Resisting the Musician (a Head Over Heels Novel) (Entangled Indulgence) (16 page)

“What on earth…?” Dash boomed.

“Hear me out,” she said, snapping shut the guitar case and hiding it behind her on the couch. “So we were at the wig shop the other night, buying wigs so that we could go to your gig in disguise and—”

“Back up. You weren’t wearing a wig,” he said, his melted chocolate gaze tripping over her braids. “Were you?”

“
I
wasn’t. The others were. It was Callie’s idea. Or Lita’s. I don’t remember.”

“Lita?”

Lori’s heart gave a little jolt. “Yes, Lita was there, off the clock for a night of cocktails and girliness.”

Dash nodded, apparently assuaged, and Lori’s heart went nearly back to normal.

“Callie still gets paparazzi jumping out of the bushes, so the girls wanted to do right by you by flying under the radar.”

“While spying on me at the same time.”

“Well, yes. Because nothing would have kept me away and they love me more than you.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Dash said, shifting closer.

Leaving that well enough alone, Lori pulled Barbarella from the case, better to deal with Dash’s ire than the warmth in his eyes. It worked. Dash very quickly came over unimpressed.

“So we were at the wig store,” she began again, “and there was a music shop next door with a big sign splashed across the window saying that the service guy was an Instrumental Make-Over Specialist. And since Mack was driving us around that night and Barbarella was in the trunk of the town car already—”

“You pimped my guitar.”

“
My
guitar,” she said, even as she winced at her kitsch new paint job with its aqua background and white and gray flower motif.

“It looks like sixties wallpaper threw up all over her.”

Lori settled Barbarella protectively on her lap. “Says the man who named her after a walking, talking sex toy.”

“Barbarella was a dedicated space warrior who happened to look very nice in boots. You, of all people, should appreciate that.”

Lori crossed her sassy black stiletto boots at the ankle, but Dash only shifted closer, sliding a hand along the back of the couch.

“Two weeks,” she reminded him, shifting away.

The other night had spooked her quite a bit—the fact that he’d not told her about the gig and the extent that it had mattered to her. She was determined to be on her guard lest any more soft feelings sneak beneath her defenses.

“In two short weeks it will be me on a stage, at a club, with people watching. I’d rather gnaw off my own foot than embarrass Callie and Jake.”

“Callie
and
Jake?”

“Let’s just say I heard some things the other night that made me wonder if maybe I’ve been a little hard on him.” And Callie. And, well, just about everyone probably. Better, safer, to focus those sentiments back on herself.

“Go the girls’ weekend.”

“They are a many splendored thing. Now, I don’t need to be Mark Knopfler or Richie Sambora, but I need to do Callie and the song justice.”

“Seems she isn’t a complete musical-troglodyte,” he muttered.

“Thanks so very much,” she shot back, then tried to concentrate on the notes. The give and hum of the strings, she began to play. And slowly she could feel him starting to smile.

“You’ve been practicing.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

“The improvement is miraculous.”

“Now if I only knew what the song I was meant to be playing actually sounded like—rather than guessing by way of Callie who tried singing it the other night after we got home, but it was about three in the morning and she’d nearly lost her voice… Unless of course it really is that awful—”

The twang of guitar strings that were not hers had her stopping mid strum to find Dash pulling a guitar from behind the couch.

This one had a more matte finish than Barbarella, the patina dulled where his elbow hooked over the body. It was fretless—wow, she’d actually learned something in her late night Googling—meaning no cheating the finger-positioning; he had to go by instinct alone.

“What’s her name?” Lori asked.

“What makes you think she has a name?”

Lori raised a pair of eyebrows in response.

“Fine. Lori, meet Buffy.”

“You’re pathological.”

“It’s a compliment; immortalizing the women who’ve inspired me the best way I know how.” With that he strummed, the sound like molasses; flowing, sweet and thick. “Now, are we going to do this or not?”

