A Little Night Music

by Andrea Dale

  “I wanted to call you. I wanted to say good night,” he said.

  Hannah glanced at the clock, smiling when she saw that it was still relatively early. “I don’t usually go to bed this early,” she told him.

  “We did last night,” he reminded her.

  His low voice sent shivers through her. Her nipples beaded in response to the images that flooded her memory.

  She felt herself grow moist.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking about you,” she admitted. Hannah smiled when he reacted to the admission with a quickly drawn breath. It gave her the courage to go further. To allow herself the pleasure of listening to his voice just a little longer. “I’m thinking about all the things I’d be doing right now if you were here.”

  He groaned. “Yeah, me too,” he admitted. “I found your panties. You left them on the floor. They smell like you.”

  Hannah found it impossible to answer. Her throat had tightened, along with every nerve in her body, sending rippling awareness to places she wished he were there to fill.

  “I like them, the black silk and lace. I was wondering what color you’re wearing now.” His voice continued to seduce her.

  “I don’t remember,” she admitted. Right now, she wasn’t sure she knew anything at all.

  “Check,” he instructed with a soft laugh. “I want to know. I want to picture you in them.”

  Hannah licked her lips. Of its own accord, her hand had gone to her waistband, sliding it down. She stood up, and shimmied out of the yoga pants. She kicked them under the desk. “Blue,” she whispered. “Slate blue.”

  “Silk or lace?”

  “Lace,” she said.

  “Mm,” he said, encouraging her. “Can you feel how wet you are through them?”

  “How do you know I’m wet?” she asked, low and breathless. It was hard to talk.

  “I know,” he told her. “Touch yourself.”

  “Nate…”

  “Touch yourself,” he whispered again. His voice was velvet and magic, calling to the wild side of her that wanted so desperately to play.

  She whimpered as her fingertips skated across the edge of the lace, slipping downwards to where she throbbed. Shock waves rippled through her thighs when she brushed her clit through the lace.

  “Are you wet?” he asked again.

  “Yes,” she said, feeling the moisture gathering in the cloth. She flicked her nail against her clit. Pleasure made her moan. The pressure built unbelievably quickly. That his voice and a few simple words over the phone could do this was nothing short of amazing. Her knees trembling, she dropped back into the chair, waiting for his next instruction.

  “I wish I were there,” he said softly. “I’d touch you slowly, teasing you. Are you teasing yourself, Hannah?”

  Her eyes were closed, her head tipped back. She could imagine his hand pushing aside the scrap of cloth, touching her hot slick flesh. She managed to moan a reply, knowing he understood by the sexy laugh that drifted down the phone lines.

  “I’d slip a finger into you, and then another. You’re so tight, Hannah. So hot and wet.”

  “Nate,” she pleaded, her body aching for release. Her fingers had followed his instructions, slipping the lace aside to thrust into herself. Except that they felt like his, and she swore she could feel his warm breath on her cheek when he spoke.

  “Not yet, sweetheart,” he told her. “With my other hand I’d cup your breast, caressing you until your nipple was hard against my palm. Will you do that for me, Hannah?”

  “Oh god, Nate, please,” she moaned. She blindly reached for the phone’s headset, tugging it into place, and slipped her hand beneath her T-shirt. Her nipple pressed, aching, through the lace of her bra. She rubbed her thumb in light circles, feeling the pleasure beginning to spiral out of control. She pinched lightly, the sensation going straight to her clit.

  She was going to come.

  “That’s it, baby,” he told her. “Think of my hands on you.” His voice held her in thrall, controlling her release. “You can come now,” he said.

  She did, the pleasure bursting through her in wave after wave of exquisite release. She cried out his name, her hips bucking against her hand. Slowly, the sensations faded, the aftershocks easing until sanity returned. She whispered his name again, knowing that her voice held all the need she felt.

  He laughed softly in her ear. “Sweet dreams, Hannah.”

  The soft click told her that he had hung up. Hannah smiled, relaxed and boneless in the chair. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to sleep now or not, but she did know one thing.

