth over hers, licked her lips to ask for entry. She complied and he tasted her, the lingering sweetness of berries, and the astringency of dry red wine. As had become automatic, his cock swelled, lengthened, and rose for action, but he did kept the kiss simple and surprisingly intimate. Standing on the beach with water swirling about their ankles, they kissed. It was somehow deeper and more meaningful than the hot passion they had (frequently) indulged in over the past week.

“Let’s go back to the house,” he murmured.

“All right.”

Sonia stretched as she lay in bed, savoring the pleasant ache of a body well used. She closed her eyes for a moment, smiling at the memory of the marathon lovemaking she had enjoyed with Mick.

Enjoyed. What an absolutely inadequate word for the depth of meaning and the height of passion that had consumed them.

About that time she realized that Mick was playing his acoustic guitar. She listened for a minute, enjoying the snippets of music that his fingers drew from the instrument before faltering, trying a new cascade of notes, and then trying again until just the right combination fit like railroad cars coupled together. The music coming from the guitar sounded almost defiant, as though he were taking a stand and daring anyone and everyone to cross that figurative line in the sand.

After a few seconds, she realized he was. That developing song was statement of strength, of belief in the two of them. “We are strong,” it seemed to declare. “And we will not falter.”

What a difference a week makes, she mused as she rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Sonia put on a comfortable pair of short, loose tee shirt, and athletic shoes. She paused near Mick, perched on a stool and hunched over his guitar. Her gaze caressed the width of his bare shoulders, the tattoos running up his muscled arms. After a few seconds, he raised his head and said carefully, “Out for a walk?”

She gave him a soft smile, grateful that he would not exercise some dominating, macho control over her that she would have to fight. “Yes, I need to get back into the habit of daily exercise.”

His eyes gleamed when he replied, “We’ve been burning calories, lots and lots of calories.”

Her cheeks reddened, but she remained firm in her resolve: “Yes, we have, but it’s not the same. I’ll be back in around an hour.”

Mick nodded his acceptance, if not necessarily his approval. He wondered if he could afford to hire a bodyguard for his wife. He wanted to make sure she was protected.

He did not return to picking out notes on the guitar until her pert bottom and tawny ponytail had rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

During that hour, he found that the music seemed reluctant. That frustrated him. Not only did Sonia inspire his music, but he needed her nearby to set the music free. An hour passed. Mick knew because he kept glancing at his iPhone. He gave up all pretense of composing, set the guitar down, and started pacing. Another ten minutes passed and he felt an indescribable sense of relief as he caught sight of her slender figure headed down the beach toward home.

Home. The thought caught him by surprise. He wondered when he had begun to think of the cottage as home, because home was where he hung his hat. For the last eight years, that had mostly been the touring bus.

He wondered if the cottage were for sale.

Sonia walked up the steps, skin shiny with sweat and her shirt sticking to her body. “It’s a gorgeous morning,” she said, throwing him a smile with her appreciative glance.

He nodded and asked, “Good walk?”

“Yes,” she replied. “It felt great to get back into the swing of things.” She rolled her shoulders, the muscles and joints warm and loose. “I’m headed for the shower,” she said, then tossed him a flirtatious glance. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Mick forced himself to gently lower the guitar and properly secure it in its protective case before following Sonia to the bathroom. She was already standing beneath the warm spray. He yanked off his pants and stepped in behind her.

She shivered delightfully beneath his touch as he smoothed soapy lather over her body. He damn near trembled as she did the same to him. He did tremble when she sank to her knees and took his freshly rinsed cock into her mouth. Before he could ejaculate, though, he pulled her back to her feet and then lifted her up. She squeaked at the contrast of the cool tile and the warm water and moaned when he drove his aching cock upward into her body.

He held her steady afterward, gently drying her off with a fluffy towel. Then she was down on all fours while he covered her body with his own and found his second release—and her third—of the morning. Well, since the sun came up. He’d fucked her well and good shortly after midnight. Which was, technically, morning. As often as he had made love to his wife in the past week, it was a wonder his dick hadn’t broken.

