She didn’t want Reed. “I—”
“He’d be no good for you.”
When she tried to draw back in preparation for setting Bing straight, his grip on her tightened and his words came out clipped. “No. Good. For. You”
A little thrill worked its way down her spine. What was all this sudden, intense concern about her and another man about? If he wasn’t interested in her anymore, why did he want a say on who she was with next?
She tossed her hair over her shoulders. “Maybe…maybe I want something bad. Someone.” Power surged inside her when Bing’s nostrils flared and he sucked in a quick breath.
His voice lowered. “Are you playing games, doll?”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I?” Instead of trying to pull away from him, she stepped closer. “I’ve been toeing the line all my life. Playing fair, ceding the ground to others, allowing someone else to have the best toys.”
God. It was all true! And she was sick of being everyone’s go-to Goody Two Shoes, the one who could be counted on to accept the unpleasant task nobody wanted. The sensible woman who always exited quietly after picking up the scattered pieces someone else left behind. She was tired of being the girl who didn’t get the guy—not even for a second night. “I want games. To tell the truth, I want you.” The brazen words caused heat to crawl up her neck, but she didn’t retreat.
Tension infused Bing’s body. “This is a mistake,” he muttered, his gaze zeroing in on her mouth.
She drew her tongue along her bottom lip. “Take a taste and then tell me that.”
His free hand fell to her hip where it landed, hot as a brand, to yank her nearer. “I—”
“Hey, you two!”
A new voice had them jumping apart. Alexa pasted on a smile for Cilla who came rushing over, Ren following behind at a slower pace. “What’s up?” the blonde asked, squeezing Alexa’s arm even as she went on tiptoe to kiss her brother’s cheek.
Her fiancé shook Bing’s hand and slanted a fond but mildly exasperated look at the woman he’d promised to marry. “Sweetheart.”
She glanced around. “What?”
“Maybe you should look before you leap,” he murmured. His gaze swept over Alexa and she knew her blush was still in evidence. Clearly Ren had realized what he and Cilla had interrupted.
Hooking a finger in his belt loop, his bride-to-be tugged him to her and went on tiptoe to buss his chin. “Then I wouldn’t have you.”
His arm went around her shoulders and he pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. “Leap away, then, because you’re the best thing that ever landed in my arms.”
“Jesus.” Bing hung his head, shook it. “You two make me sick.”
“The mighty will fall,” Cilla said airily, and headed for the door.
“Don’t bet on it,” he muttered to her back. Then he glanced at Alexa. “As for you—”
“Can’t we table this discussion for the night?” she asked. With the heat of the moment now past, he was going to turn her down flat. She could see the words on the tip of his tongue. Perhaps she could postpone that. “Let’s just have a fun evening, all right?”
He studied her face for another moment. “All right. Fun.”
That had been a warning, Alexa realized as time went by. Cami was scheduled to perform a bit later in the evening, and in the meantime, a DJ was playing bluesy music and some people were already on the dance floor while others were drinking at the bar and the small tables ringing the stage. She settled for a seat beside Cilla while Bing took himself off to buy drinks. He slid her wine in front of her but then he was gone again, to talk to a couple of women he seemed to know.
Flirting with the women, she decided, not just talking. While she watched, he glanced over at her and she knew immediately he was making a statement with the behavior. It didn’t hurt, she told herself.
It made her mad, though. Playing games, indeed. Wasn’t that what he was doing?
“You okay, Lex?” Ren asked. Cilla was turned around, talking to someone behind her, but his eyes were on her, a kind expression on his face.
Poor Alexa.
She straightened her spine. “I am great.” Even better, she decided, when Reed and Walsh Hopkins came striding up. She jerked out the free chair beside hers. “Yay! Single men.”
Reed’s brows rose while Walsh grinned at her. “I like the reception,” he said, though he allowed his brother to drop into the seat she’d indicated.
“I’ll get drinks,” Walsh said.
“Two tequila shots for me!” Alexa ordered.
