Текст книги "Rock Me Two Times"
Автор книги: Dawn Ryder
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Copyright © 2015 by Dawn Ryder
Cover and internal design © 2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover art by Blake Morrow
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
A Sneak Peek at Rock Steady
About the Author
Back Cover
Chapter 1
“Katie…sweetie…”
Kate Napier raised her head, shifting her focus from the strips of leather she had pushed under the industrial sewing machine she was using. Her partner only called her sweetie when he was nervous about something.
One look at Percy Lynwood confirmed it. All six foot four of him hovered in the doorway between the machine shop and the cutting room of their design studio. He was pulling on the measuring tape draped around his neck, looking at her with pleading eyes. She looked past him to find that their staff members had suspiciously disappeared into the prep room at the back of the building.
“This is part of the Stanton order, Percy,” she warned him. “He wants it for Sturgis in two weeks.”
Percy wrung his hands, looking like a gigantic teddy bear with his naturally curly hair framing his forehead. He shifted from side to side before taking a stiff breath and stepping onto the concrete floor of the machine shop.
“I know, sweetie…”
Kate flattened her hands on the edge of the sewing machine table and narrowed her eyes. Percy grimaced and lifted his hands to keep her from arguing further.
“I’ll put Paula on it,” he said in a rush. “Giles just called with an emergency.”
She took the opportunity to stand up and stretch her lower back, arching all the way until her neck popped.
“Leather is my department. No offense to Paula, but she doesn’t fit ass like I do,” Kate said.
“Definitely not,” Percy agreed. “But this is an emergency on an epic scale,” he finished with a flurry of his hands.
Kate lowered her chin and locked gazes with Percy. His tone was downright miserable. “Okay, so what is stressing you out so bad?”
“It’s the Toxsin account.”
Kate lifted her hand and pointed to the wall behind Percy. Her personal operating rules were on a corkboard. Number one: no cuts to the front of the line.
“I know about your rules, Kate, but this is urgent!” Percy was back to wringing his hands. “Toxsin is going on stage in four hours, and there is some sort of problem with the lead singer’s leather pants.”
“As in Syon Braden?” Kate asked.
Percy nodded. “The Marquis.” He supplied the stage name of the man currently topping preeminent entertainer lists around the globe with a breathless sigh.
She moved around the large industrial sewing machine and jabbed her finger again at the corkboard on the wall that had her name on it. “Rule number two: I don’t do rock stars. Besides, are you really telling me that you don’t want to get your hands on the Marquis?”
Percy cracked a saucy grin through his worried expression. “You know I do, and I think even Steve will forgive me for it as long as I share every last succulent detail. That Syon is an animal.” Percy made a soft sound that was a cross between a moan and a growl.
“Glad we got that squared away.” Kate turned and headed for the leather pants destined for the biker paradise known as Sturgis. The end-of-summer rally held in Sturgis, South Dakota, drew bikers from all over the world. Making leatherwear for attendees was her bread and butter. “Have a blast with the Marquis.”
“But, Kate,” Percy whimpered again. “Showtime is seven, and they are playing the Staples Center downtown.”
“Ahhh…” Kate turned to look at the large clock on the wall next to her corkboard. Every staff member had a corkboard. Schedules were posted there, along with any rule anyone felt they couldn’t live with being violated. The boards kept the peace pretty well, but the clock read three sharp.
“With afternoon traffic, which will be even worse than usual with Toxsin playing, I’ll never make it down there in time. They’ve been sold out for months,” Percy explained.
“So why did Giles call us? It’s his account, his premiere account. Why isn’t he flying out to defend his turf?” Percy’s costume college buddy had jumped through flaming hoops to score the account with Toxsin.
Percy spread his hands in a pleading gesture. “Because he’s in New York, and it’s an emergency. They need something fixed immediately. He wouldn’t trust just anyone to deal with them. That’s why he called us.”
“Giles called you, not us.” Kate propped her hand on her hip. “I’m still a little sketchy on why you need me for this, Percy. I don’t drive any faster than you do.”
“They’re sending a helicopter from the Staples Center. That’s how desperate they are.” Percy looked miserable again. “You know I can’t stand heights.”
Kate’s stomach knotted. Percy could get woozy on the third story of their building if he got too close to a window. He’d turn green just looking at a helicopter.
