by Andrea Dale
Hannah pursed her lips. Why was that name familiar?
“Hey, Helen,” Nate said. “What’s up?”
“It was great seeing you in San Francisco last week,” Helen said.
Oh! That Helen. Was she some sort of stalker? Hannah wondered. But Nate seemed unconcerned, treating Helen as if she were a familiar part of his life.
“Thanks,” he said. “It was great seeing you, too. Thanks for coming out. It’s good to be touching base with the fans again. What’s your question?”
“I was wondering about your choice of including “Renegade” on Cannibal Eyes,” Helen said. “What kind of inspiration was Styx for you?”
If Hannah weren’t kind of jealous of Helen, she might want to hire the woman. She knew the right questions to ask.
Nate talked more in depth about his early influences, and then Jerry queued up another song.
“Not cool, Jerry,” Hannah said as soon as the song started and they could take off the headphones. “Bringing up the accident.” And Suzanne. She didn’t want to think about Suzanne, and Nate certainly didn’t, although for different reasons.
“I can’t ignore what happened,” Jerry said. “I told you that. I didn’t ask about the accident, okay? Just about who he’s dating now.”
“You could have left Suzanne out of it and just asked about the present,” Hannah snapped.
“It’s okay,” Nate said. His face was a neutral mask that she couldn’t read. She didn’t like that one bit. “It’s over. Let’s just move on.”
She wanted to distract him. She needed to. He was keeping up a fantastic public front, not letting the listeners know how he was really feeling. From a PR front, she couldn’t ask for anything better.
On a personal front, however, she couldn’t bear to see him this way.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
A quick trip to the ladies’ room was all she needed.
Andre stood in the hall, leaning against the wall in a casual manner that Hannah knew was a front. He could snap her like a twig if he wanted to. She promised herself to always stay on his good side.
“Keeping the crazed fans at bay?” she asked on the way back from the rest room.
He smiled, teeth flashing. Definitely a man who’d had whitening done, along with his usual manicure.
“Well, one of the Marketing people has walked by five times so far, but I think he’s just attracted to the smell of my cologne.”
“Like flies to honey,” Hannah said.
“Don’t you know it.”
Inside, Nate was playing something live on his guitar. His eyes were closed as he leaned towards the microphone. His shoulders were still tense, though.
She waited until the On Air sign went off again, and slipped back into the sound booth.
“Everything okay?” she asked, and both Nate and Jerry nodded. Neither looked unduly upset, which she hoped meant Jerry hadn’t set off any more bombs.
“You okay?” Nate said quietly to her as she sat back down.
“I’m great,” she said, and palmed him her silk panties. “You?”
His sharp intake of breath told her more than words ever could.
It was more daring than she’d ever been. Oh, she’d gone without underwear once on a boyfriend’s dare, and once again when she couldn’t find her thong after her night at Nate’s. But her boldness in passing off her underwear to Nate surprised her.
And thrilled her.
Distraction had been her goal, to pull him out of the morass of bad memories and negative emotions. His arousal was just pure reward.
Even though her skirt was beneath her, she was more aware of the chair’s leather seat, and certainly the sensation of her skirt’s fabric on her ass. She crossed her legs, her clit tingling. She had managed to turn them both on.
The next caller wanted to know if Nate’s tour would be coming to Cleveland, and the one after that asked about Les Paul versus Gibson guitars. Although Hannah couldn’t see Nate’s hand, she could tell from the way his bicep flexed that he was toying with the scrap of silk as he talked.
“We’ve got time for one more song,” Jerry said. “This is from the platinum album Strange Desires. I’m sure you’ll all recognize the song of the same name.”
After the show, Jerry apologized again, citing the program manager’s insistence.
“We got through it,” Nate said. “I know you’re getting pulled from both ends, Jerry. I appreciate the air time.”
“Take care, man,” Jerry said. “I’ll be at the Forum show.”
“See you on the flipside.”
Hannah shook hands with Jerry, saying essentially what Nate had, and then they fell into step down the hall.
