by Cari Quinn
She hung on because there was nothing else she could do. She curled her arms around his shoulders and sobbed out his name as his lips and teeth coasted over every bit of her that he could reach. Chest, nipple, neck—finally, he climbed up the column of her throat and tangled his tongue with hers.
Her nails dug into his neck and shoulders as her insides reformed around him. She would never be the same.
He shuddered against her and jerked. She felt him pulsing inside of her as she squeezed around his cock, breath lost to the insanity that was this man and how she reacted to him.
She slumped against him. Her heart rate was somewhere between heart attack and sprint. “Michael.”
“Michael’s died and his heaven is named Chloe. Please call back later.”
The giggle broke through and dissolved the tears that threatened. She shifted on him and a crack made her pause. Suddenly they both dropped down four inches and a spring shot up next to Michael’s thigh.
Her giggle became a hiccuping laugh as Michael struggled out of the couch with her in his arms. He stumbled forward and bumped into the small table, then they pinballed into the lockers. He slammed her into the wall of metal, his dick still half hard inside of her.
She gripped his sides with her knees as the laughter grew between them. “You broke the couch.”
“I do believe we broke the couch.”
She shook her head. “Your fault.”
He flexed his hips against her. “I have nail marks in my back that disprove that assessment.”
A fist pounded on the door. “What the fuck is going on in there?” The doorknob rattled. Lou’s voice rose. “Why is this locked?”
“Be right out,” she called. Her head thudded against the locker and a lock dug into her back, but she wouldn’t stop the light pulsing of his hips for anything.
“Come again.”
“We have to go.”
“After you come again.” He ground against her, the light trail of hair at the top of his cock providing friction that she hadn’t quite been able to get while on top of him.
He sucked at her neck.
“Fuck.”
Michael pulled his head back. “Did you just swear? Why is that so hot?”
“I swear.” Almost never. Mommy training usually kicked in, but this wasn’t exactly her usual afternoon. She drew in a breath as she climbed up another level. “How are you still hard?”
“Young and studly,” he said with a grunt. “And making you come is my Zen place.”
“Zen away,” she said and dug her ankles into his butt. Her cheeks heated with every rattle of the combination locks behind her, and she was pretty sure she was going to have a grid of welts, but it was so freaking worth it.
She shuddered out a litany of moans and iterations of his name until she finally melted away into a sweet, soft cloud of nothing.
“You’re so fucking hot, Mrs. Shawcross.”
She stiffened. Why did he have to insist on calling her that? She dropped her foot to the floor and he slowly lowered her the rest of the way. He slid out of her and turned away to take care of the condom.
She heard the rattle of paper and saw him open a fast food wrapper to completely hide the evidence before washing his hands in the handy break room sink.
Her chest tightened as she twisted her bra back to rights under her shirt. She snapped out her jeans, and quickly squeezed over the pocket to make sure her ring was still there. She looked up as Michael stared at her.
He grabbed her left hand. “Where’s your ring?”
“Safe.”
“Why aren’t you wearing it? Still?”
She twisted her hand out of his grip. “Didn’t we go over this already? Besides, I’m working.” She stepped into her jeans, hopping to get them up over her ass. She could still feel the phantom fullness from him inside her, and they were already fighting. Typical.
God, she couldn’t take the look on his face.
“Where’s my—” Her apron dangled over her shoulder. “Thank you.” She tied it around her waist and turned to him. His eyes were blazing. “What?”
“You won’t wear my ring, but that’s cool?”
She looked down at the diamond on her right hand. “That’s none of your business.”
“No?”
“No, it really isn’t. We may be married, but we barely know each other. This ring meant something—still means something to me.”
He jerked as if she’d slapped him. He slid his sunglasses on his face, and his Adam’s apple bounced as his jaw firmed. “Right. As if I could ever forget the guy who came before me.”
“We all have a past, Michael. Even you.”
“I don’t wear mine like a shield.”
“No, you just have it plastered on TV, email, and blogs.”