He nodded at the music, waited for her to attempt the first note, and as she stopped and started her way through the tune, he played with her, his effortless strumming giving her fitful attempt structure and heart, her messy chords a foundation from which to spring. And in the end, it didn’t sound half bad.

If she cut her part out altogether, it sounded heaven-sent.

“So, what do you reckon?” he asked as the echoes faded till the room was quiet once more. “Do I have a career in music?”

“After that I reckon
I
might have a career in music.”

“Take it easy, Santana.”

They went at it again, and again. With Dash’s smooth rhythms in mind she began to understand the cadence of the piece, the sweetness of the melody, the poignancy of the phrasing. Reminding her—along with the autograph hunters who’d sidled up to him so sweetly—
exactly
who she was dealing with.

Not simply Dash.

A man who made her feel and wonder and hope and melt and wish. But a man who was as famous for his talent as he was for turning his back on it and giving it all away.

Would that be how this ended? Swiftly, no good-byes? Would she look out into the crowd the night of the song and see him sitting with Jake and in the next blink…not?

The thought of it stirred painful waves through her belly.

The specter of losing her business had felt close to catastrophic, but in the weeks since it had begun to fall apart she’d begun to remember that she was smart, focused, driven, and that the only thing stopping her from trying again would be her.

But in her thirty years on the planet she’d never met anyone who made her feel the riotous combination of emotions Dash made her feel.

Funny and strong. Frustrated and charmed. Soft and warm. Vulnerable, fragile, and achingly sweet. Like she didn’t have to try so hard to be on, to be right, to be ahead of the game.

As if time gentled when she was with him.

Down the rabbit hole she could forget about being the hard-working, hard-talking hard-ass and simply be who she felt like being in the slowly vanishing moments of the day.

Dash’s history proved he had it in him to hurt her. The more she grew to know him, to like him, to like who she was with him, the less she felt like she could do anything about it.

They hit the end of the song and the final note hummed in the air between them, heady and thick. And the feelings eddying inside of her coalesced into something too big for her to acknowledge. Much less deny.

“That’s it,” she said, “I’m done.” She threw Barbarella aside and slung a leg over Dash, straddling him as she nudged off her boots. “Now lose the broad.”

Not needing to be asked twice, Dash tossed Buffy onto the couch and gripped Lori’s hips, bunching up her houndstooth Chanel and leaning in to bite through the wool, growling as his teeth scraped over the rise of her breast.

Her head dropped back as desire swirled through her and the need to wrench back whatever control she could dissolved under the delicious possessiveness of his touch.

Lifting the dress higher till his thumbs pressed into her hipbones, his strong fingers massaged her lower back, slid over her backside before curling around her thighs. His warm breath fanned her center before his teeth found the edge of her panties.

She nibbled at her bottom lip as she sank down into his lap. Weak. The man made her feel so weak. Soft, luscious, yielding.

Dash ran his hands up her arms till she held them high over her head, and then he peeled the dress away, tugging more hair from her braid till it tickled her cheeks.

When he gathered the dress into a loose ball and tossed it over his shoulder, Lori laughed, “I might need that later,” even while every nerve twisted into tight strings of anticipation.

“Much, much later,” he promised, with the same resolve she’d seen in his eyes that first day.

Only now they didn’t fight her, they drew her in, warmed her to the bone. Locked onto her as he tasted her lips, slowly. Rubbing his thumbs gently over the corners of her mouth. Running the tip of his tongue over the edges of her teeth before sliding it deep inside and kissing her until she trembled, until she could have wept.

Dash lifted her off the couch and lay her back. She sank into the over-soft cushions, heavy gaze drinking in his shaggy hair, his stubble, his quiet strength as he tore his shirt over his head without bothering to undo a single button, rid himself of his jeans, and lay carefully over her.

Melting her, cherishing her, sliding into her till she cried out from the utter perfection.