  It was going take more than a few orgasm-filled encounters for her to get enough of him.

  Chapter Seven

  Hannah paced the radio station lobby from the front door to the leather-and-chrome waiting area to the glass doors that led deeper into the building. She’d been up since four, eager to get ready, so hyped about seeing Nate again that she’d gotten little sleep the night before. Her inability to sit still had nothing to do with work-related nerves, though. It didn’t have much to do with her job at all. Granted, this on-air interview was important, if not crucial for Nate. Her own reputation was on the line with this job. She had to get him back on top. The pressures didn’t even register.

  No, she was antsy because she hadn’t seen him in a week. The thought of standing in his warmth, of seeing him and smelling him and touching him, was wreaking havoc with her panties.

  They’d talked on the phone at least once a day. The calls had been long, sharing details, learning about tastes, dislikes. The hesitant sharing of two people getting to know each other. Interesting conversations that had inevitably ended with phone sex. Hannah had never been one for lots of talk during sex. But somehow Nate’s smoky voice had drawn her from her erotic shell. Asking her what she liked.

  Asking what she’d like to do to him.

  Following her halting, breathy suggestions. Not afraid to moan in her ear as he touched himself, urging her on to bolder instructions until they were both sweat-soaked and sated.

  Would the connection hold when he walked through the radio station’s door? Hannah couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t. Just the thought of it hardened her nipples beneath her silvery-grey bra.

  “New relationship energy,” Gina had called it. “It won’t last forever, but enjoy it while it does. And how could you not, with someone like the foxy Nate Fox!”

  Hannah had given up protesting that it wasn’t a relationship. Obviously it was, even if they hadn’t defined its scope. It might not last longer than her job. It might not even survive that long.

  But she agreed wholeheartedly with Gina—she was going to enjoy every hot, erotic, orgasmic moment of it.

  Her new silk underwear teased her most intimate areas. Over that she’d slipped on a simple sleeveless silk top that caressed her curves. A handkerchief-hem flowered skirt swirled around her legs, long enough to imply competence but short and flirty enough to reveal tantalizing hints of her thighs when she moved. Pointy-toed pumps made her calves curve nicely.

  Hannah forced herself not to glance at her watch again. She knew that she was annoying the receptionist with her pacing. She was beginning to annoy herself.

  A blast of warmer air interrupted the air-conditioned chill, and Hannah turned. Andre, wearing his usual wraparound sunglasses and looking like the cover model for GQ Goes Mercenary, held the door open. The menacing look he wore warned the fans who had turned up outside the building that they would not be entering.

  Nate was smiling at her as he walked through the door, clutching a giant-sized coffee cup from the nearby Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in one hand and his guitar case in the other. The jeans that outlined the muscles of his thighs were faded, a small tear in one knee made her want to rip it wider. The black T-shirt he wore clung to every ripped inch of his torso. Despite the early hour, he looked so good even the receptionist sat up a little straighter.

  “
Nate.” Hannah held out her hand, her eyes flicking to the receptionist as a subtle signal that they needed to stay businesslike.

  For the time being.

  “Good to see you again, Hannah,” he said, taking her hand. The shake turned into a caress, and he used the contact to pull her a little closer. His lips brushed a chaste kiss across her cheek, a promise of more intimate caresses to come, and she shivered.

  He saw her shiver, and his smile became wicked, the look in his blue eyes meant only for her.

  She dared a glance down. His jeans were faded at the crotch, and the paler mark made his interest all the more obvious.

  The receptionist must have called the DJ while they were lost in each other, because she said, “You can go through now—Jerry’s waiting for you.” She buzzed them through.

  Andre preceded them through the door into the inner sanctums of the station. His forbidding presence led the way through to the studio. The fluorescent lights gleamed on his freshly shaved head.

  Hannah followed Andre down the hall, every sense aware of Nate close behind her. She wondered, if she stopped suddenly, would he smack into her? The temptation to test it, just to be in contact with his body, made her ache.

