It just made him more determined and more desperate, something he’d have thought impossible five minutes ago.
V answered Jack’s questions with far more patience than they deserved. Yes, she’d remember to tell the dairy about the extra cream, yes, she’d talk to the new barista about the frothing density, and no, she hadn’t seen the spare hand whisk.
Matt didn’t explode, didn’t swear, because he suspected Jack wanted that. Every now and then Jack shot him a glance, seeing how he was taking all this shit. Badly, that was how, but Matt had faced worse and he knew how to keep a poker face in place. Although he’d never felt so provoked before, not once, even after he’d left rehab and found the media waiting for him outside.
Bastards.
Now he tugged gently on her hand, below the counter, out of sight of Jack’s inquisitive stare. “She’s not working until morning, right?”
Jack reluctantly agreed. Matt got the feeling that he was about to ask V to cover for him. Just because he could.
Oh fuck, no. This time he tugged her fully into his arms. As her soft body landed against him she gave a soft “oof” of surprise. In return, he gave her a devilish grin and dropped a kiss on her sweet lips. Nothing to what he’d given her outside, but enough to stake his claim. And just the kind of challenge Jack needed. Play or pay, motherfucker. Play or pay.
Jack paid. He stepped away with a grunt. More whistles followed them, but Matt didn’t care. He had her now.
Upstairs, he let her open the door and then close it quietly behind them, but that was it. The end of his patience. He could almost hear it snap.
He pulled her through to the bedroom, closed the door as quietly as he could and thrust his hand in his inside jacket pocket to find the condoms he’d put there earlier. Because he never knew when he’d want her, or when she’d want him. She’d shown him all the eagerness he could wish for, and encouraged him whenever she could. Not that it had made any difference to his hunger for her.
She had her top off and tossed aside before he could get her in his arms. Then he did the rest. Clothes were stripped away and dropped or tossed to one side in a flurry of action. He kissed her mouth, her neck, cupped her breasts and gently twisted her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers in a way he knew made her gasp with desire. She didn’t disappoint him now.
“Oh baby, what are you doing to me?” he murmured between long, luscious kisses when he discovered her mouth anew, tasting and reacquainting himself with her soft lips, her sweet flavor. If he had to choose a pair of lips to devote himself to for the rest of his life, he’d choose these. No contest.
He drew back, shocked at the sudden revelation. Barely a week and he felt like this? It couldn’t last. Nothing ever did. Meantime, he’d enjoy the hell out of this and make sure she did too.
Before he could guess at her intent, she’d dropped to her knees. She unzipped and dropped his pants in record time, his underwear going with them. How she did it without inflicting damage he’d never know, but he felt so good. So fucking good when she cupped his balls, stroked the length of his cock. She drew patterns on him with one fingernail, tracing around until she reached the tip.
When she circled his cock, just under the flange, the sensation made him suck his breath in between his teeth. He widened his stance to keep his balance and waited, hoped, for what she wanted to do next. He knew what he wanted her to do.
She scrambled out of her panties, the only item of clothing she still wore, and glanced up at him, smiling, her glorious hair tumbling down her back in an angelic cloud. Matt wet his lips. “You’re killing me here.”
Her grin broadened. “If you behave yourself, you’ll get your reward. Just hold on there.”
Suddenly an image of her doing this for Jack intruded. He couldn’t help it, it just popped into his head, and fury clouded his vision for a brief moment before he controlled himself.
She’d lost the grin. “Something wrong?”
He shook his head, let his lids fall over his eyes and gave her a sultry look. “Nothing at all. Only if you stop.” If this was jealousy, he needed to get a handle on it, because V didn’t deserve to have two men fighting over as though they were engaging in some kind of playground spat. He wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t go there. She’d moved on and so should he. Except the fucking ex was downstairs serving coffee to a bunch of cops.
He needed to get her out of this apartment. Everything was too close, too claustrophobic.
Then his mind blanked when her lips closed over the head of his cock and she swirled her tongue around the tip.
So—fucking—good. He lost the capacity to speak when she sucked and only a moan left his lips. He stretched out his hands and they met the silk of her hair. Delighted, he threaded his fingers through the heavenly mass while she worked him. She cupped his balls with one hand, gripped his upper thigh with the other and that mouth did things he couldn’t believe.
He took a deep breath, trying to center himself before looking down at her, where she knelt. And found her watching him. Sucking his dick as though it were a lollipop and watching him.
He kept his eyes open so she could read the sheer delight he was sure mirrored his feelings.
Damn if she didn’t let go his thigh and slide her fingers between her legs. He heard her wetness when she pushed a finger inside and then pulled it out. The little tease knew he loved that. He loved that sound. He wanted to be there, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once. She sucked and he shuddered. It wouldn’t take long now. Not at all.
With a groan, he gripped her shoulders and pulled. She released his cock with a small pop and came up to him, her lips touching his stomach and his chest as she got to her feet. He gripped her wrist and pulled her hand to his mouth, smelled her essence first, then tasted her, slowly sucking each finger in turn, never taking his attention away from her face. He needed a minute or he’d go off as soon as he got inside her.
