I shrug and return to the vanity. I pull the black fringe bikini top I love best from my bag and change. Half my stomach is exposed. Next, I kick off my boots and socks and slip into a pair of black stilettos. I’m already wearing tight, black leather pants.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Come in.”
It’s Brianna, my friend from school. “You look great, Marisela.”
I smile as she shuts the door and shuffles deeper inside. “Thanks. So grateful you showed up.”
“I didn’t come alone.” She winks. “Remember that hot guy I told you about?”
“Sterling?” I remember the name because it’s so unusual.
“Yes.” She sits on the love seat. “Half the basketball team is here.”
Not sure how I feel about meeting another jock. But B-ball players are probably an improvement over football players. “He’s as good-looking as you say?”
“Would I lie?” She gives me a wait until you see kind of look. “Six and a half feet of pure muscle.”
Just what I need. I roll my eyes. “And brains?” I cross my fingers behind my back.
“Does a 3.8 GPA meet your expectations? He’s a business major, a junior, and his family lives in McAllen.”
“That’s a good start,” I say, freshening my Scarlet Sin lipstick. Stage lights make me look too flushed. “Is your boyfriend here?”
“Sure is.” She stretches her long legs out. “I hope you’ll consider attending school here. There’s a great music program. Besides, I need a roommate.”
Kingsville is about a forty-five-minute drive from Corpus. Although it’s not another world, it might be far enough away for me to start over again—and get an education. I turn around and look at my friend.
“Ready?”
She jumps up and offers me her hand. “Let’s go.”
We walk into the main room together. The pool tables are jammed and the music is pretty loud. Brianna ushers me toward a large table off to the left, where I see a dozen guys and a couple of pretty girls hanging out, drinking beers.
“Daniel.” She grins at the guy I assume is her boyfriend. He leans down and gives her a big kiss on the lips. “This is Marisela.”
He offers his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He has the Texas drawl I find so cute.
“And this…” Brianna scoots over a couple of bodies and grabs ahold of an Alex Pettyfer look-alike—beard stubble and all. “…is Sterling Montrose.”
He gives me a slow grin. Confident and cool, with the grayest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Marisela,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve heard great things about you.”
He kisses my cheeks Euro-style and I search in vain for my voice. “Hello.” It comes out sounding too sultry, like a girl on a phone sex line. I clear my throat. “Thanks for showing up tonight.”
“Wouldn’t dream of missing out.” His gaze slides down my body, then back up. “Want a drink?”
“A Shirley Temple.”
He laughs. “Really?”
“I like ginger ale.”
He chuckles again and offers me his hand. I’m nearly breathless; this guy is so beautiful and nice. And just the distraction I need to get my mind off the unmentionable—Craig. My heart races. I take Sterling’s hand and we walk to the bar.
He slaps a twenty down. “Give me a Sam Adams.” He gazes down at me, his eyes sparkling. “And a Shirley Temple.”
Two minutes later, we’re sitting alone together at a table close to the stage.
“Brianna told me you used to go to Baylor.”
“Yeah.” I lower my eyes. “Didn’t care for the vibe of that school. I want something homier—and I hated pre-med.”
He takes a sip of his beer. “You play guitar like Jimi Hendrix?”
“Never used my teeth,” I say. “Still dependent on a pick.” Good—my sense of humor finally decided to show up. “I hear you slam dunk like LeBron.” A little ego stroke.
“I’m impressed you know who he is.” He reaches for my hand. “Wanna come to a game?”
I let him cradle my hand in his. “I’ll think about it.”
A few minutes later, the band gets onstage and starts to tune their instruments.
“Almost time,” I say nervously.
“Don’t worry.” He tickles my palm. “I’ll stay here. If you need encouragement, just look at me.”
“Marisela, ready?” the guitarist calls from stage.
“Sure.” I start to get up, but Sterling stops me short. He leans over the table, brushes my hair aside, then kisses my cheek. His lips are like velvet.
