by Roz Lee
He sat on the throne, shining the rim of a tom-tom. He set the rag aside. “Are you going to give us a chance? All I’m asking is for you to spend time with me, get to know me.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, even though the older men were still having a ridiculous sing-along in the adjacent room. “I want you. I won’t deny it. I want all of you, but the physical part can wait. I won’t pressure you to sleep with me again.”
Mel glanced over her shoulder, checking, even though Henry and Jonathan were still singing at the top of their lungs. “I don’t know how much I can give you, Hank, emotionally or physically.”
“I can wait. I don’t want anyone else but you.”
She couldn’t decide if his words were reassuring or threatening. Either way, she wasn’t any closer to making Hank understand he was wasting his time with her. She wasn’t going to marry him, so she changed the subject. “We’d better get them out of here. They’ll both be hoarse tomorrow if we don’t stop them.”
Chapter Fifteen
Monday, Mel showed Jonathan around Willowbrook. They had breakfast at The Donut Hole where Jonathan graciously sipped tea from a cardboard cup and praised Cathy’s doughnuts as the best.
After a tour of nearly every store on Main Street, they ended up at Smitty’s for lunch where they ate burgers and were serenaded by a RavensBlood mega-hit another diner selected on the jukebox.
Jonathan smiled at Mel across the table. “Cha-ching. Money in your pocket, luv.”
Mel, taken aback, asked, “Is that all you think when you hear one of your songs? Has it all come down to money for you?”
“No, not at all. I don’t need any more money, and neither do you. To tell the truth, I miss it. Not the touring so much, but the creating, discovering something new. For a good many years after Milton died, I was grateful to be out of the limelight. Taking care of Ravenswood for you and managing the music library was enough. Hank approached me last year, wanting to do a cover album, and I realized how much I’ve missed the business the last few years.”
“You’ve never said anything to me about wanting to get back into the business. What’s stopping you from resuming your career? You’re certainly not too old,” she teased.
“I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve written a few new songs. I thought I might trot them by BlackWing, see what they think of them. I doubt anyone would want to hear an old bloke like me sing, but they’d listen to these youngsters.”
Mel laid her hand over his. “Uncle Jonathan, you are not old. I’d love to hear you sing again. I’d be so proud to sit in a booth, munching burgers and listening to you on the jukebox. Don’t sell yourself short. The world still loves you. RavensBlood fans would welcome you back with open arms, and a whole new generation would be blown away by you.”
“It’s kind of you to say, but we’ll see,” he said, dismissing the subject. “I had a great time yesterday, singing like a fool with Henry. Milton and I used to do that. Of course Milton could carry a tune.”
Mel laughed. “Henry was having a good time, too. I think Hank gets his musical talent from his mother.”
“He’s good for you, Mel.”
“Maybe. But could we not talk about him, please?”
* * *
“We’re all settled in here, or at least as settled as it’s going to get, so why don’t you and Jonathan come out? I’ll introduce you both to the gang.”
Hank’s call wasn’t unexpected, but still, Mel hesitated. “Can’t this wait?” she asked.
“It can,” Hank agreed, “but it’s not going to go away. Might as well get it over with.”
It was hard to argue with his brand of logic. Mel gave in and once again drove her Uncle out to the farm.
Hank’s friends greeted them warmly. Genuine smiles quickly replaced surprised expressions, and soon, the guys wandered off together to the barn, discussing the recording session, leaving Mel behind with the wives and children, who closed ranks around her. Other than at college, she’d never had a wide circle of friends, and she’d never been around so many who knew her identity. To her surprise, they were more interested in her relationship with Hank than anything else.
They sat on the back porch steps, watching the kids play a game of tag with Betty Boop at the center, dodging and darting out of their reach. Tall glasses of ice-cold lemonade were handed out before the women got down to grilling Mel.
“We’re so glad to meet you, Mel,” Marci jump-started the conversation. “Hank is such a great guy, and we’ve been hoping he would meet someone special.”
“He deserves a family. He’s a good guy,” Stephen’s wife, Stacey, echoed the sentiment. “We all love him.”
“You’ll be so good for him,” Erica, the wife of bass guitarist Kevin Sanders, chimed in. “I felt so sorry for him on the last tour. He spent way too much time alone.”
“With your connection to RavensBlood, you’re perfect for Hank. It must be fate. How did you two meet?” Chad Winston’s wife, Sarah, asked.
Mel spent the next hour answering questions. She was surprised how few after the initial inquisition had to do with her family, or even Hank. They wanted to know her opinion on everything from the price of groceries to what kind of car she drove and her favorite places to shop.
They talked about their kids, fashion trends, and the latest stupid thing their husbands had done. Mel was entranced. They were a group of women brought together because of their husbands’ careers, yet they’d formed their own close friendships. Mel was welcomed into the group, without reservation, because of her association with Hank.
Erica brought little Katie to the porch and nursed her while the women talked. Mel’s arms ached to hold a child of her own, but since she’d lost her heart to Hank, the possibility of that happening was more remote than ever. She’d never have a family with Hank, and she didn’t want it with anyone else.