He debated for about two seconds the idea of them heading to the kitchen to eat breakfast in the nude. Nope, not a good idea. The boys would be arriving soon and there was no way he would let those lechers see her naked.

He yanked on a pair of shorts and headed back outside to the front porch where he’d left his guitar. Settling the instrument back into the crook of his arm, he picked up the tune where he’d left off and his fingers somehow easily found the rest of the music.

Sonia was finishing her breakfast when the SUV pulled up and disgorged the four band members and their instruments. Davis paused before heading up the short flight of stairs.

“New tune?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Mick replied as he strummed.

“I like it, man.”

Mick looked up from the guitar and said, “I think we should open tonight’s set with Queen’s Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”

Jack’s draw dropped. “You’re kidding me, man. Queen?”

“Don’t knock Freddy Mercury,” Angelo said.

“That woman’s got you twisted in little knots around her pinky finger,” Jack commented. “We have enough of our own music that we do not need to be playing anyone else’s covers at our concerts.”

“I got to agree with Jack,” Kris said. “Besides, we already have a few sappy love songs in our set list.”

Mick shrugged and bowed to the majority opinion. “All right. It was just an idea. Never said it was a good one.”

“Hey, man,” Davis said, laying a hand on Mick’s shoulder. “If I ever find a woman who does for me what Sonia does for you, I’ll be there right alongside you with the sappy love songs”

The five men headed to the back patio and set up their instruments. They agreed to keep the practice session short. A little more than an hour later, they put up their instruments and kicked back to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet, listening to seagulls, water, and the laughter and shouts of families playing on the beach.

“I understand why you come out here every year,” Davis said as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes against the sun. “It’s peaceful.”

“Yeah, it is,” Angelo agreed and inhaled deeply of the fresh air smelling of sand and saltwater.

“We’ve got several hours to kill. What do you want to do?” Jack asked.

A smile spread across Mick’s face.

“Besides fuck your wife,” Jack added dryly.

“I’d like to go to the aquarium,” Sonia interjected her preference. She slanted her gaze at Mick and added, “We didn’t get to see the whole thing last time.”

Her suggestion set off some good-natured squabbling, but, in the end, they went.

“Whatever Sonia wants, Sonia gets,” Jack sang, substituting Sonia’s name for Lola in the song.

“Knock it off, dumbass,” Mick said, playfully cuffing his keyboardist.

Jack ducked and laughed.

They paid their admission and entered into the dim interior. Speaking in hushed tones—why, they weren’t sure—and occasionally bursting into raucous laughter that drew disapproving glares from other patrons, they let Sonia lead the pace and set the direction. No one approached to ask for autographs or pictures.

“That’s almost depressing. No one recognized us,” Angelo sighed with insincere melodrama.

“Maybe we’re just not as famous as we think we are,” Davis commented.

“You know, I heard that the Eagles used to mingle with the crowds right before a concert and were almost never recognized. If megastars like that can go undetected at their own concerts, then you shouldn’t complain,” Sonia said.

“Eagles? Is that what you listen to?” Kristof asked.

Sonia nodded and said, “Yep. My folks raised me on the oldies and I grew up to love that stuff: Credence Clearwater Revival, Fleetwood Mac, Simon and Garfunkle.”

Jack looked pained and said, “Please tell me you’re joking about Simon and Garfunkle. Next you’ll be claiming to like country music.”

“I do.” She chuckled with evil glee. “I have a Willie Nelson CD. Want to listen to it?”

He shuddered theatrically and groaned as though in pain.

“Hey, Mick, does your woman have something to wear to the concert?” Kris asked, changing the subject.

Startled by the question of her attire, Sonia looked over at the modern day Viking and flushed beneath his piercing gaze. “I just thought I’d wear regular street clothes, shorts and a shirt.”

