Tom’s answering smile was cool. “Vividly.”
Bay choked on her drink and Pete snorted with laughter. Kym grinned, then shot a look at her boyfriend’s tight face and smoothed it out, but not before shooting an apologetic look at Bay. She was used to refereeing Bay and Stu’s antagonistic relationship. Not for the first time, Bay wondered what she saw in the idiot. She turned back to Tom.
“So, when you say development …?”
“I mean you writing original songs for the band—have you considered that before? I understood from Stuart that you’ve discussed it.”
Bay smiled at Kym, who nodded. “Life got in the way.”
“You all have full-time jobs then?”
For the next few minutes, as Kym and Pete talked about their jobs—record store clerk and kindergarten teacher respectively—Bay had a chance to study Tomas Meir. He had dark, close-cropped curls, a finely angled face with an aquiline nose, and a full, sensual mouth. Thick, dark lashes framed those intensely green eyes and it was all she could do not brush her fingers across them. God, he was …she was casting around for the right word when he turned that gaze back to her and the word came to her. Glorious.
“And what about you, Bay?”
The way he said her name made her toes curl with desire and she had to take a beat before she answered him.
“I run my uncle’s motorcycle franchise.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Well, that was unexpected.”
She laughed then. “I say run it …I’m having to sell the business.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, picking up her beer. “Don’t be. It’s kind of a relief if I’m honest. I know nothing about bikes or anything to do with the motor industry, period. I just helped out when my uncle got too sick to run it.”
“I’m sorry. Is he still with you?”
She shook her head, surprised with herself. She never talked about her family. Never. What was it about this man that made her want to tell him everything? “No, he died last year.”
“Any other family here in Seattle?”
She swallowed the overwhelming sadness within her. “No. Not anymore.” The others were talking amongst themselves and suddenly she was aware that the conversation between her and Tomas had taken on an intimate atmosphere. He smiled at her, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
“So,” he said gently. “Maybe we can work out something to fill your days. Kym tells me you’re the songwriting genius in the band. I’d like to take you in the studio and see what happens.”
Bay’s mouth jerked up in a smile. Why did that sound so dirty in her mind? Tomas must have realized what he’d said because two spots of pink appeared at the top of his cheekbones. The effect was strange on such a confident man, yet it made Bay warm to him even more.
“Well,” she said, sticking her tongue in her cheek. “Wouldn’t that be …interesting?”
There was a short silence, then they both burst out laughing. It broke the tension and Bay felt herself relaxing in his company.
“What are you two talking about? If it’s something to do with the band …” Stu’s voice was whiny and Bay felt a flash of annoyance. Tomas shot Stu a withering look.
“Don’t worry, Lawson, nothing to do with money. We were just discussing writing some songs.”
Kym leaned over, looking excited. “So you’ll do it?” She beamed and Bay couldn’t help nodding and smiling at her best friend.
“For you, anything,” she said and Kym squealed in delight. Pete, who hadn’t missed the chemistry between Bay and Tomas, squeezed Bay’s hand.
“About damn time,” he said in his deep booming voice as he nodded to Tomas, satisfied. Bay could tell he approved and she was glad. Pete Espinoza was rarely wrong about people and if he could see that Tomas was the real deal, then she knew it wasn’t just her hormones working. The thought made her grin.
Later, at almost four a.m., Tomas walked Bay to her battered, much-loved Mustang. Tomas whistled through his teeth as he saw the car.
“Boss 302, very nice. Thought you said you knew nothing about cars.”
Bay grinned shyly. “It was my brother’s. He sold it to me when he ‘upgraded’ to a Merc. I told him he had no taste.”
“Excuse me, I have a Mercedes.” He pretended to be affronted and she grinned.
“Then you both have no taste.”
“Your brother’s gone?”
