Liz swayed to the beat, marched in place. Beneath the fiery red fringe of her bangs, she let her eyes rest on no one. Repeatedly, she let the hand not gripping the microphone rest near her abdomen while singing about walking alone. Was she—
“She’s pregnant,” Adrian murmured at close range. “Kat’s furious with her brother.”
Rick recovered quickly. “Has he pulled a runner?”
“Not exactly sure what’s going on. The ladies confronted her at the Naked Bagel a while back; she had been MIA and they suspected something was up.”
“Speaking of the ladies . . .” Rick glanced around, causing Adrian to laugh. “They’re not plotting to shanghai me here with another blind date, are they?”
“Not to worry, mate. I think they’re only interested in getting their drink, and their tunes, on.” He perused the karaoke schedule. “Pity. Looks like the playlist is totally full. No time for us to steal the spotlight, I reckon.”
“Very funny. Look, I’ve been meaning to ask . . . Could you tell them to call off their search?” He tipped the waitress heavily and relieved her drink tray of the double Jack. “I beg of you. In the name of all that is holy.”
“Oh?”
He caught the mischievous gleam in Adrian’s baby blues, sky-high with the limitless possibilities of taking the piss out of him if given the chance.
“What happened to being a free agent?” Adrian wanted to know.
“I’ve narrowed down my options. To one.” If he downed his drink, he wouldn’t have to elaborate.
“I’m not goin’ on stage by myself!” Marissa’s voice was even brassier when doused with drink. “Le’s in the can! Oh, man . . . we’re up. Who’s with me?”
Kat was quick to find new recruits. “Hey guys. All the slots are filled tonight. If you want to have a turn, you’re going to have to take Marissa and Leanna’s song.”
Rick allowed Adrian to humor his slightly inebriated fiancée. It was going to take a helluva lot more than a few shots of Jack to get—
Abbey handed Rick the wireless karaoke mic and gave him her best puppy dog eyes. No doubt her mum’s clan had put her up to it.
“Shall we have a go? We’ve certainly done a lot worse,” Adrian prompted. Grinning, Kat plucked Rick’s drink from his other hand.
“Oh, bloody hell. At least tell me what they’ve got cued for us.”
The men strode to the low stage, then hopped on. Rick tried to remember the last time they played to a crowd of roughly thirty. Give or take. Mostly women. Mostly drunk. And one child who cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted a request, mangling the pronunciation of “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
“So . . . about this option you’ve narrowed your sights on,” Adrian began, grabbing the back-up mic.
“She’s a nice Indian girl. Do I have your blessing?” Rick tossed back his curls and allowed the meager spotlights to warm his face. A stage is a stage is a stage. All the world’s a stage. Being on one was more than just comfortable; it was as natural as taking a slash.
The caption machine flashed Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf” title in big purple letters.
“Seriously? Can’t we get a last-minute change request?” Adrian sputtered. The guy in charge of the PA just shook his head and pointed to the sign typed in seventy-two-point font next to the machine. ALL SONG CHOICES FINAL—NO EXCEPTIONS!
“You got us into this, Simon Poxy Le Bon. You’re singing lead.”
“Fine. You can do all the doot-do-do-doos.” Adrian laughed and signaled for the track to start. He began to snap his fingers to fall in with the eighties synthpop beat. “By the way . . . you totally have my blessing. Curry is, after all, the new national dish of Britain.”
Sidra
Sun Salute
Rick’s was the only body still lying in Corpse pose.
“Are you all right, dear?”
“Yes, Vivian. Just taking full advantage of Savasana.”
Sidra, straightening props with her back to the departing class, smiled as she listened to their interchange. Rick had slowly opened to the idea of being a student in her beginners class, and he had far exceeded her expectations, as well as the abilities of most of his neighbors on the mats. He was now habitually prompt, he was courteous, and his was the face she looked forward to seeing most when she walked into the room.
