A Seductive Melody (The Kelly Brothers Book 5)

by Crista McHugh

  Becca’s cheeks heated as she wrapped up the leftover pizza. She remembered all the little details about him with heart-jolting clarity. The heat from his body. The scent that rose from his skin. The air of pure masculinity that surrounded him. “He’s not bad looking.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ari drawled, following close behind her. Ari wasn’t going to leave her alone until she’d reported everything she could about Ethan.

  Time to call uncle or I’ll never hear the end of it. “What do you want to know?”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Worn jeans that clung in all the right places, white T-shirt with an open red button-down shirt over it, black leather boots.”

  “Ass?”

  The heat from her cheeks flowed lower to the pit of her stomach. “Nice and tight.”

  “Eyes?”

  “Gray.” And angry, like thunderclouds.

  “Hair?”

  “It looked black.”

  “What do you mean, it looked black? Was he wearing a hat or something?”

  Becca shook her head. “It was really short, like he’d just shaved it all off recently.”

  “Ew!” Ari wrinkled her nose and backed away. “Is he going bald or something?”

  “Not that I could tell.” In fact, she’d wanted to run her hands over the thick, dark stubble.

  “Then is he like some G.I. Joe wanna-be?”

  “Nope.” She put the pizza in the fridge and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her friend behind.

  But Ari wouldn’t let up that easily. “Oh, I see it now. Let me guess. Tattoos?”

  “Yep.”

  “Piercings?”

  “Nope.”

  “Motorcycle?”

  “Ducati Streetfighter 848.”

  Ari’s pale blond ponytail whipped her in the face as she shook her head. “No way, Becca. He’s got ‘stay away’ written all over him.”

  “I know, but that’s what makes him so fascinating.” But it was more than the “angry at the world to cover up the pain” vibe she’d seen in his eyes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him from somewhere.

  “Your dad would have a stroke if you brought him home for dinner.”

  “Precisely, which is why he’ll remain forbidden fruit as far as the romance department goes. Besides, I’m just going to help initiate him into the program until he has his own sponsor—someone he can call when he’s in a crisis.”

  “And what if that crisis is a desperate need for a hookup?”

  “Please, I do have some integrity. The guy looks like he’s trying hard just to stay clean, and there’s a reason why relationships are a no-no this early in the recovery process.” But if she’d met him at a club, she’d have no problem hooking up with him. Ethan got her pulse racing in all the right ways. Dark, dangerous, and mysterious. She couldn’t wait to unravel his story.

  That is, if he ever trusted her enough to share it.

  “Fine, but if he calls, make sure you check in with me so I know where you are.” Ari stretched. “I’d better give Gabe a call before turning in. And speaking of brothers, Jacob called to find out if you were going to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with your parents. He’d come in from New Haven if you were.”

  “You both know I’m not.” Part of staying clean involved avoiding situations where she’d be tempted to use again, and dealing with her father always triggered the desire to find the nearest dime bag.

  “It’s your life.” Ari gave an indifferent shrug, but the look on her face said she’d be bringing it up again. “You still up for a little jog in the morning?”

  Becca fought back a groan. A little jog with Ari equated to three miles of sprinting through Central Park. “Can I take a pass?”

  “Sure, and your thighs can get flabbier for it.”

  This time, Becca didn’t hold back. A full-blown groan of pain was followed by a whimper when she imagined how her thighs would burn afterward. “Fine, I’ll come.”

  “Good choice. We’ll be leaving at five sharp.”

  Talk about torture. “Where do you get your energy, and can I borrow some of it?”

  “Spend energy to make energy. See you in the morning.” Ari pulled out her phone and was dialing her brother’s number as she disappeared into her bedroom.

  Becca plumped the pillows on the sofa before retreating to her own bedroom. Even though she’d severed ties with her family, she still managed to live a very comfortable life. The newly renovated two-bedroom apartment had sleek, modern lines that made them the envy of their peers. The view was spectacular, the security exceptional, and the rent was to die for. The Upper East Side apartment building belonged to Ari’s grandmother, which meant they both got to live there rent-free. Becca’s room was the smaller of the two, but even it had a walk-in closet and an attached bathroom.

  She shed the dress she’d gotten at H&M and tossed it in the hamper before slipping into a pair of comfortable boxers and a cami. As she sat in bed with her notebook and pen, trying to come up with some places for the article, her mind kept drifting back to Ethan. Once again, the sense that she knew him hit her, but she had no idea why. He definitely didn’t look like anyone who would’ve run in her circles growing up. But still, there was something about him…

  She chucked her notebook across the room and fell back on her pillows. If she wanted to get anything done this next week, she needed to stop obsessing over a guy she just met.

  A guy who was trying to stay clean.

  A guy who acted like he wanted nothing to do with her.

  Time for some mind-cleansing music. She scrolled through the music on her iPod Shuffle until she came to one of her favorite Ravinia’s Rejects songs. Unlike the driving rock beats of their other songs, this one was slow and quiet, the acoustic guitars melding with the perfect harmonies of the two lead singers. During her first days of sobriety, she’d listened to the song over and over until it haunted her dreams. She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. The chorus came on, and she sang along with it, letting each word soothe her soul.

