IntheMood (6 page)

The more he tried not to think of her hot, wet and naked,
the worse he got and the more vivid the images. His erection pressed cruelly
against his zipper and he wished he’d found some thick underwear to pad his
poor cock.

When he raced around the car to let her out, she looked as
desperate as he did. He slammed the door, pressed her against it and kissed
her, driving his tongue into her mouth, claiming her.

He broke away, knowing he had to have her or die. “Come on.”
Grabbing her hand, he towed her toward the front of the café. It was open, so
they wouldn’t have to fumble for keys, except for the ones to her apartment. No
alarm number to remember, just a café full of customers to negotiate.

“What’s your hurry?”

He knew her well enough to recognize the teasing tone. “I’ve
been watching you all afternoon. I did my best to behave myself.” He raced
around to the front of the building. His heart sank when he saw the café was
only half empty. He could have maneuvered her faster through a full one, pushed
past the people who knew her. “If I don’t get inside you soon, I’ll go insane.”

She tilted her head to one side, her hair flowing softly
over her left shoulder. “Are you always like this?”

She looked so mouthwateringly gorgeous he had to take
another kiss. But he didn’t linger too long, all too aware of the privacy
upstairs. “No, I’m not. Not since I got straight, anyhow. It’s you, sweetheart.
You.”

They entered the café to a chorus of wolf whistles from the
regulars. Cops could sure whistle.

He loved the way V’s cheeks flowered pinkly, but he hoped
she didn’t feel too bad about it, because he didn’t. And he hoped she believed
what he’d just told her. It was her. All his eagerness, just for her. Cops?
They could find their own girls. The uniforms had to help. They weren’t getting
this one.

He gave Jack, standing behind the counter, a mock salute,
but they had to pause when Jack beckoned her over. He wasn’t letting go of her
now, so he caught her hand and went to the counter with her. Jack glared at
him. He glared back.

“It’s your day tomorrow,” Jack said, a totally unnecessary
reminder. Matt couldn’t believe that V would miss her shift.

“I remember. Any problems?”

Jack discussed a few things that could easily have waited.
Meantime, Matt’s dick was staying hard and getting more uncomfortable. His fury
rose against this bastard because he was sure Jack was keeping her talking on
purpose. If Jack wasn’t getting any, he’d make sure Matt wouldn’t either.

It just made him more determined and more desperate,
something he’d have thought impossible five minutes ago.

V answered Jack’s questions with far more patience than they
deserved. Yes, she’d remember to tell the dairy about the extra cream, yes,
she’d talk to the new barista about the frothing density, and no, she hadn’t
seen the spare hand whisk.

Matt didn’t explode, didn’t swear, because he suspected Jack
wanted that. Every now and then Jack shot him a glance, seeing how he was
taking all this shit. Badly, that was how, but Matt had faced worse and he knew
how to keep a poker face in place. Although he’d never felt so provoked before,
not once, even after he’d left rehab and found the media waiting for him
outside.

Bastards.

Now he tugged gently on her hand, below the counter, out of
sight of Jack’s inquisitive stare. “She’s not working until morning, right?”

Jack reluctantly agreed. Matt got the feeling that he was
about to ask V to cover for him. Just because he could.

Oh fuck, no. This time he tugged her fully into his arms. As
her soft body landed against him she gave a soft “oof” of surprise. In return,
he gave her a devilish grin and dropped a kiss on her sweet lips. Nothing to
what he’d given her outside, but enough to stake his claim. And just the kind
of challenge Jack needed.
Play or pay, motherfucker. Play or pay.

Jack paid. He stepped away with a grunt. More whistles
followed them, but Matt didn’t care. He had her now.

Upstairs, he let her open the door and then close it quietly
behind them, but that was it. The end of his patience. He could almost hear it
snap.

He pulled her through to the bedroom, closed the door as
quietly as he could and thrust his hand in his inside jacket pocket to find the
condoms he’d put there earlier. Because he never knew when he’d want her, or
when she’d want him. She’d shown him all the eagerness he could wish for, and
encouraged him whenever she could. Not that it had made any difference to his
hunger for her.

She had her top off and tossed aside before he could get her
in his arms. Then he did the rest. Clothes were stripped away and dropped or
tossed to one side in a flurry of action. He kissed her mouth, her neck, cupped
her breasts and gently twisted her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers
in a way he knew made her gasp with desire. She didn’t disappoint him now.

