Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (4 page)

Finally, the photos finish uploading. I go over them one by one. In every single shot, Tom is relaxed, confident, hot as the molten center of the Earth. It must be nice being that comfortable with yourself, your sexuality. Knowing how badly everyone wants you.

He lives with gusto. I try to imagine myself in one of his poses, confident and sexy and seizing the fucking day, but the mental image won't come together. The Willow in my imagination is awkward and stiff, afraid of what might happen if she so much as takes off her tank top, desperate to get out of the spotlight and behind the camera.

I narrow it down to ten photographs. There's no time to give each image the editing it deserves. Better be as efficient as possible. Exposure. Color. Contrast.

My eyelids get heavy. Okay. It's nearly three a.m. I can finish this in the morning. I get ready for bed, set the alarm clock to give me enough time to finish editing, and surrender to the embrace of the comforter.

It's been such a long day.

***

T
he weight shifts as a man sits on the bed. "I've been thinking about you all night," he says. "Can't sleep."

The voice is familiar. I need it in my ears. Need him in my bed.

I shift closer, until the heat of his body warms mine. That electricity again. This time it's not a hint. I'm buzzing like a power line.

His mouth goes to my neck. Then down my chest. He pulls my tank top aside. His tongue flicks over my nipples. It's aggressive and precise at once. Nothing like with Bradley. Leagues better.

His lips trail down my stomach. Below my belly button. His hands go to my hips. He pulls my shorts down an inch. His lips press into the now revealed skin. He does it again. Again.

Until he's almost there.

Who is he? I should know, I should care.

Then his mouth is on me, and my whole body is abuzz. I thrash and tug at his hair.

My lips part and a sound escapes. A moan.

And then I'm saying something.

"Tom."

His name.

What, Tom?

There's no telling with his face planted between my thighs. His hair is about the right length. The right color.

Pleasure overwhelms me. Hard to focus on figuring out who he is. It's just a dream. What does it matter? I arch my back as my sex clenches. How long has it been since I've came?

Too long.

I tug at his hair. Almost.

His lips press against my thigh. "Not so hard, kid." He looks up at me. "Save it for round two."

Those mischievous green eyes.

Tom.

His tongue slides over my clit.

Oh, God, Tom.

Nothing else matters. Nothing but the pleasure spreading all the way to my limbs. My body shakes as an orgasm overtakes me.

I reach for him and he comes closer. His body is on top of mine, warm and heavy in just the right way. Hard. He's hard—his shoulders, his chest, his abs.

His cock.

I slides my hand below his belly button, over a soft tuft of pubic hair. My fingers brush his shaft. His tip. The hard metal of his piercing.

"I thought you had another three weeks." I groan as I wrap my hand around him.

"Not for you."

He takes my hand and presses it against his hard chest. I spread my legs as he shifts into position.

Almost.

Almost...

T
hat dream. God, that dream. I need a swimsuit and a pool and about a million laps. Something to clear my head. Something to think about besides the angles of Tom's body.

Almost there. The cursor hovers over the
Send
button. I double-check the email. Cover letter attached. Resume attached. Ten edited photos of sexy, boudoir perfection attached.

Here goes nothing. I click
Send
. A second later, the message is sent. And just in time too. It's fifteen till noon. It takes forever to edit with a track pad.

My still-damp hair sticks to my skin. The air conditioning in the lobby is cranked up high, but I'm sweaty and flushed. Even twenty minutes after a shower.

Coffee. I need coffee if I'm going to even fathom getting through today. I find a Thermos of complimentary java and fill a paper cup to the brim. It's bitter. Stale. So much for rescue. A little cream and a lot of sugar help take it up to semi-decent.

I sink into one of the cushy chairs and hug my bag into my lap. The room comes into focus. It's bright outside. The big glass windows mean the entire lobby is backlit. There are about a dozen people here. Most are waiting, sipping drinks, staring at cell phones. Normal hotel stuff.

Crap. Tom is walking towards me. I cross my fingers that he hasn't seen me. How am I supposed to look him in the eyes after that dream?

No luck. He nods hello. A moment later, he plops next to me.

