Reckless Beat Box Set #2

by Eden Summers

  And she thought Mitch was the biggest fuck up in their close-knit circle. Scratch that. Mason probably would’ve taken pole position—until now.

  In the blink of an eye, or the press of delicious lips in this case, the no-bullshit, entirely professional woman she’d grown into, shut up shop and did a runner. Not only mentally, but physically, too.

  She couldn’t handle all the feels.

  So like most no-bullshit, entirely professional women, she called her boss and demanded time off. A mental health break. And by the tone of Trevor’s voice, he’d acknowledged quite quickly that the mental part of her reasoning was fully justified, even if Reckless Beat’s next tour loomed painfully close.

  There was no denying the bad timing. But the band was always busy. She was always busy. Now was as good a time as any to take a few days to catch her breath. She needed a break. To determine what went awry.

  This wasn’t just a kissing issue. The brief brush of toe-curling heaven shouldn’t have sent her into a panting, heart-palpitating mess. Slapping Ryan afterward hadn’t been the best form of thanking him for the most potent spike in her libido since her ovaries had started acting all womanly, either.

  The issue was that she cracked at all.

  She didn’t make mistakes. She didn’t get involved with clients. No matter how long she’d been fantasizing about doing exactly that.

  Something was wrong. And this time away would give her the space to figure out what.

  Christ. He’d been drunk for god’s sake. Aggressive. Angry. He’d cornered her, making her nervous with his proximity, and still she hadn’t moved. Hadn’t taken control of the situation like she did with every other train wreck that approached in her time with Reckless Beat.

  He’d even paused, frowning at her with piercing dark eyes filled with sorrow before his mouth descended. She’d had a chance to slip away, and she hadn’t. There’d been an opportunity to voice a protest, and she hadn’t taken it.

  The brief seconds had ticked by like hours, her body alive with intoxicating anticipation as she waited for the inevitable.

  She’d savored the scotch on his tongue, could even taste the bitterness of his anger. This wasn’t a kiss to announce the years of shared affection they could never show. This was a kiss of retaliation. A kiss that spoke of Ryan’s hatred for his soon-to-be ex-wife. It was punishment. Vengeance.

  Still, she could’ve prepared a packed lunch in the time it took her to pull away.

  “Jesus.” And here she was again, reliving the moment for the ninety-seventh time even though she’d promised herself not to. She needed to forget the sensations still tingling her body and focus on how her guard had been let down in the first place.

  “Scratch that.” She slid forward in the back seat of the cab and met the drivers gaze in the rear-view mirror. “I want to go to the tattoo place near Bally’s… Umm…” What was the name?

  “Perpetual Design?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  In her chest, in her heart, in the pounding of the blood rushing through her veins, she knew a distraction would work far better than a silent hotel room. There were innumerable things to see and do in Vegas, but finding something to take her mind off the perfect kiss—the perfect man—would be hard.

  “Please hurry.” Her heartbeat increased with the memory of a tattooed Adonis with stunning green eyes. She’d only met him once, didn’t even know his name. But the recollection of his touch hadn’t left her since she’d walked from his shop front the night of Alana’s bachelorette party.

  “We’ll be there in five.”

  She nodded, and inched back in the seat to watch the night passing by. She couldn’t see a thing. Couldn’t focus. There was no landscape, no cars, no lights. Only Ryan and his kiss darkened lips. Only the man of her dreams and the pained way he’d blanched when she pushed him away.

  “You here for business or pleasure?” the driver asked.

  “I’m not quite sure yet.” Technically, she was here to get back into her business frame of mind. But the direction the car was headed—straight toward seductive hands and murmured promises from the past—spoke of something different. “Pleasure, I guess.”

  Yes, she’d admit green-eyed, tattooed excellence had crossed her mind when she’d been picking her escape destination. More than once. But as they turned onto a street she recognized, she wondered if he was the entire reason she’d boarded the plane. There was nothing else for her here. No friends, no family, and she’d left her partying frame of mind back with the band in Richmond.

