IntheMood

by Lynne Connolly

  He grinned and leaned back, the flimsy bentwood chair creaking under him. “It’s okay, I know what you mean. I used to watch myself and wonder what was happening. I knew I could sing, but other people sang better, did more. I had something else. I can’t define it, but you have it too.

  “I couldn’t walk by the club tonight. I was getting some air and wondering how to perk up this song I’m producing. It’s a great song, and it’s definitely standout, but if I could add something else it would get to the top. Rock bands say they despise the pop single, but give them a number one, and suddenly it’s the greatest art form known to man.”

  She laughed, feeling the tension splinter around them like shattering ice. “All because of you, huh?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. They write a kickass song and then forget the arrangement. I show them how they can turn something good into great, or add a few tweaks that make a track commercial.”

  She knew that was far too modest. A good arranger and a good producer could make a good recording amazing. “Is that what you’re doing? Making the Murder City Ravens track commercial?”

  He lost the smile and shook his head. “No. It’s very, very good. It’ll sell because it can’t help itself.” He paused and bit his lower lip, his teeth gleaming in the low light. “But when we listened to it today I felt it could do with something more. That’s you.” His smile warmed her, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  “When did you come in tonight?”

  “I heard Summertime from outside the club.” He paused. “I’d have come in anyway, just to listen. You’re very talented.”

  She glanced down, taking in her sexy though not overly revealing gold dress. “Yeah, right.”

  He laughed. “Believe me, you’re the model of Victorian modesty compared to some of the outfits I’ve seen in my time. Shared a stage with on occasion.” He leaned forward slightly, not enough to intimidate, enough to set up an air of increased intimacy. “But you are ten times sexier.”

  Waves of heat washed over her, making her feel helpless under his gaze. She felt sexy, wanted, and although she’d felt that way before, it hadn’t happened for a long time.

  The lights went out over the stage area and she looked around, startled. “Sorry. They’re getting ready to close.”

  He got to his feet. “You have a coat?”

  “In this weather? You bet.” She grabbed her coat from the stand by the door, then went to the bar, where the barman had her bag ready. She carried only a small purse, but since it held her credit card and keys, they always locked it away for her when she performed. Ernie winked as he handed it over and murmured, in a voice so low she wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him right, “You go, girl. But take care, you hear?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s like I never left home.”

  “There’s a reason for that.” Ernie picked up a rag and wiped the bar, dropping her a wink. Ernie, her uncle’s best friend. He lived over the bar, so usually closed the place up. Only one other member of the bar staff remained, so pretty soon they’d have dropped the lock on the front door. Those routines came as second nature to V.

  She lifted her coat only to find it taken out of her hands and held so she could put it on. She wasn’t used to that kind of treatment, except from her older relatives and she found it kind of sweet that he had such old-fashioned courtesy. Even Ernie’s deadpan expression, honed from years as a barkeep, softened a little.

  She picked up her purse. “Shall we leave Ernie in peace?”

  Ernie followed them to the door and, as they stepped out into the chill evening, the lock snicked behind them, followed by the sound of bolts being thrown. Now Ernie would set the alarms, clear the empty glasses and make his way to his apartment upstairs.

  A few people still wandered about outside. This area didn’t sleep, and some of the clubs stayed open until much later. This wasn’t one of their late nights. But she felt as if she were in a bubble with him.

  She glanced around but decided to walk to the busier street five minutes away. “Do you have far to go?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Not far. I have a place in River North.”

  He raised a brow. “Coincidence, because my place is there too.”

  She gave him a sly smile. “Bet you have one of those swanky loft apartments.”

  He laughed. “Don’t you?”

  “Not exactly. Do you mind walking, or do you want to get a cab?”

  For answer, he raised his arm and like magic, a taxi drew up at the curb. She climbed in and gave him her address. “I’ll get out with you,” he said. “I don’t live far away. There are some advantages to having a well-known face,” he said, and grimaced.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Would you have climbed into a cab with me if you’d just met me tonight?”

  Now she understood. “Nope.” She spared him a glance. The lights of the city flickering past gave him a changeable expression, lighting up those remarkable eyes and then casting them into shadow. He sat so still, she suspected that was part of his appeal, that tranquility he projected seemingly without effort.

  He was right. If she hadn’t known him for sure, she’d never have left the bar with him, much less gotten into a taxi. “Must be useful sometimes.”

  He grunted an assent. “Sometimes. Sometimes it can be a pain in the ass.”

  “Fans?”

  “Nope. Whatever people say, fans are good. Most of them are respectful of your space, and in any case, it’s easy to put them off if you want to. But there are other people, less straightforward.”

  Should she go there? Damn right she should. “Drug dealers.”

  “For sure. And other people too. People who want something. To meet the lead guitarist. To sleep with you. To hang around backstage.” He shrugged. “I don’t miss those.”

  “I see.” While she could understand it intellectually, she couldn’t take the last step that took her to his exact position, but she could imagine how terrible she’d find being the center of attention all the time.

