Resisting the Musician (a Head Over Heels Novel) (Entangled Indulgence) (7 page)

“Ready?” he asked.

“Bring it.”

“Your middle finger’s too low.”

“This better?” she asked, lifting said middle finger skyward.

“Lower,” he growled.

And with a flash of a smile so bright it made him see stars she got back to work. Shaking her hair off her shoulders, sitting up straighter, and doing as she was told. Or as much as it was possible for the woman to do so.

For the next half an hour—or millennium, he couldn’t be certain which—he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than slide her hair behind her ear, run a finger over her exposed shoulder, kiss her till she whimpered against his mouth. But he didn’t.

In fact, he did a bang up job of keeping himself from doing anything of the sort.
Until the moment she strummed gently and hit the right note—or as near as she ever had. Her lashes swept fast and frantic onto her cheeks in shock, before her face broke into a grin. Wide mouth, apples in her cheeks, stunning.

And then she laughed, a great exultant laugh that threw her against the back of the couch while she smacked her bare feet against the floor in delight.

A strange noise began to buzz in Dash’s head. Like a herd of bees. A flock? A whole hell of a lot. Like the more he told himself to stop thinking about her mouth it became all that mattered—

“Right there, buddy?”

Dash jumped and turned to find Reg’s bright red head poking around the hall door.
Reg
. He’d arrived a couple of hours before Lori and, head still pounding, Dash had sent him straight to the shed. And promptly forgotten he was there.

“You off?”

“I am,” said Reg. “And, honestly, I can’t stress strongly enough, you don’t need me to do a thing to her. With your pedigree it was a near certainty. But you are a total natural—”

“Right,” Dash cut him off, rubbing a hand up the back of his head frantically as if it might shut Reg up quicker. That conversation was not for Lori’s ears.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Reg said.

Following Reg’s sudden change of tone he found Lori luminous with a smile the likes of which she’d never landed on him. “Oh, hi!”

“You two acquainted?” Dash asked.

“Sure,” Reg said, cheeks pinking as he limped part ways into the room. “Your young lady let me in the other day.”

“Lori,” she said, lifting to offer a hand, and not clearing up Reg’s mistake that she was Dash’s anything. “Lori Hanover.”

Reg took her hand, and Dash saw the moment the older man spied Barbarella in Lori’s lap.

“What’s going on here, then?” asked Reg.

“Dash is teaching me how to play. Very badly.”

Dash shook his head when Reg—not the greatest at concealing his innermost thoughts—clearly couldn’t decide if he thought it brilliant or a big mistake. A beaming smile won out.

“I’ll leave you two young ones at it.” With that, Reg finally took his leave.

When Dash heard the click of the front door he turned back to Lori to find her watching him, a ghost of her earlier smile still lighting her face. “Interesting guy. Musician?”

Dash paused, not sure how to encapsulate all that was Reg. “He’s an old…friend of my Uncle Peter.”

She nodded. After a pause she asked, “More than friends?”

“Well, yeah, actually.” Only Dash hadn’t even known it till after his uncle had died. So caught up playing rock star he’d completely missed the fact that his gruff ‘bachelor’ uncle had been in a long-term relationship with ‘his mate, Reg’ for years.

“The limp…motorbike accident?” she asked, eyes back on the music, oblivious to the fact that she was picking at so many wounds he’d thought had long since healed.

“Several years ago. Lost his foot and half the fingers of his left hand. Before that he was a brilliant luthier.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Maker of stringed instruments. Guitars are his forte.”

He left out how Reg had struggled to find work ever since the accident. And then had taken to looking after Uncle Pete when he’d fallen ill. None of which Dash had known until it was too late. Not too late for Dash to make it right with Reg, though.

When Dash had moved back to San Francisco, he’d bought the forest house, tracked Reg down, and together they’d fixed the place up.