He curled his fingers around the doorknob and he pulled the door open, slamming it behind him. She growled and slapped the wall hard enough that the zing vibrated down her arm.
“Dammit.” She pressed her forehead to the door. “Good going, Chloe.” She drew in a deep breath and turned the knob to follow him.
The flash of a camera followed by Lou’s thunderous face from across the bar was the capper to her fucking fantastic day.
Nineteen
Friday night. The Blue Rhino, Oblivion’s old stomping grounds and Warning Sign’s new ones. And what was Michael doing?
Texting his wife, who seemed to have no interest in replying.
Hey, in the shit that was his week—not remembering his marriage or the sex that took place in his marital bed, being chased by paparazzi, nearly losing his car to a tow truck company—he’d had one shining spot.
The one where he actually got to have sex with his wife and—gasp—he even remembered it. And it had been sensational. The angels had wept, the stars had aligned, and glittery rainbows had arched across the sky.
Too bad they’d ended their amazing encounter with yet another fight. She’d been wearing another man’s ring when he was inside her, for fuck’s sake.
She wasn’t replying to his texts, which was surprising not at all. The only reason he even had her digits was because she’d added her number to his phone the other night when she typed in her email addy. He’d almost wondered if she’d filled out her info on the digital contact card by habit, because it was hard to imagine her actually wanting him to call her.
Give her a couple orgasms, oh yeah, she could handle that. But call? Not so much.
Now he was backstage at this dive bar that apparently was a big part of the local music scene, stationed in front of an old peeling Oblivion poster while Lila prodded him about his brother. Again.
“I don’t know where he is. I don’t even have a current address for him, all right? The last I knew was he was in Encino, but that was a while ago. I’m not about to camp on his doorstep. If you want to, go ahead.”
“Can you look up from your phone for just ten seconds?”
Michael sighed and met her gaze. “Looking up.”
“We have Jazz tonight, because we’re damn lucky that Oblivion is off the road this week. In a couple weeks when you have your next show, that isn’t going to be true, and besides, you can’t count on Jazz Duffy to save your band’s ass in a pinch. If we haven’t located Malachi and Ryan isn’t well enough to play—”
“You’re jumping the gun. Why not wait to see how Ryan is then before assuming we’ll need someone else?”
“You’ve given up,” Lila accused. “I recognize that defeated tone.”
“No, L, I haven’t given up on my brother. I’ve just accepted reality that we made a deal, and he fulfilled it so I can’t really demand more. Asking is one thing, and I have. But acting all butthurt because he’s not in a hurry to jump on a bus he never wanted to be on? No. Not going to do that.”
Lila propped her hands on her hips. Tonight she wore a black pantsuit with gold at her ears and throat, and she looked every bit the record exec shark. “Butthurt? That’s what you think I am?”
Michael shrugged. “I think you’re used to the universe acceding to your wishes, and Mal just isn’t.”
“You made a deal for him to show up at one show and take off? What did you get out of this deal? Or is this like your situation with your ‘new wife’?” Lila made air quotes. “The deals you make never seem to benefit you very much.”
“Don’t,” Michael said, voice low. “Seriously, do not. Let’s keep this about the band and only the band.”
“So you don’t care that she told me on the plane last weekend that she’d sign anything I wanted her to in order to dissolve your marriage?”
He should have expected it. He knew Chloe wasn’t exactly jumping for joy over their accidental bed-and-wed situation, and Lila had probably exacerbated Chloe’s feelings by goading her when they were alone on the flight back. But it still stung.
“That was then, this is now,” he said quietly, putting away his phone before he could send out another unanswered message. Whether the recipient was to Mal or Chloe, he was at his limit.
“Look, Michael, I know how you view marriage, and I understand after what you saw your parents go through. You don’t want to be the same kind of guy who gives up on a relationship. But you have to admit that this isn’t a real anything. Accidentally pulling the trigger doesn’t give you feelings for another person.”