She nodded and looked away from his gaze. Tomas nodded, studying her reaction. There was a story there, he was sure, but he didn’t want to intrude on her privacy. Who are you kidding, Meir? Ever since she’d walked into the bar, there had been an almost unbearable tension between them and now, in the soft light of early morning, she looked so beautiful that he just wanted to kiss her and feel her arms around him. Her café-au-lait skin, that soft tumble of dark waves over her shoulders, the dark burgundy of her full lips, and those eyes—they had been the biggest surprise. He’d expected dark brown, but when he’d finally seen her close up, he saw they were the deepest violet he had ever seen, rimmed by thick, black lashes. He’d been lost the moment he looked into them. God, let’s be real man—you want to fuck her senseless. He pushed the thought aside. If they were going to be working together …
“If we’re going to be working together,” she said suddenly, echoing his thoughts so much he started, surprised. “Then …we should probably …” She was blushing madly and he couldn’t stop himself. He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, her little fingers tangling in his short hair and her tongue caressing his. He pushed up her skirt as she reached for his fly, freeing his diamond-hard cock from his pants. He tore the panties from her and lifted her up, pressing her back against the car as he thrust deeply into her, his cock huge and pulsing with his desire for her. His hands molded around her beautiful breasts as he slid his hands into her dress, under her bra. God, the feel of her as he moved in and out of her was …
“Tom?”
He blinked. Bay stood in front of him, an amused frown on her face. Fully dressed, and not, unfortunately, being thoroughly and comprehensively fucked by him. Dammit. His cock strained painfully against his underwear.
Bay put her head to one side. “Where’d you go? I was saying we’ll have to postpone our studio time until I get the business stuff sorted. Then I’ll be unemployed and all yours.”
If only. But he nodded, smiling.
“No problem. You have my number and I’ll check in on you and the others periodically.” I’ll try and stop myself from calling you as soon as you’re out of my sight.
She smiled, gratefully. “Thanks. Listen, I have to go grab some sleep before the bike shop opens. It’s really good to meet you.”
She held out her hand and he took it, her skin silky under his. They gazed at each for a long moment. What was a handshake had turned into just holding her hand, he realized, and, reluctantly, he let go.
“I’m really excited about this, Bay. I think the band—and you-- could really go a long way.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
She grinned, and although he knew she was fatigued from the late night, he thought he also saw in her a deep tiredness, an ache, and a sadness. He knew that if he could, he would try to erase whatever made this beautiful young woman so sad.
For now, he kissed her cheek and watched as she drove off in the direction of the waterfront. He walked around the old red building that had evolved from a silent movie theater to one of Seattle’s foremost venues. Under the Paramount’s sign, now in darkness, the board read “Seattle’s Most Popular Covers Band—The 9th & Pine! Every Second and Fourth Friday of the Month! Book Early to Avoid Disappointment!”
Tomas Meir smiled to himself as he began to walk back to his hotel. Before he was finished, the 9th& Pine would be more than just a local covers band—they’d be the biggest band in the country. Tom told himself that this was what he had been looking for his whole career—an oppor
tunity to nurture raw talent and build a songwriting partnership that would bring quality and resonance back into the music world.
And it had nothing to do with the warm, violet eyes, the pink rosebud mouth, and the soft curves that would haunt his dreams from that night onward.
Nope, nothing at all …
Bay told herself she was only a little disappointed when the text wasn’t from Tom. Just a little. She hissed in frustration when she read the message. Stu was hounding her. Again.
We need to exploit the momentum, Bay. We need to sign NOW.
It was his fourth text of the morning. Bay moaned and turned over in bed, burying her face in the pillow. She was already late opening the shop, but she figured …what was the point anyway? She was closing the doors at the end of the week. Her loyal but sorrowful customer base simply couldn’t drum up enough business for her. She was losing money by keeping it open more or less as a meeting place for her customers who would come in, take advantage of her mini fridge and coffee machine, and reminisce about the time they rode from Tacoma to Tennessee. Bay didn’t mind; in fact, she loved them all—the huge dudes who loved their Harleys and who had loved her uncle. Uncle Prakash had come to this country from his native India in the seventies, along with his sister, Bay’s mother. When she had died when Bay was five, he’d taken her two kids in—Bay and her elder brother Ravi—and loved and cared for them as if they were his own. Their American-born biological father was long gone, and so the three of them lived and worked together. When Bay had shown true musical talent, Prakash had insisted on paying her college tuition.
