She glanced over at him, met the direct gaze of his pale eyes. Sighing, she waved her hand. “Fine. Apology accepted.”
He grinned at her, his teeth a white flash. “Now, I haven’t exactly apologized…yet. I’m sorry, Chaili. I can’t say I’m sorry for taking my…handling job so seriously, but I do know you’re friends. Marc has mentioned your name. Often. I am sorry. If I’d known…well. That’s not the point. I insulted you and I’m sorry.”
“Accepted.” She looked back at Marc. “Now can we go in?” She’d like to go back to where they had been, try to find that brief bit of magic they’d found. They’d used to be able to talk for hours. She could remember times when she’d listened to him playing, practicing his music, working on new songs…she missed that. A lot.
“I’d rather stay out here,” Marc said, shooting Caleb a look.
“You won’t want to.” No sooner had he said the words than a woman’s soft, throaty contralto echoed through night. “I heard her talking about hunting you down. She wants you to play. A bunch of others are thinking it’s a fine idea.”
Marc groaned.
“Who is it?”
“A girl I dated for a while,” he muttered. Not exactly an ex. He had that much sense, realizing she was bad news, but she’d been persistent and when she saw him earlier… He’d almost seen that maniacal gleam in her eyes again.
Caleb gestured to the right. “Head that way. Keep to the hedge. And not that I’m offering advice or anything, but if it were me, maybe what I’d do is go ahead and play. If you get to the piano and sit down before she finds you? You’ll be surrounded by people before she gets back in there.” Caleb flashed him another wicked grin. “Especially since I plan on telling her I saw you back around the pool house.”
“And if I don’t want to play?” Marc stared at him.
Caleb rolled his eyes. “You always want to play.”
“He’s got a point, Marc.” Next to him, Chaili laughed and tugged on his wrist. “Come on. I haven’t heard you play in ages. Maybe you could just pretend you’re back at your old place, playing the way you used to.”
Playing the way you used to…
Marc sat at the piano, stroked his fingers down the keys. It was a Fazioli. He’d played on them before, although he still preferred a Steinway. That had been the first piano he’d played on. It had been in middle school. When all his friends were playing the drums or a guitar, he’d been on an electric keyboard and then his mom had actually managed to find him that old upright Steinway at an estate sale, one she still kept at her place for him. He loved that piano.
He glanced up at Chaili to ask what she wanted him to play but she wasn’t there. Scowling, he glanced around and saw that she was in the crowd. Holding out a hand, he waited until she sat down next to him. “What do you want me to play?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
If he was going to pretend he was playing the way he used to, for himself, for his friends, then he was doing just that.
She cocked her head and then smiled, leaned in. “‘Walking in Memphis’.”
“‘Walking in Memphis’…” He hung his head, groaning. “Chaili, how many times have you made me sing that song? I was thinking about one of mine, you know.”
She grinned at him. “Oh, that was just the first. I plan on making you sing ‘True Believer’ next.”
“You and that song.” Smiling, he laid his hands on the keys, closed his eyes. Whether it was his song or not…it was a magic one. Cohn, the singer and songwriter who’d written it had created pure gold with that one. Marc could understand why she loved it so much.
As he neared the end, he lifted his lashes, glanced over at Chaili. She was swaying, a strange little smile on her lips. As he came to the line…
And I sang with all my might…
He could hear her singing along with him. He might have asked her to sing louder, but he knew she wouldn’t want to. She never did much care for that. Still, he liked listening to her. He’d play again and have her sing with him when it was just them…then he realized he was thinking about spending more time with her.
A lot more…
The song ended and he made himself stop thinking, giving himself up to the music.
He did “True Believer” next, the song that had gotten him his big break. From there, he didn’t bother asking, he just played. He forgot about the people around him. The only one who mattered was Chaili. From the corner of his eye, he glanced her way and his heart banged against his ribs as he realized she was watching his hands.
Seriously watching his hands. Almost the same way he’d been watching her mouth, he suspected. And there was a glassy little glint in her eyes—
Hunger burned in his gut, a terrible little knot that was taking on a life of its own.
He wanted Chaili. He’d managed to bash sexual hunger into submission over the past few years, letting it out in controlled, very controlled bursts, but this was…fuck.
This was gutting him.
A discordant chord filled the air and it jolted him back to reality. The song was nearly over anyway and he finished, pushed back and held out his hand to Chaili. They were leaving. He didn’t know where they were going—he’d take her home if she insisted, but what he really wanted to do was take her to his place.
Take her there…and then take her, damn it.
Is this smart?
It was the calm, rational little voice in his head, the one he usually ignored.
This is Chaili…a friend. And not just any friend. She matters more than most…right?
Yes.
She did. It was almost enough to make him stop. Almost.
But the hunger inside him was a monster.
Chapter Three
Chaili couldn’t even explain how she’d managed to get here.
Staring out over Lake Michigan, she swallowed the knot in her throat and tried to make herself breathe.
She shouldn’t read anything into this.
Chaili knew that.