He takes a long sip of a black iced coffee and holds up two pastry bags. "You eat breakfast?" He offers me one of the bags.

"Supposed to have it with Drew."

"It's almost noon. Count that as lunch."

I take the bag. There's an egg, cheese, and avocado bagel inside. Doughy comfort food. Perfect. I take a greedy bite, chewing and swallowing too fast to actually taste it. "Thank you."

His eyes go to my complimentary coffee cup. "There's a Peet's down the street if you want something decent." He holds out his iced coffee, offering it to me.

I take a sip. Damn that's good. It's black but there's no bitterness. It's rich and chocolaty.

When I try to hand it back, Tom waves me away.

"Keep it." He opens the other bag and bites into his bagel sandwich. "You look like you're about to come."

"I do not."

"I like it." He steals my complimentary cup and takes a sip. "No wonder. That's total shit. What do you normally drink in the mornings?"

"I can get my own beverages."

"You want to fight over it, or you want to tell me?" He takes another sip, sticking out his tongue with distaste. "I've got things to do, but I'll wait."

He seems earnest about it. Demanding actually. Okay, if he wants to get me coffee, I'm not going to turn it down.

"Dark roast," I say. "Or cold brew iced coffee if it's a hot day. I like it sweet and creamy. Almond milk if it's available. Half and half if it's not."

"Picky all of a sudden."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I like a girl who knows what she wants." He smiles. "Even if she's bossy about it."

Oh. He's talking about sex. My cheeks flush. "Are you... bossy?"

"I know what I like."

"Oh." My head fills with delicious mental images of Tom back on that bed, unzipping his jeans, issuing all sorts of illicit demands.

"You look fucking adorable when you blush." He pushes out of his seat. "Good thing I made that rule about us being platonic or I might get ideas."

"What kinds of ideas?"

He cocks a brow. "Don't go thinking about me like that, kid. I'm not the kind of guy you want to be involved with."

I nod to Tom. "Yeah. Sure. We're just friends."

"Good." He smiles. "You have a phone?"

I dig my now charged phone out of my purse and hand it to him. He taps a few things into it. Adding his number, no doubt. His cell buzzes in the front pocket of his jeans. Ah, he texted himself.

He hands back my phone. "My eyes are up here."

"Oh yeah. Sorry." It's still too embarrassing to make eye contact. I pretend as if beige wall opposite us is fascinating so I won't turn every shade of red.

"I'll text you what time we're leaving when I know."

"Thanks."

"Better get out of here. Got a lot of shit to do."

I try not to gawk at his ass as he walks away.

I fail.

***

D
rew and Kara take me to a coffee shop down the street. We spend an hour catching up. Despite their insistence that I join their fun group outing, I decline.

When they finally accept my
no
as the end of it, I stream one of my favorite movies,
Bringing Up Baby,
in the hopes of laughing away the sexual tension plaguing my body.

My phone buzzes with a text message. From Tom. He added himself to my phone as
Tom Steele, Irresistible.

Tom: Has your computer melted from the heat of my photos yet?

Willow: Almost. Send me your email and I'll send them to you.

He does. So I do. A moment later, my phone buzzes with another text.

Tom: Damn, kid. It doesn't take a lot of work to make me look sexy as fuck, but these are good.

Willow: Is that a compliment?

Tom: Yeah. These are awesome.

Willow: Thank you.

Tom: Guessing you're not at the theme park.

Willow: No. It didn't sound like my thing. Why didn't you go?

Tom: Had shit to do. I have a proposition for you. What are you doing?

I'm not doing much of anything besides soaking in the air conditioning, but a proposition from Tom sounds like more than I can handle.

Really, I need to start putting my life in order, one thing at a time. Okay. That isn't the most exciting activity but it's necessary.

I check Yelp for my options. Online appointments, short walk from here. Done.

Willow: You think a salon called A Cut Above is any good?

Tom: Doubtful.

Willow: I hope you're wrong. I have an appointment in half an hour. I'll see you later.