Shit.
“Wear a blindfold and think about what you’ll get for your courage,” she said.
Percy gave a sigh, which was pitiful until she coupled it with his overall size. He had the body of a linebacker and the heart of a 1950s suburban housewife. A mouse sighting would send him screaming. When it came to his marriage with his husband, Steve, Percy was the wife all the way.
“I tried the blindfold in Alaska, but I still threw up all over Steve before we finished the helicopter tour of the glacier. And it was his birthday present too. I tried so hard.” He shook his head sadly.
The knot in her stomach was tightening with the help of guilt. She did love Percy, but rock stars drove her insane. She chewed on her lower lip as her partner looked at her pleadingly. Yup, hungry, starving baby bear.
“Take a bucket,” she suggested.
“I’ll arrive as weak as an infant and light-headed. Definitely not professional.” He pointed at the three phrases posted above everyone’s corkboards. They were the operating foundation of their business, Timeless Custom Creations:
Always push the creative boundaries.
Always wow the customer.
Always be professional.
“Shit,” she cussed as the word professional cut through her personal phobias. “Just…craptastic!”
Percy sent her a relieved look. She was folding, and he knew it. “I always fucking cave in when it’s our image on the line,” she said. “Giles is so going to owe me.”
Percy tried to soothe her. “You’ll be just fine, sweetie.”
“Don’t ‘sweetie’ me.” She pointed at him. “You’d better tell them I’m a lesbian, because if even one of those arrogant asshats pinches my butt, I’m going warrior princess on them.”
Percy rolled his eyes. “Hardly. You’re so strictly dick, I get jealous when you sit next to Steve at lunch.”
“I’m not a home wrecker,” she defended herself.
“But you are a little uptight lately…maybe it will be good for you.” Percy was back to being saucy. “Find out if they know how to use those succulent bodies for more than dancing. You know, just ’cause you got great buns doesn’t mean you know how to fuck worth—”
He ducked when Kate chucked a chair cushion at him. It collided with the wall, making a soft, unsatisfying sound before sliding to the floor.
Percy was laughing when he peeked between his hands at her. “Is that a definite no? Because the Marquis does have a whole lot of yumminess going on. I bet he could make you forget all about Todd—”
“Rule number five, no kissing on the first date,” Kate reminded him.
“Technically, it’s not a date,” Percy pointed out with a smirk. “You should exploit that loophole darling, or let it exploit you!”
Kate groaned and stomped off to take a shower. Working with leather was a sweaty business. The water restored her confidence in her appearance, but she was still chewing on her discontentment when she heard the helicopter landing in the back parking lot.
Rock stars. Geez. Just what she didn’t need. Todd and his two-timing had been more than enough.
But at least she could dress how she liked. She pulled on a pair of leather pants and tightened the laces that ran up their sides from ankle to hip. They fit her like a second skin, and she admired the way the blood-orange leather cupped her ass.
No one fit leather like she did. She couldn’t help it. She loved the stuff—the scent, the feel, and most especially, the look. She added a thin silk tank top that fluttered over her buns like a teasing veil, ending right at the curve of her butt, and shrugged into a leather corset top with brass closures. Once it was tight, her cleavage was halfway to her chin.
Perfect. At least she had one good thing to say about rock stars: they had good taste in clothing.
* * *
“You’ve got a full set kit.” Percy pointed at the black cases being loaded into the helicopter. “So no matter what the issue is, you should be fine.”
Kate wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the sleek black aircraft in her parking lot wasn’t it. The thing was plenty big enough for the eight heavy-duty traveling cases that made up their “on set” kit. The pilot hadn’t even needed to disembark, because he had two burly assistants to help him load everything. They were outfitted in tuxes, and not the off-the-rack variety. She knew a custom job when she saw one. They kept those suit jackets on even as they lifted and stowed her gear, which meant only one thing: they were bodyguards too. Had to have something to hide their chest harnesses.
“I am so jealous,” Percy whined. “These guys are premium…”
Kate rolled her eyes. “There will be at least a hundred starstruck fangirls willing to grease their poles just for the chance to get near the band.”
“I know, Katie girl, but I have to admit that I wouldn’t mind playing games with any of them.” He made a sound of enjoyment and smacked his lips.
