He walked her backward until her shoulder blades bumped against the wall.
His hands moved, blazing fire along her already heated skin. He touched her neck, cupped her breasts through her T-shirt, rubbing his thumbs over her tight nipples. Liquid heat shot straight to her core.
He nibbled at her lower lip, kissed from the corner of her mouth taking the same path his hand had taken along her jaw to the spot just below her ear that drove her nuts and had her squirming against him, rubbing the zipper of her jeans against his hard lean body. He moved down her neck, licking and sucking gently until he hit the tendon near her collarbone, then he bit down.
She moaned. “God, that feels amazing.”
His fingers found bare skin under her shirt, as he pulled her tight against him, grinding into her. His big hands spanned her waist. The cool metal from his thumb ring turned hot against her skin. She thrust back, trying to find a little bit of relief from the ache building at her center.
He bent, his mouth finding her nipple through the gray of her North Carolina Panthers T-shirt. She arched against the heat of his mouth, the divine sucking sensation that made her want to push him to the floor and straddle him. She burrowed her fingers into his thick brown hair and held him to her breast. He nipped her.
She gasped and held him tighter. “You bite.” She laughed, the sound coming out a raspy, aroused purr.
He moved to the other breast. “Only when I’m starving. And you make me hungrier than I’ve ever been.”
He stood again, claiming her mouth. His hands moved lower. The button to her cut-offs popped open and the zipper scrapped down, guided by his fingers. Then he cupped her ass with one hand and slid his other palm against her stomach in a slow, achingly hot glide until his fingers brushed past her panties, over her sensitive clit, and dipped into her wet sex.
Her body arched, her shoulder blades pressed tight against the wall, she bowed under his hot caresses like a taut weapon ready to go off with the touch of one finger.
It was his turn to moan. “God, you’re so wet. Ready for me.”
“Mmmm.” It was the best she could come up with, with her brain focused on one thing and only one thing. Sexual fulfillment. He slipped his long middle finger through her slippery folds and up against her clit, then thrust it deep inside her again. He repeated the motion. Again. And again.
Jordan’s hips moved of their own accord.
Rocking. Bucking. Fucking his hand.
The tension built inside her, winding her tight.
The movement of his fingers, the heat and friction, and her own slickness pushed her even higher.
Josh bit down on her neck, his teeth finding the corded tendon that seemed to be directly connected to her pussy, because in that instant she exploded—caught in that exquisite moment where pleasure grabs you with both hands and holds you tight before sending you soaring over the abyss.
Pleasure rippled through her in waves.
She panted, bereft, and trying to catch the soul-sustaining breath they’d both shared only a moment before.
Jordan thunked her head against the painted drywall. She squeezed her eyes tight, not looking at the sexy man pinning her to the wall, his muscled chest pressed against her, rock solid.
Good. It felt too damned good.
She could get used to his strength. The lean muscle. The sexual prowess he clearly exhibited with the mere flick of a hand. God, she could get used to this kind of fulfillment.
It had been too long since she’d had regular sex.
She didn’t want to be attracted to a rock star. And she sure as hell didn’t want to like him at all, but she found she did like him. A lot.
Every new thing she learned about Josh Nicodemus reeled her in like a big game fish on a fisherman’s line.
If there was anything Jordan Drake despised it was being hooked. And she was certainly hooked. Damn. How did that happen?
Josh had no clue what he’d been thinking. Clearly he’d been ruled by his dick, not his brain, because he had his hands and mouth all over the hottest woman he’d ever seen, someone he had to interact with every day for the next two months. A normal girl. Not some random groupie he’d never encounter again. She’d just gotten off on his hand. And, damn, if he didn’t want to do it all over again, but this time with his dick, not his fingers.
He couldn’t do this. Not now. Jordan Drake had come into his life at exactly the wrong time. He needed to focus on his career, on writing songs, and producing his next album. Pulling his shit together. Before he lost it all.
So now what? He couldn’t afford a relationship at this time, no matter how much he longed for a woman to stay by his side for more than one night.
But relationships took time and energy. He didn’t have either at the moment. A relationship was a luxury he couldn’t afford. So he had to end this right now, before it even bloomed into something more. Because he knew, just knew, he could really fall for this woman, if he were given half a chance.
He kissed her mouth softly and slipped his hand out of her shorts, letting her ride the wave of pleasure that coursed through her body. She was beautiful.
His heart squeezed. Loneliness and longing lifted its head, sniffing the air, catching her scent, knowing exactly who and what she was, or could be to him. A kindred spirit. A soul mate.
Shit. If Josh wasn’t careful, she’d suck him in like a siren—offer him the promise of something he could never have; true love. He’d wreck upon the rocky shores of that false promise and end up back on stage in three months holding nothing but the pieces of a broken heart and a collapsed career.
He didn’t do heartbreak. He’d had enough of that growing up. And he sure as hell wouldn’t throw away his career chasing after a piece of sexy tail, no matter how absolutely exquisite.
Best to keep it light. Let her know exactly where they stood, and where this wouldn’t lead.