“Naughty girl,” Nate murmured in her ear. “I’ve had panties thrown at me on stage before, but I’ve never had them passed to me during a radio spot.”
“I just wanted to distract you,” Hannah said.
“Oh, you did that, all right. In spades.” He leaned close. His breath against her ear, fluttering her hair, aroused her as much as his next words: “I want you, Hannah. I need you. Soon.”
“Well, you’ll just have to hold on to that thought,” she said, wishing just as desperately that they could be alone. She wanted to lick her way down his chest, and when he couldn’t take anymore, climb on top of him and ride him until they were both sated. “We’ve got two newspaper interviews and one phone call with Rockdawg magazine before noon. Then you have to meet the rest of the band for a rehearsal. And somewhere in there, Sam said something about last-minute wardrobe fittings.”
He groaned.
“I want you just as bad,” she admitted. “Tonight. My place. I’ll feed you.”
“And I’ll eat…whatever you offer,” he said, and she would have stumbled if he hadn’t caught her arm.
*
“Nice,” Nate remarked, following Hannah into her condo. The door led to an open floor plan, the large living room flowing into the kitchen and dining area. Plush rugs in bold colors covered areas of the shining wood floor. The last of the day’s sunshine spilled into the room through glass doors leading to a balcony, beyond which he could see the Hollywood Hills.
“Thanks.” Hannah smiled over her shoulder while she dumped her attaché case onto the table by the door. “Why don’t you make yourself at home? I want to change and then get dinner ready.”
“Not yet,” he said.
Hannah frowned. “You’re not hungry?”
Nate laughed. Catching her wrist, he circled it lightly with his fingers, using it to draw her close. His mouth quirked into a smile, and her heart skipped a beat. “I am very—” a brush of his lips against one corner of her mouth “—very—” the other corner, the feathery caress sending a tingle of excitement through her “—hungry.” His mouth took hers, sending all thoughts of dinner right out of her head.
Nate’s tongue flicked her lips, learning their shape, drawing a whimper of need. He laughed again. The sound was a low masculine growl that thrummed along her nerve endings. His tongue dipped in, swiping the slick flesh inside her bottom lip.
Hannah tried to catch his tongue with hers, but he drew back. One long-fingered hand stroked the length of her back, soothing her protest. He kissed her again.
Hannah’s hands splayed on the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers curling tightly, wanting him to take the kiss deeper, to feel the connection her body longed for.
But he made her wait. Light caresses, the gentlest touch of his tongue to hers, had her trembling with desire. Nate caught her bottom lip between his teeth. He nibbled until she felt the sensation echoed in her breasts, in the aching bead of her nipples. Still not giving her what she wanted, Nate skimmed the line of her jaw with his mouth. He explored the hollow beneath her ear, his warm breath teasing her flesh.
“Please,” she murmured. Her hands moved to his shoulders, feeling the hard ridge of muscle. He was making her crazy. When he slid a thigh between hers, Hannah moaned, rubbing against him. Na
te eased his leg away, refusing to let her seek the pressure she craved. All the while, his mouth continued to explore the smooth skin of her throat.
“You smell wonderful,” he murmured, his tongue flicking against her earlobe.
She thought he did too, but she wasn’t sure she had enough brain cells functioning to point it out.
“What are you wearing?”
Hannah licked her lips. He expected her to speak? “Bergamot,” she said, tipping her head back so his mouth could suck lightly at the place where her pulse thundered. “Lemongrass,” she added weakly.
“Mm,” he commented. His thigh rubbed lightly against her, tantalizing her with his nearness.
Hannah arched into him when his broad musician’s hands curved along her ribcage. His thumbs teased the undersides of her breasts, and she thought she was going to die if he didn’t take her soon. She squeezed the muscles of his arms, feeling the strength there, holding on to him when he nuzzled aside the edge of her shirt to lightly nip her collarbone.