Reg had taken it upon himself to teach Dash how to cook, to darn a sock, how to make a perfect cup of coffee. And to
re
-teach him the simple pleasure of working with wood. Of all the things he’d done to change his life that had given him the first real glimpse of a life beyond the band. To a life he could make his own. A life worth protecting.

“I like him,” Lori said with a hearty nod. “Seems sweet.”

“Reg?”

It was true, even if he did look like he could kill you with his pinky toe.

“Reflects well on you,” she added, giving Dash a sideways glance from those green eyes. Those captivating, sharp, responsive green eyes. “Makes you a touch more likeable.”

“I think I’m plenty likeable.”

“Whatever gets you through the night.”

When she smiled at him, sparks shot into the air, like ash from a roaring bonfire. That, plus the way her fine fingers draped over the body of his guitar, the buzz in his head disappeared. As did the arguments as to whether or not this woman ought to be kissed.

Fuck it
.

Did he say that out loud? Probably, as Lori’s eyes widened even
before Dash leaned over her, shoved the guitar aside with a discordant twang of strings, hauled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

If she’d struggled, if she’d paused, hell if she’d kneed him in the balls he’d have let her go. But with a moan that sang through him, her arms whipped around his neck, her fingers raking through his hair, her mouth opening so that what started as a flash of heat soon dragged him under.

He found the hook of the guitar strap and snapped it free, with such dexterity it was as if he’d last done so yesterday rather than years before. With Barbarella out of the way they were a tangle of limbs on the big soft couch. H
eat and fireworks and melting lust.

And Lori… Her touch was soft skin on toned muscle. Her lips cream and honey. Her scent spice and sex. His head spinning like he’d willingly jumped off a cliff—

Suddenly, she hauled herself to standing.

Dash, struggling to find a pin prick of light within the haze of lust gripping him right through the middle, managed a gruff, “Lori—”

Breathing heavily, she held out a hand to stop him. Then, after running the same hand over her hair, she frantically collected her bag, the guitar case, shoving them haphazardly under her arms. “It’s not you. That was…fine. But I remembered I have plans. For tonight. People coming. I should go.”

“Hour’s not up,” was all he could think to say.

“It’s okay. I’ll practice so next time’s better. Practice
playing
,” she qualified, even as a finger lifted to tug at her bottom lip and her gaze slipped straight to his mouth.

“Hell, Lori.”

She backed away.

“Wait,” he called. “The guitar.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I really should buy my own.”

“Keep her.”

“But—”

“No buts. That case was a good choice. I trust you’ll take care of her.” He did? When had that happened? Probably about the same time his Johnson took over his brain function. “She is officially, forevermore, yours. One stipulation.”

Her spooked gaze softened as her mouth kick up at one corner. “I can’t change her name, can I? Call her…Leonardo? Or Raoul? Or Alcide?”

Dash grinned. “Sorry. Bad luck. Like a boat.”

“A boat can sink, what on earth can this do?”

“Have you heard yourself play
without
bad luck on your side? Consider the possibilities.”

She considered possibilities regarding her playing future. And him. He saw it in the sensual way she moved, felt it in the energy still pouring from her in waves.

Then, with a nod that told him nothing, she hooked his faithful old guitar—now hers—under her arm and left.

It was all Dash could do not to follow. Not to ignore her words and give into the tug that told him walking away from the kiss had been as hard for her as it had been for him to stop it happening in the first place.

Bowie gave a woof. Then a gentle howl. As if to say
Good riddance to bad news.

While Dash eased against the back of the couch with a forearm over his face, the other cradling the hard-on pressing against his fly, knowing he’d taken a small step into big trouble, and yet was unable to find a single thread of regret.

Meaning either his years away from civilization, his time in the quiet had given him a newfound maturity, or winter had just hit hell and he was well and truly doomed.

Chapter Five

Lori hadn’t been lying. She did have plans. That night she had a dinner party with the current members of The Rift to endure. And, despite the fact that it was Callie’s idea, as always, Lori was the one in charge.