“Looks like you enjoyed that. Next time I’ll let you suck me off.” He knew he sounded crass, sleazy, and arrogant. It was the rock star persona. The way he’d watched band members treat women—hell, the way he’d acted on his worst days.
Her eyes snapped open. Pain flashed deep in the hazel depths before she gave him a surprisingly strong shove. “Asshole.” She yanked at her shirt and zipped her shorts, almost running for the stairs. “There won’t be a next time.”
He’d succeeded. Jordan Drake knew there was no future for them beyond a casual booty-call. He doubted her wounded pride would let her come back for seconds.
Josh rubbed his chest and gritted his teeth as he stared out the window at the turbulent ocean, too bad it was a hollow victory.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to find five missed messages from Ben. He didn’t bother to listen to them. He couldn’t deal with his high-maintenance manager. Not right now. He’d had all the drama he could deal with in one hot all-grown-up-child actress and the unexpected hold she already had on his body and heart.
No more high-maintenance relationships. Period.
None. He needed solitude. To create. To produce. To get his head on straight to find the vision for this next album. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, he wanted to prove to the world he was a real artist, a real musician once and for all.
Damn his grandfather. That lie continued to run in his head. No matter how much he tried to drown it out. No matter how much success he found as a rock star. So, he would do it. He’d create an album that even his grandfather couldn’t deny was genius. Yeah, it might step outside what his fans usually expected from him, but it would take him back to his roots. The music that had formed and shaped him. The music that still spoke to his soul, which brought it to life with the mere strain of a melody.
He’d write music and lyrics like he used to when he first started out in the business. Music
that pulled on his classical piano training. Lyrics like those he’d created for Luke Alexander—earthy heart-wrenching stories that reminded people who they were and why they were here.
His grandfather wouldn’t ignore him any longer.
Saul Cohen would be forced to acknowledge his grandson’s skill.
Yeah, that’s exactly what he’d do. Remind everyone who he was at his core—Josh Nicodemus, the real Nicodemus, not just the flashy rock star who’d been accused of being too commercial, but the homegrown classical pianist and acoustic guitarist who could tap into your soul and drain you dry without even trying. He’d remind the world he was complicated—Nicodemus had facets, depth. He’d show them the Nicodemus they’d had glimpses of before he’d sold out and gone commercial, before he’d hit it big and dragged his career to heights from which he feared he might never ever recover his soul.
He studied the whiteboard he’d mounted on the wall of his living room that detailed his plans to build a studio downstairs in the back party room. But he would quickly run out of time if he focused on distractions like Jordan or building a damned studio. He had to create lyrics and music for twelve songs within twenty-one days. Three weeks. Full renditions with enough story and content that his band could listen and learn them, tweaking the songs and lyrics enough to put their own stamp on them. Then the band would have one month to record and produce the album before it was due to the record label.
The hairs on his neck and forearms rose.
A tingling excitement crawled up the back of neck and fanned out over his scalp. Yep. That was confirmation enough.
Every good idea he’d ever had had been followed by this shiver of anticipation—this premonition that he was on to something big. Something life altering.
He smiled.
Yes, he’d do this. Without Ben’s interference or knowledge.
God. If Ben knew what he planned, he’d be here on the next ferry to skewer him. That’s why he didn’t plan to let Ben know until it was too late.
Josh grabbed his recorder, notebook, and guitar and headed out onto the rooftop. And if his heart still ached a little from its brush with Jordan Drake, he ignored it. Because he had something much bigger to prove. Something more important than decluttering the rag-and-bone shop of his heart, no matter how foul or how many broken regrets littered its sawdust floor.
Priorities. First things first.
Chapter 8
Charging Mad & Moving Sideways
Jordan stormed down the stairs. Josh Nicodemus was an asshat. Total bastard. What was she thinking to allow that situation to just happen upstairs? Out of her freakin’ mind. That’s what she’d been. But it wouldn’t happen again.
Entitled egomaniac. Like every woman lived to give him a blowjob. I think not.
Damn. And until his despicable comment, she’d been one-hundred-percent into the idea of having sex with the hot rock star, even though it went against everything she knew about getting involved with celebrities. Stars of any kind were bad news. She should know. Been there. Now, he could be the last man on the island before she’d give him the time of day, by God.
Grabbing the overturned chairs still on the tabletops, she moved through the room like a whirling dervish, putting the final touches on the cafe to open for the day. Then she unlocked the front door. Eleven o’clock. Time to open.
No sooner had she unbolted the front door and flipped on the neon OPEN sign, than the bell above the door began to jingle.
First came Wanda, the hairdresser from A Cut Above Salon down the street. The twenty-something stacked blonde who chronically cracked her gum almost bounced through the front door. “Hey ya, J.D. How’s it going?”
“Good, Wanda. And with you?”
“Brisk business.”
“I hear ya. People always need haircuts.”
Wanda looked around, clearly searching for someone in particular. “So I hear we’ve got a new owner of The Down Dog Café.” Crack, crack. The gum popped.
Jordan leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter.
“Yep. Josh Nicodemus.”