“Good luck, beautiful.”
—
The minute that son of a bitch kissed her, I knew I’d never get over Marisela. Dave slaps my back and my cousin just shakes his head.
“Let’s go, Craig.” Lucas points at the door.
“No,” I say. “She’s entitled to do whatever she wants. She broke up with me.”
“Yeah,” Dave adds. “But you don’t need to stick around and watch what happens after her set.”
“Nothing is going to happen,” I assure him. “She’s going home with me.” I choose a table in the back where Marisela can’t see me from the stage because there’s a support beam in the way. The waitress brings us a pitcher of beer. I check out the crowd. Probably a hundred people, locals and college coeds. And a handful of fucking jocks.
I lean back in my chair so I can see around the beam. A guy steps up to the microphone onstage. The place grows quiet and the house lights dim. “Thanks for coming out to the Luau tonight. I’m pleased to welcome the winner of our amateur singing contest last week, Marisela Gonzalez.” He leaves the stage as the crowd claps and whistles.
When I see Marisela step to the forefront, dressed in all black, her wild hair crowning her perfect face and those tight leathers hugging her ass, I get goose bumps and a hard-on. Whether she knows it or not, she’s mine. And I’m hers. I tried to lose myself in alcohol and strippers—not a chance.
The band starts to play “Piece of My Heart” and my mouth drops open the moment Marisela belts out the first line. I stare at Dave, see his eyes going wider. She does this little spin, wiggling her hips like she’s done this a million times before.
“A fucking natural,” Dave comments.
“You didn’t know?” Lucas shakes his head.
Regrettably, no. The band breaks into the next song—“Powerful Stuff” by the Fabulous Thunderbirds. I can’t believe what I’m seeing or hearing. She struts across the small stage, whirling her head—hitting every note perfectly. It’s as though she’s transcended everything—moved to a different dimension, where she’s completely untouchable. The crowd claps and I see the guy who kissed her jump up. Marisela smiles down at him. Goddamnit. Just like the song said—I think I’m in love with a woman-child.
Twenty minutes later, the guitarist steps up to the microphone. “For her last selection, Marisela is going to share a song she wrote a couple of months ago.” He unfastens his guitar strap, then offers the instrument to Marisela. Another guy drags a bar stool in front of the mic and she settles on it, positioning the guitar over her stomach.
“ ‘Before I Fall,’ ” she whispers.
I don’t know if it’s the bluesy beat or the rasp in her voice, but something happens inside me when I hear her play and sing. The words are potent—hauntingly familiar—and I know they were written for me.
“Thought I knew where the road would take me, but when I reached the end, all I found was you. Tried to run, but you followed, calling me back. You love me like no other. Saved me from a life I gave up on. Showed me how to smile again. Before I fall, catch me. Keep me from destroying myself. Before I fall, remind me where I belong. Love me even if I say no, ’cause I can’t breathe without you…”
The last few chords are reminiscent of a Zeppelin tune I can’t recall. There’s a long pause before everyone rises, giving her the standing ovation she deserves. Wow—that’s all I can say. And
Dave and Lucas obviously feel the same as they watch her get up and carefully place the borrowed guitar on its stand.
“Seem to remember something about Stevie Ray Vaughan playing in little clubs before he got discovered.” Dave takes a drink. “Just think,” he continues, “we may be witnessing an important moment in music history.”
“She’s beautiful,” Lucas says. “Don’t let this one go.”
My fingers circle the top of my mug. I stare at the concrete floor, then back at the stage. Dance music comes on. The jock helps Marisela down the steps, then twirls her around. I start to get up.
“Not the right time,” Lucas cautions.
“When?”
“After she’s ready to go.” He gazes toward the dance floor. “The guy probably doesn’t know anything.”
“I’ll be fucking happy to tell him.”
“Easy, bro.” Dave smiles.
I sit down again, blood pounding in my head. I’ll bide my time for now. I watch Hard-dick wrap his arms around her tiny waist as they dance together. She smiles up at him after he whispers something in her ear.