“You’re married,” she reminded him.
“But not dead.” Percy batted his eyelashes at her. “You look like a blood orange. Sweeten up a little and stop letting Todd make you into such a bitch. It’s his loss.”
Kate offered him a genuine smile. She felt a little tug on her heart, because she did love Percy, quivering insides and all. He had an unparalleled eye for color and could draft a pattern like a fairy godmother.
“Todd who?” she purred.
“There’s my girl.” He reached out and patted her hair. Newly washed, it was rising up into a cloud of tiny copper curls. She had it clipped back, but there was no way it was going to lay flat. “I think they’re ready for you.”
Kate looked up to see one of the private security men moving toward her.
“Be careful with the warrior-princess thing. I hear the Marquis likes his women wild,” Percy added with a suggestive grin.
Kate stuck out her tongue at him before striding toward the sleek aircraft. One of the security men opened the sliding door behind the copilot seat and offered her a hand as she stepped up into the cabin. The seats were plush and covered in black leather. The security guy waited while she pulled the seat straps over her shoulders and secured the chest harness. He pointed to a set of earphones hanging from the ceiling. The rotor was beginning to spin, filling the cabin with noise.
She pulled the earphones off the hook and fussed with them until she adjusted them small enough to sit on her head. They were the sort that covered each ear completely, and a microphone stuck out in front of her face.
“Once I take off, I’ll turn on your feed, Ms. Napier. Push the button on the side of your headset before you talk.” The pilot’s voice had an electronic quality to it through the headphones, and there was a click the moment he finished talking. The helicopter shuddered as the rotor reached full speed. They began to lift off the ground, Kate’s belly doing a tiny flop at the sudden weightlessness.
She leaned forward to look out the window. There was something thrilling about being able to lift up and over the afternoon traffic. They flew over the freeway, confirming her suspicion that there was no way she would have made it by car. It was bumper-to-bumper rush hour in the Los Angeles basin. No one was going anywhere fast.
Unless they were in a helicopter. She smiled, enjoying the moment of being someone important. Because it sure wouldn’t last. There was a pile of leather waiting for her back at the shop and a line of impatient bikers to deal with.
In the distance, the towers of downtown Los Angeles rose up. The air was surprisingly clear, and the sun sparkled off the glass-sided skyscrapers. The pilot was talking to some air-control personnel as he made a wide circle around the Staples Center. It sure was a different picture from the air. She’d been to the huge arena plenty of times, but she’d never seen the top of it.
There were three helicopter-landing circles, complete with blinking lights set into the concrete. There was also a ramp that had two black SUVs parked on it, facing away from a glass entry into the arena. A burly bodyguard was standing near the driver’s door, watching the helicopter hover over one of the landing circles.
What a different world.
“They are waiting for you, Ms. Napier. We’ll get your gear unloaded and down to you.”
Someone opened the side door before the pilot stopped talking. The rotor was still winding down, and air rushed inside. The suit jacket on the guy at the door flipped up, giving her a peek at a shoulder holster and the butt of a pistol.
Yeah, different world completely.
She pressed the release buttons on the latch holding her harness and managed her way to the open door. The wind and noise were dying down, allowing her to hear something else: the unmistakable sound of people cheering from the street. It was like a roar coming over the top of the building.
It sent a tingle along her spine.
“Don’t mind them. They just think you’re part of the band arriving.”
The bodyguard offered her a hand, but she grabbed the handle on the ceiling of the aircraft. He cupped her elbow the moment her feet hit the pavement and guided her toward the glass entry port from the roof. Now that she’d landed, she could see painted walkways leading toward two huge double doors.
“You don’t need to hold on to me.” She lifted her arm, earning a stern look from the bodyguard.
“Let’s go over the rules.” He kept hold of her elbow as someone inside opened the door for them. “No touching the performers.”
“That’s going to make fixing a costume issue challenging,” she remarked.
He lifted a finger into the air. “Unless they give you permission.”
Once inside, she had more space and stepped away from the guy. He was burly enough to maintain his hold on her if he wanted to, but he only sent her a annoyed look before holding out his hand.
“I’ll need your cell phone before you go any farther. No backstage pictures,” the bodyguard continued.
“Oh…” That made sense. She started to dig it out of her purse.