“Oh baby, what are you doing to me?” he murmured between
long, luscious kisses when he discovered her mouth anew, tasting and
reacquainting himself with her soft lips, her sweet flavor. If he had to choose
a pair of lips to devote himself to for the rest of his life, he’d choose
these. No contest.

He drew back, shocked at the sudden revelation. Barely a
week and he felt like this? It couldn’t last. Nothing ever did. Meantime, he’d
enjoy the hell out of this and make sure she did too.

Before he could guess at her intent, she’d dropped to her
knees. She unzipped and dropped his pants in record time, his underwear going
with them. How she did it without inflicting damage he’d never know, but he
felt so good. So fucking good when she cupped his balls, stroked the length of
his cock. She drew patterns on him with one fingernail, tracing around until
she reached the tip.

When she circled his cock, just under the flange, the
sensation made him suck his breath in between his teeth. He widened his stance to
keep his balance and waited, hoped, for what she wanted to do next. He knew
what he wanted her to do.

She scrambled out of her panties, the only item of clothing
she still wore, and glanced up at him, smiling, her glorious hair tumbling down
her back in an angelic cloud. Matt wet his lips. “You’re killing me here.”

Her grin broadened. “If you behave yourself, you’ll get your
reward. Just hold on there.”

Suddenly an image of her doing this for Jack intruded. He
couldn’t help it, it just popped into his head, and fury clouded his vision for
a brief moment before he controlled himself.

She’d lost the grin. “Something wrong?”

He shook his head, let his lids fall over his eyes and gave
her a sultry look. “Nothing at all. Only if you stop.” If this was jealousy, he
needed to get a handle on it, because V didn’t deserve to have two men fighting
over as though they were engaging in some kind of playground spat. He wouldn’t
do that, wouldn’t go there. She’d moved on and so should he. Except the fucking
ex was downstairs serving coffee to a bunch of cops.

He needed to get her out of this apartment. Everything was
too close, too claustrophobic.

Then his mind blanked when her lips closed over the head of
his cock and she swirled her tongue around the tip.

So—fucking—good. He lost the capacity to speak when she
sucked and only a moan left his lips. He stretched out his hands and they met
the silk of her hair. Delighted, he threaded his fingers through the heavenly
mass while she worked him. She cupped his balls with one hand, gripped his
upper thigh with the other and that mouth did things he couldn’t believe.

He took a deep breath, trying to center himself before
looking down at her, where she knelt. And found her watching him. Sucking his
dick as though it were a lollipop and watching him.

He kept his eyes open so she could read the sheer delight he
was sure mirrored his feelings.

Damn if she didn’t let go his thigh and slide her fingers
between her legs. He heard her wetness when she pushed a finger inside and then
pulled it out. The little tease knew he loved that. He loved that sound. He
wanted to be there, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once. She sucked and he
shuddered. It wouldn’t take long now. Not at all.

With a groan, he gripped her shoulders and pulled. She released
his cock with a small
pop
and came up to him, her lips touching his
stomach and his chest as she got to her feet. He gripped her wrist and pulled
her hand to his mouth, smelled her essence first, then tasted her, slowly
sucking each finger in turn, never taking his attention away from her face. He
needed a minute or he’d go off as soon as he got inside her.

Her eyes were dark with passion now, as he imagined his must
be, and he smiled around the last finger. Her taste made him wicked.

As he took a step forward, he cupped the back of her head in
one hand and drew her close to share her exquisite flavor. He’d never get
enough of this, he just knew it. He turned them so she had the door at her back
now, wanting her, wanting everything. Now.

He urged her back until she hit the door. It took a bare few
seconds to sheathe his cock, then he lifted her. She wrapped those gorgeous
legs around his waist as he drove deep into her hot, wet body.

Her head went back against the door with a soft thud. He
wished he’d kept his hand around her head so he could have shielded it, instead
of holding her waist in his hands. “You feel perfect,” he told her.

“Shut up and fuck me,” was her loving reply, which suited
him fine, because he had every intention of doing just that.

She gripped his buttocks, urged him in, harder and deeper.
He nailed her hard, making her moan and squirm. She rubbed her breasts against
him, her nipples hard and needy. If he leaned back a little, he could—yes, he
could lick her, take a nipple into his mouth and suck in time with his thrusts.

He lifted her until his cock nearly slid out of her, then
slammed her down again, forcing her on to him. They both moaned, and he let the
sound he made vibrate through her nipple into her body. He licked around her nipple
the way she’d licked around his cock, tracing the rosy edge with his tongue,
encouraging the tip to go pinpoint-sharp. He loved her breasts, their
responsiveness and their taste. Everything.