“Did you not hear me when I told you the other day that I fell for her?”
“Sex isn’t falling for someone.”
“No, but it’s a pretty damn good start.”
He wasn’t about to try to explain the complicated mess of emotions he had for Chloe, because he couldn’t. He just wanted to live his damn life, not analyze it. And right now, he wanted to be with his wife, whether or not it made sense to anyone else.
Even himself.
Lila gripped her iPad to her chest. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me too.” He picked up the pink Takamine he’d set beside him and strapped it on. The Blue Rhino didn’t have an elaborate stage set-up like the House of Blues, so they were pretty much on their own for managing their instruments. Fine by him. He was glad to take it back old school. “I’ll see you later.”
“Break a finger,” she said softly, her bastardization of the old stage adage to “break a leg” before a show.
Taking it as the small olive branch it was, he gave her a quick smile and moved toward the stage. It was almost time to start.
Ry, Juliet, and West were standing around laughing, and Molly was near the drum kit with her sister, Jazz. Though Jazz was the eldest, you never would’ve known it since Molly towered over her older sister. They also didn’t look much like sisters. Molly was blond, Jazz dark. Until he got close enough to hear what they were saying, and yep, they were definitely waving their sibling cards.
“I know you’re doing us a favor, and we all appreciate it, but you can’t just come in here and change the setlist. We have a way of doing things.”
“Right. I’m changing the setlist for only my selfish whims, not the fact I don’t know those two songs and I don’t want to screw up your show.”
“Ladies,” Michael said smoothly, looping an arm around Molly’s shoulders. The icy look she gave him made him smirk. He loved riling her up. “So glad you’re joining us tonight, Jazz. Whatever set changes you need, we can make.”
Molly rolled her eyes and stalked off.
“That went awesome.” Jazz sighed and tapped her glow-in-the-dark sticks on her thigh beneath her flared tutu-type skirt.
It couldn’t actually be a tutu, right?
Hell, maybe it was. He understood women’s fashion about as much as he got everything else that had to do with the more heartless sex.
“She’s a bit type A,” he said with a shrug. “Doesn’t like us to alter the plan, especially if it means she might get less time behind the mic.”
“Lead singers, man. They’re a handful. I’ve got my own to deal with, and believe me, I slap Simon around as much as you probably wish you could with Mol.”
“Nah. I enjoy her attitude. She brings it to every show, so eh, what are you gonna do? Freaking musicians.”
“Truth. So much truth.” Jazz grinned and waved as a couple of people sneaked backstage. The Blue Rhino was old-fashioned enough to have an actual curtain. “Michael, you know Harp already, right? Deacon’s wife?”
“Sure.” He stuck his hand out toward Harper McCoy. “Always good to see you.”
“Same. Gotta say thanks for having a show tonight and needing Jazz’s services. Got me a free night away from the kidlet and some girl time.” She linked arms with Jazz, who nodded enthusiastically.
“Hell yeah, me too. Deacon and Gray are home watching the rugrats and we get to have some adult beverages after this. We even brought some friends.” Jazz pointed at a tall, lanky guy with long blondish-brown hair pulled back in a tail. “Randy Pruitt, this is Michael Shawcross, lead guitarist with Warning Sign. Randy is Harper’s younger brother. He’s also on the lighting crew for Oblivion and a couple of other bands. Lila pulled him in to do his magic here too.”
“Magic? In this rickety old place?” Michael slapped hands with the guy. “If you manage that, we’ll beg you to come out on our tour too.”
“That might be arranged.” Randy smiled and stepped back as Jazz pulled forward her last two friends.
Damn, she might be small, but she traveled with an entourage.
“Michael, you already know Hunter Jordan, the lead singer of Hammered?”
“Of course. He’s a legend.”
Hunter held up a hand. “If you’re going to make a penis joke, rest assured I’ve heard them all before.”