They’d had a nice night, talking. She’d gotten to spend a little bit of time with a man she’d loved for…always. Now he was just trying to…what? Unwind? She knew he hated those parties, knew he hated the crowds. Back in school, people had always thought he was borderline antisocial. She’d known better. People either frustrated him or just made him nervous. And now, so many of them expected things from him, expected him to be somebody he just wasn’t.
That’s what it was, she decided. He could be himself around her and that was why he’d brought her back here. That made sense, right? Yes. That explained—
“Here.”
The rough, raw silk of his voice scraped over her senses and she all but whimpered as she turned around to face him. He held a glass of wine in his hand. She hesitated before reaching for it.
He grinned. “It’s okay…you’ve got the same taste in syrup…um…I mean wine that my sister does. I bought it for her.”
“Hey, it’s not syrup.” She took the glass and lifted it to her lips, took a small sip then sighed, smiling at the sweet, rather delightful taste. “Oh…that’s good. What is it?”
“Elderberry mead. I found it at a winery a few hours from here when I was out driving around a while back.”
“I like it. I need to see the bottle so I can go stockpile it.” Not that she’d be able to drink much of it, but man…that was nice. She took another sip, closing her eyes and humming a little after she’d swallowed it. “I think the second taste is better than the first one.”
“Let me try.”
She opened her eyes and held the glass out to him. He took it, tried a sip and made a face. “It’s not as bad as some. Come on.” He continued to hold the glass as he caught her hand. “Grab the bottle, will you?”
“Where are we going?” she asked, trailing along behind him. The floor felt cool under her feet. She’d kicked off her shoes and the silk stockings she wore weren’t much protection.
“I want to play some more.” Over his should
er, he glanced at her. “Is it okay?”
She arched a brow. “A private concert…with Mr. Marc Archer? You think I’m going to say no?”
“Smart ass.”
The lights were off in the studio but he didn’t bother to turn them on. She wished he’d turn them on, though…it was easier to pretend this all didn’t feel terribly intimate. Terribly romantic…terribly seductive.
“Pour some more wine?” he said as they sat at the piano.
She swallowed, her throat dry…tight.
“Should I go get another glass?” she asked, pleased to hear that her voice wasn’t shaking.
“No. We can share, right?” He took a sip and then laid his hands on the keys of the piano.
Chaili closed her eyes and then muffled a groan as he went straight into “True Believer”.
“Make a believer out of me…”
His words sank deep into her soul, wrapping around her and pulling her in. He was seducing her and he didn’t even know it.
He could have kept on playing, just for her. Forever. He’d forgotten how amazing it was to do this. Playing for himself was always good. Playing for his fans…yeah, he loved that.
But there was something magic about sitting there in the dark and playing for her.
It was almost like he could talk to her through the music, and even though she said nothing back, he could hear her answer just in the way she moved, the way she smiled.
And it had always been like this, he realized.
Chaili seemed to find almost the same pleasure in the music that he did.
That same little smile bowed her pretty mouth up and she swayed, one hand curled around the wine glass, the other tapping out a rhythm on her thigh.
He had an image of catching the hem of her skirt. Pushing it up. Okay…that wasn’t anything that had happened before tonight. But he had a feeling he’d be thinking hot and dirty thoughts about her for a long, long time after this. Hell, he was wondering why he hadn’t done it before.
Closing his eyes, he tried to focus back on the music, but he couldn’t block her out.
It was all there, twining through his mind. The raw, powerful vibe of the music. The song. The image of his hands on her thighs. Pushing that pretty skirt up. Catching the silken hose she wore and dragging them down, her panties…leaving her naked under that skirt. Then he’d play a little while longer. Just a little while, as he thought about her being naked under that elegant little white dress.
Get a grip, Marc. Or you’re going to lose it before you even get started…
Get started. Was he actually thinking of trying to do this…
Hell, yes.
He must have lost his mind somewhere in the time he’d seen her standing in the office of Escortè and when he’d started playing for her back at the party, but he had every intention of having a taste of her. Just once, he thought. They were friends, right? They could have a night of nice, friendly sex and then go back to being friends…
Yes, because that had worked so well before.
Stop it, man. This isn’t Lily. It won’t happen that way. And if you can’t get that through your head, you need to just take her home now, he told himself.
No. She wasn’t Lily.
And he’d be damned if he took her home just yet. Unless that was what she wanted.
Clearing his throat, he took the glass of wine from her. “Ah…are you wanting to head home or you wanna hang around a while?”
She slid him a smile as she took the glass of wine back. “Hey, you played me one song. That does not a concert make.”
Hot damn.
“‘Walking in Memphis’?”
She just smiled.
He rolled into it, watching her a little closer this time. She was looking at his hands again. Her face was flushed, although he didn’t think it was the wine. He’d had as much as she and it was just the one bottle. Couldn’t just be the wine, right?
She all but groaned as he launched into the one part that got to her, every damn time, right near the end.
His voice dropped, lower, rougher.
A shudder went through her and she grabbed the glass of wine, drank it down. They’d emptied the bottle and she wished she could blame the heat burning inside her on the wine, but it wasn’t that. It was him. Always him—
“What is it about you and that song?”