Finishing with a nip and a lick, he moved on to the second breast,
sucking it hard before he lifted her and forced her down again. Her hands
spread open on his backside, dragged him closer, then clutched, her nails
digging in. His turn to cry out. This time he straightened and kissed her
mouth, thrusting in with his tongue as his cock breached her wet, open pussy,
withdrawing and driving in again.

She sucked his tongue, the witch, but he eagerly joined in
the game and devoured her. Their bodies slammed against the door, rocking hard,
and he vaguely wondered if they could hear any of it downstairs, but he thought
not. He didn’t give a damn, anyway. He was staking his claim in the most
primitive way.

She cried out and her pussy clenched around him in three
separate spasms, forcing his orgasm until he couldn’t hold back. Shouting her
name, he came hard and fast, then again, in an aftershock of release that made
him unsteady.

He rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing
unsteadily, as if they’d been for a ten-mile run together. He gave a shaky
laugh. “Do you think they heard downstairs?”

“What? No.” She paused. “I don’t think so. I’ve never put it
to the test before.”

So she hadn’t had a love nest with her ex up here? That made
him feel even better than he did already. Or maybe Jack wasn’t too adventurous,
although sex against a door couldn’t be described as crazy wild. Unless they
did it like they’d just done it. Maybe that was it.

Shut up, Matt. What’s gotten into you?

He didn’t care. He had her now. Once he’d recovered some of
his senses, he carried her over to the bed and laid her gently on the cover,
coming down to join her. She put her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms
around her. They fitted together so well, her small body curving into his, her
softness, his strength and heat. As a bigger than average man, Matt had always
imagined he’d end up with a large woman, one who could withstand his power and
give him something to push against. But although V barely topped five foot
five, she had no problems standing up to him, in bed or out. He loved it.
Savored it.

Chapter Six

The first TV show came too soon for V. A month after she’d
played in the studio, the track was mixed and added to the album. The first
time Matt played the track to her, she was sitting in AZ’s seat in the studio
and the band had come in to hear it through too.

To have all of Murder City Ravens in the same small space
was a bit overwhelming. All that testosterone, all that raw masculinity blended
with a healthy dose of charisma made for a heady mix. She’d met them separately
and once together, when they come to Matt’s apartment for dinner. They seemed
to get on fine, so at least she could be thankful for that, although some
tension remained. Nobody said anything, but she felt it.

She never thought she’d see a band like that sitting around
a table eating and talking. Some had girlfriends, but none were married or
permanently attached as far as she knew. To her surprise, she enjoyed being
with them, chatting with them. Because Matt had claimed her, they treated her
as a colleague, a friend and not a prospective bedmate. Although sometimes she
caught Jace and the singer, Zazz, staring at her with what she thought might be
desire in their eyes. The music angle went a long way toward developing her
relationship with the band. A huge amount.

They were halfway through a discussion about how much
Nirvana affected the music industry as a whole when she caught Matt’s quizzical
expression and burst out laughing. “What?”

“You’re one of the boys, aren’t you?”

“No.” But Jace overruled her denial and agreed with Matt.

Riku, a Japanese-American with a shock of spiky hair
currently dyed orange, gave her a slumberous, dark-eyed smile she’d bet worked
every time with women. “You’ll do,” he said, sounding almost like Matt at his
most British, when he was putting on the accent to make her laugh.

Much to the boredom of the girlfriends who’d accompanied the
band members, they went right back to discussing the music. “So why them and
not Pearl Jam?” she demanded. “It can’t just be because Kurt died young.”

And so it went. She hadn’t had a discussion like that for
years. Oh, she could discuss Sarah Vaughn and Benny Goodman with her uncle, her
cousin George and their bandmates, and they did show an interest in some modern
artists, like Donna Krall, but they didn’t go in for grunge. Or trance, or
hip-hop or R&B, or even straight-up pop.

But that was in the dining room and then the great room of
Matt’s loft apartment. They could wander around, change the music, and the
space helped to buffer the sheer charisma of the band.

This tiny studio didn’t. The magnetism choked her. Every
time she looked at one of them she remembered their poses, their presence and
they exuded that “look at me” air without meaning to. She didn’t know if they
always realized. People didn’t, she found.

That air of confidence lingered around Matt, something that
seeing him every day for a few weeks had done a little to dissipate. But it
returned again, the air thick with it.

Something she didn’t have. Would never have, because it was
a gift. But some musicians got by just fine without it.

