Listen To Me (Fusion #1)

by Kristen Proby

  “Shoot,” Kat says.

  “Who is Brian Tallman?”

  Kat and I glance at each other and then roll our eyes.

  “Did Cami give you his number?” I ask, then glare at the woman herself as she bounces happily into the room, then stops short when she sees us staring at her.

  “What?” Her blue eyes widen innocently, but I know better. She isn’t innocent. “What did I do?”

  “Did you seriously give Marcy your ex-husband’s phone number?” Kat demands.

  “He’s your ex-husband?” Marcy asks with disgust. “Ew!”

  “Like I told you, he’s a really nice guy,” Cami says. “He’s just looking for the right girl.”

  “You do not need to be the one to find him that nice girl,” I tell her for the hundredth time since their divorce last year. “There’s no reason to try to set him up, Cam. He’s good looking, has a stable job, and isn’t a complete asshole. Those are most women’s requirements right there.”

  “I know, but his women picker is so skewed,” she replies with a frown, and Kat and I both gape at her.

  “Uh, Cami, he picked you,” Kat reminds her.

  “Exactly!” Cami throws her hands up and paces in front of the bar in agitation.

  “Is she okay?” Marcy whispers to me. I simply nod, then shrug.

  Because she’s a bit wacky when it comes to Brian.

  “I was not right for him.”

  “Does that mean your man picker is skewed too? You married him,” Marcy points out, earning a sober stare from Cami.

  “I shouldn’t have married him. But he’s a great person. He deserves someone beautiful and sweet and loving.”

  “And he will find her,” Kat says as she wipes down the bar. “It’s just not your job to find her for him.”

  “I’m going back to work,” Marcy says before returning to the dining room.

  “Seriously, Cam,” I say, “stop trying to pawn off your ex-husband on my waitresses.”

  “And my bartenders.” Kat points at Cami, driving her point home.

  “Fine.” She sits on the stool next to mine. “The back of your top is pretty. Only you can pull something like this off.”

  I grin at my friend. “Thanks.” The front of the gray top is quite modest, showing little cleavage, although it is clingy. But the back is wide open, hanging down in a swoop to the top of the small of my back. The sides are held together by three spaghetti straps in the center.

  “I have to know,” Cami says softly, leaning in. “How do you keep your boobs up? You’re too busty to not wear a bra.”

  “I want to know too,” Kat says with a nod.

  “It’s a stick-on bra,” I inform them with a smile. “It holds me up, with stickies on the sides and underneath.”

  “That’s like ripping duct tape off your skin.” Cami recoils and cringes. “Ouch.”

  “Watch your nipples,” Kat says with both brows raised. “You don’t need to rip those off when you take it off.”

  “I’ve done this before,” I assure them with a laugh and pull my hair back, covering most of what the top shows. Oh my God, my friends are funny. “And it’s not as strong as duct tape. But even if it were, it doesn’t cover the nipples.”

  “Did I just hear you talking about your nipples?” a voice asks from behind me, making every hair on my body stand on end.

  God, I fucking love his voice.

  “We’re looking out for you,” Kat informs him. “She’s trying to rip them off.”

  I roll my eyes and spin on my stool to face him. “I’m not trying to rip them off.”

  “Good. I have plans for them later.” His green eyes smolder as he looks me over from my hair, which I have down in wavy curls, to my navy blue heels.

  “I just bet he does,” Cami says to Kat. I ignore her, but the nipples in question pucker at the thought.

  Jesus, I hope he has plans for them sooner rather than later!

  He steps to me and cages me in against the bar, his face inches from mine. He smells like his shower gel, and I want to just wrap my arms around him and bury my nose in his neck.

  So I do. I hear both Kat and Cami’s awws, but I ignore them, soaking him in. I just saw him last night, but I didn’t get any alone time with him.

  And I’m not alone with him now.

  But I just need to feel him against me, just for a minute.

  “Are you okay, baby?” he whispers into my ear, only for me to hear.