As the music faded, she jerked her head up, saw him staring at her.
She tried to shrug. It wasn’t the song, it was him. Something about the way he sang it, hell, the way he sang anything… She licked her lips and stared off into the distance, trying to figure out the right way to say something that wasn’t a lie, but didn’t leave her stripped bare.
A harsh groan reached her ears.
Startled, she looked at him, realized he was staring at her mouth.
Two seconds later, he was reaching for her.
Stunned, she couldn’t think. As his lips covered hers, she just couldn’t think.
Marc was kissing her.
Damn it.
Marc was kissing her—
Had she drank more wine than she’d thought?
“Open your mouth,” he snarled against her lips, a harsh, urgent command in his voice. “Give me your mouth.”
Dazed, she did just that, opened for him.
His arms came around her as his tongue stroked across the bottom of her lip, slowly, seductively…teasingly. Oh, hell. She was in trouble. Big, big trouble…
And she didn’t plan on doing anything to stop it, either. Not when he broke his mouth away to brush a line of stinging, hot kisses down her neck to her shoulder. Not when he stroked a hand up her thigh, the other cupping the back of her head.
Alarm, though, started to sound when he toyed with the fastening of her dress—alarm that would give way to terror if she let it.
Refusing to let that happen, she wiggled around until she was straddling his lap, her arms looped around his shoulders. Through the bodice of her dress, she felt the warmth of his breath, and when he pressed his mouth to her breastbone, she figured she needed to call a stop to this here and now. He didn’t know and she just couldn’t…
“Chaili…fuck, what have you got on under this skirt?”
She shivered as he spoke and Marc lifted his gaze, stared at her face, searching for some sign that he needed to pull back, but all he saw was the look of a woman wanting. Wanting him, damn it. Chaili wanted him.
This was insane and if he knew what was good for the both of them, he’d pull back, but they’d already opened Pandora’s Box and he’d never be able to look at her again without remembering her taste. Without feeling the silk of her skin. Might as well ride the insanity to the end.
A slow grin canted up the corners of her lips. “You really want to know?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Slowly, she eased back and then wiggled away. It wasn’t necessary—the skirt was cut full and he could have pushed it up just fine on his own, but if she wanted to show him? Leaning back on his hands, he watched as she backed away a step or two from the bench.
“Just what’s happening here, Marc?” she asked softly, her fingers toying with the hem of her skirt.
His lids drooped over his eyes as he stared at her fingers. Fuck, would she just let him see? “What do you think is happening here, Chaili?” he rasped.
“Well, I know what I think is happening here…” She eased the hem up and he caught a glimpse of lace, a few inches past mid-thigh.
His heart was going to stop. “You think maybe we should call it quits?” He looked away from her hands, met her gaze, those pretty jewel-like eyes, and waited.
“No.” She shrugged and said, “I just…” She touched her tongue to her lips. “Call me shy. I’m not taking my dress off.”
He blinked. Well, the night was young, he could work on that. “Does that mean I won’t get to home base?” he teased, slipping off the bench and moving to stand next to her. He had to see what in the hell she had on under that s
kirt.
She laughed, a husky sound that went straight to his groin. “Oh, you can get to home base. Matter of fact, I’d rather you just skipped out on the whole third base bit too.”
“But it’s a lot of fun.” He caught the hem of her skirt, dragged it up. “Just how shy are you, Chaili…do I get to see what’s under here or not?”
She bumped him back, grinning. “I said I’d show you.”
He obliged, taking a step away. Then another, because he figured he’d see her better. And then he almost went to his knees as she dragged the skirt up, revealing the lacy tops of her stockings, the skinny straps of a garter.
“Turn around.”
Her eyes widened a little and he could have kicked himself, but to his surprise she did it, still holding the skirt up, baring the stockings, her garters.
“Higher,” he rasped.
A shudder raced through her and he narrowed his eyes, filing that little bit away. He’d think all of this through…later. Right now, he was having a hard time keeping his brain even functioning, and it only got worse as she tugged the skirt higher, higher, until it revealing the lacy edge of panties just a few shades darker than her skin. Lovely, just lovely…
Closing the distance between them, he gripped her waist and tugged her back against him, pressed his lips to her neck. She gasped and tilted her head to the side.
Raking his teeth along her skin, he slid his hand around, pressed it against her belly, splayed his fingers wide. As he cuddled his cock against her ass, he whispered, “Last chance, Chaili. Either we stop it now or we’ll be sliding into home here very shortly.”
“Well, not too shortly, I hope.” She grinned at him over her shoulder.
Laughing softly, he slid his hand down, caught the hem of her skirt. Stroking his fingers along the lace of her stockings, he freed one strap. Another. Another. “I love your taste in lingerie,” he whispered as he moved to the other leg. “I almost hate to undo these, but I really, really need you naked.”
She chuckled. “They’ll stay up.”
“Yeah?”
Going to his knees after he’d freed the last strap, he stared at the round, taut curve of her ass. “Pull your skirt up again. Don’t let go this time.”
Beautiful Scars Page 4