And his kisses sent her out of this world.
Nothing wrong with a little bit of snogging. Off the clock and off the mat. Right?
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Sullivan.
She turned, glimpsing the old woman pat his shoulder with a gnarled but gentle hand before rising.
Rick handed Sidra a card as he was leaving. “My turn. Can you meet me here tomorrow? At around five fifteen?”
She scanned the address scrawled on it before searching his face. “Central Park West?” Curiosity trumped suspicion . . . but she waited for him to elaborate.
“Doorman building, security cameras . . . perfectly safe to arrive at that hour.”
“I’ve got a class starting at five.”
“I meant in the morning, luv. There’s something I want to show you. I swear it’s on the up-and-up. Nothing untoward is going to happen.”
She tilted her head and studied him. He’d looked like hell and had complained of a rough night’s sleep when he’d arrived, but as usual, her class appeared to breathe life and energy back into him. “You doing okay?”
“Other than not sleeping, I’m tip-top. Oh, and bring your yoga mat.” He gave her a tired smile as he exited, choosing the narrow hall to the front door rather than the passage through the record shop. She noticed him meandering in there sometimes, before and after class. Lost in some sort of musical memory lane, no doubt.
“Amazing class, as usual,” Vivian said as she passed her. “That poor man,” she added under her breath with a tsk and a shake of her rosy hair.
“What do you mean?”
“I think I know a broken heart when I see one.”
* * *
“I don’t normally make house calls,” Sidra joked nervously. She had been in sensory overload since stepping out of the cab in front of the landmark building. As she waited for the doorman to phone up her arrival, she had wondered if Rick entertained women at this bizarre hour often. Now, as she paused in the threshold, she began to question not so much her safety, but her reputation.
Last night, she’d looked up the word he’d used—untoward—in the dictionary. Inappropriate, the definition began. Or inconvenient. Unexpected. Improper. Contrary to your interests or welfare, it had warned further.
Rick stood before her. She had witnessed him in minimal dress at the studio, obviously, since yoga required comfortable clothing and bare feet. But the change of scenery changed everything. Wearing just a plain white T, a pair of black board shorts, and a warm, sleepy smile, he appeared much more sexy and self-assured.
“Come on in; perfect timing.”
“I guess I’m not the only one who gets up at the ass-crack of dawn. Wow.” She slowly dropped her bag as she took in the main living space and its floor-to-ceiling windows. Rick had just a few candles burning on the coffee table, but combined with the ambient light slowly increasing through the uncovered windows, it was perfect.
“I didn’t get up this early . . . I just never went to bed.” He picked up her yoga mat and gently took her hand. “Over here.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping? Are you still having the panic attacks?” She wondered just where his bed was, and imagined what the rest of the apartment must look like based on the palatial living room. He rolled out her mat right in front of the center window.
“I had a whopper of one the other night. It started as a dream. Well, nightmare, I suppose. So I came downstairs, did a few tree poses, and paced until dawn.” He stood in Mountain on the Persian rug and beckoned for her to join him. The hollows under his dark eyes were more pronounced than usual, giving him a tortured artist look that plucked at her very heartstrings.
She thought about Vivian’s comment yesterday and wondered what it was she did not know. But his eyes themselves were bright as he turned his head to the east. “This is what I wanted to show you,” he stated in a breath barely above a whisper.
Sidra followed his gaze. A shimmering red-gold sun was just making its debut above the tiny LEGO brick–like buildings across the park. Its rays began to burst through each and every treetop. “All my life I’ve lived on the East Side of the island,” she gasped. “But I’ve never, never seen the sun rise like this.”
“And I’ve been living in the West for far too long,” Rick murmured. “Only watching the sun set.”
She stared, enraptured as the light continued to stream at a pace not unlike one of those time-lapse videos. She didn’t want to move and miss a moment of it, but at the same time, she wanted to honor the view as well. “How perfect for Sun Salutations.”