Her eyes were dark with passion now, as he imagined his must be, and he smiled around the last finger. Her taste made him wicked.
As he took a step forward, he cupped the back of her head in one hand and drew her close to share her exquisite flavor. He’d never get enough of this, he just knew it. He turned them so she had the door at her back now, wanting her, wanting everything. Now.
He urged her back until she hit the door. It took a bare few seconds to sheathe his cock, then he lifted her. She wrapped those gorgeous legs around his waist as he drove deep into her hot, wet body.
Her head went back against the door with a soft thud. He wished he’d kept his hand around her head so he could have shielded it, instead of holding her waist in his hands. “You feel perfect,” he told her.
“Shut up and fuck me,” was her loving reply, which suited him fine, because he had every intention of doing just that.
She gripped his buttocks, urged him in, harder and deeper. He nailed her hard, making her moan and squirm. She rubbed her breasts against him, her nipples hard and needy. If he leaned back a little, he could—yes, he could lick her, take a nipple into his mouth and suck in time with his thrusts.
He lifted her until his cock nearly slid out of her, then slammed her down again, forcing her on to him. They both moaned, and he let the sound he made vibrate through her nipple into her body. He licked around her nipple the way she’d licked around his cock, tracing the rosy edge with his tongue, encouraging the tip to go pinpoint-sharp. He loved her breasts, their responsiveness and their taste. Everything.
Finishing with a nip and a lick, he moved on to the second breast, sucking it hard before he lifted her and forced her down again. Her hands spread open on his backside, dragged him closer, then clutched, her nails digging in. His turn to cry out. This time he straightened and kissed her mouth, thrusting in with his tongue as his cock breached her wet, open pussy, withdrawing and driving in again.
She sucked his tongue, the witch, but he eagerly joined in the game and devoured her. Their bodies slammed against the door, rocki
ng hard, and he vaguely wondered if they could hear any of it downstairs, but he thought not. He didn’t give a damn, anyway. He was staking his claim in the most primitive way.
She cried out and her pussy clenched around him in three separate spasms, forcing his orgasm until he couldn’t hold back. Shouting her name, he came hard and fast, then again, in an aftershock of release that made him unsteady.
He rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing unsteadily, as if they’d been for a ten-mile run together. He gave a shaky laugh. “Do you think they heard downstairs?”
“What? No.” She paused. “I don’t think so. I’ve never put it to the test before.”
So she hadn’t had a love nest with her ex up here? That made him feel even better than he did already. Or maybe Jack wasn’t too adventurous, although sex against a door couldn’t be described as crazy wild. Unless they did it like they’d just done it. Maybe that was it.
Shut up, Matt. What’s gotten into you?
He didn’t care. He had her now. Once he’d recovered some of his senses, he carried her over to the bed and laid her gently on the cover, coming down to join her. She put her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. They fitted together so well, her small body curving into his, her softness, his strength and heat. As a bigger than average man, Matt had always imagined he’d end up with a large woman, one who could withstand his power and give him something to push against. But although V barely topped five foot five, she had no problems standing up to him, in bed or out. He loved it. Savored it.
Chapter Six
The first TV show came too soon for V. A month after she’d played in the studio, the track was mixed and added to the album. The first time Matt played the track to her, she was sitting in AZ’s seat in the studio and the band had come in to hear it through too.
To have all of Murder City Ravens in the same small space was a bit overwhelming. All that testosterone, all that raw masculinity blended with a healthy dose of charisma made for a heady mix. She’d met them separately and once together, when they come to Matt’s apartment for dinner. They seemed to get on fine, so at least she could be thankful for that, although some tension remained. Nobody said anything, but she felt it.
She never thought she’d see a band like that sitting around a table eating and talking. Some had girlfriends, but none were married or permanently attached as far as she knew. To her surprise, she enjoyed being with them, chatting with them. Because Matt had claimed her, they treated her as a colleague, a friend and not a prospective bedmate. Although sometimes she caught Jace and the singer, Zazz, staring at her with what she thought might be desire in their eyes. The music angle went a long way toward developing her relationship with the band. A huge amount.
They were halfway through a discussion about how much Nirvana affected the music industry as a whole when she caught Matt’s quizzical expression and burst out laughing. “What?”
“You’re one of the boys, aren’t you?”
“No.” But Jace overruled her denial and agreed with Matt.
Riku, a Japanese-American with a shock of spiky hair currently dyed orange, gave her a slumberous, dark-eyed smile she’d bet worked every time with women. “You’ll do,” he said, sounding almost like Matt at his most British, when he was putting on the accent to make her laugh.
Much to the boredom of the girlfriends who’d accompanied the band members, they went right back to discussing the music. “So why them and not Pearl Jam?” she demanded. “It can’t just be because Kurt died young.”
And so it went. She hadn’t had a discussion like that for years. Oh, she could discuss Sarah Vaughn and Benny Goodman with her uncle, her cousin George and their bandmates, and they did show an interest in some modern artists, like Donna Krall, but they didn’t go in for grunge. Or trance, or hip-hop or R&B, or even straight-up pop.
But that was in the dining room and then the great room of Matt’s loft apartment. They could wander around, change the music, and the space helped to buffer the sheer charisma of the band.
