by Melody Grace
UNREQUITED
BEACHWOOD BAY: THE CALLAHANS
BOOK #1
BY
Melody Grace
Copyright © 2014 by Melody Grace
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
Cover photo copyright Dylan Borgman
Connect with me online:
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/melodygracebooks
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/Melody_Grace_
Website:
http://melodygracebooks.blogspot.com/
Newsletter:
http://tinyurl.com/MelodyGraceNewsletter
Table of Contents
1. Alicia
2. Alicia
3. Dex
4. Dex
5. Alicia
6. Dex
7. Alicia
8. Dex
9. Alicia
10. Dex
11. Alicia
Beachwood Bay Series
Connect with Melody
Bonus Exceprt
1.
ALICIA
I’m not the kind of girl who makes out with a stranger in the back of a dark alley. Especially not a devastatingly sexy, dark-eyed stranger who I’ve barely known for five minutes flat.
I’m the kind of girl who does the right thing, I play by the rules. I bring hostess gifts, send thank you notes and get well cards; I hand wash my delicate laundry, and get my dental check up like clock-work every six months.
If a guy hits on me, I politely turn him down -- I don’t turn to molten sugar under his touch, stumbling back until our bodies slam hard against the brick wall. I don’t open my lips to him, running my fingers through his mussed-up dark hair, my head spinning, my body trembling and alive under his blazing kiss.
Except I do. I am. Right now, I’m that girl, and God, I can’t think straight long enough to remember why not.
The stranger grips my waist with strong hands, crushing me against his body. His tongue probes deeper, and I can’t help but part my lips to let him in, dizzy from the taste of him, and the sudden rush of heat like wildfire in my veins.
He lets out a low growl, knotting one hand in my hair, his tongue sliding sensuously against mine.
Dear Lord.
I’ve never been kissed like this, not even close. His mouth is branding me, consuming mine. It’s a reckless kiss, a desperate plea, and in the hazy part of my mind not completely overwhelmed by sensation, I wonder.
Is he kissing to forget something?
Someone?
Just like me.
I don’t even know how we got here. One minute, I was fleeing the party, desperate to hide my anguished tears. The next, he was right here in front of me, looking like everything my mama warned me not to touch. Black leather jacket, tousled hair, the ink of a tattoo twisting up the side of his neck, and a wicked look in those dark eyes the devil himself would have envied.
“You look like you could use a cigarette,” he drawls, stepping out of the shadows.
I whirl around. “You scared me!” I quickly wipe at my face, trying to hide the traces of my misery. Inside, a hundred people are toasting to celebration and family, but I’ve never felt so alone in all my life.
I swallow back my tears, looking at him properly for the first time. That’s when I feel my heart skitter in my chest, a quick jolt of nerves, of unease.
Of pure desire.
I quickly shake the thought away. He’s holding out the cigarette packet. “No, thank you,” I tell him politely. “I don’t smoke.”
“Neither do I.” The stranger gives me a twisted grin. “Don’t you know these things will kill you?”
I pause, curious. “So why do it?”
“Why do we do anything that’s bad for us?” he asks me, his voice a deep, honeyed drawl. “Because we like how it feels, living life on the edge.”
I sigh. “Speak for yourself,” I tell him, thinking of my own, perfectly-ordered world. “I like it safe. Predictable. Easy.”
He closes the distance between us in a couple of long strides, until he’s standing just inches away. “That’s a shame,” he whispers, staring down at me with those dark eyes -- black as night. Black as sin.
“Danger would sure look good on you.”
Before I can think, he reaches out and brushes a stray lock of hair from my cheek.
His touch spirals through me, a bolt of liquid heat. My breath catches in my throat.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, but I don’t move away. I’m caught in the dark pools of his stare, paralyzed by some electric force. His thumb slides to my lower lip, and he gently brushes across the skin.
Oh, how I feel it, everywhere, the one whispered touch making my whole body weak.
“What do you think?” His lips curl in an amused grin.
I flush, feeling like an innocent school-girl suddenly way out of my depth. “I... I don’t know you.” I stammer, wishing straight away I could take the words back. I sound so naive, but it’s true. I’ve never felt a desire like this; such a basic hunger, tight between my shaking thighs.
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t let him touch me like this.
“When was the last time you did something crazy?” the stranger asks, his eyes still fixed on mine. His fingers trace lower, down the sensitive skin of my neck, and I shudder to feel them slide hot against my skin.
“I don’t do crazy,” I whisper back, struck with a sudden pang.
“So try it,” he says, a note of challenge in his voice. His fingertips tease lower, across my collarbone, along the high edge of my neckline. “I promise I won’t tell.”