Lunch turned out to be a rowdy affair with everyone talking over each other. They acted more like a big, extended family than a Rock band. They shared parenting duties to the point it was difficult to tell whose kids belonged to whom. Hank chipped in and did his part, wiping grimy hands and faces, refilling empty glasses, and rescuing dropped food before the dog could get it. Even her Uncle Jonathan joined in, amusing the kids with ridiculous stories.
Hank promised to bring Jonathan to her house later in the day, so Mel returned to town alone. Just as she was sitting down to eat, Hank appeared on her doorstep. As promised, he’d brought Jonathan into town but dropped him off at Henry’s house instead.
“What are they up to?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Dad today, and he didn’t mention anything yesterday when I saw him.”
“I was about to have dinner. Want to join me?”
“Oh, yeah.” He pushed past her and headed toward the kitchen. “I thought you’d never ask.”
By the time she caught up he was already taking plates from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home.”
“Don’t mind if I do. What are we having anyway?” He opened the oven door and peeked inside. “Looks like chicken casserole,” he said, reaching for the potholders she’d left on the counter.
“King Ranch Chicken. Cathy gave me the recipe.”
He lifted the hot dish and set it on top of the stove. “One of my favorites. My mom used to make it.”
She handed him a serving spoon and he ladled generous servings onto their plates. They moved to the table and sat.
“The casserole looks great. I love all the kids, but every few days, I need a break. I guess it’s different when they’re your own, or at least you know you can’t take a break, so you grin and bear it. Anyway, a quiet meal for two sounds pretty good.”
She laughed. “I wondered how long you would last out there. Don’t get me wrong, they’re a great bunch of kids, but after living out there all alone for months, it must be a shock to the system to have all those people around.”
He stopped eating and fixed her with an intense look. “This
may sound crazy, but the house is happier with all of them around.”
“Oh?”
“It’s hard to explain. The house seems more alive when it’s full. It feels sad when it’s just the dog and me. I don’t think we make enough noise, or something.”
“Maybe you should move a drum kit into the living room and practice there instead of the barn.”
Hank smiled. “Yeah, maybe I should. Or I could get myself a house full of rug rats and cure the problem once and for all.”
Mel dug into her meal. “Don’t go there,” she admonished. Glimpses of the children they could have ghosted through her mind. Longing whispered along her spine. She clenched her fork in one hand and the napkin in her lap in the other. It was a silly dream. A fantasy for normal people. The man sitting across from her wasn’t normal people and neither was she, so entertaining fantasies about a happily ever after with Hank was the last thing she needed.
The phone rang, and she jumped to answer it. Anything to take her mind off her dinner companion and the impossible dreams his casual remarks brought to mind.
“That was Uncle Jonathan,” she said when she returned. “He said he’s going to stay at your dad’s place tonight. Do you know someone named Miriam?”
“Miriam Wallingford. She lives next door to Dad. She’s a widow, has been for about twenty years. Her husband died young, and she never remarried. Why?”
“They’re playing cards at her house tonight. He said Henry would take him out to the farm tomorrow. He said something about there would be room in the car.” She frowned. “Why wouldn’t there be?”
“The sound guys are crashing at Dad’s house. They should be coming in tonight. It takes dozens of people to get everything just right. We’ll have musicians coming in over the next few months too. They all stay at the local motels or in Dallas if they’re only here for a day or so. The farmhouse can only hold so many.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Last time, we had a guy from Austin drive up. He slept in his van out at the farm. He was kind of strange, but he knew his way around a violin.”
“You’re good for the Willowbrook economy.”
He grinned, helping himself to more casserole. “It’s all selfish on my part. I’d much rather spend my time and money here than anywhere else. Willowbrook is home.”
Mel picked at her food. Even though he was engrossed in his meal, his gaze was on her more than his plate. Her skin tingled with awareness of the blatant male attention coming from across the table. Logic told her to feed him and show him the door before he fully swallowed his last bite, but her libido was being anything but logical. Where her brain urged caution, her body yearned for reckless abandon. She couldn’t stay in Willowbrook. She couldn’t have the life she wanted with a man like Hank, but she was an adult, and these were modern times. She could indulge in a purely physical relationship if she wanted.
Even as her heart called her a liar, she glanced across the table. He’d put his fork down and his crumpled napkin lay beside his plate. Their eyes met, and the smoldering heat in his gaze was like a flash flame stealing the oxygen from the room.
“Hank,” she pleaded.
“Don’t,” he said, reaching for her hand. “You want me to stay. I can see it in your eyes.” His thumb swept her wrist, found her pulse. “Your heart is racing. You want this night together as much as I do.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“Why not? There’s something between us, Mel. You know it, and I know it. We’re good together. Let me stay tonight.” He squeezed her hand and tugged it across the table. He leaned in and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I need to be with you.”
Her resolve, already thinner than mist on a summer morning, evaporated.
“I need you, too,” she whispered.