Though of course that wasn’t close to being the reason she’d leapt away from Dash’s kiss as if her ass was on fire. She sank her face into her palms and groaned.

She didn’t want to be attracted to the guy; he had no ambition, he was famously loose with his loyalties, and he had the attention span of a gnat. The man couldn’t go ten seconds without glancing at her mouth.

But despite promising herself to be as chilled as she could possibly be, all it had taken was a lost phone for her to go insta-snarky, which had only seemed to turn him on. And that had made it even more impossible for her to concentrate on playing, which had only frustrated her more.

And then he’d kissed her.

Her cheek bore the memory of his soft stubble, her lips remembered the delicious taste of him. Only she couldn’t decide if the scratchy feeling was mortification that she’d not even put up a fight, or the humiliating way she’d ended it.

Either way, she had to shake it off; the dinner portion of the night was done, and the party was in full swing. Suited accountants, tattooed roadies, and slick producer types mingled with the Calliope Shoes’s hipster designers, and the gangs from sales and IT who were trying not to gawk. Because the world’s biggest rock band, whose songs graced movie soundtracks, topped the charts, and sold out stadiums the world over, were in her living room.

It was pretty surreal, actually. All she’d ever wanted when she’d fled the trailer park, Fairbanks, and Montana was security for herself and Callie, independence.
This
was a massive step into la la land.

And then there was Callie, her shy, skinny little sister now so sophisticated in her shimmering bronze sheath, her dark hair sleek, cheeks pink, big solemn eyes smudged with kohl and her Calliope heels; delicate milk-chocolate bar, with a spray of faux gardenias.

She was chatting away with Jake and two of the others—Lazlo Stone so big and dark he could swallow the light in any room, Rocky Cardano, the quiet giant, who Callie said drummed with such passion sweat sprayed from his gear like rain—and seemed totally unfazed. Grown up.
Happy
.

As the days merged into the next and they remained an item, all Lori could do was hope and pray Jake Mitchell realized how lucky he was to know Callie. To be loved by her. She was one of the few people in the world who knew what a rare and lucky position that was to be in.

As if he’d felt her attention, Jake glanced Lori’s way, smiled a little, and winked.

Feeling nostalgic, Lori poked out her tongue. Jake laughed and kissed Callie on the head, leaving Lori feeling a little shaken, a little bruised, somewhere right deep down inside. And surrounded by a house full of noise and laughter when she couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever felt quite so alone.

The buzzer sounded.

Everyone who’d been invited was already there. But Tracey convivially pressed the buzzer linked to the building’s entrance before she took a tray of canapés around the room.

So when the knock came at the apartment door, Lori was the only one free to open it. Hostess face on, her mouth dropped open and the sight of her unexpected guest. “Dash?”

His hair was relatively tidy. He’d shaved. He wore an ash-brown three piece suit; dapper and smooth, like a twenties gangster. So utterly scrumptious she literally lost her voice.

I’ve kissed this man
, she thought. If ‘kiss’ could be used to describe such an experience. More like a sudden, spectacular, soul-weakening clash of wills.

“Evening Lori,” he said, his voice dappling over her skin a bucket of hot pebbles spilling down her back.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, palming his chest when he took a step inside. “I have people over, so if you’ve dragged yourself down here with the expectation of picking up where we left off—”

“Callie invited me.”

Lori winced.
Of course she did.
As if their project together wasn’t meant to be
her
great big secret. Honestly, the girl couldn’t be trusted to be left on her own.

“Though picking up where we’d left off sounds like a fine idea, too—”

Lori blinked up at him to find he hadn’t moved. Not a millimeter. Her hand still pressed into his hard chest, his warmth seeping through the fabric. And the room felt as if it had shrunk till they were the only ones in it.

Lori could have kissed
Callie when her sister suddenly appeared at her elbow. She backed away as Callie threw herself at him for a big hug.

“Dash! So glad you could come! Jake, come see who’s here!”

