Sultry Groove (Reckless Beat #4) (8 page)

Melody strolled along
the hall of Sean’s apartment building, his dominant presence right by her side. “Why didn’t you park your truck in the apartment parking lot instead of in front of the restaurant?”

He shot her an incredulous look. “Right…I tell you I’m taking you out to dinner, and instead, drive to my apartment. Yeah, not sure why I didn’t do that,” he drawled. “Then again, maybe it had something to do with your reluctance to go with me in the first place. If I’d parked here, you would’ve high-tailed it.”

“True.”

He approached a large white door and pulled his wallet from his pocket to place it against a small square panel in the wall with a tiny red light. The indicator turned green, and a click sounded from the door handle. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you, Red?”

She shrugged. “Just trying to get a feel for you, that’s all.”

“Feel all you like.” He glanced over his shoulder and flashed her a wicked grin.

Her heartbeat faltered. “You broke your promise already.” She stabbed a finger in his direction, shook her head, and then turned to walk toward the hall. His chuckle enveloped her as she playfully retreated, waiting for the moment when he’d pull her back.

He didn’t disappoint. His hand wrapped around her stomach, lifting her off the ground and turning her toward his apartment door that was now slightly ajar.

“I wasn’t flirting,” he muttered. “It wasn’t innuendo…much.” He kicked his door wide with his boot and carried her inside. “I was merely telling you I’m open to whatever is necessary to make you feel comfortable.”

He lowered her feet to the tiled floor and flicked on the light before he closed the door. “The kitchen’s down the hall.” He jerked his head in her direction with a slight glimpse of chagrin on his face.

Her gaze roamed her surroundings, becoming snagged on the frames lining the wall. On either side of the hallway were large images of Sean with the rest of Reckless Beat. They were candid shots. One where Sean had a guy in a head-lock, another with his drum sticks hanging from his nose while the other band members did lurid things with their own instruments. “Nice pictures.”

Melody loved that he had a sense of humor, and didn’t mind making a fool of himself. The characteristic was uncommon to her. She was used to men like her ex, Steve, who didn’t like being seen as anything other than perfect and professional. She guessed she used to be the same. Her work environment had never been about goofing around. That was probably why the dancers she surrounded herself with were highly sexual. When you had a mass of adrenaline to release after a performance and couldn’t drink, smoke, or run around in a crazy, manic state, it didn’t leave much else to do.

The arrogant way she used to conduct herself was no doubt an instrumental factor in her inability to move on from the accident that ruined her life. Anyone else would’ve come to terms with the scars by now, getting back on the horse, so to speak. She couldn’t even climb on the sexy rocker beside her from the fear of him exposing her flaws.

“This one is my favorite.” He passed her, coming to stand in front of the last picture on the wall. “Taken senior year. Mason and I had finished our first paid gig at an underage event.”

She glanced from the smiling teenage faces in the frame to the hard-set features of the man beside her. Something was eating away at him. Maybe it was the whole overworked-underappreciated thing he’d mentioned earlier, she didn’t know. But she was glad she’d followed him home. Being alone and in pain was something she knew all too well and didn’t wish upon anyone.

“It was a lifetime ago.” He strode away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Poor guy. During her hardest moments, seclusion increased her suffering. Her family wanted to pry. They hounded her for information on why she quit her successful career and dumped her
flawless
boyfriend. All it made her do was push them away. Her parents, and especially her older sister, Blair, were her biggest fans. Letting them down was hard. Devastating, really.

Melody turned into a hermit, bottling up her problems when all she needed was someone to sit with so the overwhelming loneliness didn’t consume her. No words. No nagging. Merely company to take her thoughts away. During her suffering, she hadn’t been awarded that break in solitude, but she could help Sean with his.

“How do you like your coffee?” he called from the next room.

“What’ve you got?” She followed after him, coming out of the hall and into a gleaming kitchen and open living area with floor to ceiling windows.

Whoa.
This wasn’t a bachelor pad. This was stylish in its simplicity. There was a dark, L-shaped leather sofa, a huge television built into the wall, and a coffee table with what looked like a stone carved naked woman underneath, holding up the pane of glass.

“Red?”

“Hmm?” She turned to find Sean staring at her from behind the kitchen counter.

“What sort of coffee did you want? I’ve got a machine here that does all that frilly, girly crap.”

She strode toward him, smiling. “I’m not really the frilly, girly crap type. I’ll have whatever you’re having.” She rounded the counter and came to his side as he pulled two mugs from the cupboard beside the oven. “I love your place. I didn’t pick you to be neat and tidy.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He smirked at her and then turned to the large monstrosity of a coffee machine beside the cooktop. “I can’t take credit, though. I paid someone to furnish this place.”

“You’ve still kept it clean.”

“Yeah…well, I pay someone to do that, too.”

OK, so he wasn’t the admirable guy she wanted him to be. Still, it took a certain type of man to care about appearances. From her experience, a lot of single men didn’t bother.

While he played with the machine in front of him, she dawdled toward the windows, dragging her fingers along the soft leather sofa and peering out at the unrestricted view of the James River.

“Do you like the view as much as I do?”