  “I’m so okay,” I reply and pull back, but his hands stay on me, stroking up and down my back, not helping the puckered-nipple situation in the least.

  “You’re missing half of your shirt,” he says mildly, but his eyes are on fire. I’m not the only one turned on.

  “I’ll look for it later.”

  I WAS RIGHT. Last night was busy, but tonight is busier, and there is a one-hour waiting time for seating.

  And Jake is singing his heart out onstage. The older Matchbox Twenty song is perfect for his raspy voice. He glances up and pins me with those eyes, then offers me a slow, wide smile, making my toes curl in these heels.

  God, he turns me inside out.

  “Miss?” A woman flags me down from her table.

  “How can I help you?” I ask politely, trying to ignore the sexy rock star onstage.

  “We placed our order already, but I wanted to make sure the waitress noted the no pine nuts on my husband’s salad. He’s severely allergic.”

  “I’ll double-check for you,” I tell her and walk into the kitchen, where Mia is barking orders and bustling about like crazy.

  “That steak is overcooked,” she says to her sous chef. “I won’t serve it like that. When the customer says medium, they want medium.”

  “Everything okay in here?” I ask with a wide smile, ready to get the beatdown from Mia.

  “Why are you in my kitchen?”

  “I’m double-checking to make sure that table nineteen’s order came in with the instructions to not put any pine nuts on his salad. He’s allergic.”

  Mia searches for the ticket, finds it under a plate ready to go out, and scowls when she looks at the salad.

  “There are pine nuts on this salad. Who plated it?”

  She whips around to stare her staff down, scowling when the sous chef hangs his head in defeat.

  “Did you not read the ticket?”

  “Obviously not close enough,” he replies.

  “You’re fired!” she shouts, then points to the door. “Get the hell out of my kitchen.”

  “Chef—” he begins, but she cuts him off.

  “No. You almost killed a customer. Get. Out.”

  His nostrils flare as he stares at Mia. The rest of the kitchen staff keep their heads down, assembling plates as quickly as possible. Finally, after a long moment, he unties his apron, throws it on the floor, and marches out of the kitchen.

  “Mia—”

  “Addie, thanks for the heads-up, but I want you out of my kitchen too. We are swamped tonight and I have to concentrate.”

  I nod. “Fair enough.”

  When I return to the dining room, the customers are laughing at something Jake said. His gaze finds mine.

  “So, as I was saying,” he says into the mic, watching me with that panty-dropping smile. “There is this special woman in my life right now and I’d like to sing a song that tells her exactly how I feel about her.”

  I stop near the back of the room and raise a brow.

  This should be good.

  Instead of a slow ballad, he breaks out into a fast, upbeat song. I recognize it. One of my favorite artists, Matt Nathanson, sings it. The song is supersexy, all about how much he wants her.

  And Jake’s voice makes it nothing but pure, unadulterated sin.

  Jesus, I want to rush the stage and climb him. Right here, right now.

  I can’t help but tap my toe with the music and smile at the blatantly sexual lyrics. It’s such a fun song.

  The rest of the evening flie
s by. Jake’s set goes perfectly, and the customers are happy.

  When he’s done singing, he puts his guitar in its case, then crosses to me and takes my hand, raises it to his lips to press a kiss to my palm, then, with his eyes pinned to mine, drags his teeth down to the sensitive skin on my wrist and nibbles. The straggling customers are watching so I lead him back to the office and close the door.

  “I taste like sunlight, do I?” I ask, quoting the song.

  “And strawberry bubble gum,” he replies with a cocky smile. This is the rock star side of him. He’s confident and maybe a little arrogant, and damn if it isn’t sexy.

  “If I invite you back to my place, are you gonna kiss me and leave me by my door again?”

  Because if you are, you can forget it, buddy. I know he didn’t mean it to be, but it was humiliating.

  “I don’t know. Have you earned anything more than that?”

