by Ally Blake
His gaze landed back on hers. Dark. Soulful. Flickering with an all new level of heat. “Should I take that as a warning?”
“Why? You fish?”
His smile slipped easily to laughter. Deep rumbling laughter that rolled over her in delicious waves, before settling as a tingle in her palms. She held the cold glass tighter.
“You know what, Lorelei Hanover?”
Annoyance clear, she asked, “What’s that, Dashiel Mills?”
This time he moved, half a foot into her personal space. The scent of forest and warmth and man near overwhelming. And in a voice as deep as the thumping of her heart he said, “I’d bet that those fisherman thought it entirely worth it.”
Her next breath in was a struggle. Her next breath out a sigh. The man was a charmer, idol; such a familiar and catastrophic combination of traits. He was the last kind of man she could ever want.
And yet want she did, with a ferocity that made her feel hollow all the way through.
“You may as well come in,” she said, swallowing the frog in her throat.
“I’ll try not to spill anything,” he said, a grin creasing his face, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he backed away into the crowd. The villain made her feel glowy and warm despite herself.
…
Dash sat in a fancy chair in the corner of Lori’s living room staring at a golden peacock statue, trying to figure if it had real sapphires for eyes and hoping he’d be able to get back out of the odd-shaped seat without using a tire iron.
Lori’s apartment was like a museum; pristine, shiny, with modern art and furniture that could take out an eye. He’d thought the fact that she was always itching to get a move on had something to do with the way they sparked like dry kindling. Now he wondered if it was because her furniture was so damned uncomfortable.
His left thumb twanged at a loose vibrant-blue thread in the armrest, a nervous habit from the old days. At least the sitting gave him an excuse not to talk for a bit. He wasn’t so good in crowds nowadays. And it was a hell of a crowd.
A woman waved from across the room, her eyes zeroed onto him like he was a life-sized steak. He nodded then looked away, even as his stomach hitched as he tried to place her.
He knew Saffron was long gone, her part in his leaving the band having been figured out pretty quickly. The Rift had even changed record labels since. But the vibe in the room was still very much the same. Hyper-kinetic. Sycophantic. Fortissimo.
Though the fact that no one else in the room seemed to care made him wonder if the problem was his.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman approaching. It took him too long to extricate himself from the damn tiny chair, and he was forced to smile as she came at him like a mini-tornado. “Hi, I’m Tracey, with Calliope Shoes.”
Right. So, not a record company lackey then. His relief was palpable, but didn’t completely negate the pinpricks of sweat that had broken out at the thought she might be, making him sure his decision to come was ill-conceived.
“I just wanted you to know I’m such a fan. I was totally in love with you way back when,” she said with a wink, a nudge, a double squeeze of his upper arm.
“Okay, well that’s always nice to hear,” he said, his relief short-lived.
“I’m Lori’s assistant,” she added.
And despite the fact that the woman was touchy feely, he felt less inclined to find another quiet corner. “Lori’s assistant. How is Lori? I haven’t had much of a chance to catch up with her.”
Tracey held up a finger as she swigged some bubbles, then said, “The woman never stops. Literally. Best boss ever. And gorgeous, right? Though zero social life. But a stellar hostess, as you can see. Even in the face of having to watch Callie smooching with your dastardly-wicked friend over there. If he does anything to hurt our girl…” She let that thought float between them while she shot Jake a death stare.
Dash searched the woman’s lack of delicacy for any hint that Lori had confided in her about the events of the afternoon. But as she glanced his way, there was nothing there bar bubbles and the occasional lustful thought about his truly.
When the phone had rung that afternoon he’d actually picked it up for once, thinking it might have been Lori. Imagining she’d spent her afternoon replaying that kiss as he had—in sudden sprints of wild heat and marathons of imagination taking it further, to the unpeeling of clothes, the slide of skin on skin, to what might have happened if the kindling had been set alight.
It had been Callie laughing in delighted shock at having gotten through, calling with an invitation and directions. Seeing so many familiar faces had been easier than he’d expected. In fact, from the roadies to the lawyers, they’d been surprisingly warm.
All except Lori, who’d looked at him like an alien had landed on her doorstep.
Kicking himself, he glanced at his watch, wondering when he could leave.
Though, as he looked across the crowd, searching for a familiar blonde head, he knew he couldn’t yet. Not until he’d talked to her.
He’d always been better one on one.
Happier in the studio with a producer, or tinkering with a song with Rocky, than in the endless record company meetings or the dressing rooms after. He just had to get her alone.
“By the way, I know all about the project and I think it’s wonderful.”
“I’m sorry,” Dash said, snapping his head toward his companion.
“The song,” Tracey expanded, clearly unaware that the fact that anyone apart from the cabal knew about the song made Dash feel like his inner ear had given up the ghost. “A flipping brilliant move.”
Dash gripped the nearest piece of furniture, a sleek cabinet made entirely of mirrors. The kind of thing his dogs would have broken before he’d even got it through the front door.
“So who else is in the know?” he asked, hoping he didn’t look as livid as he felt.
“Callie, Lori, and me. That’s it.” She crossed her heart. “Don’t worry. I’m discretion personified.”