Bay forced herself to roll out of bed and into the shower. If only Uncle Prakash hadn’t gotten sick. She’d been at the top of her class, her career as a classical pianist set. Now as she dressed, she couldn’t imagine leading that life, with recitals and performances in huge quiet halls. She loved the roar of the crowd, the way they would sing along with her, and the way they moved as one, like a seething sea of limbs and bodies to the rhythm of whatever song they were doing—a rocked out version of a pop song or vice versa. God, she loved it.
And now she was getting the chance to write songs of her own …with Tomas, she thought with a thrill. Ha, she told herself. Yeah right. Like you’ll ever let anyone that close again. The thought depressed her, and as she soaped her body, she allowed her hand to drift between her legs and stroke, thinking of Tom and how that his mouth would feel against hers, his big hands on her body, and his cock thrusting into her. She shivered through an orgasm before finally shutting the water off and drying herself. How long had it been since she’d slept with someone? She thought about it, then shook her head.
“If you’re obsessing over it, Tambe,” she said out loud to herself, “It’s officially too long. You are Seattle’s answer to Miss Havisham.”
The thought made her grin and she was still grinning when she opened the shop later than usual. Three of her regulars were sitting outside waiting for her, gently teasing her for being late.
“Hey, now, leave her alone. Maybe the little missy finally saw some action last night.” Jed, a massive biker with a beard as long as he was, winked at her.
Bay giggled, flushing furiously. “Now, you know you’re the only man for me, Jed.”
“Damn straight.” He patted on her the back as she let them in. Bay listened to him talking to the other guys, Goober and Stevo, while she put the coffee pot on and raised the shades. There were only a couple of Harley’s left now; if she didn’t sell them, she’d have to part with them to a buyer who’d offer her way under market value for them. She was tempted to keep one of them, a beautiful vintage Harley that had been her uncle’s back in the day, but she’d never even sat on a bike, so what would be the point?
The rest of the store was looking decidedly barren. She’d slashed the prices to half-price on spares, tools, and other kit, and it had been swept up by bike enthusiasts. Where had they been when she needed to keep the business open? She sighed now. If she was honest, this was a relief. She needed to move on and get out. Her thoughts drifted back to the previous evening. She was excited in a way she hadn’t been for years. A real chance at a musical career …she could barely believe it. She had thought that life lost to her, but now …
“Hey, missy, you want some coffee?”
Bay smiled at Stevo, who was brandishing the coffee pot. “Sure thing, thanks. Now,” she went to sit with her friends, “How’re we going to celebrate our last week?”
Kym Clayton tugged her long, blonde hair up into a ponytail as she waited for Stu. They were meeting her parents for lunch and so, as always, Stu was prevaricating. Kym sighed. She knew her parents and her friends—everybody, really—couldn’t stand Stu, and she understood why. He was vain, deceitful, and manipulative—a man who couldn’t quite understand that his faded pretty boy looks couldn’t get him whatever he wanted anymore.
Yeah, she got it. Trouble was, at night, when they were alone, he was totally different. Vulnerable and loving …and he knew exactly what to say to make her feel like the most wonderful person who’d ever lived. Kym told herself that was the real Stu and that the other was just bluster and hyperbole …except for one thing.
He frightened her. When he went off—and that was often—his aggression was always aimed at her, even if she’d done nothing. His apologies were lavish and over-the-top, begging her for forgiveness.
What the hell are you doing with him? Kym asked herself that question often, but she knew the answer. She loved him. When he came to her, crumbling with guilt for his behavior, she would cradle his head against her chest and soothe him. His arms would go around her, then, and they would invariably end up in bed.
“Hey, we going, or what?”
She started as Stu stood in the doorway. He looked nervous—he always did when he met her parents. Kym nodded and picked up her bag.