Tight she held him, feeling, wanting, splintering as her feelings became too much, yet perfectly enough and she came with a cry that tore at her throat.

Enough
, she thought as her breaths slowed, as her sweat glistened skin cooled, as Dash hummed sweet nothings and rained even sweeter kisses over her face. Even if this was really it, if this was all they ever had together, it would be more than enough
.

She hoped. God, how she hoped.

Chapter Eleven

Lori lay back in the bath, neck deep in bubbles.

Her
en suite
bath was fancy—claw foot, spa jets, imported taps. She’d been so smitten when she’d sourced it, feeling like it proved she was as far away from her inauspicious beginnings as it was possible to be. But she’d been home so little of late she’d had to wipe the thing out twice to get rid of the dust.

She plugged the MP3 player she’d gotten in a goodie bag at a fashion show a year or so before into the speaker dock, pressed the buttons Tracey had told her how to press when she’d downloaded the song Lori had asked for, and The Rift blasted so loud it echoed off the walls.

It was a live album, from their UK tour. Recorded while Dash was still in the band.

Heart slowing, muscles easing, she sank deeper into the steaming water, the bubbles floating up into the back of her hair, the water so hot she began to perspire.

And she closed her eyes and listened. Mentally shutting out Jake’s husky rock god voice, Laz’s fiery lead guitar, Rocky’s adroit drumming till the room was throbbing with Dash’s soulful guitar.

She could see him curled over his guitar, eyes closed, overlong dirty-blonde hair dripping with sweat, muscles of his arms bunching as his long, strong fingers danced over the strings, his left hand plucking out the heart of the song.

Emotion surged through her, hot and languorous, memories of making love tripping over each other as she realized that he’d done the same to her.

Her buzzer sounded, letting her know she had a visitor.

She opened her mouth to yell for Callie to get it, then remembered Callie was sleeping over at Jake’s.

One of these days she’d get used to it. One of these days when Callie finally moved in with Jake, which would surely happen after the wedding if not before. Though with all of his touring and the like, maybe her little sis could have sleepovers and it wouldn’t be that different.

This she pondered as she heaved herself out of the tub and wrapped herself in a lush towel fresh from the warmer—one of man’s greatest inventions, thank you very much.

The buzzer buzzed again. And again. And again.

“Hang on!” she cried out to whoever was declaring themselves several floors below.

Humming The Rift, she headed into the kitchen and pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”

“Dash,” said a deep, dark voice that did deep, dark things to her insides.

“Come on up.” She pressed the button to unlock the door and raced back into her bedroom, pulling her damp hair into a low bun. Settling on a gray silk top and black short shorts. Doing nothing about her make-up bar running a finger under each eye and pinching color into her cheeks.

Heart already racing for him, skin thrumming with anticipation of his touch, barefoot, and breathless, she pulled open the door and her welcome dried up in her mouth.

Dash was
not
happy to see her. In fact he seemed closer to livid.

He didn’t say a word. He held out the cell phone she’d bought him—the one with the inscription that had kept him quiet for a good minute when he’d first read it, in a way that had made her feel breathless and warm and full to bursting
.

As she took it she felt like she couldn’t get any air.

“Press *86 and listen,” Dash demanded.

She knew she didn’t want to hear what was on the other end of that voice mail, but what else could she do?

Eyes on Dash, hoping to see a thread of something that might calm her—his warmth, his easy humor—but getting nothing, she swallowed.

And then an unfamiliar female voice buzzed into her right ear. “Dash Mills? This is Faith Cole from the Daily Dose online blogazine, hoping you could confirm a few rumors about a secret gig for Callie Hanover and Jake Mitchell that you’ll be attending weekend after next?”

Lori felt the floor disappear out from under her. She turned away, pressing the phone tighter to her ear as if the next few words might be about to change the entire course of her life.

And they did.