  The cab drew up and they got out. He touched her waist, steadying her. The contact shimmered right through her. How could she resist this urge, stronger than anything else she could ever remember feeling before? Apart from showing a general attraction and calling her sexy, he didn’t seem affected the same way. Not so all-consuming, with that ache of sheer hunger inside, longing to be—completed.

  When she encountered unexpected or strong emotions, she tried to put them aside, so she could draw on them another time, when she played her sax. Every unusual feeling made her playing stronger. Not this time. She didn’t care if it helped her artistry.

  They stood on the sidewalk outside the café. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, his voice rumbling in the quiet. This place was quieter, but lights glimmered behind some windows.

  “What?” she challenged him, lifting her chin.

  He caught his breath and in the next moment, he was looming over her, smiling. “Musician, remember?” He tilted up her chin and stared at her. This close he overwhelmed her, his warmth surrounded her. “Try putting this into music,” he challenged before he bent his head and kissed her.

  Chapter Two

  Resistance was impossible, even if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t. She met his lips with a gasp of relief. At last she could release some of the tension building between them. Perhaps she could control it better then, but even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was hopeless.

  She moved closer, easing into his warmth, molding her frame to his. His arms went around her, his big hands spreading over her back, and he drew her inexorably closer. He took her mouth, owned it, and when she opened for him, his tongue swept inside with an urgency that thrilled her to the marrow. She wanted to snuggle, get closer, but that was so unlike her she hardly recognized the urge. Men were cool, they were fun, but nothing more. Not up to now, anyway.

  Maybe this was another of the same. But she couldn’t aff
ord one of her fast, soon over affairs with him, because he’d offered her the job. Oh, wait, musician. Sure, he’d understand. They personified one-night stands.

  So when he wanted more, she gave it. He slid his hands down her body to rest on the upper slopes of her buttocks and pulled her close enough to feel his erection. He wore jeans, and the zipper obscured his cock a tad, but the ridge pressed into her stomach with an urgency that drove her own up even more. She badly wanted it to press into another part of her.

  What was she thinking? Musician or no, she’d never subscribed to the one-man-each-week philosophy. Her affairs had been short for the most part, but well-spaced and by short, she meant six months, not six days. And the last one hadn’t been of the short variety. It had lasted two years. Still lasted, in a way.

  He didn’t stop kissing her. She was as eager as he, tasting him voraciously when he drew back a little, thrusting her tongue into his mouth to learn him in her turn. He finished the kiss softly, gradually, and then drew back, gazing down at her. “Can you use that?”

  “I-I—”

  He laughed quietly. “I know. It doesn’t matter. I can use the texture and taste too. But why wasn’t I thinking about that a minute ago? You are gorgeous.”

  “V.”

  “Sorry?” A frown creased his brow.

  “V. Call me V.”

  “And that stands for…?”

  She grimaced. “If we sign a contract you’ll find out, won’t you? Violet. My full name is Violet. But everybody calls me V.”

  “I’m not everybody.” He dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “Violet. It suits you. But I’ll call you whatever you want.”

  “I don’t like Violet. It’s old-fashioned.”

  “And you’re not an old-fashioned girl?”

  Too late she recognized the trap he’d set, but she walked into its jaws with pleasure. “Not one bit.” Her mother would scold her for saying that, but her mother wasn’t here. Thank the Lord. “Want me to prove it?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As long as the offer still holds.”

  He smiled. “There’s you and then there’s your playing. Sure, it still holds. You’re just what I need for that track. But the business part of the evening stops here.”

  She nodded. He released her so she could open her purse and find her keys. She pulled out the ring, jingling it. “Coffee?”

  Then she put the key to the lock and saw the blinking light inside. “Shit. I have to go home.”

  “You don’t live here after all?”

  “Yes, yes I do. I own the place. But my business partner has put the new security code in and if I unlock that door, we’ll have half the cops in Chicago rushing over here. Not least because we’re one of their stopping places and they don’t want trouble here.”

  She stepped back and restored her useless keys to her purse, turning to face him. “Sorry. The security is a bit over the top. I told my partner Jack I’d go to my parents’ house tonight, so he went ahead with the new code. We change it every week. I won’t know what it is before I see him tomorrow.”

  She raised a brow and grinned. “Unless you want to take a chance. I could try the last four codes, but by the time I’d entered those, the time would be up and all hell would break loose.” She glanced up at the bell set just below her bedroom window. “It’s old, but it works fine. There’s an electronic backup too.”

  He gave a low whistle. “So your relatives are keeping their princess safe?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Nothing to be done, then. My place it is.”

  She thought of her mother, who might not be waiting up but slept lightly, and she’d certainly know when V didn’t show up for breakfast. And her father, who’d placate her mother and scold her just as he did when she was a teenager and stayed out at some rave or other. She’d told them she’d go back to their place tonight, and her mother would call the apartment.

