He lay next to her on the thick cushions, the eighties oversized styling leaving plenty room for two. Still, she pulled him closer, on top of her, so she could feel the whole length of his sculpted male body against her soft curves. The rigid press of his erection nudged her belly and sent a surge of exquisite longing to her core.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, desperate for more. She’d occasionally craved sex in the last two years since she’d been dumped by a rising star drummer shortly before Rosa’s illness. But Alyssa hadn’t really missed it enough to risk her heart and sanity on a man. Until now.
While she planned to keep her heart safe, her sanity was completely up for grabs. And her body? That so belonged to Brett tonight.
His hands spanned her waist, cradling the slight curve of her abs before sliding down the zipper of her jeans. He skimmed the band of her satin panties, sending heat waves through her whole body. Toying with the strings on her low-rise bikini, he tugged and pulled until he untied the bows at her hips, rendering her naked beneath the denim.
“Wicked man.” She nipped his shoulder as she wriggled under him, every inch of her craving more of his touch. “Those are some very clever hands.”
“I told you I’d have you singing for me tonight.” Propping himself up on one elbow, he stared down at her as his other hand continued to wreak havoc between her thighs. “All you have to do is tell me where you like to be touched.”
Tell him?
She couldn’t speak with his fingers tracing intimate circles along the inside of her uppermost thigh. And she couldn’t even move once he pressed his thumb to the throbbing heat of her clit. How could she possibly say what she liked best?
“What do you think, Alyssa?” Brett kissed her mouth with a slow swirl of his tongue in a way that mimicked the movement of his fingers. “Do you like this?”
Her heart galloped so loudly that his voice seemed a million miles away. And then his finger slid deep inside her, pressing hard against the taut knot of her G-spot until she cried out from the tight throb of pleasure.
“Oooh!” The note sang out of her like an aria, the waves of her orgasm carrying her deep into uncharted sexual terrain. And bless my soul, but it rocked her world.
She clutched Brett’s shoulders, clinging to the solid weight of him to anchor her in the stormy tide of liquid heat. Her voice rang in her own ears, echoing right up to the rafters. She’d summoned spirits in this room before, but she’d never conjured up pure magic.
Brett bent to kiss her neck as he held her in the aftermath, his words whispering over her ear. “I told you we had chemistry.”
“Maybe there’s a little,” she admitted, not even sure if she knew her own name anymore. Her breath came in hiccupping gasps, her voice scratchy in the wake of her primal scream. “And you’ve got quite a technique…for a young guy.”
He levered back to look at her, blue eyes surprisingly intense.
“What are you, all of five minutes older than me?” With slow deliberation, he unfastened her pants and dragged them down her legs. “I just made you come without even undressing you, woman, so I think I’ve got more going for me than a good technique.”
Pleasure hummed through her at his words, her every cell agreeing with him.
“I’m thirty-two and wise enough to know raw talent when I see it.” Her thighs quivered as his knuckles grazed her legs and the air conditioner blew cool gusts over her warm skin. She wouldn’t be able to rile him for much longer since any second she was going to pass out from bliss overload. “You really think you’ve got what it takes?”
When he stood up long enough to unearth a condom from his wallet and shed his pants she got a view she wouldn’t soon forget. Totally smoking. This man delivered a hunka, hunka burning love.
“Definitely.” He crooned his assurance into her ear. “I think you want me bad.”
Judging by the way she nearly hyperventilated at the feel of his naked thighs against hers, he probably had a point. Fingers twitching with impatience, she stroked her hand over his face, his stubble scraping her palm.
She lowered her mouth to his, hungry for another taste of him. His kisses flooded her consciousness, robbing her of any other thought but the feel of him on her lips, the scent of musky man and smoky incense making her dizzy with longing. A keen pang of sensual hunger tightened in her belly, forcing her to tug the condom out of his hand.
“You’re right. I do want you bad.” The foil packet crinkled as she tore it, her coordination impaired by lust. “Let me.”