“Best not,” Angelo said slowly. “We’ll make sure you get backstage, but we’ll call you onstage to introduce you as Mick’s wife. That way the groupies will be a little less likely to mob him.”

“You think so?” Davis asked with disbelief.

“She’ll need something sexy, but not slutty.”

“Um …”

“That pink dress,” Mick said. “Wear the pink dress.”

“What? I … oh, all right,” she agreed with a little shake to her head.

“I want to see this pink dress,” Kris demanded.

“It’s sexy and classy,” Mick stated. “I don’t want any other bands thinking her easy pickings.”

“I’m quite capable of saying no,” Sonia said acidly.

Angelo rested a hand on her shoulder and said gently, “Saying no isn’t necessarily enough.”

Davis nodded and explained: “Sometimes players are so hyped up after a set that ‘no’ isn’t an option. Mick’s trying to protect you. Be grateful for it.”

She nodded and bowed to their greater experience. “Okay.”

Mick curled an arm around her waist and pulled her in close to his body where she fit to him like a puzzle piece. “We’re headed back home. Sonia needs a nap. We’re going to be up late.” He dipped his head to growl in her ear, “Very late.”

Her breath caught.

Mick and Sonia returned to the cottage. He scooped her into his arms and carried her into the house all the way to the bedroom. With a grunt he tossed her onto the bed. She bounced and laughed. Laughter turned quickly to sighs and moans … and then she screamed his name. More than once.

They fell asleep. Mick curled around her, one leg wedged between hers, one arm draped over her, one hand cupping a breast. He woke first, looked at the time, and decided that they had plenty of time for another round. Or two. Or three. Sonia woke as a soft orgasm rippled through her. She undulated beneath him as he savored her. She came hard as he pounded into her body and climaxed within her.

They fell asleep again. Again, Mick woke first. But that time he refrained from indulging his desires and headed for the shower. He’d need another after the concert. He put on a clean pair of jeans, white tee shirt, black motorcycle boots, fingerless leather driving gloves, and his pendant, an iron falcon with outstretched wings attached to a thin cord of braided black leather. Each band member had one, specially fashioned for them when their first album hit gold. By unspoken agreement, they always wore their pendants for every show. He tuned his guitars and violin and packed them carefully in the truck.

“It’s time to get up, sweetheart,” he said, gently shaking Sonia awake.

She blinked blearily at him. “What time is it?”

“Three o’clock,” he said. “You’ve got just enough time to shower and dress and get yourself a quick sandwich.”

“Okay,” she said sleepily and padded, still half asleep, into the bathroom. Mick laid out her pink sundress, some sexy lingerie, and a pair of sandals.

He had a sandwich and glass of iced tea waiting for her when she finally emerged from the bedroom. His mouth watered. The pink dress was just as he remembered. She had her hair pulled up into an elegant French twist, which left her graceful neck and slender shoulders bare. He felt an unaccustomed desire to either drape jewelry over her to highlight those lovely assets or to cover her beauty with a shawl because she belonged to him—him, damn it!

“Wear your hair down, babe,” he requested, his voice already thickening with desire.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure.”

She shrugged and pulled the clip from the twist. Her hair uncoiled and fell in soft waves around her head and shoulders.

“God, I could eat you up right now,” he growled even as he handed her a plate with the sandwich on it.

Her cheeks flushed as she picked up the sandwich and stuffed it in her mouth so she would not have to respond. He moved to stand behind her, hands lightly stroking her from her hips to just beneath her breasts. She doggedly forced herself to concentrate on anything else as she ate and drank. It was no use. Her panties were soaked.

“I can’t sit now,” she complained as he led her to the truck.

“Why not?”

She glanced at his evil little grin and knew that he knew damned well why not. But she answered him anyway: “Because I’ll soak through my dress.”

“No, you won’t,” he said as he boosted her into the truck’s cab. He pulled her skirt up so that it frothed and poufed over her hips and her butt and the bottoms of her thighs were in contact with the vinyl upholstery. “Stay just like that,” he ordered as he closed the door.