  Now it’s my turn to offer him a cocky grin. Have I earned it? I don’t even try to answer that question. Instead I turn and head for the door, pulling my hair over my shoulder so my back is on display.

  I hear him suck in a deep breath, and then he lets out a long, low groan.

  Yes, this shirt is awesome.

  Before I can open the door, I’m spun around and pinned to it, and Jake’s mouth is on mine. Hot, hard, demanding. He grips my ass in his hands and boosts me up, propping me against the door and simply devouring me.

  “I want you,” he whispers against my lips. “I’ve been fighting to take this slow, Addison, but I’m a son of a bitch, and I want you.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “No.” He backs away, helping me to the floor, shaking his head, swallowing hard. He starts to say something, but has to swallow again, his neck muscles working and his hands clenched in fists. “This isn’t happening here, against the door of your office. I need to get you home so I can take my time with you.”

  I blink at him, trying to gather my wits.

  “Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me into the bar. “I’m taking Addie home.”

  “I have to close up—” I begin, but Kat simply smiles at Jake and nods.

  “We have this handled,” she replies. “Have a good night.”

  “Thanks.” Jake waves, leads me back into the dining room to grab his guitar, then practically pulls me outside to his car.

  “I have a car here too,” I remind him.

  “I’ll bring you back here in the morning to get it.”

  I frown. “I didn’t say you could stay the night.”

  He shoves his guitar into the backseat, then turns to me and pulls me into his arms, hugging me close. He buries his face in my hair and takes a deep breath.

  “I need to be with you tonight. The whole night,” he whispers. “Let me stay.”

  How can I refuse him? I don’t want to refuse him. I’ve been hot for him for a long, long time.

  I pull out of his embrace, and his shoulders sag in defeat.

  “I understand,” he says.

  Before he can turn away, I grab his hand and kiss his palm the way he did mine earlier. “Will you come home with me?”

  His gaze whips up to mine. “If I do, I’m not leaving you until morning.”

  I kiss his palm again, then nod. “I’d like for you to stay.”

  He inhales sharply before leading me to the passenger side of his car. The ride to my place is quiet, the sexual tension hanging thick around us. Now I’m getting nervous. Having sex on the spur of the moment is one thing, but when it’s premeditated, well . . . that’s daunting.

  I haven’t showered since this morning and I’ve been working all day. I can’t smell great. What if he wants to go downtown? Oh God, maybe I should tell him to wait for me while I shower.

  And reshave my legs, because I shaved them yesterday and I was too lazy to do it this morning.

  Maybe this is a bad idea.

  “Stop it,” he mutters and kisses my hand.

  “Stop what?”

  “Overthinking.”

  I frown at him. “Are you a mind reader?”

  “I don’t have to be, sweetness. You’re thinking so hard over there, there’s practically smoke coming out of your ears.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” I reply primly. “And being a thinker isn’t a bad thing.”

  “No, it’s not. Except when you start second-guessing yourself, and you have no reason to.”

  “I didn’t shave my legs,” I admit, ashamed. I bury my face in my hands, embarrassed.

  “Oh no. Well, this can’t happen then.” Sarcasm drips off of every word as he parks, gets out of the car, and opens my door, pulling me out next to him. “Look at me.”

  I giggle at my own ridiculousness as I peek at him from behind my hands.

  “I don’t give a fuck when the last time you shaved your legs was,” he says, cupping my face in his hands and staring at me with eyes on fire. “If I don’t get you under me, quickly, I’m going to die of sexual frustration.”

  “Oh, well that’s a relief,” I reply, and walk ahead of him to my condo.

  “What is?”

  I can feel his eyes on my ass.

  “Are you watching my behind?” I ask without looking at him.

  “Of course I am.”

  I smirk and unlock my door, then turn to him. “Here’s your chance to kiss me and leave me all hot and bothered again.”

  His lips twitch as he leans into me, his forearm braced on the door over my head. “What’s a relief, Addison?”

  “That I’m not the only one sexually frustrated.” My voice is a shaky whisper as I stare at his lips just inches from mine.