“Carpe punctum. Seize the moment.” He smiled.
She smiled back, knotting her loose cotton top at her waist and pulling her hair back with the orange ribbon she kept around her wrist. “Surya Namaskara,” she pronounced, standing in Mountain, hands in prayer position. It felt glorious to close her eyes and bask in the glow now illuminating the entire room. She began to silently flow through all twelve poses. It wasn’t until she lifted into Downward Facing Dog that she realized Rick had moved behind her and was settled on the couch, watching her.
“How can you just sit there, doing nothing?” she mocked him with a version of his own words from last week. “And I’m up here doing all the work.”
“I’m memorizing your every move,” he said quietly. “For when I’m not graced by the pleasure of your company.”
She smoothly swept her right foot through and came up into a lunge, inhaling deeply. With Rick’s eyes on her, she stepped her left foot forward to meet the front and folded her body into a deep forward bend. “How’s the view?” she asked after her exhale.
“Spectacular,” came his strangled reply.
Smiling, she lengthened her spine, reaching up and out with her arms, her pelvis tilted forward. “Gentle backbend. This is a great chest opener,” she pointed out to him. “Might be good for prepping to sing.”
“I’m taking notes.” He laughed, his eyes zeroing in on hers. Is it possible he’s even cuter from upside down? The thought made her dizzy. She released back into Mountain, her back to him. If I had a view like this, she thought, I’d be up doing yoga every morning at sunrise. Then again, if I had a tall, dark, and sexy guy lounging on my couch every day . . . She breathed deep, summoning up her courage before turning toward him.
“Still memorizing?” she asked, slowly skimming off her top to reveal a purple lace demi bra.
Moment seized.
“One might call it that,” he said slowly, leaning slightly forward.
Locking her eyes on his, she released her hair and shook it out to its full length. With one snap and push, she was stepping out of her cut-off shorts and moving toward him. She mentally congratulated herself on having the foresight to pair the matching lace panties that morning. Rick obviously approved, biting his bottom lip and drinking in her every curve.
“You once asked me if yoga was always so hostile,” she teased, straddling his lap.
“Never again,” he swore, tangling his fingers through her tresses and pulling her gently closer. The kiss she dropped on his lips was complicated, a mixture of pent-up longing and sheer desire, yet still tentative, unsure of its message.
Rick responded fully, his lips mirroring hers in every subtle movement. The sun baked against her back while his warm hands explored the hollow of her collarbones, causing her to feel absolutely worshipped. She sighed as his fingers slipped down to her cleavage, then danced around her navel before traveling farther south.
“Hey, before we get too . . . you know?” She ran her hands down his strong shoulders, fingers climbing up his muscle-hugging short sleeves. “Do you have anything?”
“I’ve had a vasectomy, luv,” he whispered, lightly biting her earlobe.
Oh God. His tongue in her ear, combined with that knowledge, revved her drive up to double speed. Still, she reasoned, there’s so much I don’t know.
“And I’m on the pill. But there are other things to worry about, and I don’t—”
“You don’t want any worries,” he finished for her.
“And I don’t want to talk about it all right now. And kill the mood.”
“Hang on.” He planted a kiss on her shoulder as she reluctantly shifted to free him. She smiled, watching him race up the spiral staircase in the corner, and she could hear his feet pounding a path from room to room. Hugging a velvety throw pillow to her bare stomach, she waited. She wondered what made him tick and just what turned him on. Her head craved to learn more, and her heart flitted madly.
Rick bounded down the stairs moments later, and she interpreted his smile as a successful quest. “Good thing . . . Otherwise I was ready to go door to door,” he joked, kneeling at her feet.
“Rick!” She bopped him on the head with the pillow, laughing.