“A source tells me you’ve written them a song for the occasion. A love song for the love birds. Your first since you left The Rift. And that there might be vision on the heel of it? I’d love first look. Willing to pay.”

The voice rattled off a return number and then went silent. Lori held the phone out to him. He took it, even while he looked at her as if she were Eve offering him an apple riddled with worms.

“Dash—”

“Hell no. I’ll be asking the question. First, how the hell did she get my number?”

The number of the phone she’d bought him. To a regular Joe it wouldn’t look good. The fact that Dash had privacy issues that went beyond the edge of normal had Lori feeling like the world was tipping beneath her bare feet.

Hand to her heart she said, “I have no idea. Honestly. Jake’s phone might be tapped. It happens. Or maybe your name pinged on some dodgy database when I logged your contact details for your phone contract. Could Reg have let slip?”

The second she said it she wished she could take it back. She could all but hear the crackle of thunder and lightning flinting behind his eyes.

“As for the song…”

Her precious song. Her Hail Mary.

Desperate for answers, Lori looked out the window but only found clouds rolling behind the row of pastel terrace houses meandering prettily down the street. And panic began to set in that the very fabric of her life was disintegrating before her eyes.

When she looked back, Dash’s eyes were dark and wild. The muscles in his arms bunched with tension. His chest rising and falling in great waves. He was gorgeous and terrifying by halves. Thor incarnate, metaphorical hammer raised, ready to smash everything in his wake.

His voice was dangerously quiet as he asked, “You’re seriously telling me you don’t know how this got out?”

“This getting out doesn’t help me anymore than it helps you.”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the ceiling as if for patience. But when his eyes found hers again they were filled with relief. So much so that when her heart restarted it pounded so hard her ribs ached. “I’m sorry, Lori,” he growled. “I thought…”

“Dash,” she said, taking a step toward him, toward the flicker of light at the end of the long dark tunnel. “I didn’t tell
anyone
outside my inner circle. I promise.”

“Including Lita Matthews?”

“What? No! God, let up on Lita.
She
didn’t leak this. Apart from the fact that it wouldn’t be in her interest to share a story that she was all set to break, I specifically asked her not to.”

And like that the light was gone.

Dash crossed his arms and wrapped his energy so tight about him it was as good as a force field. “What story?” he asked, his words raw.

“Well…” Okay, this wasn’t about to sound good. But it had to come out some time and it seemed that time was now. She just had to control it. Make him understand her side. “The story behind the song.”

“If you mean our song, the story isn’t anybody’s business.”

Our song
, he said, even as she felt him draw deeper and deeper inside. Her vision began to constrict as she realized she had no idea how to follow. No way but the truth.

She held out her hands but moved no closer. “Dash, the intention from the very outset was for you and Callie to write a song as Callie’s engagement gift to Jake, right?”

“I got that.”

“It was always meant to be a secret from him, a surprise, but from the very beginning the plan was to film it. In the hopes it might go viral. And give the Jake and Callie story a positive spin.”

“Their
story
,” he said, his voice like a whip. He stood so still he nearly vibrated. “Like they are characters in some play. Or chess pieces you are moving around on the board in your own perverse game.”

“Dash—”

“Did it ever occur to you that I never gave you permission to film my song? Only to sing it live. Once.”

Lori swallowed, knowing her self-protection instincts were too well-honed she couldn’t stop the words about to come out of her mouth if she tried. “You signed the rights to the song to Callie by gifting it to her in the first place.”

“My rights? That sounds suspiciously like lawyer talk.”

“It is. Back at the beginning we checked.”

His eyes grew fierce. His arms bunched. His mouth worked as if he was about to tear strips off her. But Lori got there first.

“I’d met you once at that point. When it was meant to be nothing but a simple business transaction. You’d write the music, she’d write the lyrics and sing the song. And you
never specifically asked me not to tell anyone about the song. Only the shed. And your uncle.” And even as she said the words she realized how pathetic they sounded. As if she’d lied by omission. Which, of course, she had.