  She decided it was worth it. This man had scrambled her brain since the moment she’d laid eyes on him. She’d forgotten she’d planned to go home because she wanted more time with him, and when he kissed her, he only made it worse. Leaving him wouldn’t have worked for her tonight. Because she knew who he was, knew his identity, she could do this. He was right. If he’d been any Joe, even a Joe with a recording studio, she wouldn’t have taken the chance.

  “Okay. Just let me make a call.”

  He stepped away and she pulled out her cell, breathing a sigh of relief when it went to voicemail. “Mom? I won’t be back tonight after all. I went to the café and I must have just missed Jack, because it’s closed and I don’t know the new security number. I’m staying with a friend, okay? Don’t call, I’m fine, I promise.”

  She hung up and turned back to him. He was smiling, holding out his hand. She took it. It felt like an agreement.

  He was right, his apartment wasn’t far. Just as well, because he pulled her into a couple of doorways on the way and by the time they reached his building, she was panting to get inside. She had never wanted a man this bad, never wanted anyone this much.

  He showed her the same eagerness, touching her, sliding his hand up her arm, around her shoulders. Even with her coat on, she felt it as if he were branding her skin. Walking through the familiar streets had never been so exciting. She loved walking here at night, when the lights shone brightly behind closed windows, imagining what the people behind them were like, what they were doing.

  He stopped in front of one of the huge warehouses that lined the river. Only of course they weren’t warehouses anymore. Once they’d held the products of the cattle driven here from all over the West—horn, leather, meat. No part of the animal remained unused, they used to boast. The industry had died long before she was born, but she remembered people talking about it, had seen the films and photos in class at school.

  It seemed so distant now, in the well-paved, clean streets. “One time it ran with blood around here,” she murmured.

  “What?” He turned to her, key in hand. “Gangsters?”

  “Slaughterhouses. For all the cattle they used to drive here.”

  “Ah. You gave me a shock. I thought I’d picked up some kind of Jill the Ripper.” But he was smiling as he said it.

  Her sharp laugh sounded nervous, even to her ears. “I never thought of that. I know you, but you don’t know me, do you?”

  “No, but I’m not sure where you’d hide a big-ass knife in that getup.”

  Her coat was a raincoat, thin with small pockets, and her small purse wouldn’t hold much. Except a gun. She could fit a small gun in there if she really wanted to. “Taking a chance on me?”

  “Carried away with passion.” Grabbing her waist, he twirled her around. “Intoxicated with it.”

  Keeping his arm around her waist, he led her into the building.

  Of course he lived on the top floor. The penthouse apartment. But the old service elevator had been replaced with a smoothly gliding modern one, although they’d kept the original grilles and the style of the foyer was grandly pompous. She liked it. It made her smile, reminded her of all the self-made men and women who’d come from nothing, made their fortune and wanted to prove it. They decorated everything that stayed still long enough.

  And here she was, another of Chicago’s pushy kids, going for the high one herself, and for tonight at least, getting it.

  He opened the door and slammed it shut. Before she had a chance to take in the apartment, he had her against the wall, pressing her body against the hard wood, the panels scoring lines into her back. His kiss seared her mouth, hard and unforgiving, but she needed his desperation, because it echoed hers. Her whole body ached to be touched, learned, and she wanted to feel him skin on skin.

  He jerked back with a gasp. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I want you so much. You’re beautiful, sexy, but it’s more than that.” As he regained a semblance of civilization, a smile flickered across his mouth and then was gone. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much.”
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br />   “Me too.” Honesty. She could try for that. Courtesy went when she reached for his black shirt and began to undo the buttons feverishly. As she revealed more of his skin, she moaned at the sight.

  “You’re killing me here.” With a powerful flex of muscle, he bent and lifted her, heading for a room that turned out to be his bedroom. She got a vague impression of muted colors and a large window before he joined her and framed her face with his hands. Then he kissed her.

  Several long, luscious kisses later, her dress came off and so did his shirt. She ran her hands over his hot, smooth skin, pausing to tweak his nipples. His sharp cry went a little way to assuage her. She wanted him to want her as much as she wanted him, and it seemed he did from his eager response. He cupped her breasts, still held in the soft bra she’d put on what seemed like eons ago but was in reality earlier that evening, after her shower. She sighed and moved from side to side, to feel his hands on her. He slipped one hand under the strap and released the clasp of her bra with an ease that spoke of years of practice.

  But not now. Now there were only the two of them, for the whole night.

  He tossed her bra aside and it joined her dress somewhere on the floor. Filling her gaze with him, she smoothed her hands down the powerful muscles of his back and slipped the tips of her fingers under his belt, sliding them around to the front. Then she cursed under her breath. He drew back, rested his weight on his forearms and stared down at her, a smile quirking his mobile lips. “Something wrong?”

  “Double belt,” she said and groaned.

  “Can’t stand the tension?”

  “Two buckles.”

  He laughed down at her. “Better get busy then. Because if you don’t, I might just burst out.”

  She paused, her hands on the first buckle. “That could be interesting.” She got back to work. “Pity I can’t wait to find out.” Then she paused again and glanced up at him. Strange to feel shy in this situation. “Do you have protection?”