“Hear he’s a looker.”
“Some might say he’s handsome. In a cocky polished celebrity way.”
Wanda laughed. “You should know.”
Jordan ignored her comment. “What can I get you today?”
“I need a club sandwich and fries to go.” Crack, crack.
“Sure thing. Be right back. Give me a few minutes.”
Jordan took her order into the kitchen and handed it to Donald, the short-order cook who worked the lunch shift. He hitched his finger over his shoulder, indicating his view through the opening to the cafe. “Looks like the new guy is going to be good for business.”
Jordan grumbled. “Until he’s not.” She could just see the string of women dropping off as he slept with them one-by-one and broke their hearts. Then he’d be bad for business. Not that business could get much worse than it had been recently. And, really, business was no longer her concern.
She slammed a drawer.
“He’s already rubbing you the wrong way, I see.” Donald lowered the basket of fries into the vat of oil. He washed his hands at the sink, soaping up, then grabbed a fresh towel to pat them dry before beginning to make the club sandwich for Wanda.
“Yeah, something like that.” If only that were the truth. Then she wouldn’t have such a struggle. Yeah, Josh had rubbed her. But, unfortunately, it had been too much the right way, until he’d acted like a dick, of course.
He’d been amazing. She’d been sucked in by his hot body and the lure of a drugging sexual awareness between the two of them. She hadn’t been so attracted to a guy in forever. Not even caring who he was or what he did for a living, before giving herself over to the mutual attraction, to the pleasure. God.
The boneheaded comment he’d come out with after she’d experienced such pleasure at his hand had her back up like an angry cat and had her ready to chew him a new asshole.
“We’ll see if we get more than a few days of curious spectators buying lunch,” Donald said, watching her closely.
Jordan grunted and returned to the cafe.
Next came Linda, the librarian. She sat at a booth by herself with a book open in front of her, clearly on her lunch hour. Jordan pulled a pencil out of her apron. “What can I get you Linda?”
She pointed to the roof. “Some of that.”
Jordan cocked her head, looking up. “Hmmm. Not sure I can get you a tin ceiling.”
Linda laughed. “No, silly. Some of that sexy singing man.”
“He’s singing?” Good Lord. She rubbed her forehead.
Linda sighed and nodded, mouth pursed, eyes big. “And he’s good.”
“He’s a pop rock star, of course he’s good.” Jordan tossed her ponytail and cocked her hip, tapping her toe. “I certainly cannot get you some of that, darling. You’re on your own. What would you like for lunch? Usual? Chicken salad on croissant?”
“All right. Second best, I guess. Sure.”
Audrey popped in next for lattes to go. She kept sneaking glances toward the stairs.
“Tony, two skinny lattes for Audrey, please.” Jordan directed Tony who stood behind the espresso machine.
“Sure.” He grabbed a towel to wipe down the milk steamer.
“Is he still singing?” Jordan asked Audrey.
“Yes. I heard him when I came across the alley. Thought he might need a break, and he’d come down to visit us.” Audrey tossed her flaxen colored hair over her shoulder, eyes bright, her voice filled with hope.
“Doubt it.” Jordan turned to the cafe full of women. She used her acting voice to make sure her words carried. “Ladies, wanted to inform you he’s on some kind of tight deadline. So he might be like the elusive snipe for th
e next few weeks . . . hard to catch sight of him, although you can apparently hear him.”
They groaned in unison.
“Just saying.” Jordan lifted her hands in the air, the gesture asking, what do you want from me? Then she hurried into the kitchen to give several orders to Donald. She untied her apron and threw it on the counter, a little disgusted and not entirely sure why she was so irked by all the women she’d come to know and love sitting in the café just waiting on Josh Nicodemus to make an appearance. It went against everything she believed about male-female relationships and empowerment. “I’m taking a break, Don. I’ll be back in five. Call Tony if an order’s ready.”
“Gotcha, boss. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”
Jordan laughed. “Yeah, I wish. Long gone are the days where a relaxing smoke could take the edge off for me. Now I need something stronger.”
Don shrugged and grinned. “Don’t we all? Don’t we all?”
Little did he know an image of Josh had flashed through her brain at the idea of something stronger taking the edge off.
Shit. That’s not the thought she wanted to have.
The guy was a jerk. A royal, entitled pain in her ass.
“Back in five.” Jordan went out the back door. She sucked in a deep breath of fresh sea air. The wind whipped her ponytail around to lash her cheek. She stood with her back against the wall of the cafe, overlooking the ocean. Damn, she loved this view. She’d never grow tired of it. It soothed her soul like little else.
That’s when she heard him. The raspy voice of a fallen angel, coming from the rooftop patio where she’d caught him earlier in his PJs. He sounded sexy, rumpled, and sleepy-eyed—even though he’d been for groceries and back. The song was sultry, filled with longing and promise. The seductive words drew her in like a siren’s song, just as he’d done with his drugging kisses and skilled hands a short time before. The melodious voice did nothing to dispel the need and wanton desire that wound through her at his words.
Every Heart Sings (Serenity Island Series) Page 10