  “This is close enough.” She grabbed her purse, paid the fare, and scooted from the cab without a backward glance. Nervous energy crawled up her spine as she yanked her small suitcase from the trunk, and turned toward memories that brought a smile to her face.

  The shop front appeared the same as she remembered—large glass windows framed the view to the interior filled with tattoo pictures lining the walls. The grin of a talented body artist entered her mind. The way he’d looked up at her, his fingers on her clit, his lust-filled gaze ensnaring her. It was exactly what she needed to place the world into perspective.

  What could good sex fix? Exactly—absolutely everything.

  An intense rush of endorphins promised the answer to all her problems. Hell, it’d been the saving grace to all the Reckless Beat drama over the years. She may not have had a man at her disposal twenty-four-seven, but she sure as hell knew how to get herself off and work out the tension of never-ending complications.

  The world glowed after sex. And yes, it may be entirely presumptuous to sashay her ass up to sexy tat man’s place of business and request he fulfill his promise to make her feel gorgeous for one weekend. But hell, great sex wasn’t great sex if you weren’t risking something, right? Never having had a steady boyfriend, she really didn’t know.

  She grabbed the door handle, took a deep breath and pushed. A bell rang above her head, announcing so much more than her arrival, as she wheeled her suitcase in behind her and let the heavy glass slide shut.

  “Can I help you?”

  Leah swung around, going in search of the feminine voice. A woman was crouched at the corner, pressing a photograph in among all the other images on the wall. Dressed in black, from her thigh-high boots to the cut and frayed T-shirt that exposed color-inked arms, the woman turned and raised a pierced brow.

  “Do you have a booking?” she grated.

  Leah cleared her throat. “No.”

  “Then what can I do for you?”

  Although strikingly beautiful, with her gothic make-up and bright blue eyes, this woman gave off fuck-you vibes better than Mason on his worst day.

  Leah beamed a smile, always prepared to kill asshole behavior with kindness… At least at first. If kindness failed, she turned straight to sarcasm.

  “I had a piercing done here a while ago.” She clenched her thighs at the memory. “I hoped to speak with the man who did it for me.”

  The woman turned back to her wall, but not before rolling her eyes. “You’ll need to be more specific. We have a lot of male employees.”

  “OK.” Leah shrugged. “He had green eyes—” the most delicious apple-green which had raked her body with almost as much finesse as his hands, “—and black spiky hair.”

  “Logan,” the woman muttered.

  He hadn’t seemed like a Logan. Then again, he hadn’t seemed like much of anything apart from god-damn tempting.

  “Maybe. Does Logan have tattooed arms?” And a grin to melt your panties?

  “You’ll be hard pressed to find anyone here who doesn’t.” Sourpuss pushed another image to the wall, then sauntered across the room to the hall leading toward the back of the shop. “Hey, fuckface,” she called over her shoulder as she eyed Leah’s suitcase with a curl to her lips. “A client is here to see you.”

  There was a pause, merely a second where they waited in silence. “I’m not sure if he’s still here or on his break. But if he doesn’t come out, you’
ll have your answer.” Her scathing gaze rose to meet Leah’s. “I’ve gotta get back to work.”

  Leah inclined her head, biting back the urge to run a short seminar on customer relations. “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”

  There was another roll of pretty-blue eyes before goth-chick sauntered back to her position in the corner and continued sticking images to the wall. Leah hadn’t taken her gaze off the woman, hadn’t dared to peer down the hall in anticipation, but the moment Logan entered the room, she sensed it like a rush of ice over her aching nipples.

  “Logan?”

  “Hey.” His gaze narrowed as he crossed his tattooed arms over his chest. “I remember you.”

  It wasn’t much in the way of compliments. Not that her body would know. Every erogenous zone from her neck to her toes hummed with the sexual promise in his stare. He still looked the same—black spiky hair, soft kissable lips, and ink covering every inch of the visible skin on his arms.

  “I hoped you might.” Her battered mental state couldn’t handle a who-the-hell-are-you right now.