I stare at him, torn, wishing with every fiber of my being I could be the girl he thinks I am. Wild and bold and brave. But I have to look away.
“You don’t know me,” I say quietly, full of regret. “This isn’t... I’m not that kind of girl.”
His hand drops from my skin, and I feel like crying out in protest. But it’s too late. I can see from his face, he’s disappointed in me.
Bitter regret crashes through me.
You had the chance to be reckless, and you chose to play it safe. No wonder you’re always alone.
“I’m sorry.” I step around him, hurrying back towards the door before I can feel any more of a fool.
“Wait!” I hear his voice behind me, a harsh order. But before I can turn, his hands are on me again -- those masterful hands -- pulling me around and into his arms, claiming my mouth in a searing, heart-stopping kiss.
I gasp against his mouth in surprise, but he doesn’t hold back. He kisses me harder, deeper, and oh, I surrender to his searching lips and wicked tongue.
My legs give way, I sway against him, reeling. Glitter rushes through my system, intoxicating and dark, and I for a moment I forget that I’m not this girl -- that I don’t do this kind of thing.
All I can think, is...
More.
I slide my tongue into his mouth to taste him, hesitant. The stranger growls against me, a deep sound that sends a surge of heated awareness
shivering to my core. He scoops me into his arms and slams me back against the wall, every inch of his body pressed up against mine.
God, he’s all hard muscle and searching hands, and I can’t get enough. It’s like I’m drunk, giddy, my mind spinning so that all I can feel is the rush, pulling me under, deeper into the heat of this embrace and the ravenous demands of his miraculous mouth. He reaches up, tugging my hair free from its simple braid and knotting it in his hand, and the dominance of the gesture makes me arch up against him, desperate for more.
He breaks the kiss, tearing his lips from mine with a ragged breath. But before I can whimper in protest, he pulls my head aside and licks his way down my throat, sending shudders of pleasure coursing through my body. I cling to him, overwhelmed, as he grips my ass and lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist and shoving me back against the wall.
Now I’m lost, undone. There’s nothing between us but denim and the whisper-thin silk of my dress as he grinds into me, panting. Jesus, I can feel him, the thick ridge of muscle, pressing against my hot, aching core, and suddenly, all I want in the world is right here between my thighs. I moan, arching up against him, the pressure already sending me climbing, the heat rushing everywhere, consuming me, out of control--
“Mr. Callahan?”
From far away, I hear a voice, but it’s hazy through my cloud of lust.
“Umm, Mr. Callahan?”
The world crashes back. I open my eyes to find a guy from the restaurant staring at us with wide eyes, totally shocked.
And why wouldn’t he be? I’ve got my legs wrapped around this man’s waist, his tongue on my skin, his hands, his hands...
Alicia, what are you doing?
I let out cry, scrambling to push him away.
“Oh my god!” I stumble to my feet, yanking my dress down. My face is burning, and I wish the earth would split open and swallow me whole.
“Dammit!” the stranger curses, spinning around. He shields me with his body as I yank my clothing back into place. My hair is tumbling down around my face, and I can’t imagine what I look like right now.
“What do you want?” he demands, breathing heavily.
The busboy looks down. “I, umm, they’re ready for you.”
“Five minutes.” The man dismisses him, then turns, reaching for me again.
I flinch back, away from his touch -- away from those sinful lips and dangerous hands that made me just lose my mind out here.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” I mutter. Temporary insanity, that’s the only explanation, brought on by heartache and loneliness and the tempting glint in those drop-dead sexy dark eyes. I don’t risk looking at him again, I just bolt for the restaurant door, humiliation replacing the desire that was burning, hot in my veins.
“Wait!” I hear the stranger call after me. “You can’t just leave!”
But I do. I dash back inside, not even pausing to say goodbye. I can’t risk it. I know, I have to get the hell away from him before he touches me again, and all my good sense goes fleeing into the night.
2.
ALICIA
What did you just do?
I slip back into the party, my heart still pounding in my chest. It’s packed and noisy in here, everybody celebrating the opening of the restaurant, and the excitement washes over me in a blur.
I look around, reeling, trying to pull myself back together.
“Alicia!”
I hear my name being called and turn. My friends over at our table, waving me to join them, but I find my feet freezing in place.
Suddenly, all the reasons I was fleeing the party in tears come flooding back into my heart with a wretched ache.
The truth I can’t deny anymore. My deepest, most painful secret.
The unrequited love that’s weighed heavy for so long, I think I might break. I thought I had it under control, but tonight just showed me I was wrong.
The pain crashes through me. I have to get out of here. Now.