This tiny studio didn’t. The magnetism choked her. Every time she looked at one of them she remembered their poses, their presence and they exuded that “look at me” air without meaning to. She didn’t know if they always realized. People didn’t, she found.
That air of confidence lingered around Matt, something that seeing him every day for a few weeks had done a little to dissipate. But it returned again, the air thick with it.
Something she didn’t have. Would never have, because it was a gift. But some musicians got by just fine without it.
They listened to the final cut of the track in silence, then Jace glanced around and waved his hand in a circle. Matt nodded and played it again. He kept his hands off the control board, although he drummed his fingers a time or two.
At the end of the track, she laughed, and although her excitement and nervousness drove the sound a bit high, she thought she’d carried it off. “You want to mess with it some more, don’t you?”
Matt grinned at her. “Yeah. But it’s done. A good engineer always knows when to step back.” He paused. “Usually.”
“It’s perfect,” Jace said, his voice low and reverent.
“That’s a number one right there,” the drummer, Hunter, said.
“Accidents permitting.” Matt shrugged. “There’s always the novelty record, a tribute to someone that gets a surprise jolt, or even an ad tune, but yeah. And I think the album’s going gold, if not platinum.” He glanced at Jace, his expression guarded. “Not that you care.”
Zazz was standing by the door. English, edgy, with a jazz background, he bent his head, his dyed-red hair falling over his razor-sharp cheekbones. He lifted his chin and stared at Matt. “Brilliant job. Great balance. You are the nazz, man.”
That broke some of the tension. Whether he’d heard about Matt’s passion for Bowie, or whether it came naturally, they grinned and laughed.
Jace slapped Matt on the back. “Another one for the dark side. That’s for people who think great music started last year.”
The singer grinned. “If you’re talking Radiohead, maybe it did. That’s what I want. To be that good.”
“I think you are,” V said quietly. To her surprise, they fell silent and stared at her. She hadn’t expected the moment of triumph to include her. After all, she was only the session musician. Not important, in the greater scheme of things. The paid help with a better than average contract, thanks to her father. She told herself that she didn’t mind, she understood the way bands had to cohere, at least most of them did. Some had a fixed central unit and employed musicians around them, others were together forever, or until the life got to one of them.
Like Nirvana.
She glanced at Matt. He could have ended up like that. Soaring on drugs and alcohol. The downs must have been terrifying, enough to push him over the edge. And if he thought he was musically the weakest in the band, or if he felt unfulfilled, that would have made the pressure worse.
Now here he was, refashioning his life on his own terms. Making his own way and discovering what he could really do. Where he was supreme. At the mixing deck, in the control room.
“I love the sax,” the bassist said. “That’s what makes the single. It pushes it right up and gives it a riff people can’t ignore.”
“They’ll be humming it from Rio to Tokyo,” Jace said, grinning. He turned to V. “So are you ready for the TV show?”
“Tomorrow. Yeah.” She fought back the bile threatening to fill her throat.
They were filming it here, a segment from a nightly talk show. The band had refused to travel to L.A. so close to finishing the album, so they’d perform it in the TV studios here on a live relay.
It wouldn’t be too bad. The audience would be in L.A., and they could be home by midnight. Well, one a.m., anyway. That sounded fine. Nothing to worry about at all.
*
She’d picked out her dress, or rather, Matt had. He wanted her t
o wear the gold dress she’d had on the night they met, a month ago. The longest month of her life, and yet it had seemed to fly by.
Just as well Matt met her and drove her to the studio, because as they went through the main entrance she saw a line of people. She froze. Matt, ever attuned to her, asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I thought the audience was in L.A.”
He chuckled. “Murder City Ravens’ first live performance in nearly a year and you think the studio will let them off with a quick in and out and a closed set?” He shook his head, but then they passed the end of the line snaking around the building and things got a little crazy.
Somebody saw him, pointed and screamed. One screamed loud enough for her to hear. “He’s back! It’s Maxx!”
To which Matt’s response was, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” He couldn’t floor the pedal, as people might spring out in front of him. Just as well the studio had set up adequate security, because they needed it now. But she didn’t read real panic in him. Not the kind that shortened the breath and tightened the stomach. She knew because she was feeling it now. Just the sight of the people in line sent her into a tailspin.
You’ve done this before, played to an audience. Just suck it up, baby. They were Claud’s words and they usually worked. In his club, where they played to fifty, tops, and most of the audience ate the bar food and chatted through the performance. Laid back, just as she liked it.
She recollected the techniques she’d learned and she breathed deep three times, letting out the breaths in a measured way, then clenched her hands and relaxed them. Better. She felt better. Still nauseous, but she could breathe, and that was the main thing. She couldn’t play the sax when she was short of breath.
They passed the line, many of them screaming and yelling.
Matt glanced at her as they turned the corner into the private parking lot. The attendant saw them and waved them through. “Sometimes people knowing your face is useful,” he remarked calmly. He drew smoothly to a halt and left the car. The security barrier and the need to keep in line prevented the crowd surging forward, but V was well aware that they were being watched. People held phones up to get photos. Not of her, thank God.
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