Perfect Rhythm

by Letty James

  “LeeAnn, I'm out.”

  “Out?”

  “Yes. I'm gay. Always have been. Always will be.”

  Now she was thoroughly confused. “But you and me. The dinners. The evenings out. And, and...” She stammered, waving her hands toward his crotch, trying to get the words out without totally offending him, because she'd already embarrassed herself.

  “What? My stiffie? I'm gay, not dead. Your man is quite attractive.” He took a large bite of a lemon square and she could swear he looked relieved. “Our dinners were all very nice. I find your company quite grand—and, I'm afraid, strictly platonic. I have a partner at home.” He waved toward his cell phone.

  “I feel like an idiot. But I should be apologizing anyway. It was very unprofessional.” She chugged down half her drink trying to wipe out her earlier fantasies of a little English cottage by the sea with Gordon. Doreen was right. She had been doing a lousy job of finding a husband. Maybe she truly didn't want one after all.

  “Yes. Quite. Don't worry, I won't say anything. As long as you keep bringing me treats.” He smiled as he unwrapped a chocolate bon-bon. “I must say, he's rather a commanding fellow.”

  “That's one way to put it.” She thought of how Johnny had maneuvered the situation that afternoon. And how she had so easily let him. How their roles had been reversed last night. She had driven circumstances then. And he had let her.

  * * * *

  LeeAnn spent a half hour in the shower trying to scrub off Johnny's initials and only succeeding in getting herself more turned on imagining the man himself wielding the washcloth. She dressed in layers, trying to get as many articles of clothing between her and that aggravating man. Panties definitely this time, bra, jeans, boots, camisole, blouse, vest, leather jacket, heavy belt. She felt as if she were gearing up for war. When she got to the venue, she ordered a club soda with lime. Would she be able to sing coherently if she were sober or would Johnny's mere presence trip her up? Her crotch broke out in a sweat.

  A young woman standing by the sound board gave her the eye. Dressed in slim jeans and a band tee shirt, she had long brown silky hair and a petite figure LeeAnn envied. Had she been branded too? LeeAnn squirmed in her seat, Johnny's initials seeming to pulse against her skin. She rolled an ice cube around in her mouth wishing she could put a couple down her pants.

  “Are you LeeAnn Mukulski?” The brown-haired girl spoke.

  “Yeah?” She didn't really want to form a Johnny posse.

  She stuck out her hand. “I'm Geralynne Dorado, Johnny's sister, and manager.”

  LeeAnn shook the woman's hand, her grip firm, her nerves shaking. What had Johnny told her? “Nice to meet you.”

  “Great to meet you. You did a fantastic job last night. Johnny tells me you might be willing to sing some more tonight?”

  LeeAnn nodded her head dumbly.

  “Come on back to the green room with me and we'll talk to Johnny.”

  The whole band was gathered in the green room, making the spacious room seem small. “Hey, LeeAnn's back. Good job, girl,” one of the band members called out.

  LeeAnn blushed as Geralynne patted her arm. Johnny sat in a chair in the corner, a book open on his lap, his eyes boring into hers. Geralynne led her over to the corner as Johnny stood, taller and broader than she remembered from this afternoon. She bit her lip as her inner muscles contracted. Still dressed in his zoot suit, this time with the two-toned shoes. He looked like a sexy gangster.

  Geralynne recited the play list to her. They'd put LeeAnn in about halfway through with three songs she knew. She had the CD at home, in her player, where Johnny would have seen it last night.

  “She's going to have to change,” Johnny said, his gaze never leaving LeeAnn, the air crackling between them.

  “Oh, yeah. We scrounged up a costume for you that coordinates with the guys’ suits. I hope it fits. Johnny guessed on the size.” Geralynne flitted off to get the costume.

  Johnny ran his hand up and down his lapel and LeeAnn remembered the feel of the wool against her skin. “You'll want to wear the dress,” he said. “You'll get hot. Like you did last night.” His voice said so much more than his words, tempting her to be just as naughty.

  “Won't you get hot? With all those clothes on?”

  “I'll be stripping down later.”

  “Me, too.” She grinned up at him, all her hesitation gone.

  He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, grazing her lobe with his fingers, trailing them down her neck to rest against her pulse.

  “Five minutes,” a voice shouted from the door causing the band members to stand and stretch. Johnny stayed still, except for his thumb stroking the line of her jaw.

  “Are you sober?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kiss me.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Kissed him for all the joy and craziness he had brought to her life in only twenty-four hours, and all the madness yet to come because she could tell from the way he kissed her back, there would be a lot more to come.

  “Get a room,” Geralynne chided next to them.

  Johnny gave her one last kiss on her giggling lips and smiled too. “We don't need one. I'll see you later.” With a quick squeeze to her shoulder, he was gone.