“Impatient…” He sighed the complaint as she rolled the condom over him, even though his throbbing length confirmed he loved every minute of her touch. It pleased her to think she could spark just as much pleasure in him as he gave her.
He felt too good. Too perfect. Too marvelously big.
Swinging up to her knees to straddle him, she steadied herself on his shoulders. Their gazes locked for a long moment, his blue eyes not missing anything. He studied her with a kind of soulful tenderness only a musician could comprehend.
An unsettling thought for a woman who never liked to overanalyze anything but Elvis.
Quickly closing her eyes again, Alyssa retreated to the world of sensation where she could connect with Brett on a more comprehensible level. She lowered herself over him until his erection nudged her most sensitive flesh.
This, she understood.
Liquid warmth flowed through her veins as she swayed downward, hips rocking subtly to appreciate every inch of the luscious invasion. She wanted more, but he eased her along carefully, slowly, taking his time. He guided her hips with his hands, holding her off when she moved too fast, letting her press forward when he was ready.
She’d thought she was in the dominant position? Even beneath her, Brett ran the show. A fact which might not sit well with most managers, but considering how superbly gifted he’d been with his fingers, she was willing to see what he could do with his…package.
So far, so yummy.
Goose bumps broke out over her skin, an erotic shiver dancing through her as he took his own sweet time. And when at last he filled her, stretched her, satisfied her so thoroughly with that incredible body of his, he only allowed himself to stay a moment. Then the whole agonizing—okay, fantastic—process started all over again.
She could get into this groove. The rhythm he set forced her to slow down. Indulge. Enjoy. He wouldn’t let her take the fastest course to the goal, instead he showed her how to squeeze sweet gratification out of every moment along the way. The heat inside her built and built, tension coiling so tight she thought she’d explode and still he took her higher. Higher.
When at last he allowed himself to drive deep with long, steady thrusts, Alyssa flew apart in a million directions. She floated high on a wave of pure orgasmic satisfaction, body convulsing so sharply she thought the aftershocks would never stop. Brett’s hoarse shout mingled with her cries, their yells more powerful than any impassioned séance pleas ever spoken in this room.
As she slumped over his beautiful body, Alyssa was almost afraid to analyze why she’d been quick to give in to the attraction of Brett today when she’d held other men at bay for so long. Ever since she’d given up her management business, as the matter of fact.
Too bad a little voice inside her kept repeating what the King would say about the situation if he ever reigned over this room like she’d often dreamed.
Some things were meant to be….
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WASN’T UNUSUAL for Brett to wake up with a tune in his head. For one thing he was a musician. And for another he’d always been a pretty well-adjusted guy with his priorities straight.
As he kicked off the purple velvet comforter from Alyssa’s bed late that morning, he told himself it wasn’t even all that unusual for him to wake up singing an Elvis tune. Since his mother had been a major fan, he’d inherited a definite respect for the King.
But in all his twenty-eight years, he’d never woken u
p with “Can’t Help Falling in Love” humming through his brain. And it scared the crap out of him that he’d been half singing it in his sleep this morning while Alyssa snoozed beside him. Not that he had anything against love and romance. They were nice ideas for one day in a far-off future after he’d chased his dreams down an uncertain path. Yet even in that distant tomorrow, he never pictured himself with someone as unconventional as Alyssa.
Peering across the blankets, he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest where she curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The dark hair that kinked and curled wildly around her face while she was awake lay in a tame swath behind her, the glossy locks calling him to stroke his fingers through the strands.
No doubt about it, she was a beautiful woman, her jaw so perfectly sculpted she looked too lovely to touch as she slept. But when awake, her quirky enjoyment of music and collectibles made her approachable, her down-to-earth sense of humor and willingness to conjure celebrity spirits setting her apart from anyone he’d ever met before.