His gaze took in her near-full glass of wine. “Sure,” he said, then was off.
Cilla had tuned back into what was going on at their table. “Tequila, huh?” Her eyebrows went high. “Something serious going on?”
“What’s wrong with tequila?”
With a smile, Cilla traced two fingers over the half-heart tattooed on her wrist. “Not a thing, especially when it’s being used as liquid courage. Are you trying to be brave about something?”
She shook her head. “I’m trying to forget something.” Her gaze found its way to the threesome talking and laughing not far away. Losing Bing. Goading Bing. Not getting Bing.
The first shooter went down like an icy burn. The second was easier, her throat now numb. Then she looked around the table as the DJ switched from slow blues to a bump-and-grind Robin Thicke song. She jumped to her feet, her head spinning a little at the quick movement. “Who wants to dance?”
Cilla, such a good sport, Alexa thought woozily, instantly heeded the call. “Girl dance!” she declared, up on her high heels and already shaking her booty.
Ren smiled. “I love girl dances,” he observed, and shooed them toward the parquet floor. “Proceed ladies.”
The old Alexa Alessio didn’t make a spectacle of herself. The new Alexa moved like she’d always wanted to, following Cilla’s lead to shimmy her shoulders, churn her hips, twist low so that she and Cilla were nearly sitting on their heels, laughing like loons. A couple of men drew close to them as Alexa rose with one arm over her head. When the guy crowded her back she didn’t flinch, but instead moved into him, closing her eyes and undulating her body in those dirty dancing moves she used to practice in the privacy of her bedroom.
A hot hand ringed her wrist and yanked her away from her partner. Her eyes flew open, to see that Bing and Ren had come onto the floor. Ren pulled Cilla against his chest even as she laughed up at him, shaking her head. Her previous partner backed away, hands up and grinning. Alexa looked around for the guy she’d been with, but he’d melted into the crowd. Frowning at Bing, she tried resisting his effort to drag her back to the table. “I want to dance.”
“Later.”
“Later when?”
“Later when I don’t want to strip your clothes off you.”
She tottered after him. “Did I just hear you right?”
He pushed her into a chair, took the one beside it. “Did you hear me say you make me nuts?”
She would take that, Alexa thought, smiling at the replenished glass of wine someone set in front of her. “Bing—”
“Shh. Cami’s coming on stage.”
“Oh.” She was, and the lights in the place were lowered as people took seats and quieted down. Settling on a stool, Cami Colson arranged the folds of the full, knee-length skirt she wore with scarred cowboy boots and a peasant blouse with short, puffed sleeves. It revealed the tattoo of a delicate trailing vine climbing up her slender arm.
Leaning across the table, Alexa whispered loudly to Cilla who was across the table. “I want ink.”
Cilla beamed at her. Bing snorted.
“What?” she rounded on him, narrowing her eyes. “I want ink and I’m going to get pierced in some very personal place. How do you like that?”
He took a breath, then he shook his head and moved forward to whisper in her ear. “We’ll talk about all your bright ideas later. Now pay attention to the stage.”
Cami wiggled once and
then turned her smile on the crowd. She appeared completely comfortable as she spoke into the mic. “My rendition of The Ramones ‘I Want to be Your Boyfriend’.”
It was bright and upbeat and she sang it that way, getting the whole place moving to the beat. Alexa glanced over at Ren and Cilla, saw him bring her hand to his mouth and kiss her knuckles. Written in the stars, she thought, and tried not to sigh.
With hardly a pause, Cami segued into the Hall & Oates song that Alexa loved from the dance scene in 500 Days of Summer, “You Make My Dreams.”
Then it was four songs with a distinctive country/bluegrass flavor. As the applause died down after the last, Cami held one hand as a shield from the stage lights and sent a nod and smile toward their table. “I see some friendly faces in the audience tonight. And I heard they were doing some mean dancing earlier.”