If this was Lori’s idea of discretion, Dash wondered what the hell he’d done; knowing whatever it was it was too late.
“Can I get you a drink?” asked Tracey, batting her lashes in his direction.
“That’d be great,” said Dash, searching for Lori, the urge to talk to her filling him till he couldn’t think of anything else.
“What’s your poison?” asked Tracey.
“Surprise me.”
“That I can do.” A quick pat on his backside and she was gone. Holy hell.
As Tracey split the crowd, patting backsides and pinching cheeks as she went, Dash found Lori. She looked like a million bucks in the black dress that hugged her curves just right, her hair twirled up, a killer shoe running up the back of the opposite calf.
But rather than go to her, he watched her work the room. She was a hostess all right, making sure everyone was kept in food and drink as groups shifted and conversation swelled. And whether by habit or purpose, time and again she shepherded talk to the owning, wearing, and buying of high-end shoes.
It was a stark reminder of the kind of woman she was. That level of determination took a kind of hunger that no longer fired him, only reminding him of the life he’d left a million miles behind. That, along with Tracey’s little bombshell, should have been enough to have him say thank you and good night.
If not for the memory of that kiss. She’d melted for him. Closed her eyes and just let go.
So he stayed. Watching as other men’s eyes roved over her; the vainglorious ones looking away figuring her too much work, the smart ones knowing she was way out of their league. So what did that make him? Brave, or merely stupid?
Then she was alone; an island in the middle of the vibrant shifting crowd. With no one to lavish attention upon, she seemed…lost.
He followed the direction of her gaze and found Callie and Jake wrapped about each other like they’d prefer to be alone. His gaze shifted back to Lori, her hand at her thr
oat and frown lines pinching her forehead. Then, she glanced up at the huge art deco clock on the far wall as if checking when the hubbub she’d engineered might come to a blissful end.
And everything else between them, the frustrations and the barbs, drifted away as he saw her. Knew her. Felt her. And nothing mattered but the need to make that frown line go away.
And then Laz Stone—huge, lead guitar—called her name. Lori was once again ‘on.’ Smile gorgeous, back straight, she crossed the room, her hips swinging the way they did when she wore those shoes; boom ba ba boom ba ba, like a bass drum deep in his gut.
Then, as everything inside him began to tighten at the sight of her flirting with big Laz, Dash realized he didn’t give a flying frog’s ass what she did and how she went about it.
He wanted her. Wanted what was beyond that kiss. Wanted to smudge that gloss, shake out that perfect hair, lose the bondage shoes, till she was soft and quivering and his. It ramped up inside till he could taste it—metallic and fierce on the back of his tongue.
The energy in the room didn’t help. The raucous laughter, the couples secreted in soft-lit corners, the background music that kept getting turned up louder and louder.
Think, Dash, he told himself before he did anything he couldn’t take back. See the whole picture. Pressing away the wall of noise, he slowed his breaths as the band’s on-call therapist had taught him to do when their performances had first moved from festival halls to football stadiums. Reminding himself that quiet, and deliberation, were his goalposts now. They kept him honest. Kept him mindful.
He had no problem surrounding himself with things that made him feel good, but was more careful in accepting into his life anything he couldn’t bear to live without.
He’d fallen into that trap once in the years since he’d moved on. Reg had begged him to take his favorite car out from under its tarp and out for a spin. On their way to take care of Reg’s sweet tooth at the Templeton bakery, they’d ended up at the local town’s hardware store where the owner had a pair of gray and white puppies in a box for sale.
“A fella needs a companion,” Reg had said.
“Two?” Dash had asked, peering down at the wriggling creatures, imagining in intricate, sweat-inducing detail the myriad ways in which the two tiny dogs could perish under his watch.
“Brothers,” the hardware store owner had said, pinning him with a glance. “Doesn’t seem right to separate ’em.”
Found out too late that littermates could be as different as chalk and cheese and fought as much as human brothers. But then life wasn’t always fair. His parents had been killed in a head-on collision while searching for him because he’d dawdled home late from school. His uncle had died when he was away pounding out tunes for a hundred thousand people he’d never met and never would.
It wasn’t as if he believed that if he had something good in his life and he stopped paying attention, if he looked away even for a second, something bad would definitely happen, but…
“Dashiel, Dash, Big D.”
Dash blinked his way out of the red haze to find Jake leaning over him with a beer and a half smile. He slowly uncurled his fingers, took Jake’s hand and shook.
“Having fun?” Jake asked.
“A blast,” said Dash, glancing at Lori who was still with Laz.
Jake laughed, fully aware of Dash’s preference for a guitar and a small room.
“You?”
Jake nodded. “You missed dinner. Duck. Truffles. Linen napkins, if you will.”
“More of that in your future then.”
“Yeah,” said Jake, absently sliding a stray strand of dirty-blond hair back into his ponytail.
“Will make for a posh wedding.”
Jake looked to Callie who was now the recipient of Laz’s rapt attention; the big guy had never been one to leave a pretty girl feeling unloved. “You think that’s what she’d want, then? Posh? Big? Frills and frou frou?”
“You’re asking me?”