  One day at a time

  One wish on every star that makes the heavens shine

  One more heartbeat until I know that I’m fine

  Just need to take it one day at a time.

  When the song ended, she took a cleansing breath and turned off her light.

  Just take it one day at a time.

  Chapter Two

  Ethan strummed his guitar, but the chords formed a dissonant mishmash that resembled anything but music. In the past, when he’d hit a wall, he’d always shoot up and find inspiration in the dreamlike high he’d gotten from the heroin. The notes would dance in front of him like mirages from a muse, and his fingers would glide over the strings as though they were divinely controlled.

  So very different from the hours he’d spent that afternoon with a stack of blank sheet music in front of him.

  A zing shot up his arm, followed by the familiar craving. He flexed his fingers, trying to shake it, but it wound even tighter around his arm and crawled into his chest. Just one more hit to get the music flowing again.

  The ring of his phone jerked him away from the siren song. He checked the number before answering. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello, Ethan. How are you doing?”

  “The same.” No better, no worse.

  “Are you going to your meeting tonight?”

  Shit. He’d forgotten that the NA meeting was tonight. “Probably.”

  “Well, shouldn’t you be on your way now?”

  He checked the time. Twenty minutes until it started. Just enough time to hop on his bike and find parking somewhere near the church. It would be faster to take the subway, but the risk of someone spotting him was too great. And taxis were ridiculous in the city. “I guess so.”

  “Ethan…” Usually, when his mom drawled out his name, it was a warning. But this time, it was more of a plea. Even though getting and staying clean was his own battle, she wanted to be his ally. She’d flo
wn to LA the minute she’d heard of Ty’s death to help him through his grief and arranged the moving of his stuff to New York while he was in detox. But she also respected his boundaries enough not to nag him.

  Still, the plea in her voice was enough of a guilt trip. He stood and grabbed his jacket. “I’m on my way now.”

  “Let me know if you need anything.” The hesitation in her voice was something he wasn’t used to. As a former lawyer, his mother had always been one to cut directly to the point. But like Adam and the rest of his brothers, she was treading carefully around him. Probably terrified that one word would send him over the deep end.

  Irritation crawled up his spine. They thought he was weak and fragile. But he’d prove them wrong. “Thanks, Mom. I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” The tone of her voice revealed she didn’t quite believe him.

  “Got to go, Mom. I don’t want to be late.” He hung up before her doubt infected him.

  His loft in Hell’s Kitchen didn’t have a parking garage, but it did have a freight elevator that was big enough to accommodate him and his bike. When he got to the street, he hopped on and wove through the Midtown streets until he came to the old church that housed the meetings. Parking was easier to find tonight, but instead of going inside, he lingered on his bike with his helmet on. The motor rumbled underneath him. The craving to surrender to his muse rather than fight it rebounded in his moment of hesitation. He gripped the throttle, revving it up in tempo to the rising frustration in his gut.

  Then someone knocked on his helmet.

  He snapped his head around to find Rebecca standing on the sidewalk beside him. She held on to the strap of her messenger bag with both hands, but the unyielding stance of her legs told him she wasn’t leaving until he acknowledged her.

  He lifted his visor. “Don’t you know better than to walk up to strangers and assault them?”

  “First off, you’re not a stranger. Second, I tried calling your name before I tapped on your helmet. I’d hardly call that assault.”

  The craving dissipated along with his anger. He turned off the motor and pulled off his helmet. “What made you so certain it was me?”

  “I recognized your bike.” Her gaze drifted over the Ducati in an amorous way that made his dick envious. What he wouldn’t give to have her look at him that way. “A 2014 Ducati Streetfighter 848. A 132-horsepower Testastretta engine. Six-speed transmission.” She bit her bottom lip and sucked in a deep breath through her nose. “Beautiful.”

  He grew hard just from listening to her. Did she have any idea how much hearing her recite the technical specs of the bike turned him on?

  Her gaze turned back to him. “Are you coming?”

  Ms. Park Avenue intrigued him enough to make him nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  But when he got inside, he found himself as bored as he was last week. The only thing that kept him glued to his seat was the woman sitting next to him. She listened to every person who shared, her face softening in empathy as they whined about their individual trials and tribulations. What makes an uptown girl like her care about the everyday suffering of recovering addicts?

  She was a riddle he longed to solve. Her textured short-sleeved sweater dress screamed designer label, yet the heels of her boots were well worn. The way she unclipped her dark hair and removed the dangling earrings at the start of the meeting seemed to be part of some evening unwinding ritual, much like she would do when she came home from work. Her messenger bag with the laptop inside made her appear to have some sort of professional job, but he had no idea what field. The little details he gleaned from studying her whetted his curiosity and made him wish the meeting would end soon so he could start asking her questions.

  When Gary finally called them to form a circle for the closing prayer, a twinge of panic rooted itself in his chest. He curled his fingers in his palm to keep it from spreading. What if she tries to back out on me?

  But after they adjourned, she smiled up at him. “So, you made it through your second NA meeting.”