Hunter was referring to the article in Rolling Stone that had boosted his band’s profile into the stratosphere the previous year. “Nah, man, I’m hoping to dethrone you.” Michael grinned and fistbumped with Hunter, who only laughed.
“And this is Tristan Eves, Hunter’s best friend and the dude who is helping Harp and me to make the most incredible baby food in the history of life. He’s also a chef and he tries to outdo me on the hair dye score, but it’s not gonna happen.” Jazz pulled on the blue tips of Tristan’s hair and he chuckled.
“I couldn’t possibly outdo you. You probably used up most of the dye on the west coast anyway.”
Jazz poked him in the arm. “Wise ass.”
“Besides, you’re back to brown again. What’s up with that?”
“Shh, don’t remind her or she’ll say it’s time to get pregnant again,” Harper teased.
Michael lifted a brow. “Don’t you have like three babies already?”
“Just two, and two is plenty for right now. Can’t a girl go au naturel? Jeez. Hey Randy,” she called as the guy whipped out his phone and started walking away. “Take Eves the big mouth with you, why don’t you?”
Randy glanced back with a distracted smile. “Sorry. Can’t bring any newbs behind the board. Sounds like we have a situation anyway.”
“Why, you afraid I’ll trip on a cord or something?” Tristan elbowed Hunter. “I say we go swing from the lighting rig and get him to loosen his shorts.”
“You mean crap his shorts?” Harper asked drily. “He’s all about safety on a set.”
Juliet let out an earsplitting whistle.
“Hey people, y’all ready to go on stage or what? Let’s freaking go already.”
Michael linked fingers with Jazz. “Guess it’s time, Mrs. Duffy.”
“Wow, no rude nicknames. So odd backstage before a show.” Jazz grinned up at him and waved at her departing friends as they disappeared under the curtain to head back into the audience. “I think I like you.”
“I like you too.” He lowered his voice to a mock whisper. “Can we keep you and send back Molly?”
“I heard that,” Molly said from behind him as they all walked onstage.
He laughed as the crowd started to hoot and holler. He’d come to the club tonight in absolutely the worst mood,
not in the least bit ready to perform, but he was in his element now. It didn’t matter if the stage was a big one like House of Blues or a relatively small one like the Rhino. Once he strapped on his guitar and his band filtered out around him, taking their spots, his mind clicked into place.
Nothing mattered except the show. The music. Everything else would fall in line or it wouldn’t, but right now, he was ready to rock.
“Well, hello LA,” Molly purred into the mic with Ryan at her side. She wasn’t about to give up greeting the crowd twice, whether or not he was hurt. “How y’all feeling tonight?”
She got the requisite applause and catcalls, and Ryan pumped his good fist. “So did you guys notice we have someone you all might be just a little bit familiar with back there on the kit? Mrs. Jasmine Duffy, also known as Jazz, the kickass drummer from a small-time band you might’ve heard of once or twice named Oblivion.” He grinned as the clapping morphed into a dull roar. “Give it up for Jazz!”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s enough of that. Don’t swell up my big sister’s head.” But Molly smiled over her shoulder at Jazz to let her know she was kidding.
Partially.
Molly introduced the rest of the band and then mentioned how Ryan was going to be off the drums for a while, but he was still going to be part of the show. Proving it, she let him have the spotlight to start off “In Your Arms,” with the blues harp. It was risky, using their latest greatest single to kick the show into gear instead of using that one as a carrot to pull the crowd through the set. Lila’s trick of bringing the House of Blues mix to radio so soon had worked wonderfully, and they were getting more press than they had in a while.
Of course a good portion of that had to do with Michael’s marital status and the fact that he was only a week removed from the picture some intrepid reporter had gotten of Tabitha Tremaine sneaking out of his apartment. But whatever. Lila liked to say all press sold singles, so he’d deal.
What he didn’t like dealing with was knowing Chloe was at her house alone with her baby and probably swarmed by the blood-suckers. But what could he do? He’d asked her repeatedly to move in with him and she’d said no. Their marriage wasn’t real.