Jake’s gaze slunk back to Dash, and dropped to his bespoke suit. “You always had more panache in your pinky than the rest of us slobs combined. Wondered more than once why you bothered with us at all.”
Brothers, Dash thought. Fighters or not, it’s not right to separate them. “And yet wedding plans aren’t my forte.”
Jake’s grin morphed into a laugh. And Dash felt the lost years contract and stretch all at once.
“You’re coming though, right? To the wedding?” Jake said before his face was obscured by his drink.
“The chance to see you in frou frou and frills?” Dash managed. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Jake nodded, slapped Dash on the back, then headed off, while Dash breathed out through too tight lungs.
At one time he would have been Jake’s best man, no question. But in the blurry months after he left the band, in mourning the loss of his uncle, he’d had done his all to shatter whatever friendships remained.
It’d take a natural disaster to inconvenience Laz. At the other end of the scale Rocky hadn’t forgiven him yet. While Jake…? Despite the falling out, Jake had refused to let go.
Beyond that, desire to form new relationships had been nil.
Like a ship in a storm, his eyes found Lori. Pushy enough to be the first new person to have chiseled a way into his enclave since he’d slammed shut the doors. And connected. With campaigns and crusades and a community outside of the short hours they spent together. It would behoove him to remember that. Yet the want grew till it pulsed inside of him like a living thing.
Of all the mythical characters she could have been named after, a siren known for luring men lost at sea to their deaths seemed pretty apt. And what a way to go.
…
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Callie asked, linking elbows with Lori and leaning against her shoulder. “Me and Jake. You and Dash. Houses on the same street. Summer barbeques. Carpooling our kids to school…”
Lori carefully slid her gaze away from Dash who was talking to Jake across the room. “Funnily enough…no. I was wondering if it’ll take more than bicarb-soda to get the beer stains out of our white carpet.”
“Give it up, Lori, the two of you can’t keep your eyes off each other. Be glad Jake’s oblivious to such things, or he might wonder if this isn’t the first time you’ve met.”
“You’re dreaming. There’s nothing going on between Dash and me.” Nothing a little time beyond that kiss wouldn’t numb anyway.
“Dreaming’s what I do best. And remember what Marilyn said.”
“What’s that?” Lori leaned into her sister, unable to remember the last time they’d stood like this, arm in arm against the world.
“She said, ‘A career is wonderful but you can’t curl up with it on a cold night’.”
And then Callie was gone, floating across the room to find Jake, leaving Lori alone to face Dash who was now heading her way.
Without preamble, he closed in, a proprietary hand on her waist as he whispered against her ear, “Want to get out of here?”
Her breath trembled out of her lungs. “It’s my party.”
“It’s Callie and Jake’s party,” he murmured as he moved around behind her, his hand sliding around her back to land on the opposite hip. “You were in charge of catering.”
Coughing out a laugh, she glanced once again at Jake sitting sprawled out in the chair in the corner, Callie on his lap, the rest of the guests in a circle around them.
Jake saw them watching, lifted his glass in question. Lori and Dash raised imaginary glasses in perfect tandem. Jake’s mouth twitched at one corner before Callie grabbed his attention and the crowd surged to hide them.
“Do you think they’d even notice if I left?” Lori asked, sounding more despondent than she’d meant.
“Only when it’s time to clean up.”
She laughed, despite herself. “Have you not heard of sugar-coating?”
“Never had the knack.”
Lori turned, putt
ing Callie and Jake and the whole exhausting night behind her. And looking into Dash’s deep brown eyes asked, “Too straight?”
His mouth hooked into the delicious smile that turned her knees to butter. That mouth had kissed her. That mouth she’d struggled to stop thinking about since.
“Would you rather I was less? Straight?”
“Don’t go changing on my account.”
His gaze sank to her mouth, and she couldn’t deny she loved it when that happened. No evasion, no games, only cocksure intent.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice barely a murmur. “We need to talk. How about some fresh air?”
He took her hand and, as usual, drew her on as if he simply expected her to follow. Which, as she only ever seemed to do with him, she did.
When they spilled into the hall outside her apartment, she leant against the elegant matte-black wallpaper, tilting her face to find him leaning a big shoulder against the wall. The arms crossed over his big chest close enough that if she breathed in deep he’d brush her shoulder. So she barely breathed at all.
“Well, that was hell on earth,” he said.
“Thanks so much,” Lori scoffed.
“I meant trying to make anyone in the room believe you and I had never met.”
Oh.
“Jake might play the clown, but he’s a sharp guy.”
“You think he thinks something’s going on?”
“Depends what you mean by going on.”
Stumped as to how to answer that without giving away more than she dared admit to herself, Lori licked her lips.
And then faster than a man of his size ought to be able, Dash moved, trapping her with hands on either side of her head. Her fingernails scraped the wallpaper at her sides as she pressed back for dear life.
“Tell me, Lorelei, slayer of wayward seamen, what would you suggest is going on between you and me?”
Thoughts of Callie’s wishful future barbeques collided with frustrating guitar lessons. And the coil of discomfort in her core when she thought of this man’s best friend taking her sister away twisted into her fierce attraction to the man filling up her vision.