  Barely.

  “I think I promised you coffee.”

  “And information about yourself.”

  Rebecca tilted her head to the side, her brows furrowed in a quizzical way. “Sure, if that’s what you want, but if you’d rather talk about how you’re doing—”

  “I don’t.”

  Both brows rose in response, erasing the lines between them, but she didn’t pry any further. “I know a nice little Viennese café a few blocks from here.”

  “Sounds good.” He grabbed his helmet and followed her outside.

  Once they’d crossed the first street, she turned and asked, “Have you had dinner?”

  “No.” Small talk like this he could handle. He just hoped she wouldn’t take it as an invitation to start asking about his personal life.

  “I highly recommend their sandwiches. Or their soups.” She stared down at the sidewalk, her lips twitching in a shy grin. “But the desserts are to die for.”

  So, Ms. Park Avenue had a sweet tooth. “Good to know.”

  Her eyes widened like a child’s in a toy store when they entered the café. She went straight to the dessert case and licked her lips. “You have the Sacher-torte today.”

  “I made it this morning in the hopes you’d come by, Becca,” a middle-aged woman with a slight German accent behind the counter said. “Shall I cut you a slice?”

  Rebecca nodded. “And could you give me another slice to go, too, Gitta?”

  “Expecting a rough week at work?”

  “Horrendous,” she replied with a laugh.

  “And I take it you’d like your usual drink?”

  Rebecca nodded again. “I’m so predictable.”

  So far, she’d seemed to be anything but predictable to him. But he was willing to watch and learn.

  Gitta turned to him. “And for your friend?”

  “Just coffee,” he replied. Anything more might overwhelm him.

  “I’ll bring it to your table in a minute.” Gitta turned to start steaming some milk.

  Rebecca took his hand to lead him to a table, but the gentle touch managed to kick the air from his lungs. He’d lived so long in a world where most women begged permission to touch him that her complete indifference to his celebrity status shocked him. But then, maybe that was a good thing. If she didn’t know who he was, he might be able to let his guard down long enough to enjoy coffee with her.

  He glanced around the room, but no one was staring at them or whispering to their friends while pointing at him. No flash of a paparazzo’s camera. No cringe-worthy fear that sharing dessert with Rebecca would be tomorrow’s headline on TMZ.

  For the first time in years, he felt almost normal.

  He placed his helmet in an empty chair and sat down across from her. As much as he wanted to relax, he couldn’t quite let his guard down. “Come here often?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Just slightly.”

  She laughed at his dry reply. “You’re really missing out on Gitta’s Sacher-torte. It was her grandmother’s recipe.”

  “I haven’t been very hungry lately.”

  She nodded, empathy flittering across her features. “Yeah, once you’ve had your guts turned inside out for a week, it takes a while for the appetite to come back.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and lowered his voice. “I still have a hard time believing someone like you understands what I’m going through.”

  “Why?”

  Her quick reply caught him off guard. He backed away and gestured to her appearance. “Because…”

  “Because I don’t look the part?”

  Before he could answer, Gitta interrupted them by setting a plate of chocolate cake and two mugs on the table. Steam rose from his mug of black coffee, but a mound of cinnamon-sprinkled whipped cream covered her beverage. “What is that?”

  She stirred some of the cream into her drink and licked the spoon. “Cinnamon
hazelnut hot chocolate.”

  “Someone’s going to have a sugar rush tonight.”

  She flashed him a wicked grin before drinking a gulp of her hot chocolate. When she lowered her mug, a dot of whipped cream lay perched on the end of her nose.

  Ethan tried to smother the laugh that rose from his throat, but it was no use. Instead, he let it out and reached for a napkin. “You have a little something on your nose.”

  “Oh?” But instead of acting mortified and reaching for a mirror like he expected her to do, she laughed with him and wiped her nose with a napkin. “Got it?”

  He nodded, once again surprised by her. Here was a refined young woman who wasn’t the least bit concerned with her appearance. Very different from the high-society girls he’d gone to high school with or the models and actresses he’d met through the years.

  She took a more cautious sip this time. “I’d promised to be an open book to you, so ask away.”

  He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, watching her nibble at the cake. So many things about her intrigued him. Where did he begin? But one question always lingered in the back of his mind. “How long have you been clean?”

  “Two years and a hundred and fifty days.” she replied without looking up from her cake. “At least, this time around.”

  “You relapsed?” She seemed so calm and collected that he wouldn’t have expected that from her.

  “Yep. The first time, I was forced into rehab by my parents. Suboxone and all that mess. It didn’t take me long to figure out how to hide my pills and go back to the good stuff again.”

  “So what made you stop?”

  “I OD’d and almost died.” She kept eating her cake as though she were talking about a boring day at work instead of a near-death experience. “At a big charity ball, no less. The press had a field day with that one.”

  “And why was that?”

  That made her pause and look up from her plate. She held his gaze long enough for him to realize her eyes were more green than blue today. “You remember what I said last week about us taking the ‘anonymous’ part seriously.”

  “Yes.”

  Her chin quivered, and she swallowed hard. “Then let’s leave it at that.”