They listened to the final cut of the track in silence, then
Jace glanced around and waved his hand in a circle. Matt nodded and played it
again. He kept his hands off the control board, although he drummed his fingers
a time or two.

At the end of the track, she laughed, and although her
excitement and nervousness drove the sound a bit high, she thought she’d
carried it off. “You want to mess with it some more, don’t you?”

Matt grinned at her. “Yeah. But it’s done. A good engineer
always knows when to step back.” He paused. “Usually.”

“It’s perfect,” Jace said, his voice low and reverent.

“That’s a number one right there,” the drummer, Hunter,
said.

“Accidents permitting.” Matt shrugged. “There’s always the
novelty record, a tribute to someone that gets a surprise jolt, or even an ad
tune, but yeah. And I think the album’s going gold, if not platinum.” He
glanced at Jace, his expression guarded. “Not that you care.”

Zazz was standing by the door. English, edgy, with a jazz
background, he bent his head, his dyed-red hair falling over his razor-sharp
cheekbones. He lifted his chin and stared at Matt. “Brilliant job. Great
balance. You are the nazz, man.”

That broke some of the tension. Whether he’d heard about
Matt’s passion for Bowie, or whether it came naturally, they grinned and
laughed.

Jace slapped Matt on the back. “Another one for the dark
side. That’s for people who think great music started last year.”

The singer grinned. “If you’re talking Radiohead, maybe it did.
That’s what I want. To be that good.”

“I think you are,” V said quietly. To her surprise, they
fell silent and stared at her. She hadn’t expected the moment of triumph to
include her. After all, she was only the session musician. Not important, in
the greater scheme of things. The paid help with a better than average
contract, thanks to her father. She told herself that she didn’t mind, she
understood the way bands had to cohere, at least most of them did. Some had a
fixed central unit and employed musicians around them, others were together
forever, or until the life got to one of them.

Like Nirvana.

She glanced at Matt. He could have ended up like that.
Soaring on drugs and alcohol. The downs must have been terrifying, enough to
push him over the edge. And if he thought he was musically the weakest in the
band, or if he felt unfulfilled, that would have made the pressure worse.

Now here he was, refashioning his life on his own terms.
Making his own way and discovering what he could really do. Where he was
supreme. At the mixing deck, in the control room.

“I love the sax,” the bassist said. “That’s what makes the
single. It pushes it right up and gives it a riff people can’t ignore.”

“They’ll be humming it from Rio to Tokyo,” Jace said,
grinning. He turned to V. “So are you ready for the TV show?”

“Tomorrow. Yeah.” She fought back the bile threatening to
fill her throat.

They were filming it here, a segment from a nightly talk
show. The band had refused to travel to L.A. so close to finishing the album,
so they’d perform it in the TV studios here on a live relay.

It wouldn’t be too bad. The audience would be in L.A., and
they could be home by midnight. Well, one a.m., anyway. That sounded fine.
Nothing to worry about at all.

* * * * *

She’d picked out her dress, or rather, Matt had. He wanted
her to wear the gold dress she’d had on the night they met, a month ago. The
longest month of her life, and yet it had seemed to fly by.

Just as well Matt met her and drove her to the studio,
because as they went through the main entrance she saw a line of people. She
froze. Matt, ever attuned to her, asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I thought the audience was in L.A.”

He chuckled. “Murder City Ravens’ first live performance in
nearly a year and you think the studio will let them off with a quick in and
out and a closed set?” He shook his head, but then they passed the end of the
line snaking around the building and things got a little crazy.

Somebody saw him, pointed and screamed. One screamed loud
enough for her to hear. “He’s back! It’s Maxx!”

To which Matt’s response was, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
He couldn’t floor the pedal, as people might spring out in front of him. Just
as well the studio had set up adequate security, because they needed it now.
But she didn’t read real panic in him. Not the kind that shortened the breath
and tightened the stomach. She knew because she was feeling it now. Just the
sight of the people in line sent her into a tailspin.

You’ve done this before, played to an audience. Just suck
it up, baby.
They were Claud’s words and they usually worked. In his club,
where they played to fifty, tops, and most of the audience ate the bar food and
chatted through the performance. Laid back, just as she liked it.

She recollected the techniques she’d learned and she
breathed deep three times, letting out the breaths in a measured way, then
clenched her hands and relaxed them. Better. She felt better. Still nauseous,
but she could breathe, and that was the main thing. She couldn’t play the sax
when she was short of breath.

They passed the line, many of them screaming and yelling.