“Well if it isn’t my
compadre
, Dashiel Mills,” Jake’s voice boomed as he parted the crowd and headed their way. “Good to see you, man.”

Dash leaned in for a man hug—a one arm thump across the back. And Lori felt on the outside yet again. Like she was in the shadows and they in the spotlight.

“Have you met my lady love’s sister?” asked Jake, holding out an arm to draw her back in.

Silence ensued as Callie finally remembered that as far as Jake knew Lori and Dash were strangers.

Dash’s mouth twitched as Callie gaped. Without the stubble surrounding it that mouth was a glorious thing to behold. Wide, flat planes with a seriously sexy dip in the top lip. It took every effort for Lori not to moan.

She dragged her eyes north to find his gaze on hers. Knowing. Remembering. His nostrils flared, a muscle twitched in his smooth cheek.

Blissfully unaware of the undercurrents, Jake expounded, “Dashiel, I give you the lovely Lorelei. Lorelei, dashing Dashiel.”

Dash held out a hand, an eyebrow twitching, as if to say,
Your move
. What choice did she have but to take it? The utter envelopment of his touch was nothing new, but that didn’t negate its effect.

“Well that was a mouthful,” said Jake, before he set off in search of food; taking Callie—mouthing
thank you
—with him and leaving Dash and Lori by the front door, still hand in hand.

Lori reclaimed her hand and grabbed a glass of bubbly from a passing caterer
so that she had something cold to neutralize the man’s heat
. Then, ignoring him to smile at the oblivious crowd, she asked, “What kind of name is Dashiel?”

“My mother’s maiden name.” A pause, then, “
Lorelei
.”

“Uh-uh,” she said. “Jake and my mother are the only ones who get away with calling me that.”

“Under what punishment?”

She turned her head a fraction, her glance landing on his knowing smile. The memory of that kiss buzzed through her like she’d drunk half a bottle of the bubbly already. “Try it,” she warned, “and find out.”

“Hmmm. Wasn’t Lorelei the maiden who lured fishermen to their deaths?” His gaze roved over her, slowly, as if he imagined her wearing nothing but seaweed.

She folded her arms over her breasts. “I’ve always thought she was misunderstood.”

“How so?”

“Sitting on a rock, minding her business. Those fisherman would have done better to leave her well enough alone.”

His gaze landed back on hers. Dark. Soulful. Flickering with an all new level of heat. “Should I take that as a warning?”

“Why? You fish?”

His smile slipped easily to laughter. Deep rumbling laughter that rolled over her in delicious waves, before settling as a tingle in her palms. She held the cold glass tighter.

“You know what, Lorelei Hanover?”

Annoyance clear, she asked, “What’s that, Dashiel Mills?”

This time he moved, half a foot into her personal space. The scent of forest and warmth and man near overwhelming. And in a voice as deep as the thumping of her heart he said, “I’d bet that those fisherman thought it entirely worth it.”

Her next breath in was a struggle. Her next breath out a sigh. The man was a charmer, idol; such a familiar and catastrophic combination of traits. He was the last kind of man she could ever want.

And yet want she did, with a ferocity that made her feel hollow all the way through.

“You may as well come in,” she said, swallowing the frog in her throat.

“I’ll try not to spill anything,” he said, a grin creasing his face, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he backed away into the crowd. The villain made her feel glowy and warm despite herself.

…

Dash sat in a fancy chair in the corner of Lori’s living room staring at a golden peacock statue, trying to figure if it had real sapphires for eyes and hoping he’d be able to get back out of the odd-shaped seat without using a tire iron.

Lori’s apartment was like a museum; pristine, shiny, with modern art and furniture that could take out an eye. He’d thought the fact that she was always itching to get a move on had something to do with the way they sparked like dry kindling. Now he wondered if it was because her furniture was so damned uncomfortable.

