Overtones (Songs and Sonatas Book 6)

by Jerica MacMillan

  I glance back at Liam over my shoulder. “What?” I shout.

  “Can you hold your own without me? Dancing, I mean? Can you dance on your own?”

  My eyebrows cinch together. “Uh, I guess? Why?”

  He points to a platform where a couple dances. There are several of them here and there, some with a single person dancing, usually female, some with couples. “I can get you on a platform. He’ll see you there. But I can’t stay with you the whole time. Got things to do, people to check on. Will you be okay on your own?”

  “Sure.” What other answer is there to give? He obviously doesn’t want to babysit me while Brendan’s busy.

  His hands return to bracketing my hips, and he steers us through the crowd again toward one of the empty platforms. This one’s off to the side of the room, but once I’m on it, I’ll be level with the booth where Brendan’s pushing buttons, one hand holding a pair of large headphones to his ear.

  Liam lets go of me, tapping a large man in a tight black shirt on the shoulder and leaning close to tell him something. With the music and the crowd, I can’t hear what he’s saying, even though he’s probably shouting. Liam gestures in my direction, the bouncer cuts his eyes to me without turning his head and nods, and then Liam’s grinning at me again. “Up you go!”

  With no more warning than that, he pulls me closer to the bouncer, who steps up to me, his hands cradled in the universal way to give someone a boost. I look at Liam, eyes wide. “I have to climb up there?”

  “You’ll be fine. Andre won’t let you fall. Right, Andre?” He slaps the man on the back, who nods again, and then he fades into the crowd, leaving me glancing between Andre’s hands, the crowd, and the platform I’m supposed to climb up and dance on.

  Self-consciousness swamps me. I’m not that great a dancer. I know how to feel music, move to a beat, but not like a professional.

  “Don’t overthink it. Just give me your foot. You’ll be fine.”

  I turn my wide eyes on Andre, who’s still holding his hands in a cradle.

  When I just stare at him for what he deems too long, he drops his hands with a visible sigh. Then he leans close so he can speak directly in my ear. “Look, Liam told me I had to keep an eye on you. That you’re here with the DJ and a VIP. It’s easier for me to do my job if you’re up there. No one else can get to you without my help, and if you don’t get up there, I’ll have to find someone else to do it. We don’t like empty platforms. I saw you moving through the crowd with Liam. That’s all you have to do, just up there.” He points up at the empty platform.

  I still don’t say anything. Because this is so far beyond my normal comfort zone. I can’t even crack a joke. It would be lost in the whirlwind of sound, and I don’t think Andre would appreciate it anyway.

  With a deep breath, I take another glance around and a quick peek at Brendan whose eyes are still scanning the crowd like he’s looking for someone. Me. He’s looking for me. Shoulders back, I nod at Andre. “Right. Let’s do this.”

  Hands form a cradle again, and I place my foot carefully so I don’t stab him with the heel of my boot. I reach for the edge of the platform that’s just above my head and get ready to climb up. He pumps my foot as a countdown—one, two, and on three I feel weightless as he lifts me up. I almost don’t even need to use my arms except for stability. He lifts me so far that I can place my other knee on the platform and climb up without any struggle at all.

  Still on my knees, I glance back down, appreciating all those muscles even more now. Brendan’s the most built guy I’ve been with, because most orch-dorks and band geeks are scrawny at best, but he’s still lean. This guy’s got muscles growing out of his muscles, like those big bodybuilders you see in pictures. And while I’ve never found that look particularly attractive, it definitely has its uses when you need to climb on a platform without the benefit of stairs or a ladder.

  He gives me a thumbs up, and I return it. Then his thumbs up turns into a non-verbal command to get on my feet. So I stick out my tongue at him, because I don’t like being bossed around. Except sometimes with Brendan. Andre smothers a grin, shakes his head, and turns his back on me, crossing his bulging arms across his equally bulging chest.

  Climbing to my feet, I adjust my dress, looking around at the crowd undulating beneath my feet, colored lights flickering over everyone, music pulsing through the crowd.