It had been her only remaining lifeline as she’d fallen deeper down the rabbit hole. One she still held tight to even as it frayed and slithered from her grip.
“You and I weren’t meant to have anything to do with it from that point on. It was
your
idea for me to play. Your idea to drag me out to the middle of nowhere three times a week just to teach me a lesson in humility.”

“Little good that did.”

“Bite me,” she shot back, gripping tighter still.

“Tempting, but no. You’d have a lawyer onto me for assault before I got out the door.”

Lori flinched at that. Needing every ounce of pride she had to hold back the tears burning the backs of her eyes at the hot sting of betrayal in his.

“Callie. How deep is she into this mess?”

At the mention of her sister, Lori’s temper cooled and her mind began to tread more carefully. “What do you mean?”

“Does she know that you were going to film it? Make it go…” He flapped his hands as he struggled to find the word.

“Viral. She knows.”

He laughed. The sound smacked against the walls of her apartment before it hit her bare skin like little slaps. “What’s wrong with you Hanover women? Did your father do such a number on you that you can’t treat any man in your life with any amount of respect?”

That wasn’t what this was! She safeguarded herself and hers. It didn’t make her a bad person, it made her smart. “Look who’s talking. If this holier than thou gravitas you have going isn’t some kind of backlash against some other woman who screwed you over—some woman who has nothing at all to do with me—then, I don’t know what it is. Because you’re the one with your panties in a twist and
I
have done nothing wrong.”

“Says the only one of us who has consulted a lawyer.”

“I—” She shut up, knowing he was so mad there was nothing she could say that would make him see that he was wrong and she was right. Or that being right or wrong didn’t matter. Nowhere near as much as getting past this.

They’d done it before and come out the other end fine. More than fine. Tempered, strengthened, warmed. Until together they were as lustrous as burnished bronze.

“Do they know about my shed?”

Lori threw up her hands in exasperation. “How would I know? I didn’t tell anyone about the
song
, much less anything else! In fact it’s all academic, because this ridiculous argument is about something that doesn’t even exist. Call her back, if you don’t believe me. That reporter; ask her if I’m her source.”

Dash let out his breath at that, and in his eyes she saw confusion. Remorse. Guilt. Pain. Her heart squeezed so tight. She ached to hold him, shake him, kiss him till he knew that
this
wasn’t important. They were. That she cared for him so much she’d do anything to see him through this.

“Then who else?” he asked, clearly at the end of his rope. “Who else had the intel or the motivation to put this out there?”

And suddenly Lori knew.

The urge to purge pressed against her chest, flattening her lungs. But she couldn’t do it. She physically couldn’t tell him her theory.
Anything
, she thought, as her eyes burned with the knowledge that in keeping this from him it could mean the end,
anything but this
.

He waited, as if he hoped she could still absolve herself. It gave her every reason to believe that if she kept going, kept pushing, kept harping, kept begging for him to take her word for it, she could break him. Could force him to stay, to want her despite the fact that he believed she’d betrayed him.

But she didn’t want to break him. She wanted him whole, even if that meant her own heart would break.

“I worked frickin’ hard to get to his point in my life, Lori.”

“I know,” she said, already defeated.

“Blood, sweat, and tears,” he went on, more furious than she’d ever seen him, “don’t even come close to covering what it took to turn my life around.
My
life. My
private
life. That song was a part of that. As much as building guitars. None of it is anybody’s business. And you had no right, especially considering how I—”

He stopped, held up a hand as if to halt the words before they slipped out of him.

Oh how she wanted to know what he was going to say. To know what she was especially to him. But he’d never tell her. Not unless she spilled what she’d figured out. And she couldn’t.

Her voice was magically clear considering her entire insides felt like they were burning and crumbling as she asked, “Did she ask about your uncle? Did she ask about your shed or your guitars?”