  The DJ met them just outside the main studio, hand already outstretched. His sandy hair was drawn back into a ponytail, the freckles across his nose at odds with the crow’s feet around his eyes and California-tanned-to-leather skin. The welcoming grin on his face added to the youthful effect. Jerry Kane had been a DJ on a small but influential station in the Bay Area when Nate was breaking out. He’d liked Nate’s music so much that he’d played it every day for a month on his show, and the publicity had helped catapult Nate to fame.

  Now in LA, his show was nationally syndicated. He was also the only DJ in the metro area enthusiastic about interviewing Nate again. Right now, everyone else considered Nate a has-been, had moved on to the newest and latest artist or stuck with the classic rock icons.

  “Hey, Jerry,” Nate said. The two men engaged in a brief back-slapping hug. “I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem, man,” the DJ said. He wore jeans and a red Henley shirt with the station’s logo on the breast. His voice was as smooth and mellow as it sounded on air.

  “I’m thrilled you’re touring again,” Jerry went on.

  “I’m pretty excited myself,” Nate said. “Jerry, you know my PR maven, Hannah Montgomery.”

  “Hey, Hannah, good to see you.”

  They’d met in passing over the years, working in the same music circles, and of course she’d set up this interview. If he was curious why she was on-site with Nate, he didn’t ask.

  “You too, Jerry,” Hannah said. “Do we have a few minutes before we start?”

  “Sure. I don’t go on until six.”

  They went to the sound booth where he’d be conducting the interview.

  “I want to reiterate that we’ve got a few requirements,” Hannah said. “Some topics are off-limits. While it’s okay to positively spotlight Nate’s rehab, no questions about drugs or his past drug use. We want to keep this upbeat. Highlight the new album, the new tour.”

  “You know I’m on your side, man,” Jerry said to Nate, but Hannah sensed a slight hesitation. “I only want the best for you. But if I ignore stuff…listeners are gonna wonder.”

  Nate shrugged. “The rehab’s okay. If you have to talk about the drugs, then talk about my work with Options and their anti-drug campaign. I don’t want a rehashing of the past, Jerry. I want to move on, focus on the future.”

  “Those are our conditions,” Hannah said. “Focus on the fact that Nate’s clean and healthy and going out on tour again.”

  The show’s producer waved a hand, letting them know Jerry would be on in a few minutes. They settled in, slipping on headphones. When Hannah made the move to leave, Nate caught her eye and shook his head. He wanted her to stay. She crossed one leg over the other, aware that the handkerchief hem of her skirt played peek-a-boo with her thigh.

  Jerry did his opening spiel, said Nate was coming up, took a trivia quiz call, and played a commercial before it was time for the interview.

  “We have the legendary Nate Fox in the studio this morning,” he purred. “Nate, we’re thrilled to have you here. How’ve you been?”

  “Doing great, Jerry,” Nate said. “It’s good to be talking to you again.” Beneath the counter, his fingertips caressed Hannah’s thigh, teasing aside the silky fabric of her skirt.

  Hannah bit her lip. It had been only a week, but far too long since she’d touched him, really touched him. She needed to feel him pressed against her… She resisted the urge to scoot her chair closer so he had better access.

  “I’m excited about going on tour again,” Nate was saying. “I love playing live—I love the give-and-take with the fans, the feedback of energy we give each other. We’re going to have a lot of fun with this one.”

  Nate was good, Hannah realized. She’d never really thought about that before, how he handled the media. How he put on the public face. He knew what to say. He sounded good, positive, and it was all true.

  She’d seen him on stage. It was obvious he loved performing more than anything.

  “You’re touring based on a new album, Cannibal Eyes,” Jerry said. “A CD of cover songs—that’s a new direction for you, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. It’s an album of songs that influenced me when I was younger—songs that meant something to me, that made me want to do this crazy job.”

  “Some of your fans are itching for new music,” Jerry said.