  “Hood-clit girl.”

  She pressed her lips together, fighting a grin. “I just go by ‘Leah’ now.”

  He chuckled, and the sexy kick of his lips made her heart tippy-tap. See, she didn’t screw up often. Ryan was a screw up. A monumental, cringe-worthy screw up. But this detour wasn’t. Logan wasn’t.

  His two-day stubble, the chiseled jaw, his strong hands—yep, he would be the perfect holiday exercise.

  “Nice to formally meet you, Leah.”

  The way he said her name, the smooth drawl, the deep voice. Shit. She was definitely here for pleasure. “Oh, I think we met formally last time, don’t you?” Intimately was a better description. Either way, he knew her quite well already.

  “Maybe.” He diverted his gaze briefly to sourpuss in the corner. “I’ve got twenty minutes until my next client. Do you want to grab a coffee?”

  “Ah, I—”

  “I gather you’re not here for another piercing.”

  Was she that transparent? “No, I’m not.”

  He inclined his head, the mischievous, wicked smile being replaced with a smoldering stare. “Let me grab my wallet.”

  He disappeared down the hall before she could protest, returning moments later, his shirt tight across his muscled pecs as he shoved his wallet into the back pocket of his faded blue jeans. “Drag your luggage behind the desk. It’ll be safe until we return.”

  Leah nodded, and wheeled the suitcase out of view as he came to her side.

  “All good?” He frowned at her, making her question if he spoke of her luggage or her emotional state.

  “Yep. All good.”

  He placed a firm hand at the small of her back and warmed parts of her he hadn’t even touched. Not one inch of her was unaware of his presence. For all his ruggedly sexy appeal, he smelled crisp. Clean. Woodsy and musky in the same potent mix which infiltrated her lungs and washed away those thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking.

  Their gazes collided, and for one vertigo-filled moment, she felt like an entirely different person. Free. Unrestricted from the restraints of her strenuous career. She was successfully shoving all her responsibilities to the back of her mind, and sinking under the hope that this man could help her continue to do so for a little longer.

  “I’ll be back soon, saggy tits.”

  Leah balked in confusion, then relaxed when the woman in the corner hissed, “Fuck you, pin-dick.”

  Logan’s smile widened—a full set of pearly whites she wouldn’t mind scraping over her breasts.

  “She loves me,” he drawled.

  Leah didn’t doubt it for a second. How could she, when mere minutes in this man’s presence had sent her ovaries into free fall? Her usual immunity to male beauty faltered, practically making her stumble, as Logan opened the door and ushered her outside.

  Chapter Two

  They strolled down the sidewalk with anticipation nipping at her three-inch heels. Her love life was made up of situations like this—booty calls and one-night stands. It was her MO. Not by choice, but by career limitations. So this right here—the calm before the innuendo storm—was what she was used to.

  “Don’t panic.” Logan nudged her waist with his elbow. “She was joking.”

  “Excuse me?” Who was joking?

  He shot her a glance. Charming yet deliciously naughty at the same time.

  “About me being a pin-dick.” His expression turned serious. The furrow of his brow in contrast to the words leaving his mouth. “I assure you, it’s only a misunderstanding. I’m a grower not a show-er. And Medusa back there is very quick to judge.”

  How the heck did she reply to that? Good to know? Prove it? This is my cue to leave?

  “Come on, Leah.” He nudged her with his elbow again. “I’m fucking with you.”

  She laughed. Not at him, but herself. Her mind wasn’t in the game. Not entirely. Something inside her kept screaming she wasn’t meant to be here. Anywhere but here. Only it felt good. Confusingly good. Which apparently slowed her communicative skills.

  “I need to loosen up, don’t I?” Maybe get limber in the bedroom of his choosing.

  The potency in his gaze softened, the laugh lines disappearing under his look of admiration. “You should smile more often.” The words were casual. Smooth and without inflection. He couldn’t have said it with more sincerity if he’d tried.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “And I’ll do my best to facilitate them.” He grabbed her hand, his rough fingers burning a trail of tingles over her palm. “We’re here.”