“Do you know that my room still smells like you?” he asked. Nate drew back enough to look into her eyes. Hannah found herself fixated on the dark sweep of his eyelashes. She’d had more experience with men’s eyelashes since she was a teenager, and Nate’s really were amazingly sexy. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since you were there.”
“So you’re saying you’re too exhausted to function?” she asked with a quick lift of her eyebrows.
Nate laughed, the sapphire of his eyes lightening. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”
Then he kissed her again. Finally, his mouth devoured hers the way she had hungered for since they’d parted. Her own dreams had been haunted by his taste, and she reveled in it now. He tasted of mint and coffee, and she moaned as he filled her senses. Suckling his tongue, Hannah felt a surge of power when he growled in response. He cupped her ass, lifting her to settle her hips against him. Wrapping one leg around his thigh, Hannah moved against the hard bulge of his erection, sending tremors through them both. The pressure did little to ease the ache in her crotch. She couldn’t seem to get close enough to him. Hungrily, she slipped her hands between them. Nate hissed when her fingers stroked him through his jeans.
“Didn’t you promise me dinner?” he asked. His eyes were closed, his forehead against hers. Her fingers were plucking at his belt buckle.
“Are you hungry?” she asked breathlessly.
“Now we’re back where we started,” he said with a laugh. A last kiss, his mouth clinging gently to hers, and then he stepped back. His hands remained on her hips. “We have all night.”
“You started this,” Hannah pointed out. Her body felt empty, needy. She ran her fingernails across his denim-covered cock, making him twitch. The sharp intake of his breath made her smile in feminine satisfaction.
“I’m going to change, Nate. Make yourself at home.” Slipping away from him, she left him standing in the foyer. Hannah could feel him watching her, and she smiled to herself, putting a little extra swing in her hips.
Up until now, he had been the one in control.
Tonight was where she took it back.
Chapter Eight
Nate wandered into the living room. His jeans were unbearably tight. The woman could turn him on like no one else.
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. The action only served to fill his lungs with her scent. It lingered in her condo, driving him crazy. He had to fight off the urge to follow her back to her bedroom, dinner be damned. Looking around for something to distract himself, his gaze settled on the mantel.
Photos graced the pale cream marble, interspersed with personal knickknacks. He picked up a silver-framed photo showing Gina on the beach next to a surfboard, a wide smile on her face. In the photo next to it, the two friends were together. Gina still displayed her board while Hannah, curvy in a one-piece emerald bathing suit, her hair slicked back, flashed the hang-ten sign. The photo had caught the mischief in her eyes, even while her tongue was stuck out at the photographer. Nate smiled. She looked young, but not as young as the gawky teenager he’d first met.
Setting down the photo, he picked up another. It showed an older couple, the man’s arm thrown around Hannah’s shoulder. She wore a graduation gown, the cap at a jaunty angle. He recognized the couple as her parents. It had been a few years since he’d seen Everett Forbes, having switched labels after his second album, but Hannah’s father had changed only a little. He touched a gentle fingertip to the young woman in the photo.
For whatever reason, Hannah didn’t seem to want him to know that they’d met before.
Still restless, Nate wandered to the sliding glass doors. Hannah’s condo was up high enough in the building that he could see over the palm trees. To his right he could see the rooftops of Hollywood, if he had his geography correct. The hills directly ahead were hazy, shifting to a darker blue-grey as the sun set.
“There’s a blanket on the end of the couch,” Hannah said from behind him. “Will you spread it out on the floor?”
“Planning on giving me a massage?” Nate asked as he turned.
His brief attempt at humor disappeared. He could only stare. The silk lounging pajamas were the same delicate purple as the sunset sky behind him. She’d left the bottom two shirt buttons undone, teasing him with glimpses of her flat stomach. She looked both totally hot and coolly untouchable.
It made him want to devour her.
She noticed his attention. Holding his gaze, she stroked one finger down the buttons of her shirt, then slowly popped open another at the bottom. A flash of creamy flesh, the dip of her navel. He actually groaned out loud. He took a step forward, intent on ripping open the rest of those buttons.