  I raise my eyes to find Brendan. He’s finally found me. But his face is slack with surprise. Then whatever he hears in his headphones has his attention, because his eyes snap back to the equipment in front of him, he pushes some buttons, and the music changes, the old song fading into the new seamlessly.

  A smile comes to my face when I recognize it, and I snort out a laugh. It’s one of the more repetitive songs that he played for me, and I asked him to change it before it was even halfway over.

  He meets my eyes again, a smile on his face, one eyebrow lifted in silent challenge.

  Pulling my mouth to the side to fight my own smile, I shake my head at him, letting the music filter through my body. My hips start to sway in time with the rhythm first, then my feet start moving, though not too much because this platform isn’t that big. With my eyes locked on Brendan, I start dancing, moving with the beat he created. The smile falls from his face. And the way he looks at me is enough to set me on fire.

  Even though I didn’t like this track much the first time I heard it, dancing to it now, here, in this club, on this platform, with Brendan’s eyes on me, it morphs into something so much better.

  My self-consciousness falls away, or at least takes a back seat, and I give myself over to the moment, to the music, to the pulse of the bass in my blood. To the way Brendan’s eyes hold me, making me feel bold and safe and sexy. More than anyone ever has before.

  And as much as I never want this night to end, I can’t wait for his set to be over.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Brendan

  I’m dying.

  I never thought I could get a case of blue balls this fast. I just had Lauren earlier today, on top of our marathon sex fest the last few days, so I should be the most satisfied man on the planet.

  But I’ve had to stand in this little walled-in booth and watch her dance for the last hour. Like she was dancing all for me. Every time she looked up, her eyes found mine. Every time I glanced away to cue the next track, when I looked up, her eyes were on me.

  My set is finally finished, and I need to get to her. But Liam’s waiting at the bottom of the back stairs to return to the main floor. He holds out a hand to me, a big grin stretching across his face.

  I scowl, even as I shake his hand and let him pull me in for a slap on the back and a bump of our chests. “I thought you were keeping an eye on Lauren for me.”

  He covers his mouth with his free hand to cover a chuckle. “From the way you two were eye fucking each other, I didn’t think you needed me to be involved.” He raises his eyebrows. “Unless you like having a third? I’ve never done that with another guy before, but I might be willing to make an exception. No touching though.”

  I smack down his hand that he held up, palm out, when he said no touching. “Fuck off, Liam. Number one, no, we don’t need a third. Not now, not ever. You might be okay with that, but I’m not down with sharing. Number two, if we’re both back here, then who’s keeping an eye on Lauren now?” Crossing my arms, I inhale deeply, standing at my full height.

  Liam gives me a knowing grin and shakes his head. “Whatever, dude. We could’ve had a lot of fun. Redheads are fucking hot.” He heaves a philosophical sigh, his hand on his chest. “I can’t say I blame you, though. I doubt I’d want to share if I were you, either.” At my growl, he turns to lead me to the dance floor. “As for your other question, I’ve got Andre at the base of her platform. He won’t let anyone bother her. And he won’t help her down till one of us is there, either.” He casts a glance at me over his shoulder. “He’s the best we’ve got. Don’t worry. She’s safe.”
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  “Safer than she would’ve been with you, obviously,” I mutter. But the hallway back here is mostly soundproof, so Liam hears me and laughs before shoving open the door at the end of the hallway, letting in the flood of sound from the dance floor.

  We wind our way through the crowd to the base of Lauren’s platform. Liam lifts his chin at Andre, who returns the gesture and melts into the crowd.

  Liam slaps me on the back and leans in close to my ear. “You can help her down by yourself, right? I gotta go find her replacement.”

  At my nod, he holds up a hand to say goodbye, then turns and dances his way through the people surrounding us.

  Now I just have to figure out how to get Lauren’s attention.