Sure Brett might be attracted—okay, so he was superattracted. But that didn’t mean he wanted to wake up whistling mushy songs every morning when she was around. This woman could launch his career. She knew the ins and outs of the business he craved. He wouldn’t screw up a good thing by reading too much into a night of great sex. To do so would be shortsighted, and might actually offend Alyssa who seemed to pride herself on a healthy dose of independence.
Staring up at a ceiling cluttered with tiny, star-shaped mirrors, Brett hoped she wouldn’t regret their night together. His subconscious might be weaving impossible scenarios of sex and rock ’n’ roll, but maybe he needed to give her a little breathing room first. Enough space to reestablish a working relationship before he wasted his final bet at the big time. If it didn’t work out, he would go back to his life as a financial analyst and at least he’d always know he gave it his best shot. But he wouldn’t give up on his dream until he’d gambled his every last dime to make it happen.
He debated how immature it would be to steal one last peek at Alyssa naked beneath the blanket before getting up when the phone beside her bed rang.
Any hope of seeing Alyssa naked again died as she blinked her way out of sleep and reached for the phone.
“Hello?” Her scratchy voice played over his senses, sending a cheap thrill to an erection that showed no signs of disappearing.
He started making plans for their morning, wondering how he could get out of bed without actually putting all that blatant sex drive to use. Then again, maybe if Alyssa really wanted to, it wouldn’t hurt if they…
“Count on us,” Alyssa spoke into the phone, bolting upright in bed and jarring him out of wicked fantasies. “We’ve already got the séance plans in motion and I can personally promise it will make for a very entertaining event.”
Funny how the word “séance” could deflate the best-laid sex plans. Brett shoved aside his lust to focus on the rest of Alyssa’s conversation, which involved crystal balls, tarot cards and ghosts. He couldn’t stave off the flashbacks to a childhood that had been peopled with poltergeists. Every time his Aunt Marsha turned around she was either squealing in terror over the presence of an unfriendly spirit or counseling a well-bred phantom on how to cross over to being peacefully dead.
Other kids had memories of Boy Scouts, campfires and ghost stories. He’d had Night of the Living Dead in his own backyard. By the time Alyssa hung up the phone, he didn’t need to ask what was going on. The grin on her face told the story.
“We got the go-ahead for the séance at the Elvis Legacy competition.” She clutched the velvet bedspread to her chest but didn’t quite manage to hide the subtle curve of her breasts. “You’re going to have the best show Golddiggers has ever seen, and that includes the unicycle-riding twins who lit their bike on fire while pedaling over an alligator tank two years ago.”
Brett blinked, trying to process words that sounded more like a carnie trying to sell him on a local circus act.
“What do you mean you got the go-ahead for a séance?” She surely hadn’t been serious about showing up at his performance with all her mantra-chanting friends? “You signed on to represent me at least through the competition. You can’t ditch me during the contest to play with your crystal ball.”
Her fingers fisted deeper into the bedspread as her grip tightened. “On the contrary, I plan to use the crystal ball in an effort to help you.”
“I thought you were just yanking my chain last night about summoning spirits.” Then again, maybe he’d just heard what he wanted to hear. “Hell, I thought at very worst you were trying to organize some kind of event for your spirit-seeking friends. But you’re going to be a part of this ghost-calling exercise?”
“Me personally.” She reached for some garment hanging off the bedpost and wrestled her way into it—actually a sleep shirt with an ancient Jimi Hendrix album cover ironed on the front. “I’m going to oversee the whole thing because I told you that I would help you win this thing Saturday and I stand by that. The séance is going to attract a boatload of media attention and fan interest, and then it’s up to you to capitalize on it and impress the judges.”
She yanked the telephone—a classic princess style in shiny silver metal—onto her bed and gripped the receiver.
Brain still spinning from her insane plan that had nothing to do with his talent or his guitar riffs, he plucked the receiver from her hand and replaced it in the cradle.