His left thumb twanged at a loose vibrant-blue thread in the armrest, a nervous habit from the old days. At least the sitting gave him an excuse not to talk for a bit. He wasn’t so good in crowds nowadays. And it was a hell of a crowd.

A woman waved from across the room, her eyes zeroed onto him like he was a life-sized steak. He nodded then looked away, even as his stomach hitched as he tried to place her.

He knew Saffron was long gone, her part in his leaving the band having been figured out pretty quickly. The Rift had even changed record labels since. But the vibe in the room was still very much the same. Hyper-kinetic. Sycophantic. Fortissimo.

Though the fact that no one else in the room seemed to care made him wonder if the problem was his.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman approaching. It took him too long to extricate himself from the damn tiny chair, and he was forced to smile as she came at him like a mini-tornado. “Hi, I’m Tracey, with Calliope Shoes.”

Right. So, not a record company lackey then. His relief was palpable, but didn’t completely negate the pinpricks of sweat that had broken out at the thought she might be, making him sure his decision to come was ill-conceived.

“I just wanted you to know I’m such a fan. I was totally in love with you way back when,” she said with a wink, a nudge, a double squeeze of his upper arm.

“Okay, well that’s always nice to hear,” he said, his relief short-lived.

“I’m Lori’s assistant,” she added.

And despite the fact that the woman was touchy feely, he felt less inclined to find another quiet corner. “
Lori’s
assistant. How is Lori? I haven’t had much of a chance to catch up with her.”

Tracey held up a finger as she swigged some bubbles, then said, “The woman never stops. Literally. Best boss ever. And gorgeous, right? Though zero social life. But a stellar hostess, as you can see. Even in the face of having to watch Callie smooching with your dastardly-wicked friend over there. If he does anything to hurt our girl…” She let that thought float between them while she shot Jake a death stare.

Dash searched the woman’s lack of delicacy for any hint that Lori had confided in her about the events of the afternoon. But as she glanced his way, there was nothing there bar bubbles and the occasional lustful thought about his truly.

When the phone had rung that afternoon he’d actually picked it up for once, thinking it might have been Lori. Imagining she’d spent her afternoon replaying that kiss as he had—in sudden sprints of wild heat and marathons of imagination taking it further, to the unpeeling of clothes, the slide of skin on skin, to what might have happened if the kindling had been set alight.

It had been Callie laughing in delighted shock at having gotten through, calling with an invitation and directions. Seeing so many familiar faces had been easier than he’d expected. In fact, from the roadies to the lawyers, they’d been surprisingly warm.

All except Lori, who’d looked at him like an alien had landed on her doorstep.

Kicking himself, he glanced at his watch, wondering when he could leave.

Though, as he looked across the crowd, searching for a familiar blonde head, he knew he couldn’t yet. Not until he’d talked to her.

He’d always been better one on one.

Happier in the studio with a producer, or tinkering with a song with Rocky, than in the endless record company meetings or the dressing rooms after. He just had to get her alone.

“By the way, I know all about the project and I think it’s wonderful.”

“I’m sorry,” Dash said, snapping his head toward his companion.

“The song,” Tracey expanded, clearly unaware that the fact that anyone apart from the cabal knew about the song made Dash feel like his inner ear had given up the ghost. “A flipping brilliant move.”

Dash gripped the nearest piece of furniture, a sleek cabinet made entirely of mirrors. The kind of thing his dogs would have broken before he’d even got it through the front door.

“So who else is in the know?” he asked, hoping he didn’t look as livid as he felt.

“Callie, Lori, and me. That’s it.” She crossed her heart. “Don’t worry. I’m discretion personified.”

If this was Lori’s idea of discretion, Dash wondered what the hell he’d done; knowing whatever it was it was too late.

“Can I get you a drink?” asked Tracey, batting her lashes in his direction.

“That’d be great,” said Dash, searching for Lori, the urge to talk to her filling him till he couldn’t think of anything else.

“What’s your poison?” asked Tracey.