  He leans in and brushes those lips over my forehead. “Are you frustrated?”

  I hum and close my eyes, soaking him in. He opens the door and leads me inside, then closes and locks the door behind us, perfectly calm.

  There is no frazzled rushing. No clinging to each other and knocking things over in a race to the bedroom.

  Instead, his face is perfectly calm as he turns to me and slowly moves forward, urging me to back up, walking with him through my living room. I grip the hem of his T-shirt in my hands and urge it up, until he finally takes matters into his own hands, whipping it over his head in that way men do with one hand that is so damn sexy.

  And my first live glimpse of Jake shirtless is something to freaking write home about. Dear sweet Jesus, the smooth skin. The light spattering of hair.

  The long, sinewy muscles that flex in his arms and chest.

  God blessed him with maybe the best set of abs I’ve ever seen. And he has that sexier than hell V in his hips, leading down into his low-riding jeans.

  Jeans that barely hide the root of his cock.

  I’m salivating.

  “You’re good for my ego, sweetheart,” he murmurs, catching my attention.

  “You’re—” I swallow hard, unable to finish the sentence.

  “My thoughts exactly,” he replies with that cocky grin back in place. I’m surprised to discover that we’re already in my bedroom. Jake leans down and flicks the bedside lamp on, then turns to me, but rather than pull my clothes off, he tugs me into his arms and hugs me tight, rocking us back and forth. His bare skin under my hands is incredible.

  I can’t stop touching him. My hands are everywhere, roaming over his back, his arms, then up over his shoulders and into his hair.

  Finally, he pushes his hands under my top and pulls it up over my head, dropping it to the floor. His eyes narrow and darken as he takes in the makeshift bra that holds the girls up.

  But rather than try to remove it, he makes quick work of my slacks and shoes, leaving me in just my underwear.

  I reach out to help him out of his jeans, but he stops me with a quick shake of the head.

  “Wait.”

  “You’re behind.” I cock a brow and reach for him again, but he stops me.

  “What are we waiting for?” I rest my hands on my hips and tip my head to th
e side. “If you leave now, I’ll dismember you.”

  “Wild horses couldn’t drag me out of here,” he replies softly, his eyes roaming up and down my body. “Jesus, Addison, you are so fucking beautiful.”

  Everything in me softens. His voice is rough. He looks . . . devastated.

  “Are you okay?” I step to him and cup his face in my hands. “Jake?”

  He brushes his knuckles down my cheek, then his thumb across my lower lip. He tips his forehead down to rest on mine.

  “Admit it,” he whispers. “You can’t resist me.”

  There he is.

  “I can resist anything,” I reply with a laugh. “But you’re very tempting.”

  “Just tempting? I’m going for irresistible here.”

  “You’re close,” I reply and reach for his jeans again. He doesn’t resist me this time. He shuffles out of them, and stands before me naked.

  Gloriously freaking naked.

  “Now I’m behind,” I whisper. He’s completely aroused, and I’m itching to get my hands on his cock.

  So I do.

  I stroke him twice, making him curse beneath his breath.

  “How do I get this bra off of you without hurting you?” he asks.

  “Very carefully,” I reply with a grin and simply peel it off myself. It’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt. I drop it to the floor, and finally, finally, his hands skim down my torso and back up to my breasts. He cups them gently, skimming his thumbs over the tips. He backs me up until my legs meet the bed, then pushes me back, covering me with his incredible body.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, kissing me tenderly. His hands are everywhere, all over my body. He hooks his thumbs in my panties and guides them down my legs, then skims his palms back up them, grinning at me. “Except these Sasquatch legs of yours.”

  “They aren’t that bad.” I giggle, not at all uncomfortable with him now. The apprehension I felt in the car is long gone.

  And now there is just him.

  “You have gorgeous legs,” he says, serious now. His lips follow his hands up my legs, and I’m mortified.

  I haven’t had a shower in more than twelve hours.