  “We’ll focus on that after this tour,” Nate said. His tone was easy, but he moved his hand away from Hannah’s leg. “The tour will be a combination of tunes from Cannibal Eyes as well as a lot of my hits—the fan favorites. I may even pull out a B-side or two. You’ll just have to come out and see the show.”

  “I plan to do that,” Jerry said. “I never miss a Nate Fox extravaganza. Right now, we’re going to play a track from the new album, Cannibal Eyes. This one’s called ‘Panama,’ and I don’t have to tell you who sang it originally, do I?”

  They all slipped off their headphones for the duration of the song.

  “I love your version of this,” Jerry said. “It’s a whole new take on the song, but it’s still honest to the original. That’s not an easy combination.”

  “Thanks,” Nate said.

  “Good thing to mention,” Hannah said, and Jerry did when they were back on air.

  It was going well, Hannah decided. Jerry was enthusiastic, Nate well spoken. The songs spoke for themselves.

  Jerry played “Dragons of Winter,” one of Nate’s biggest hits. She loved that one.

  “So, Nate,” Jerry said. “How are you approaching this tour? You’ve been through rehab, but being on the road must have its temptations.”

  “One day at a time, Jerry, one day at a time,” Nate said smoothly. “I’ve made mistakes, and I acknowledge them. But like I said, the real high of touring is being on stage, and the interaction with the fans. I’ve missed them, and I’m looking forward to the connection again. There are always some familiar faces out there.”

  He glanced at Hannah as he spoke. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Did he remember seeing her in the crowd before? Did he know what his music did to her?

  “Fantastic,” Jerry said. After playing another song, he went on. “So, Nate, you’re the fantasy of women worldwide. Is it true you haven’t been in a relationship since Suzanne Cooper?”

  Hannah choked on her own breath. Nate’s face twisted in anguish, and she wanted to climb over the desk and punch Jerry in the face.

  It was a low blow to bring it up. She thought they’d made it clear that Nate’s past wasn’t to be discussed.

  Instead of following her first desire to smack Jerry into next Tuesday, Hannah went with another, stronger instinct. Beneath the desk, she put a hand on Nate’s leg. Comforting. Reassuring. Letting him know she was there for him
and that she understood.

  “Suzanne’s death changed a lot of things in my life,” Nate said, surprising her when he answered Jerry’s question. His fingers twined with hers. The warmth of his grip reassured her.

  The DJ’s eyebrows went up. It was obvious he hadn’t been sure if Nate would answer the question. Avoiding Hannah’s angry gaze, he went on. “You were never charged in the accident, were you?”

  “I wasn’t driving,” Nate said. “We were both high, but she was behind the wheel. Since negligent stupidity isn’t a crime, no charges were brought. I got off with hardly a scratch, and she died.”

  “And you went into rehab?”

  “Yeah. Three months of hell—but it was worth every second of it.”

  “Are you worried that the pressures of the road will make you slip? Sex, drugs, rock and roll, you know.”

  “No,” Nate said. He leaned forward, his eyes holding Jerry’s as if by convincing the DJ, he could convince the world. “I’m clean, and I’m staying that way. There won’t be any other casualties in my life.”

  Jerry nodded slowly. “Thanks for being honest, Nate. But you still haven’t answered one question. Are you seeing anybody now? If you’re not, you’re going to raise the hopes of your fans everywhere.”

  His tone was light, as if he were trying to soften the previous blow. It was too little, too late, Hannah thought, but it was better than nothing. She still intended to strangle the man until he begged for mercy. And then a little bit longer, for good measure.

  “Let’s just say I’m exploring my options right now, Jerry,” Nate said. “I’m not quite ready to bring my personal life into the spotlight. That’s reserved for my music. The tour is my main focus, which starts in Las Vegas in two days.”

  Good job, Hannah mouthed at him. He gave her hand a squeeze. Her reaction to his touch was entirely unprofessional, but she managed to keep it to herself.

  “Let’s take a caller,” Jerry said. “Hi, you’ve got a direct connection to Nate Fox.”

  “Hi, Nate,” a woman’s voice said. “This is Helen.”