“The whole purse,” he insisted.
She froze and studied the look on the guy’s face. He wasn’t kidding. She handed it over. “That’s a one-of-a-kind bag; don’t let it get punctured.”
He gave it to a man standing behind him and gestured her toward a security-screening machine, just like one she’d find in an airport.
Rule number two wasn’t changing.
* * *
“Mmm… The candy is arriving. Ginger candy too.” Ramsey pointed at the glass of a two-way mirror that allowed the members of the band to see beyond their private dressing room.
“Don’t make that sound this close to showtime, Ramsey,” Drake said. “I don’t have time to redo my makeup.”
“There’s no makeup on your cock,” Ramsey shot back.
Drake looked away from the mirror and flipped Ramsey the bird. “I actually like spending more than ten minutes with a girl before getting my load off.”
Ramsey let out a whistle. “Syon! Looks like your costume girlie is here. I think I’m going to go rip my pants so she can…fix me.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Syon shouted from across the dressing room. “We can buy off-the-rack if you won’t take the time to unbutton them before fucking.”
“You might be the Marquis on stage, dude, but back here, you’re just one of the boys,” Ramsey retorted.
“I still outrank you,” Syon barked back.
“We’re not sitting in Afghanistan anymore. The only way you outrank me is by bringing in more chicks,” Ramsey said.
Syon grinned in victory. “She’s here to see me.”
“Shit.” Ramsey threw his hands up in surrender. “She’s a ginger too. You know I love a natural redhead.”
Syon threw Ramsey a bone of hope. “After the show, dude.” There were a few sounds of agreement from the other members of the band. Syon leaned toward the mirror and checked his makeup. He still wasn’t quite comfortable wearing it, but he loved being on stage. Fucking loved it more than anything he’d ever done. So the makeup was like body armor. A necessity, a tool of the trade.
The doors opened and the Staples Center security escorted in a lone female. Syon turned his head and found himself grateful his hands were braced on a sturdy countertop.
He felt sucker punched.
Yeah, she was a ginger all right.
Light orange hair crowned her head, and she had delicate eyebrows of the same hue. She could’ve faked those, but the fine dusting of body hair on her arms confirmed that she was pure ginger. The teasing bit of leather she had covering her tits just made him want to lick her before he tore the thing off.
His cock hardened painfully; the damned thing was like granite.
Ramsey let out a whistle, and she sent him a harassed look. A flicker of flames in her blue eyes struck him as challenging.
There was nothing he liked better than a challenge. Especially one with such a great pair of tits.
Ramsey slid across the room with a gait Syon recognized all too well. Ramsey shot her a killer grin before opening his hand and offering it to her. She cast a quick glance down at the open palm in front of her before tucking her hand against the side of her body. She’d crossed her arms in front of her so Ramsey couldn’t kiss the back of her hand.
Spitfire.
Damned if that didn’t make his cock hurt. He was used to being hard during a show, but the thing was swollen so stiff, it ached.
“Only have eyes for the Marquis?” Ramsey turned and sent her packing with a quick gesture. “There he is, hoping you’ll save him from going on in his jockstrap.”
“Screw you, Ramsey,” Syon barked. What was normally a good-natured remark suddenly came across his lips as something entirely different. There was a flicker in Ramsey’s eyes as he noted it, but Syon realized that he didn’t give a crap.
He’d meant it. Completely.
* * *
Kate needed to get a grip on herself.
She drew in a stiff breath and regretted it.
The damned room smelled hot.
And it had nothing to do with the temperature.
Ramsey was a long-legged, lean-hipped animal with dark hair that flowed over his shoulders in unruly waves. It wasn’t feminine in the least—just sexy in a savage, no-holds-barred sort of way. To her right were a pair of wide-chested guys spotting each other on a weight-training bench.
But what made her feel dizzy was staring at her from a pair of caramel eyes. The lead singer of Toxsin had a head of dirty-blond hair that was spiked out and falling past his shoulders. His eyebrows were slashes that angled up. His shoulders were wide and cut with hard muscles that his thin T-shirt showed to perfection.
He looked like the Goblin King from Labyrinth.
Shit!
Professionalism.
She stepped forward. “Kate Napier.”