She fought a laugh at the low voice drifting from right behind her shoulder. He was close. Too close. She could practically feel his heat vibrating through her back. It didn’t help that his words held a certain lilt that told her he wasn’t talking about the view from the window.

“I thought we spoke about you flirting.” She turned to face him, almost coming thigh to thigh with a huge wall of muscle.

He exaggerated a scowl, screwing up his already stern expression. “I don’t know where your head’s at, Red, but that was a completely legitimate question.”

If he expected her to believe his legitimacy, maybe he shouldn’t talk in that low, sexy drawl. “The view is fine.”

“Sure is.”

He grinned and handed her one of the mugs in his hand. Their fingers brushed as the warm ceramic pressed into her palm. She wasn’t sure what was hotter, the zing of awareness that shot through her body like liquid fire, or the steaming coffee in her hand. Either way she was burning up, her insides slowly cooking under the scrutiny of his dreamy smile.

“So, where do you practice all your drummerly stuff? Do you have a dedicated room or something?” Space. She needed space. Her desire for him was becoming unbearable. The pit of her belly was one constant ache, and if she didn’t settle soon, she’d do something silly. Something crazy. Like sleep with the most tempting man on earth.

The smirk he shot her was conspiring. Knowing.
Asshole
. He wasn’t stupid. He knew all her womanly parts were primed and ready for his attention.

“Downstairs. Want me to show you?”

She nodded with a little too much enthusiasm.
Space. Now. Please.

“Follow me.”

He sipped his coffee and strode his suave ass away from her. She followed, keeping out of stroking distance while they went through the kitchen and into another hall. It was dark, the light from the open living area the only illumination, and she was sure Sean planned to keep it that way. He was going to corner her and break his promise by plastering his mouth against hers. She could feel her lips tingle in anticipation. Her breath was already hitching in her throat.

“That’s the dining room.” He pointed a hand toward the darkened doorway across the hall. “And the bedrooms are that way.” He pointed to his right, and then turned to the left.

A few steps ahead was the start of a staircase leading into pitch black darkness. Her pussy clenched with the possibilities the limited visibility could hold. In the dark she wasn’t flawed. At least, she could continue to pretend, anyway.

A click sounded as he flicked on a light, and the illuminated staircase stole her excitement. He descended, taking her hopes for a non-masturbatory orgasm right along with him.

“You coming?”

She smothered her whimper of mourning and continued after him, trying not to concentrate on the muscles tightening the material of his shirt. He took another turn at the bottom of the staircase and hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

“Back there is the gym.”

She didn’t bother glancing in the direction he pointed. Gym. Muscles. Hot ‘n’ sweaty. No, thank you. Her mind had enough stimulation without seeing where he pumped iron.

“And over here is where I practice.”

He strode through a doorway, and turned on another light, bringing into view a huge, shiny, black drum kit in the corner of a large room.

“Nice,” she squeaked.
Standby to self-destruct into a drooling, panting mess in five, four, three…
It was only a drum kit. Not visual Viagra. It shouldn’t have had that big of an effect on her. Too bad her libido didn’t know that.

“It does the job.” He stopped at the side of his drums and rested his coffee on the floor.

Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.

He did.

His defined ass slid onto the stool behind the kit, and he produced two sticks from out of nowhere. He began absently twirling them in his hands, watching her, melting her panties. She focused elsewhere, away from the man testing her restraint, past the rippled foam soundproofing in scattered positions on the walls, over the framed, signed images of what she assumed were famous drummers, toward the small shelving system in the corner to her left. There were CDs behind the glass cabinet, more drumsticks, and on top of the structure was a docking station with an iPod. That was it. There was nothing else in the room to distract her from all the hyperventilating goodness of the man before her.

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
She raised the mug to her lips, sipping away the frustration at not being able to drag Sean to bed. She detested her inability to continue flirting with him. If she did, her words would be nothing more than a cock tease. It was impossible for her to follow through with any innuendo. Wasn’t it? She was determined never to reveal her scars, so sex had to be out of the question. Or did it?

Christ, she was wavering like a flag in the wind.

She’d denied herself too long. Her libido was demanding the feel of a strong man’s body against hers. The brush of rough stubble and hard muscle. She wanted the thrill of passion and the height of ecstasy. She wanted adoration, no matter how fleeting.

“Wanna sit with me and I’ll show you how to play?”

She shot him a look. A scathing look. One that said I’m horny as a goat, don’t fuck with me.

He laughed. “You can sit on my lap—”

“And then you can tell me about the first thing that
pops
up, right?”

“Would I do that?” He waggled his brows, still twirling those damn sticks with ease, winding her tighter with each revolution.

“You promised.” She shot another pointed finger at him.

“What?” He held up his hands, the drumsticks stopping dead in their tracks. “Come on, Red. Come sit with me.”

Why was she even contemplating it? Why was she moving toward him? Why, oh why, oh why, was she caught in his gaze and unable to stop her feet from dragging her forward? She came up beside him, almost within reach, and released a silent moan at the extensive bulge in the crotch of his pants. Her lungs seized, and she fought to breathe. “You lied,” she grated over her dry throat.

“How’s that?” he murmured, doing a pretty shitty job of hiding the chuckle in his voice.