“Easy now!” He plucked it from her hands and tossed it aside. “Come ’ere, Goddess.” Sidra gasped at the first flick of his tongue against her inner thigh. “You can stop me at any time, you know.” She simply nodded, not wanting to add words to the moment. He licked his way up one leg, pausing only for an open-mouthed kiss right against the silk of her panties. She felt her whole being quiver with delight she had never known before. Up he went, tonguing her stomach, popping the front clasp of her lacy demi with his thumb, covering her torso with his kisses.
She drew a ragged breath and leaned back as his lips gave attention to each side of her neck, then lingered at the hollow of her throat. He was rock-hard and right between her legs now, and moaned as she imprinted her back to the couch and pushed up her hips to meet him.
That tiny movement had changed the dynamic. A low growl emanated from Rick’s throat as he hitched his hands under her ass and peeled her panties off. She clawed at his back, rendering him shirtless. The dagger inked on his chest quivered as he heaved a breath and shucked his shorts.
“Top,” she said huskily, and he willingly flipped her. She had him on the couch and under her touch now, running fingertips down the silky hair of his legs. She teased him, barely letting her fingers linger as she ran her hand up past his knee and over to his navel. His entire frame stiffened, then surrendered to her. Head bent, she began to slowly lick each nipple, erect between their rings of steel. His fingers sought out their own prize, and she cried out as he hooked his thumb between the slickness of her folds, as if he had already memorized exactly what her body needed.
He kissed her as she came, his open mouth capturing every moan as she bucked against his palm. She couldn’t remember experiencing such prolonged waves of pleasure, and realized she was on the peak of another orgasm as Rick sheathed himself.
“You need to fuck me now.” His voice had a rough catch, opening her eyes to a different part of him. There was something primal yet sacred in the way he closed the gap between them, locking his elbows around her arms. She felt his hot mouth on her throat, his hands tangling through her hair.
“Oh my God, yes!” She began to ride him hard, rhythmically. He met her, matched her, then pulled her down deep. “Oh, Rick!”
“Don’t stop, luv.”
“I want to come with you.” She barely got the words out before he heaved toward her and they reached the peak of pleasure together, their gazes locked. He touched her face, her hair, so tenderly that Sidra wanted to stay at the top of whatever magic they had created in the cosmos. But gently, beautifully, they were descending together, sighing, kissing, smiling.
“The sun,” he whispered, his eyes glistening. “You’ve got flames in your hair, my golden goddess. So stunning . . .”
She shifted, breaking contact for a moment, but then sidling up to cuddle close. They watched in silence, tangled together, as the sky
matured from pinky-yellow to summer blue, and their breaths and pulse rates resumed their normal rhythms.
“I’ve got a train to catch,” she said regretfully.
“No, you don’t.” Rick laughed. He hoisted himself up and padded down the hall. Sidra heard water running.
“I’m not joking. Day job.” She reached for her discarded garments.
“I’ll pay you twice as much as whatever day job you have.” He strode back in bare-assed, as unabashed as she was incensed.
“And that didn’t make me feel like a prostitute at all,” she quipped, mistaking his shorts for her top. She hurled them in anger, and he deftly caught them against his naked form. Good hand-eye coordination, of course, she fumed. Fucking musician.
“Ah, come on, Sidra. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No? You can screw me on your couch or grab a quick feel on the yoga mat, but God forbid you bring me into your bed.”
“I would love nothing better than to have you in my bed, luv. But it’s very far from here, and you would surely miss your train.”
The humor in his voice, scantily clad by his calm tone, infuriated her. You rich, conceited prick, she seethed. You’re fucking amused? “It all comes down to money in the end, doesn’t it? I’m just like some bar tab to you.” Dressed now, she jerked her mat from the floor, barely even bothering to roll it.
“What? No, luv. You’ve got me all wrong.”
“Must be nice to be all right, then. Here on Central Park West. I’m working my ass off, just trying to have a prayer of keeping my studio open. It does come down to money for me.”
“Whoa, can we back this conversation up and start over?”
Softer Than Steel (A Love & Steel Novel) Page 20