He moved with a fluidity that bordered on a prowl. Once he closed the distance between them, she had to tip her head back to keep her eyes locked on his face. The guy had to be at least six foot four. His eyes narrowed, his gaze cutting into hers. Something radiated from him—a sense of control that reached out and smacked her. For a moment, she was stunned, trying to decide if he really was affecting her this strongly or if she was oxygen deprived from the airlift.
“Napier… Scottish. That suits the ginger hair,” he said.
“You know the origin of my name?” Damn, she was saying stupid things now. Rule number two had obviously saved her from more than oversexed musicians. It had kept her from making an ass out of herself. His lips twitched as he read her expression far too easily.
“Am I disappointing you by having intelligence?” he drawled.
She tried to collect her scattered wits, but the way he watched her was just too unnerving. His gaze was piercing, and he had a commanding presence that was off the scale. She felt pinned by his caramel stare.
“Surprised would be my word choice.” But that was still slightly insulting. “Not to say I expected you to be a high school dropout. There aren’t many people who know the origin of my name off the cuff.”
Ramsey came up behind her. “The Marquis likes to read.” He scooted right up and draped an arm around her, letting his fingers splay out over her hip. “His heart is a deep ocean…”
Kate trailed her fingers up the bare center of his chest that his leather vest didn’t cover and clasped the bar piercing his nipple.
“Alright…alright…” He backed off with his hands up in surrender. “At least until after the show,” he added with a husky chuckle. “I like rough play.”
“In your dreams,” she replied.
There was a flash of anticipation in his eyes before he pressed his lips into a silent kiss. “You’re going to be fun.”
She snapped her head around to find Syon watching her from beneath hooded eyes. There was something ultrasensual about the way he was studying her. Something that sent a jolt of heat through her and left her mouth dry.
There was a rattle behind them as the doors opened wide, and more suit-clad men pushed a flatbed cart into the room. The distraction gave her a chance to get ahold of her racing heart. It was just a job. Tomorrow she’d wake up in her own bed, and the closest she would be able to get to Syon Braden would be a poster or a four-hundred-dollar concert ticket.
Ramsey and the Marquis, on the other hand, would likely wake up in a tangle of limbs belonging to some of the horde of fangirls who idolized Toxsin. Their music was supreme, and so was their reputation for torrid after-concert parties.
For a nanosecond she lingered on the idea of being naked with him.
“Perhaps you might explain the problem?” Kate said, trying to get grip on her professionalism.
Ha! You mean your hormones!
No, she had it under control. Really.
But her heart started racing the moment she locked eyes with the Marquis again. His gaze shifted, and his lips parted, showing her his teeth. Her breath caught.
“Over here.”
Kate turned and discovered that the back of the Marquis was just as devastating to her libido as his front. His shoulders were broad and tapered down to a lean waist, and the pair of jeans he was wearing gave her a perfect look at his ass.
Yummy.
“I’m out of pants,” he said.
Syon pointed to two long, rolling costume racks. Various pairs of leather pants were hung up. Kate moved closer, spotting problems instantly. She pulled one navy-blue pair out to look at the way the lower half of the leg was shredded.
“Don’t ride double with Taz. He’ll dump your ass,” Syon said.
“You were wasted,” the Asian guy on the weight bench yelled across the suite, “and fell off.”
She released the blue pants and pulled out another pair, which was covered in what looked like bleach splatters.
“Cleaning ladies don’t have a sense of humor.” Syon clicked his tongue. “She decided to help me clean up my act.”
Kate pulled out another pair and gapped at the missing fly. It was just cut clean away with jagged slices from a pair of scissors.
“Some girls get impatient—”
“I bet,” she cut him off. He shrugged and sent her a self-satisfied smirk. “But you let someone cut your custom-made performance wear?”
“Heat of the moment” was his reply.
Arrogant ass. It was on the tip of her tongue to say it too. The part of her that knew how hard it was to make quality pants was itching to take him down a notch.
Professionalism.
She looked back at the rack. There were three pairs on the end of the rack that didn’t seem to be damaged.
“They don’t fit,” Syon informed her. “Giles forgot the special instructions.”
A note in his tone warned her against asking. But he also shut his mouth, just daring her to ask. It was a verbal game of cat and mouse.