“The blanket, Nate,” she prompted. The smile she gave him was full of wicked female confidence. She knew exactly what she was doing. She slipped behind the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. She reached up to take Fiestaware plates from a shelf, her top’s silky material pulling taut across her breasts. Her nipples were hard.
Nate felt his cock twitch again. She was killing him. He pushed the coffee table aside and moved to pick up the blanket. It felt incredibly soft in his hands as he spread the cream expanse over the gold looped-leather area rug.
“We’re having a picnic,” she told him, carrying the plates and wine glasses into the room. He stole a kiss as he took them from her. She smiled and ducked away, her hair caught in a French braid. He wanted to unwind it, to feel the waves spilling across his fingers. Instead, he knelt, setting the plates and glasses on the blanket.
“What kind of picnic?” he asked when she carried a wicker basket into the room. He took it from her. When he tried to peer inside, she lightly slapped his hand.
“Patience,” she told him, and then returned to the kitchen to retrieve a bucket of ice and a chilled bottle of sparkling cider. She settled in a swirl of silk at his side. Her knee nudged his. He wanted to slide the silk up her leg, press his lips against the warm skin behind her knee. He bit back a groan.
“Will you open the bottle?” she asked.
Since it gave him something to do with his hands, Nate obliged. He cursed the cork as he wrestled with it. She’d completely thrown him off guard, turning him into an adolescent boy on his first date. He felt shaky and unsure.
And totally turned on.
“Here,” Hannah said, leaning close to slip a grape between his lips. Her fingers brushed against his mouth. He felt the contact right down to his toes, and all the sensitive places in between. The grape burst between his teeth, flooding his mouth with its crisp taste.
When he poured their drinks, his hand trembled. Handing her a glass, Nate watched while she sipped. Her smoky grey eyes held his over the rim of the glass. She touched the tip of her pink tongue to her bottom lip, and a groan escaped him.
She was in complete control, and knew it. He was going to have to do something about that.
Plucking a grape from
the bunch she’d placed between them, he held it out. Stroking the cool globe across her lips, he leaned close. When she bit down, he kissed her, sharing the explosion of flavor on her tongue. He nipped her bottom lip. When she would have deepened the kiss, he drew back. He smiled at her soft sound of disappointment.
“I have a present for you,” he said. “But you’re going to have to wait for it.”
“Why?” Hannah asked.
“Because I’m hungry. What’s on the menu?” he responded, surveying the spread of food she’d managed to arrange while he’d been opening the bottle.
“Finger food, for starters,” she said. The look in her eyes was a mixture of laughter and desire.
“Mm,” he murmured approvingly. Catching her hand, he lifted it to his mouth. The tip of his tongue traced a damp path from her palm up the sensitive inside of her index finger. “My favorite kind.”
“Behave,” she told him.
“Or?” he prompted.
Hannah smiled, spreading something that smelled delicious onto a stone-wheat pita. “Or you won’t get dessert.”
He bit down on her offering, the savory tastes of pesto, cream cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes unfurling in his mouth. He watched as she took a bite after him. A dot of pesto clung to her lip, and he swiped it off with his thumb, offering it to her.
“Finger food,” he told her with a grin. The grin faded as she swiped her tongue over his flesh, curling it around the warm digit. When she sucked his fingertip into her mouth, he almost came.
“Damn, Hannah, do that again, and we won’t be eating dinner,” he warned.
She laughed, delighted by his reaction.
She fed him apple slices, their tart crunch a delightful counterpoint to the robust combination of the pesto and tomato. He fed her a spread made of lemon and artichoke, the citrusy scent tantalizing as he layered it on a cracker. He shared the taste on her lips, helpless to do anything other than cup her cheek with his palm while he supped on her mouth.
She was making him crazy. And oh, so aroused.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked, trying to regain a semblance of control. If he didn’t, it was all going to be over too soon. And she’d promised him dessert.