Alexa turned to send an arch look over her shoulder at Bing. He reached out an arm to pinch her butt and she grabbed his fingers. They tangled with hers, and he brought them to his thigh. It was nothing more than a friendly clasp, she decided, nothing more than affectionate. But her blood seemed to run faster and closer to the surface of her skin. Maybe the tequila shots had been a bad idea.
Cami started picking a tune. “This is for my brother Ren and his fiancée, Cilla. ‘January Wedding’.”
Double-whammy, Alexa thought, listening to the words about a couple who learned not to turn down love. Sentimental words floating through the air. Bing’s sure, warm touch anchoring her to him. Dangerous double-whammy.
“Last song in the set,” Cami said as the final note faded. “There’ll be more dancing during the break for those who don’t want to sit still.” She aimed another grin in the direction of their table as she began picking out the next tune. Her glance roamed the crowd and suddenly her fingers faltered on the strings. Then she ducked her head, her hair sliding forward to hide her eyes. Her deep breath was picked up by the mic. The melody began again. “Hope you enjoy ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’.”
And she sang like she’d opened her heart to let the music pour out of it. There was a throaty catch in her voice from time to time that made Alexa’s own heart squeeze. When the song finished, she felt completely sober, a little shaken, and almost ashamed, as if she’d read a private diary. The whole crowd must have been affected because applause didn’t ring out until Cami had disappeared between the curtains and left the stage.
As the lights came up, Ren was looking around the audience, his eyes narrowed. Cilla had her fingers wrapped around his arm. “Honey. You can’t know—”
“She was singing that to someone.” His hand pulled out his cell phone. “Do you think Payne knows what’s going on?”
Cilla’s eyes rolled. “Really. She’s older than me. You and your brother have no reason to go over-protective on her.”
His jaw set in a stubborn line. “I’m calling him.”
Shaking her head, Cilla looked across the table. “Shall we dance, Lex?” The DJ had come back on stage.
“She’s dancing with me.” Bing stood, pulling her up at the same time.
A shiver teased an icy line down Alexa’s spine. It didn’t seem like such a good idea, right now, not with that last song—and the emotion that went with it—still lingering in the air like the scent of flowers. Or maybe heartbreak. It was hard to tell.
One of the women he’d been talking to earlier sashayed up to him. “Hey, Bing, want to hit the dance floor?”
He glanced at Alexa. She ground her back teeth, then smiled, holding up their joined hands. “He’s already taken,” she said and towed him toward the parquet.
Naturally, the DJ’s selection was something slow. She steeled herself for Bing’s embrace as “In Your Arms” played through the speakers. But he surprised her by cupping both of her hands in his own and bringing them against his chest. He moved, slow, sure, directing her just like that, with their joined fingers a solid barrier between them.
Still, air stuttered into her lungs and she glanced around so she didn’t have to gaze into his deep blue eyes. “It’s polite to look at your partner,” he finally said.
“Maybe I’m keeping tabs on my next one,” she answered, kind of snotty, because her pulse was beating too fast and that woman he’d been flirting with was watching from the sidelines. “Do you see Reed?”
“What did I say about Reed?”
She sighed. “Bing. I’ve got a daddy.”
His own sigh was resigned. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
He lowered his mouth, spoke into her ear so that each word made her hair move and tickle her neck. “Make me think such filthy thoughts.”
Goose bumps unfurled like a fan from the point where his mouth touched her flesh. Filthy thoughts. She had them too, dozens of them, boxes of them, a secret cache she’d saved since she was an adolescent. But they’d always stayed safely locked away until this man released them with a look. A word.
Filthy.
After all these years of avoiding passion, it was rising in her now, making her cheeks hot, her knees weak, her body go soft and wet between her thighs. She was aching there, just because he held her hands and whispered in her ear. “Bing.” It was both protest and plea.
He needed to do something about it. They needed to attend to it. Burn it away, she thought, suddenly desperate. Burn it to cinders in a bed—or anywhere, for that matter.
Lifting her head, she met his eyes. “Bing.”