My girl.
Chapter 24
I’m leaning against the side of my Mustang in the parking lot, waiting for Marisela to come outside. I sent Dave home with Lucas—no need for them to hang around to watch me win my girlfriend back. The club closes at midnight, so everyone starts to shuffle outside. Once the parking lots starts to empty out, that’s when she appears at the exit surrounded by a group of people. She’s the center of attention and the jock is holding her hand, trying to drag her away from the crowd.
“Next week,” someone calls from the doorway. “Don’t forget to bring your own guitar.”
“If I can remember where I put it,” Marisela teases.
Yeah, if she can drive to the pawn shop in Austin and afford to pay for it before next week. A pretty girl gives Marisela a hug, then leaves her standing with the jock. Alone again. I can hear everything he’s saying to her.
“You’re so incredible.”
“Not really.”
“You sing better than Adele.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s get something to eat and go back to my place—listen to some tunes—have a few drinks.”
“Sterling…”
That’s his fucking name?
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” she says.
“Why?” He steps away from her.
“I just broke up with my boyfriend last week and I’m feeling pretty guilty about hanging out with you.”
“Let me help you get over him.” He hugs her to his chest.
She looks up at him. “I don’t think I can.”
“I’ll kiss his memory away…” Sterling slants his mouth over hers.
“Marisela!” I’m behind them in four strides.
Sterling turns, sweeping Marisela behind him. “What the hell, asshole?”
“Get your hands off her, motherfucker.”
Sterling swaggers forward like he’s ready to fight. He’s big, but I’ll drop Pretty Boy with one punch.
“Who is he, Marisela?” Sterling asks without taking his eyes off me.
“Her boyfriend,” I answer, my knuckles begging to make contact with his face.
“Ex,” he reminds me.
I grab two fistfuls of his shirt and shake him. “Current,” I spit.
“Please, Craig, don’t hurt him.” She sounds strangled, looks as delicate as a porcelain doll under the streetlight.
I stop instantly, letting go. Sterling retreats, standing next to Marisela and rubbing her back, clearly concerned.
“Time to say goodbye, Sterling.” I’m nearly foaming at the mouth.
He whispers something unintelligible in her ear, then throws me a fuck you look. I watch him trudge to his Corvette, look over his shoulder at us, get in, turn his headlights on, rev his engine a few times, then speed away.
The silence between us is so fragile, a pebble could shatter us into a thousand pieces.
“Why?” she cries.
My shoulders jolt upward as I picture Sterling tasting her sweet lips. I beat back the jealousy, focusing on the softness of her eyes. “Because I want you.”
“You’re still mad at me.”
“Incredibly so,” I admit. “But that’s secondary now.”
She swipes at the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “Did you hear me sing tonight?”
“Every word.” I shift on my feet, careful to leave some space between us.
“Did you—”
“I don’t have the words to describe how beautiful you sounded. Blew me away.”
She averts her gaze, staring at the ground. “I wrote that song for you.”
“Did you now?” I tug on her chin, forcing her to look up.
She’s still teary-eyed and nervous, a wounded kitten. “How did you know where to find me?”
“South Texas, darlin.’ Everyone knows everything.”
“I’m glad you showed up.” Her gaze meets mine.
Let me put my arms around you, baby. “Me too.”
“Sterling—”
“Say another word about Boy Toy and I’ll hunt him down.” I fist my hands at my sides.
She swallows. “My bike is out back.”
If she thinks I’m letting her ride back to Corpus alone at this time of night, she’s crazy. “Want me to walk you?”
She nods.
I stretch my hand out. “Give me your bag.”
“No, I can carry it.” She starts walking, still keeping her distance.
When we round the west side of the building, she lets out a horrified cry. I follow her gaze—completely focused on her Ducati. It looks like someone smashed it up with a baseball bat. She drops her bag and runs to it. The headlight and taillights are trashed, glass and plastic shards everywhere. The leather seat is slashed, the padding pulled out. Both tires are flat. And the tank is seriously scratched.