At the restaurant, her mom stood and waved maniacally as they came through the door. Kym grinned as the other diners at first looked up in annoyance, then awe as they realized who they were looking at. Charlie “Muse” Clayton, a rock star for the better part of forty years, hugged her daughter tightly. Kym’s dad, Mac, tall and silent with his dark blonde hair pulled back into a long ponytail, shook Stu’s hand, dropping it quickly. Charlie’s dark gold eyes sparkled as she looked over her daughter, who was dressed in regulation jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt.
“You look gorgeous, honey. Gosh, I missed you. When are you going to bring my daughter back to Nashville, Stuart?”
Kym watched as Stu reddened under her mother’s gaze. Very few men—or women—were immune to Charlie’s innate magnetism. Certainly not Stu, who took a sip of his soda before answering.
“Anytime she wants, Charlie. We’ve just been busy with the band.”
Mac snorted slightly and Charlie flashed him a look. “I bet. Hey, we drove past the Paramount on the way here. My little girl’s band is up on the marquee there. I was a proud mama.”
Kym knew her mother meant well. It was just …she always managed to make it sound as if they were just “playing” at being a band. Kym kicked Stu under the table.
“Actually, we have some news. A record company is interested in developing us.”
Stu nodded. “A big one, too. Quartet Records.”
“Wow.” Charlie looked impressed, but Mac Clayton harrumphed.
“What the hell is development’? You write a song, you record it, it gets on the radio, and people buy it. The fuck does ‘they’re developing us’ mean?”
Kym felt the choking numbness creep into her chest; the familiar humiliation that being the lesser-talented daughter of two rock gods had always engendered in her. She drew in a breath, hoping Stu would defend her, but he sat there, flushed with anger himself. He wouldn’t stand up to her dad. He never had.
“It means exactly that, Dad. We’re going to be writing our own songs--“
“We? “You mean Bay is.”
This time, tears did spring up in her eyes, and she looked
away and was silent. Every fucking time.
“Yeah, dad,” she said, anger rippling in her voice, “You don’t have to remind me. Bay is the talented one.”
Mac drained his scotch. “Did I say that? Hey, Charlie, did I say that?”
Her mother sighed and Kym realized how tired she looked. “Let’s change the subject anyway.”
Kym’s shoulders slumped. For once, choose me. Defend me, mom. She shifted in her seat and felt Stu’s hand curl around hers.
“It’s a pretty big deal,” he said to her parents. “Once they all get done writing an album’s worth of songs, there’ll be a showcase for the record company. Then a single, a video …”
Kym, surprised, smiled gratefully at her boyfriend. This. This was why she kept trying with him—these small moments when he was selfless, when he protected her. He knew it bugged her that Bay’s talent was inherent, whereas she, Kym, had to work to be as good. Not that she blamed Bay—she loved Bay more than anyone in the world and Bay would be horrified if she knew what Kym felt about her own ability.
After lunch, she kissed her parents goodbye and almost laughed with relief as they waved them off. Stu kissed her temple.
“You know what? I know they’re your parents but …”
“They’re kind of assholes,” she finished and sighed. “Yep.” Stu’s arms tightened around her.
“Let’s go home.”
As Stu drove, she texted Bay. Just had lunch with the Olds.
A second later. God, I’m sorry. Did you wear your Hazmat suit?
Kym grinned. Bay knew what her parents were like—she was the only one who could get away with calling them out to their faces when they put Kym down. Her phone buzzed again.
Can you ask Stu to stop harassing me? He keeps on about the record deal. It’s annoying.
Kym frowned and looked at her boyfriend. “Why are you texting Bay?”
Stu shrugged. “She seems to be the one holding up this deal. As always, it’s all about her.”
Kym sighed. Stu always rubbed Bay up the wrong way and Kym suspected that it was because, secretly, Stu had a thing for her gorgeous best friend. Bay, on the other hand, thought Stu was a douche bag. She’s not wrong. Kym pushed the thought away. Stu enjoyed messing with Bay’s head as a punishment for not wanting him back, but lately their antagonism had been reaching mythic levels. More than once she’d had to step between them before Stu got physical with Bay. As fiery as Bay could be, she was tiny, and Stu could hurt her if they got into it.
His Beautiful Revenge: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 65