I’m bolting for the front door when suddenly, the lights dim. The crowd goes quiet, moving for a better look at the raised platform at the back of the room that’s acting as a stage. They block my path to the exit in a crush of bodies.
“He’s starting!” A woman beside me excitedly clutches her friend.
“I can’t believe they booked him. You know he’s been like, a total recluse since he quit the band last year.”
I remember that there’s a music performance happening tonight. Some big-shot rock-star from a band that was all over the charts. I don’t really follow music, and tonight, it’s the furthest thing from my mind. As I fight my way through the crowd towards the door, my head is still spinning from that kiss outside. I’m torn between good sense, and the fever still lingering in my veins.
You should never have kissed him back.
You should never have stopped kissing him.
I shake it off. No matter what happened out there, it could never be anything real. I don’t even know who on earth that man is -- and even if I did, it wouldn’t make a difference.
My broken heart belongs to someone else. One passionate kiss won’t change that, no matter how much I wish it could.
The lights go up on stage, and the crowd starts cheering in wild applause. My path outside is well and truly blocked. I stifle a noise of frustration, finally turning around to see what all the fuss is about.
It doesn’t look like much to me. A man is sitting on a stool with a guitar in his hands. With no introduction, he begins to play -- effortless, throaty, melancholy and sweet.
He lifts his head. I freeze, staring at him in disbelief.
It’s him. The man from the alley. The dark-eyed stranger who kissed me like it was the end of the world, and we were the only two people left on earth.
Dex Callahan. Tabloid idol. Rock God. Sexiest man alive.
And then his eyes lock on mine, and I know deep in my bones: that kiss is only the beginning.
3.
DEX
My whole life, if you asked me where my favorite place in the world was -- the place I felt whole, my truest self, alive -- I would have told you: right here.
Center stage. A spotlight. My guitar in my hands, a crowd screaming my name.
Right here is where I own you. Right here, I can break your heart or send you soaring; make you weep, or laugh with joy. I can make your whole fucking world melt away, until there’s nothing but the music, and my lyrics, and the audience around you, begging for more.
It’s a rush like no other, that power. Some people love the fame -- the bright flash of cameras, and their faces on the cover of a magazine. VIP passes and bottle service; girls stripping naked on their knees in the bathrooms before you even know their names. But me, I never cared about that shit; it was all just the cherry on top of this.
Performing.
To hold your dreams in the palm of my hand, to sing you the words you’re already chanting back, because you know them by heart, because they speak to you, somewhere deep in your soul.
I lived a hundred nights up here on stage, and each one was sweeter than the last. I would have sold my fucking soul for another moment in the spotlight and never thought twice. But that’s what it does to you. Turns you inside out, burns so fierce in your veins, you’re just another junkie, hungry for a fix. Yeah, I thought this was everything that mattered in the world.
Until that world came crashing down around me, and I realized I couldn’t have been more wrong if I tried.
I shake off the dark memories and sweep my fingers over the guitar strings, feeling them shiver in a familiar hum. It’s been almost a year now since I stood up and gazed out over a screaming crowd. I swore I wouldn’t come back again, but damn, if it hasn’t been calling to me, a little louder every day. That itch, burning hotter. That voice, whispering in my ear.
Just one show. One song. One night.
What’s the harm, anyway?
My old instincts kick in, and I start to sing, one of the old
hits, a classic. I know it by heart, I could play it in my sleep, and I’m basically sleep-walking right now: looking out at the delirious crowd, but only thinking about one thing.
Her.
The girl in the alley. The mysterious red-head who bewitched me with her innocence and tempted me beyond redemption. Who gave me a taste of her sweetness, and then fled, without even telling me her name.
I can’t get her out of my mind. I try to snap back to the show -- the music, and the lyrics, the surge of energy pouring right to my feet -- but instead of thrilling me, it feels all wrong. Like an old shoe that doesn’t fit anymore; a faded Xerox of the rush I used to know.
I should be relieved. That was what I’ve been afraid of, right? That I’d step back in the spotlight, and find myself right back where I started. Loving it too much. Needing the thrill more than anything. It’s why I’ve stayed away so long, turning down every request to get the band back together, or even do a solo record. My manager’s been tearing what’s left of his hair out, begging and pleading with me to get back in the studio; cut an EP, do an intimate showcase. Anything I want.
Anything to keep the money coming. The show rolling on.
And all the while, the itch burned hotter. The whispers in my head grew louder. Until finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I figured this would be a safe way to test the waters. An unofficial gig, a favor to a friend. But I still wound up in the alley out back before the show, nervous as hell, desperate for a sign I should be anywhere but here.
That’s when she stumbled out the back door, and suddenly, music was the last thing on my mind.
She looked like an angel.