“Giles doesn’t make mistakes that affect fit. Elaborate. I can’t fix what I don’t understand.” There. She hadn’t asked.
He straightened up and moved closer, looming over her and sending a trickle of sweat down her back. “There’s not enough room for a hard-on,” he drawled in a low, sensual tone. “At least, not a really hard one. Understandable really. Giles didn’t turn me on during my fitting. I had to improvise.” His gaze lowered to her cleavage.
Her nipples twisted into hard little nubs. He was an asshole, but he also oozed sex appeal. She felt like she was going into heat.
“I get hard every show,” he continued. “Music is a sexual experience for me.”
Oh boy, did she believe him.
Her attention dropped to his package, a split second before her face exploded in flames, and she jerked her head back around to the pants. The blood roared in her ears, but she thought she heard a soft sound of male approval behind her.
She’d looked at his… Damn it!
Fangirls gained a smidgen of respect in her book. There was something about rock stars that just scrambled a girl’s wits.
He chuckled and reached out to stroke one scarlet cheek.
His touch sent her clit throbbing.
And her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.
It was humiliating.
And exciting on a scale she’d never experienced. Not that she would be admitting it.
But his eyebrow rose. “Any chance you can help?”
“I think so.” Provided she could jump-start her brain.
She made her way over to where the polo-shirt-wearing crew was busy opening every single case she’d brought. She stopped after a few steps because her hips felt like they were swaying too much.
Sweat actually beaded on her forehead. The guy was sending her into a sexual frenzy for Christ’s sake.
Her vibrator was so getting a workout when she got home.
She bit her lower lip, realizing she needed more information.
“What side do you tuck on?”
He rolled his lips back, baring his teeth at her. “Left, because there is nothing right about me, Ginger.”
That was for damned sure!
Problem was, she really liked it.
* * *
He was making her nervous.
Ramsey was warming up behind him, and Syon really should have joined him, but Kate had his full attention.
She had a curvy body that fascinated him. The little edge of her top was flipping around like a fringe scarf on a belly dancer, teasing him all to hell. One moment he could see her cheeks, and the next, that fabric was sweeping across her tight ass. Did she wax or keep a nice little nest of ginger curls between her thighs?
He wanted to bury his face in them.
She was trying not to look at him, apparently attempting to ignore the charge between them. It was thick and heady. He closed his eyes and waited to see if the connection would dull without the sight of her.
It didn’t. He could still smell the scent of her skin, and it turned him on to see her working on the crotch of his pants. A clean scent of warm, female flesh with a hint of some sort of bodywash that was just subtle enough not to strike him as fake. He knew when a female was pushing herself into his space, saw it a hundred times a day. Kate was being herself, grooming to her own standards instead of trying to hook his attention. That confidence was sexy. Her determination to remain professional was a serious kick to his libido. It was hitting him out of left field too, because it wasn’t like he had a shortage of possible companions. No, it was a little bit more like fate reminding him that some girls were quality, and that beat quantity every time.
She had skilled little fingers too. Long and nimble, they worked on the waistband of his pants with a finesse that mesmerized him. She stroked her fingers across the surface of the leather like she loved it. Well, she had to. The pants she was wearing were perfection. They didn’t even have an inseam. She was a fucking goddess of leatherwork. And he could see why. She was so absorbed with her work, he didn’t seem to even register in her world as she threaded a machine and started it up. She even ran a loving hand over the thing before beginning to feed his pants under the head.
First time he’d been beaten out by a pair of pants.
Ramsey started in on a solo, turning up the volume. Syon sighed and turned around. The show always came first.
He picked up his guitar and began to let the music take command of his brain. It wasn’t a hard switch. Kate had him worked up. Music was an extension of his soul. Lust was just one of several powerful components. There was also aggression and drive. What he put onstage was the inner demon that most people in the civilized world struggled to conceal. His music was a raging of his desires for everything from sex to blood. The song crested, he and Ramsey in perfect unity. They both had their heads thrown back, bodies arched, as they pushed out the last wailing notes.
Satisfaction moved through him, but it was one peak in a chain that he planned to climb that night.
He wanted to lick her…
Syon turned to find Kate watching him. The tip of her tongue passed over her lower lip. She looked back down at what she was doing, but the dark blush on the side of her face was still visible.