  Crossing my arms, I step back enough to see her on the platform. She’s oblivious to being watched, moving sinuously, swaying her hips in time with the beat, looking like sex on legs in that dress and those boots.

  Impatient and ready to have her to myself, I reach up and cover the top of her foot with one hand, giving it a squeeze. She startles, the sudden jump and stop jarring down to her feet. Then she’s inching closer to the edge and peering over.

  I raise my hand in a wave and smile, and she smiles back, the flashing lights hitting her at just the right moment to illuminate her face. Crouching down, she sits on the edge, her feet dangling over, and I take the opportunity to run my hands up her legs, over her leather-covered calves, to the bare skin of her knees and lower thighs.

  She swats my hands away, inching her butt forward, and I’m not really sure what she intends to do. But then she plants both hands on her left side, twists her torso, and slowly begins to slide off the platform, turning as she goes.

  Reaching up, I grip her waist, helping to guide her down and slow her descent so she doesn’t kill herself landing in those heels.

  As soon as she’s down, she turns in my arms, her face radiant and smiling, her arms going around me and pulling me in for a hard kiss. When she breaks the kiss, she doesn’t let go of my head, instead pulling my ear to her mouth. “Oh my god, your tracks are amazing. Listening to them in the car doesn’t do them justice. Even the stuff I didn’t like in the car was awesome here. I’m so turned on right now, I could climb you right here in front of everyone.”

  Fucking hell. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  She throws her head back and laughs, letting go enough that I can pull back and look at her.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Just the one that we got in the VIP room. I’m dying for water, though.”

  Releasing her, I thread our fingers together and tug her toward the bar. She presses herself against my back, moving with the music as I try to shove our way through the crowd.

  “After we get drinks, I want to dance with you.”

  I stop to look at her over my shoulder. “What happened to climbing me like a tree?”

  She bites her lip and shrugs, looking so fuckable that her next words are a form of torture. “I still want to do that too. But I want to dance with you first.”

  And when she looks at me like that, all sexy and glowing and like all my wet dreams rolled into one, how can I tell her no?

  I could tell her that I’m shit at dancing, but somehow I don’t think she’d care. Colt and Jonathan do all the moving around on stage when we play together, just like old times. I’m behind the drum kit, so no dancing for me. Moving my head in time to the beat doesn’t count. Sure, my hands and foot move too, but that’s not even close to the same thing.

  But this is her last night in New York. The whole idea is to make this night all about her. Hell, this whole trip is really all about her.

  If she wants to dance, then I guess I’m dancing.

  Starting forward again, I manage to get us to the bar and flag down the bartender for a water and a shot of vodka. If I’m going to dance, I need some extra lubrication.

  Lauren downs her water, her eyes on me as I knock back the liquor, swallowing the burn and ordering another. Lifting the shot glass to her in silent toast, I throw it back, then grab her hand and lead her back out to the dance floor, barely giving her time to set down her water before we re-enter the fray.

  She wraps her arms around me and starts moving. My hands fall to her hips, and I let her rhythm move through me so we’re moving together. It’s so easy to fall in sync with her, our bodies moving like they’re connected. From the first time we had sex to now on the dance floor, it’s all the same.

  Maybe it’s the liquor talking, but there’s some kind of connection between us that transcends our physical chemistry. We get each other on some kind of fundamental level. And I hate—the kind of absolute hatred that solidifies into a visceral feeling in my gut—I fucking hate that our time together is ending in the morning.

  And suddenly I’m done here. Done with dancing. Done with being around anyone else but her.

  Pulling her in close, I tug her earlobe between my teeth, feeling more than hearing her answering gasp, and pull her hips closer so she’s grinding on my dick. “Time to go back to the hotel.”

  Her answer is an eager nod.

  Thank god. Because I think I might explode if we stay here much longer.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Lauren

  Brendan’s been hard since we started dancing. And now we’re waiting for the car at the back entrance where we met Liam.

  He found us as we were leaving, grabbing our coats from the coat check, took one look at us, and gave us both a knowing leer and a wink. “Alright, man,” he said to Brendan. “I see how it is. This is a private party. I won’t try to keep you.”