***

T
om is sitting on the salon couch, legs spread in that relaxed position confident guys always take. The one that says
you're lucky to have the chance to drop to your knees and blow me.

Not that I'm wondering what that metal stud would feel like against my tongue.

Dammit. Since when do I fantasize about giving head?

"Hey, kid. What's up?" Tom smiles and pats the spot next to him.

The girl at the counter looks at him with lust. She's pretty. Short black hair and plenty of boob to fill out her low-cut blouse.

Tom shoots her a friendly nod. She bites her lip, grips the counter like she's gonna pee her tight black pants.

"Did Drew ask you to keep an eye on me?" I ask.

Tom nods. "Want to tell me why? Since you owe me an explanation for what you're running from."

"Just Drew being Drew."

"Uh-huh." He shifts up, bringing his knees a bit closer together. "You're full of shit."

"I don't need an eye kept on me."

"Course." He takes a long sip of his iced coffee. "But Miles and Drew are with their girls and Pete's not interested in company. So, as my new, platonic friend, you have to keep me entertained."

"That doesn't sound like the give and take of a healthy friendship."

Tom points to his mostly full drink. "I'll let you share my iced coffee."

The way he's laughing, I must be drooling.

"You want me to leave, say the word. I'll find some
one
to do." His gaze goes to the eager receptionist. He looks at her like he's considering the possibility of fucking her, fingering her, eating her out, something.

"No. You can stay." I take a seat next to him. "You look like you spend a lot of time on your hair."

"You calling me vain?" He runs a hand through his wavy, dark blond hair. Shakes his head in mock offense. "So rude, Willow. Gonna kick me out of bed without breakfast too?"

"Not exactly vain. But you know you're handsome."

Like a young Brad Pitt, really.

Fuck, I'm gawking.

"You keep staring, you're gonna give me a complex." He smiles wide. "Willow, Willow, sitting there, who is the fairest of them all?"

"Shut up. You know you're beautiful. I've seen you in magazines. You soak it in."

"Have you?" He raises a brow. "Which ones? Was I naked?"

"Some of the time. But there was never anything showing." My cheeks flush. "I buy anything about Sinful Serenade. To support Drew, you know? If I'm ever Annie Leibovitz famous, he can buy all my stuff."

His knee presses against mine. Thankfully or tragically, we're both wearing jeans. That makes the heat spreading through my body tolerable.

Yes. Platonic friends. I can do that.

I grab a stack of hairstyle books to keep myself occupied.

Tom leans closer, watching everything I'm doing. His chest presses against my back. His chin rests on my shoulder. "You going for anything in particular?"

"Something less... well, less." My long hair is heavy against my neck and back. I flip through a dozen pages of similar long haircuts, the kind of safe thing I normally do.

"Going shorter?" he asks.

"Yeah."

Tom drags his fingertips over my shoulders. "Here?" His fingers graze my neck. "Or here?" They move up to my chin, tracing the line of my jawbone, all the way to my ear. "Or maybe here."

A shiver runs down my spine. God damn, those fingers on my body... There's no doubt about it. My sex drive is not only awake. It's raring and ready to go.

I swallow the gasp that rises in my throat. "I'm not sure."

I need to concentrate on something before I melt. I devote all my energy to the style book. Maybe I can work up the courage to do something shorter. It's just hair. It shouldn't be a big deal.

Tom taps me on the shoulder. "That one's a lot less innocent."

It is. Chin length, choppy, and streaked with bright blue.

"I'm not innocent," I say.

"Of course not. How many guys have you slept with?"

"How is that your business? How many girls have you slept with?"

"I lost track after two hundred."

That's so...

I can't even.

"Ooo, the judgmental look again." He shifts to the left, grabs his coffee, and returns his knees to a
blow me, please
position. "You're cute judgmental."

"I'm not judgmental. Just surprised."

He stares back at me, challenging me.

"If you were going to ballpark it..."

"Four hundred. Maybe five."

My jaw refuses to stay in place.

"I'm always safe. Even with oral."

"I'm not judging."

"Get tested every three months."

I nod. "That's very responsible of you."

"Always been clean."

"That's great."

"You're blushing."