  He stopped, and instead of looking at the business they stood in front of, she peered up at him. She couldn’t quit. Everything about him was in opposition to the man who’d been haunting her. The black hair, dark and short. The harsh stubble instead of a cropped beard of golden-brown. A body inked with stories, which Ryan chose to store in his heart, not on his skin.

  Two gorgeous men. Entirely different in every aspect except their eyes. Those deep irises may not be the same color, with Logan’s more green than blue. But they had the same dark texture, the same depth of emotion.

  Those eyes would be the death of her.

  “Do you want a seat inside or out?”

  She withheld a whimper and finally dragged her focus away from gorgeousness toward a small café. The tables outside were busy, the people loud with laughter and chatter. “Inside.”

  He led her through the open front doors, his hand returning to the small of her back. A table sat in the far corner. A lonely, desolate table that seemed perfect. “Over there.”

  “Go grab it for us, and I’ll order.”

  She waited for him to leave, to take the warmth of his hand away before she moved forward and slid behind the table. Her gaze returned to him, her chest unwavering in the incessant hum of appreciation as he stood alone, a beacon of sexual appeal, rubbing his thumb thoughtlessly over his lower lip.

  The cashier blinked up at him, appearing exactly the same way Leah assumed she looked the first time she met Logan—fear mixed with unexplainable arousal. He was an intimidating man. His black hair spiked like the flames of hell, his undercut reaching well above his ears, a dark, undecipherable tattoo peeking through the short stubble along the side of his skull.

  He knew his power, too. He knew every single effect he had on the female population. She could see it in the way he held his gaze with the cashier, his focus tight and lethal. The woman was wilting, swaying in the breeze, just waiting for him to snarl so she could squeal, or smile so she could swoon.

  And that’s exactly what he did. He waited until the whites of the cashier’s eyes were as wide as humanly possible, then he grinned, flashing his delicious deviousness at her with perfect charm.

  Bam.

  Another one bites the dust. The woman lowered her gaze, fluttering her lashes as her cheeks turned a dark shade of pink. Leah chuckled and rummaged through her handbag, retrie
ving her phone to distract her from the man playing havoc with her senses. Now was as good a time as any to turn it back on. At least while in the company of a man who demanded her attention, she had a legitimate reason not to answer calls or respond to messages.

  All the goodness fled her bloodstream when the cell flickered to life. Beep after beep after beep sounded, overtaking the chatter in the café. Twenty-five voice messages. Forty-seven texts. “Jesus.”

  “Everything OK?”

  She raised her gaze to Logan, who slid in opposite her.

  “Work.” She locked the cell screen and slipped the device back into her handbag. “They’re something I don’t need to deal with right now.” Reckless owed her a few days of peace. A few hours, at the very least.

  “Are you on vacation?”

  She shrugged. “Technically, yes. But I left with no notice. My colleagues wouldn’t be impressed.”

  Logan didn’t need to know who she was or what she did for a living. With a career managing people in the spotlight, she’d learned early on to keep her business, and the business of her clients, to herself.

  “How long?” He held her gaze, not faltering with his focus as the waitress placed two coffees on their table.

  “A few days.” She waited for a reaction. An acknowledgement of what it could mean to his sex life if he wanted it.

  Nothing came. His stare remained true, the connection between them flickering from civility to something hotter.

  She broke eye contact, needing to maintain her composure, and smiled at the waitress. “Thank you.”

  The woman kept her gaze on Logan, hovering at their table longer than necessary, before striding away in a daze. Women. When would the vast majority realize you captured more attention with feigned indifference than overt interest?

  “There’s a certain artistic charm in the way you wordlessly seduce women.” Leah took her time, adding sugar to her coffee, stirring, clinking the spoon against the rim of her glass for added measure. She wasn’t ready to look at him again. Not yet. This was a game, like every other game of attraction. It was simple physics. Magnetic. Two opposing forces created the strongest connection.