  Then he shook his hand, gave me another air kiss by my cheek, and left us to wait for our car.

  And I know that Brendan is still hard, because he has me pinned against the wall, his cock digging into my belly as he sweeps his tongue into my mouth. He’s taking his time, the kiss slow and deep, not leading anywhere right away. Just kissing for its own sake. The only indication that there’s something more down the road—literally, because we have to drive back to the hotel—is the way his hips move slowly, so slowly, like he’s trying to stop himself but just can’t. Pressing his cock harder into me, then releasing the pressure more than pulling back, before doing it again.

  The impact of someone patting his shoulder reverberates to me, and he pulls his head back, reluctantly parting our mouths. “Yeah?” His question is as breathless as I feel, and his eyes never leave my face.

  “Your car’s here.”

  One last slide of his lips against mine leaves me wanting to just cling to him and let him keep kissing me as he carries me to the car. But Brendan steps back and tugs my dress into place for me before threading our fingers together and leading me to the car. He opens the door on one side, holding it for me. I slide in to the middle so he can climb in behind me.

  As soon as the door closes, the driver pulls away with only a nod at us in the rearview mirror by way of greeting. For some reason, being in a hired car makes us disinclined to follow seatbelt laws, because neither of us buckle up. Instead, Brendan pulls me into his lap so I’m straddling him, my dress riding up my thighs to almost indecent levels. His fingers follow the fabric, sliding along the hem but never going underneath. Which is both good, because we’re in a car and there’s a random guy in the front seat and this is just a normal car with no privacy divider. But also agonizing. Because it’s such a tease. I want his touch on my ass, between my legs, on my bare nipples, everywhere. And I want his mouth to follow.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been kissed like this before. Like kissing is the only thing in the world. I could drown in these kisses.

  But I want so much more than kisses. Especially since I’m fully aware of what Brendan is capable of.

  Before being with him, I could’ve died happy just from being kissed like this.

  Now that I’ve been with him, I’m greedy. I want it all.

  And knowing that this is the last night makes me w
ant it even more. Right. Now.

  Why did I insist on dancing first?

  Brendan’s mouth moves off mine, his hands lifting to tangle in my hair and pull my head back so he can kiss and lick and suck down my neck. “God, I want you so bad. I can’t wait to feel your hot little pussy gripping my dick.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks at his words, some part of me wondering if the driver can hear him, both embarrassed and so fucking turned on.

  Then he brings my mouth to his again, saving me from having to answer verbally. But I can’t wait to have him inside me either. I’m almost—almost—so far gone in lust that I want to just undo his pants, pull him free, move my thong aside, and impale myself on him right here, right now, in this car, in front of the driver and anyone else who might catch a glimpse.

  God, that sounds so fucking hot. If this were a limo, if there were a privacy divider, I might just do it.

  When I grind on him, Brendan groans, his hands clamping on my thighs and holding me in place as he presses up against me, the head of his dick finding my clit through the layers of fabric separating us. And I let out an answering groan.

  After more of the same, the driver clears his throat. “Sir. Miss. We’ve arrived.”

  It takes time, and another, louder cough/throat clearing combo, for the meaning of his words to filter through my brain. Brendan seems to get it at the same time, because we abruptly break apart.

  “Right. Thanks,” Brendan says in a gruff voice. He slides me off his lap, waits until I’ve shimmied my dress back down my thighs as far as I can, then opens the door. After he climbs out, he holds out a hand to help me out, then digs out his wallet and pulls out some bills that he hands to the driver. They both nod to each other, Brendan closes the door, and the car leaves.

  We’re surprisingly circumspect in the elevator—no groping, at least nothing obvious, though his hand is firmly attached to my ass, and no kissing. My feet stay on the ground. His other hand is shoved into his pocket. Other than stealing sidelong glances and briefly meeting each other’s eyes in our reflections, we don’t even look at each other.