“Say that again. Please.”
She took a deep breath and when she exhaled, the stale air carried her last bit of sanity with it. “I want you, too.”
Hank was out of his chair, sweeping her up in his arms before she completed the sentence. His mouth came down on hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips in invitation.
She didn’t resist when he maneuvered her down the hall to her bedroom. The moment the door clicked shut, she reached for his shirt placket. He pulled back to watch her hands. One by one, the buttons came loose. She tugged the fabric from his waistband, continuing until his shirt hung open. He planted his feet, his hands fisted at his sides, and let her explore. She flattened her palms against his stomach, sliding them over his abs, over his chest and flat male nipples to his shoulders, pushing the shirt away, inch by torturous inch until at last her hands skimmed down his arms, sending the shirt to the floor.
She leaned in closer and grazed his chest with her lips. Slowly, she trailed feather light kisses over his body, creeping lower with each pass, until her lips grazed the top of his jeans.
He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up. “Not yet,” he growled, crushing his mouth down on hers.
He seized control. Her T-shirt and shorts hit the floor in record time. He backed her to the bed, following her descent onto the patchwork quilt. She wrapped her bare legs around his jean-clad hips, and he raised her slightly, easing her fully onto the bed.
Rough denim abraded the sensitive skin on her inner thigh. Each article of discarded clothing took with it a layer of her hesitance until she wore nothing but her need. She forgot everything when he kissed her, every reason why they shouldn’t and couldn’t be together. Every reason she couldn’t love him.
She thought she might die before he removed his jeans, freeing his bold erection. She closed her fist around him, loving the velvet-covered steel.
Chapter Sixteen
She needed. Oh, how she needed him. Her body silently urged him to end the torture.
“Don’t move.” He leaned over the edge of the bed and snared his jeans. A second later, he knelt between her thighs. He groped through the pockets of his jeans, found what he wanted and tossed them back to the floor. A small string of condoms slipped from his shaking fingers and fluttered onto her stomach. His cock rocketed, and he grinned. She closed her hand around him, forcing a groan past his teeth. Emboldened, she managed to sheath him. When she reached the base, he grabbed her wrist.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he said, reaching between them to test her readiness. His fingers slid easily through her moist folds.
“Please,” she begged.
Then he was there, pushing into her, claiming her, filling her.
She closed her eyes, concentrating on the fullness between her legs. He played her like a master musician, coaxing her body to sing until every nerve ending screamed for release. He varied the tempo, set the rhythm. His hands stroked along her thighs, finally caressing the point of their union. His thumb found her clitoris, flicking over it in sync with his thrusts, driving her up, up, beyond their world, into a universe where sweet music built to a crescendo. Her fingernails dug into his back as she sought her release. She was so close.
He’d never heard music as beautiful as the soft cries from her lips when she climaxed. He continued to play her sweet body until she relaxed beneath him. He cradled her head between his hands and covered her lips with his. Only then did he seek his own release, driving into her welcoming heat to a rhythm only he could hear.
His physical body expressed the miraculous communion, even as his soul translated it into an ingrained language of notes and melodies that became a part of him. As he poured his essence into her, the music ran hot through his veins, became as much a part of him as Melody had become. Spent, he collapsed on top of her. The notes were there, and there they would stay until he could commit them to paper.
Mel slid her heels down the mattress, bracketing Hank’s limbs between hers. His hard body pressed against her, still joined intimately. She managed to raise her arms and press her hands against his slim hips skimming them over his taut buttocks. Slowly, she stroked his sweat-soaked back until her arms curved around his ne
ck. She flicked her tongue out, tasting the skin at his shoulder. Salty and uniquely Hank. A taste she would never tire of.
Hank raised his head and trailed hot kisses along the pulse in her neck. He nipped her and eased the sting with his tongue. She made a small sound, part groan, part purr.
“Don’t move,” he said, pulling out of her.
Mel pulled the sheet over her nude body, chilled without Hank’s heat, and watched the muscles in his firm backside as he padded to the bathroom. She stretched. A few areas would be sore in the morning, but she didn’t care. Maybe remorse would come along with the soreness, but watching Hank return to her, his desire for her blatantly obvious, she couldn’t think of anything but having him inside her again.
He dove under the sheet and pulled her against him. “Again.”
“Yes,” she said.
Chapter Seventeen
“Good morning,” he said, his voice husky with desire.
“Good morning.”
And just like that, she went into his arms. He had never felt as much for anyone as he did Mel. Her body seemed made for his, and when he was inside her, he didn’t want to be anywhere else ever again.
Much later, as she lay in his arms, the morning sun slanting across their sated bodies, Hank murmured against the top of her head. “Come out to the farm with me.”
Her body tensed from head to toe. Silence stretched across a heartbeat. Two. God, he hated the idea of spending time with him was something she had to think about when spending time with her was all he thought about these days.
The words forget it, were on the tip of his tongue when she shifted against him.
“Why?”
He tightened his hold on her. “Because I need to know you’re there.”