Estevan.
When I turn my eyes back to her, she’s shaking.
“Marisela.”
She squints at me. “What am I supposed to do?”
“We’ll call a tow truck.”
“I don’t have the cash with me or a credit card.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“The way you take care of everything else?” she lashes out.
“No,” I say. “How I’m going to take care of things from now on.” Her shoulders droop as she runs her fingers over the contours of her bike. I kneel, taking a closer look. Beyond the cosmetic damage, the frame looks straight. “It can be fixed.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she growls. “Your car is perfect. Look at my baby—she’s ruined.”
“I’m sorry.” I know nothing I can say will help. A bike is a very personal thing. When someone fucks with it, you feel violated.
I take slow pursuing steps toward her and she retreats into the shadows.
“You’d better go, Craig.” I hear the hesitation in her voice, sense her fear. She’s afraid to open up to me again.
“Can’t do that, darlin’.”
She’s standing with her back pressed against the steel emergency exit door. A ribbon of light from the dim bulb overhead streaks across her face. She’s rightfully upset—angry. “I love you, Marisela.”
I crash into her, raising her arms high above her head, pinning her hands against the door. My lips hover just above hers, and the heat of her breath against my neck rushes straight to my cock. Jesus Christ.
She parts her lips and I invade, our tongues rolling together violently. I push my erection against her, rotating my hips like I’m inside her. I let one of her hands drop, my palm sliding down her side, across her hip, until I make contact with her skin. She has the tightest abs I’ve ever felt, ripped and so unbelievably silky smooth I can’t think. I tear my lips away from hers. “Baby—I want to make love to you—I have to, now.”
The rawest form of passion I’ve ever known cras
hes over me like twenty-foot waves in the Gulf of Mexico. “Did you hear me, baby?” I bite her bottom lip, cupping her full breasts. “Come home with me.”
“No,” she refuses. “I don’t want to wait. Let’s get a hotel room.”
That’s all I needed to hear. I pull her out of the alcove, then sweep her into my arms. This is the one night Marisela Gonzalez isn’t going to get another chance to run away from me.
—
What am I doing in Craig’s car? I’ve made every effort to forget him, to banish him from my mind and heart. But the minute he shows up, I revert to the old Marisela, the one who gets hot and wet the second he looks at me. I’m hopelessly weak. Torn between the new life I want and him. Sterling Montrose made a nice first impression on me. But I could never love someone else, not after being with Craig. The deeper in love I fall, the harder it gets to breathe.
He parks under the canopy at the Hampton Inn. “Call F&B Towing. Ask for Michael—tell him where to find your bike.” He climbs out of the car and closes the door.
I watch him go inside, wondering what’s going to happen tonight. Hoping we find our way back to each other. Praying this isn’t just crazy, out-of-control hormones dragging us back to bed. I make the call and Michael promises to pick up my bike within the hour. I hang up. Craig comes outside a few minutes later, gets back in the car, and shows me the key card. Then he kisses me hard on the lips. There’s a faraway expression on his face. I don’t know what to say—something has changed between us. There’s a new awkwardness, or perhaps a couple of defensive walls that weren’t there before.
“Don’t be afraid, Marisela.” He squeezes my hand, cradling it on his lap.
He drives around the hotel and turns the engine off. Then he reaches into the backseat, grabs my backpack, struts to the passenger side, opens my door, and helps me out. We jog to the third floor and he swipes the card.
“Not the Ritz,” he says, opening the door, “but it will do.” He flips on the light and looks around.
I slide past him, going straight to the bedroom. There’s a king-sized bed, a desk, a table with two chairs, and a flat screen anchored to the wall, above the dresser. Before I turn back, his arms wrap around my center, pulling me hard against him. My head rolls back. I moan when he tweaks my nipples through the thin fabric of my bikini top.
Seduction Page 19