Matt glanced at her as they turned the corner into the
private parking lot. The attendant saw them and waved them through. “Sometimes
people knowing your face is useful,” he remarked calmly. He drew smoothly to a
halt and left the car. The security barrier and the need to keep in line
prevented the crowd surging forward, but V was well aware that they were being
watched. People held phones up to get photos. Not of her, thank God.

She didn’t give Matt a chance to do the gentlemanly thing,
but exited and walked around to the trunk, where he’d stowed her instrument
case. She could have dropped it off earlier, but since someone else was doing
the sound check for her, she didn’t have to.

She preferred to keep it with her, whenever possible. Her
father had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday to replace the smaller
one she’d learned on. The tenor sax, the sexiest instrument in the world.

Going through the security checks to the dressing rooms only
heightened her tension. She smelled cleaning fluid and caught a whiff of
cigarette smoke. Whoever had tried that was stupid, because sensors picked up
the smell so fast the smoker didn’t have a chance to ditch the cigarette before
security caught him. Or perhaps she’d imagined it. The club had taken a hit
when smoking was banned in Chicago, but the numbers had steadily returned until
the place paid its way again.

Tension gripped her stomach again. Would her family see? No,
probably not. The band’s segment was live, but her folks would probably record
it and watch it later. Or they’d tell her they did. Either way, it worked for
her because she never knew for sure they were watching her and she could always
reassure herself that they weren’t there.

Matt’s progress to their dressing room was interrupted a
couple of times, but she didn’t listen, just waited for him and took comfort
from the warmth of his hand on her elbow. Reassurance and comfort. She’d never
remember all those trills and riffs she put on to the record, never. But she
could hang on to the main riff.

They’d been booked to appear on one of those late-night chat
shows that preferred the band to play live, or at least as much as possible,
and their piece would go out from here. The TV company had given the band the
biggest studio so all the equipment could be installed and it sounded right.
She’d have preferred to mime.

Dear Lord, she was going back to her parents’ terminology.
Not that she fucking cared.

Recognizing the way her thoughts were spinning off into
disparate shards, she halted and did some more deep breaths. Then she looked at
Matt and everything got better. She remembered last night, when they’d tenderly
made love, and she smiled. He caught the smile and raised a brow. He’d
recognized the intimacy.

Finally in the dressing room, he closed the door and turned
to her. “Something wrong?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to admit it. It could
make her worse, to admit she was so scared, to say it out loud. “Just nervous. How
long do we have?”

He checked his watch. “Final sound check’s in half an hour,
the show goes out in an hour. Are you sure you’re just nervous?” He grasped her
upper arms, drawing her to him.

“Well, I haven’t done this for a while.”

“What, this?”

His kiss spun her into their private world and everything
righted itself again. Strange how things that were tilting at the edges
suddenly came back into perspective. He tasted her, long and leisurely, and she
felt safe, wanted. Understood.

When he put his hands on her ass, she moaned, pressing
herself close, rubbing her stomach against the unmistakable erection he had
growing under his jeans. Nice and hard. Just the way she liked it. “Fuck me,”
she murmured against his mouth.

He drew away enough to speak. “We don’t have time.”

“Yes, we do.” Desperate to feel him, she pushed his leather
jacket off his shoulders. It fell to the ground with a decided thump, one that
matched the beat of her heart. Sudden and fast, she wanted him. That would do
it, that would carry her through. She just knew it.

His growl told her he loved what she was doing. So did she,
so she carried on doing it. His T-shirt followed the jacket. She spread her
hands over his chest, smoothing her palms along the flat slabs of muscle,
feeling the abrasion of his sparse chest hairs breaking the flow. Lovely.
Perfect.

“I don’t have a condom.” She heard the desperation in his
voice.

“I don’t care. I’m on the Pill. Just do it, Matt.”

He went still and stared at her. “We shouldn’t.”

“We so should.” She’d never felt more sure of anything in
her life. She needed him. Fuck the condoms, or rather, without them. They’d
been together for a month, and neither of them had any health worries. They’d
already discussed that. Besides, she needed this.
Needed
it. “Please, Matt.
Please.”

He groaned low in his throat. “I can’t resist you, V.” But
he seemed doubtful, even though his cock was as hard as ever.

She ground her crotch against his. With a shout that sounded
more like anger than desire, he tore away what remained of their clothing and
tugged her close, guiding his cock to her slick depths.

Both sighed in relief when their bodies connected with a
slide of flesh. Feeling him filling her was the best she’d felt all day, the
pinnacle of her world. He withdrew and thrust, setting up the rhythm she loved
most in the world—the only song that mattered right now.