  Geralynne held the dress as LeeAnn shimmied into it. Made of midnight blue silk, it skimmed her curves in all the right places. With butterfly sleeves and an empire waist that tied in the back, her cleavage burst forth with a commanding presence. Johnny had even thought to provide era-authentic shoes with pointy toes and chunky heels. Geralynne helped her sweep her hair back into a rhinestone clip.

  Johnny introduced her as she stood in the wings, her cold hands clasped together, her stomach rolling.

  “I'd like to introduce a very special lady we happened to discover right here in Maryland last night.” He paused for some whoops and hollers from the crowd. “Her name may remind you of pirogies and stuffed cabbage.” Johnny's voice turned sexy low. “But her voice is pure cream.” Wolf whistles came from the crowd. “Our very own LeeAnn Mukulski.” The band swung into the intro of Tobacco Road as LeeAnn came on stage and someone in the crowd shouted, “Yeah, baby,” as she leaned into the microphone and channeled Mabelle. Rosie, Pam, Laura and Doreen sat front and center, clapping to the music, their eyes shining with tears, reflecting LeeAnn's own.

  “We love you, LeeAnn,” Rosie shouted after the first verse.

  “I love you, too.” She grinned and waved at her girlfriends. Johnny joined her on the chorus, their voices blending as one, his hand possessively on her hip for all the world to see. Everyone in the audience jumped to their feet to dance as LeeAnn stepped back and began clapping. Johnny gave her a slow, sweet smile as he licked his harmonica in foreplay.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  About the Author

  Letty James started writing when she realized she could make money from day dreaming. She completed her first novel participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo 2005) and has been writing furiously ever since, fueled by chocolate and multiple cups of tea. Having always been a quiet rebel, Letty turned, of course, to erotica. She believes in making her critique partners squirm at every available opportunity.

  Besides writing, Letty has worked in public relations, home/office organizational systems, and retail. She enjoys reading, music, movies featuring studly men, and listening in on other people's conversations. Letty lives in a small town in Maryland with a long-suffering husband, two often-but-not-always adorable children, and the two requisite spitting cats.

  Visit Letty James at www.lettyjames.com.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Also available

  Playing For Keeps

  by

  Devon Gray

  Pasts are best left behind, hidden deep in your memory—that is where I buried mine. The feel of his hands and mouth on my body, the height of sensuality
I reached beneath his touch. I'd fought so hard to forget—how could just the sight of him bring it all back, forcing me to become lost in him? Again.

  Years before I had watched him, craved him—a guitarist in a band riding the wave to stardom—my brother's best friend. On the verge of womanhood, I never dared to reveal how I yearned. Until a cold New Year's Eve when I offered myself as the woman I'd become, bringing to fruition the deepest of wants. As that night turned, so did my life. Devastatingly so. I never dreamed I'd become another of his one night stands.

  Can pasts be exorcised if they come back to haunt you? And when a notorious playboy who broke your heart offers you his ... how do you know if he's playing for keeps?

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Pasts are best left behind. Especially those with embarrassing, painful mistakes in them. Mistakes made with wild abandon, jumping into the deep end of life, uncaring of the consequences. Taking chances. Unfortunately, those chances don't always yield the expected results. The desired outcomes. Sometimes, those chances end up torturing our sleep at night, leaving us perpetually cringing at the recollection of our deeds. In a word, they haunt us.

  But in time we move on. A lesson is learned. We become able to laugh at ourselves. At what we did. We can shake our heads, remembering when we were so naïve, so ignorant of life. And one day, out of nowhere, the past will come back and bite us in the ass. Just because it can.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  I maneuvered the brim of my baseball cap to shield my face, slithering down in my seat. My eyes tracked his movement behind the bar at Bud & Alley's, my favorite hangout in the idyllic beach town of Seaside, Florida.

  At least it was.

  When in the hell did this happen? I peered at Christian through the dark shades of my glasses, tightly grasping the beer bottle sweating in my hand. I eased it to my lips, careful to keep my face concealed.

  His rich laughter echoed down the bar, wrapping around me, sending my pulse on a rampage. I took a long swallow, studying him. He placed his palms against the copper surface of the bar top, leaning forward to get closer to the female patron who was eyeing him like the last pair of Jimmy Choos at a half-price sale, regaling him with some tale that had to be the funniest damn thing he'd ever heard, if his enthusiastic laughter was any indication. With a disgusted sigh, I drained the last of my beer.

  His khaki shorts and restaurant logo t-shirt were standard issue, but on him they were devastating, hugging every hard plane of muscle he had, accentuating the broadness of his chest, his narrow hips, the long length of his tanned legs. The sinewy flesh of his forearms rippled as he leaned even closer over the bar, saying something that sent his enraptured audience into a fit of giggles. I rolled my eyes.