“Wait a minute. Do you care to tell me why we can’t make a go of this contest without a lot of theatrics? If you think I don’t have the talent to win this on my own, I’d rather know straight up now so I can find a manager who believes in me more than some half-fried plan to hypnotize the judges into thinking I’m Elvis reincarnated.”
She slid out of bed, her sleep shirt only covering half of her thighs as she stomped toward a built-in bookcase at one end of her bedroom. Daylight streamed in through the blinds, the creamy-colored metal slats not all that effective at keeping out the noonday sun. When he’d brought her up to bed as the sun was rising, he’d asked her if anyone else could open the Good Luck Charm for her in the morning, and apparently she had help who worked the early shift.
Now, she pulled out one three-ring binder after another from the bookshelf and tossed the heavy volumes onto the bed at his feet.
“Here are a few mementos from my former life as a talent manager. Just the highlights of other ‘half-fried plans’ I’ve had in my career.” She pitched a framed photo of her with her sister at the Video Music Awards, followed in quick succession by a silver-framed picture of Alyssa at a press conference with a country music singer surrounded by Grammy Awards, then a promotional photo signed by a teenage pop star whose dedication to Alyssa read, “I owe you the world.”
“You represented Cassie Styles, too?” He ran a finger over the teen idol’s photo, wondering if the young woman’s career would have stayed on track longer if Alyssa hadn’t left the business. Cassie had burst on the scene with major octave range and endless ambition, but she’d gotten derailed when she eloped with a fading movie star who introduced her to drugs.
“Yes I did, back in her good days. And you know what? No matter how many octaves the princess of pop could hit, I always made sure to cover her nonexistent ass with a solid promotional angle, too.” Alyssa’s cheeks flushed pink, her lips pursed in a tight little frown of disapproval. “You’re the one who asked for my help, Brett. It seems you’re awfully damn critical when you’re the guy who propositioned me.”
He flipped open one of the binders she’d thrown at him, humbled more than a little by the pages and pages of awards, letters and press photos she’d accumulated over the years. She’d saved personal notes from music industry headliners, producers and some lesser-known studio bands that wouldn’t be immediately recognized by the general public, but whom Brett knew to be major behind-the-scenes players.
No doubt about it, Alyssa Renato was big ti
me. And he’d just figured out how to really piss her off.
Nice morning-after move, Casanova.
“You’re right.” Shoving aside the binders, he slid out of bed and stepped into his pants. He followed her out of the bedroom and into the living room where he caught her by the arms. “I’m sorry.”
Turning her to face him, he remembered the kisses they’d shared. The sex. And something more. They’d shared something incredible and he’d repaid her by being a jackass.
“I just don’t know why you have to jump all over the séance idea.” Her clipped tone didn’t sound like she was all that ready to forgive him, but at least she didn’t shove him away, either. “This is Las Vegas, Brett. You can’t just put on a show here and expect people to love you for your talent alone. You need to be over the top. And since we can’t build you your own private amphitheater, and I don’t want you performing with Siberian tigers, we need to find something else that’s big and showy and will land you the attention your act deserves.”
Even pissed off, she could be damn convincing. Remembering the way she’d worked over Fast Mike last night, Brett suspected Alyssa could maneuver her way into most anything she wanted.
A good skill for his manager. A frightening talent for the woman he’d just slept with. But damned if he didn’t want them both.
“Okay.” He still didn’t like it. The thought of a séance made him want to run for cover. But he wouldn’t impose his past on Alyssa and read something into her actions that wasn’t there. “I just wish this could be more about the music. Elvis had a guitar. Nothing else. No conjuring magic. No bells and whistles.”
“You think he didn’t have an angle?” She shook her head, curls spinning in every direction. “Ed Sullivan would only film him from the waist up, Brett. You know how ingenious that was? Every teenage girl in America wanted to know what was going on below the belt. He couldn’t have asked for a better publicity stunt.”
Love So Tender: Taking Care of BusinessPlay It Again, ElvisGood Luck Charm Page 20