“Lex,” he said, mimicking her tone. Then he sighed again. “Even if I break my rule, you know what this will be, right? And what it won’t.”
Not forever. She wasn’t so dumb to consider that. A man like him didn’t do forever. Wasn’t interested in the concept. “I get it, I get it.”
“You need time to be sure. Think long and hard, Lex.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I am thinking long and hard. That’s the problem.”
His mouth twitched. “You made a joke, doll.”
“Nothing’s feeling very funny to me right now.”
Now he laughed and she had the urge to slap his ridiculously handsome face. Or kiss it. “So…how long is this period of reflection supposed to take?”
He grinned. “How about you mull it over for a couple of days, okay?”
To stop herself from saying she didn’t need a couple of minutes let alone a couple of days, she pursed her lips. A woman had to have some dignity.
“If you decide you’re willing to go ahead, we’ll do the horizontal tango until...what? Until the wedding?” he suggested.
“That should do it.” Please, God. Then she glared at him. “‘Horizontal tango’? How romantic.”
“Exactly what it won’t be, doll, right?”
The day after the night at the music club, Bing approached the bridal salon a few minutes before closing time. From his days working around the place, he knew the one most likely not to be there was Alexa—she took off for the gym in the late afternoon—and the one most likely to be found across the counter was her mother. The very woman he was here to see.
He hadn’t forgotten what Patricia Alessio might have overheard in her kitchen. Ruben Scott reminiscing about life in Laurel Canyon. Last time I saw you, there was a mirror filled with lines on your right and a candy jar full of weed on your left. Two naked girls crawling all over you.
That part of his past wasn’t going to touch Alexa. He couldn’t promise he wasn’t going to touch her, because he’d left that up to her and she seemed to have as big a problem as he did in resisting the smoking attraction that drew them together.
The bell rang out as he came through the door. The showroom was empty except for the racks of dresses. He breathed in the scent of the place, it was feminine and fresh, dewy roses, maybe, and lavender. The atmosphere—the fragrance, the fabrics—made a man feel out of place. Already edgy about the discussion ahead, Bing shook out his arms and told himself not to be such a wimp.
Then a headless body dressed in apri
cot lace came walking toward him from the hallway.
It’s possible he screamed.
He made a sound, that’s for sure, because the guillotined bridesmaid fell to the ground in her own fright. His heart jolted again, then he realized that Alexa’s mother was there, her arms now empty of the mannequin she’d been carrying.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaping forward to scoop up the fallen bridesmaid. One leg dropped off as he lifted the figure. Then an arm. “Shit.”
He glanced at Patricia. “Excuse my language. And, uh, sorry, but I seemed to have killed her.”
The dark-haired woman put her hand over her mouth but it didn’t suppress the girlish giggle that came from behind it. “That’s quite all right. Why don’t you put it down over there.” She indicated a velvet armchair.
Bing did his best to deposit the mannequin gently, but a hand fell to the floor, its fingers pointing toward him accusingly. “Sorry,” he muttered again. This did not bode well.
“Stop worrying.” Patricia still looked amused. “Did you come to see Al—”
“No.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I came to see you.”
Her brows rose. “Well. That puts a little flutter in my heart.” She smiled at him. “How about a glass of iced tea to go with that agitated expression on your face?”
“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “That sounds good.”
She crooked her finger and he followed her into the small kitchen. When she presented him with an icy glass of tea, he downed half of it in one go.
“Cookies?” Patricia offered.
“No. Thank you.” He set the tea down on the tile countertop. “First, I, uh, wanted to thank you again for dinner the other night. I really enjoyed myself. I enjoyed your whole family.”
Her smile calmed him a little. Maybe she hadn’t heard a thing. Maybe he was an idiot to address the issue.
“We can get a little loud and crazy sometimes,” she said.
“I know loud and crazy,” he said, his gaze trained on her face. “That wasn’t even close.”
“All right.” She leaned against the counter. “What else did you come to say, Bing?”
Love Her Madly Page 14