  Tilting my head to the side I looked at the curve of his ass, heat infusing my face as I remembered how I had once slid my inexperienced hands over it, amazed at how his muscles contracted as he drove into me, again and again. I closed my eyes, willing away the memory that had tortured me for months. Okay, years. Oh, but I'd been naïve back then.

  It had been an unseasonably cold December night, the last one of the year, when I had finally mustered the courage to go to Christian. It seemed I had loved him forever. For as long as I could remember being aware of the effect a man could have on my body and heart, it had always been Christian. A man nearly five years my senior and my brother's best friend. A man who had in all likelihood viewed me as a surrogate kid sister, perhaps even a pest sometimes as I followed the two of them around with stars in my eyes.

  I'm not sure what it was that gave me courage to go to him that night, in all the awkward innocence being eighteen brings about. Especially when clumsy overtures by boys my own age had been ignored—I was truly wading in the unfamiliar. But this unchartered territory held promise of everything I had dreamed about as I lay awake at night trying to make sense of my overwhelming need to feel his hands on me.

  Anywhere. Everywhere.

  I stood outside his door, my heart skipping to its own beat of fear, anticipation and doubt. What I was about to do ... the mere thought sent shivers across my skin. But it didn't stop me. Rapping my knuckles against the door of his apartment, I took two steps back, reassuring myself I was not making a mistake. That I could handle this. That he would want me, too. But then the door opened, and he stood before me, a look of confusion clouding his emerald eyes.

  “Emma? What are you doing here?”

  My gaze darted about, not settling on any one thing, especially not his bare chest and low slung jeans. And certainly not his gorgeous face. I'd be lost if I dared a glance, and I would lose my nerve completely. “I, ah, wanted to check on you. You cut out of the party early.” I met his gaze then, my stomach pitching. “Are you okay?”

  He smiled at me. A smile that lit up his face and melted my heart. Pulling the door open he gestured for me to enter. “I'm fine, Em. Just wasn't in a partying mood.”

  I nodded, stepping into his apartment. Glancing around the room I focused on his collection of guitars and masculine leather furnishings. Anything but him. I was in way over my head, and I knew I'd be lucky if I got out of there with any portion of my dignity intact.

  “You okay, Emma?”

  I turned at the sound of his voice, my gaze skimming over his muscular chest, dropping to his pelvis where the pull of his hands in his pockets stretched denim tautly across his body. “I, ah...” Heat suffused my face. “Of course.” I nodded. “Yes.”

  Christian closed the distance between us, forcing my regard on him with a tilt of his finger under my chin. “You sure, Em? Did something happen to you at the party?”

  My attention was drawn to his lips, the fullness of them eliciting a tingling sensation between my legs. I returned my gaze to his, my heartbeat galloping in my chest. “No, nothing happened. I'm fine, really,” I replied. I'd never felt less fine in my life.

  A brief smile came to his lips. Seconds ticked by as my nerve dwindled like a dying ember. I pulled in a deep breath, his questioning look still pinning me where I stood. “It's just...” I stammered, once again breaking eye contact.

  Placing his hands on my shoulders, he kneaded the tense muscles gently. “What is it, Emma?”

  I forced myself to look at him, fear coursing through every cell in my body. “It's...” Oh, God. Just say it. Or do it, for crying out loud. I shook my head and stood on my toes, placing my hands on his shoulders. I brushed my lips against his in a tentative caress, moving them across his mouth with a feathering touch. His body stiffened beneath my hands, his lips unmoving. Panic gripped me at the blunder I had obviously made. Assuming this man, who could have any woman he wanted, would view me as anything other than his friend's kid sister was laughable. Embarrassment took up with panic, the two of them nearly bringing me to my knees. I forced myself to look at him.

  “I'm sorry, Christian. I don't know what I was thinking,” I managed to squeak out through my trembling lips.

  He stared down at me in silence, his eyes taking on the look of the gulf as a storm churned its waters. I swallowed down a lump of nerves as he brushed a curl from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. His hand slid to my nape, drawing me toward him. His lips touched mine, much in the manner as I had kissed him, but he didn't hesitate. He moved his mouth, gently parting my lips until he could press his tongue between them. I sighed at the contact, willingly stepping into his embrace when he wrapped his arms around me.

  “Emma,” he whispered against my mouth as his lips left mine to travel across my jaw, down to my neck. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to my throat as his hand closed over my breast, kneading the tender flesh in his palm. The sensation was exquisite—pressure built deep inside of me from his caresses, a desperation that drove me to rock my pelvis toward him.

  He raised his gaze to mine, a look in his eyes I had never seen before. “Come here,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me toward his bedroom.<
br />
  I followed him down the hall, my heart racing. As we stepped into his room and the door clicked shut behind us, I began to tremble.

  To purchase Playing For Keeps and other erotic titles, visit www.thewilderroses.com.

  * * *

  Visit www.thewildrosepress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.