Play Dirty: Brooklyn Dawn Book 1 Page 11

  “Watch it.” That rage started bubbling again. The reason I stayed far away from people. All the things they didn’t know. Would never know.

  She stabbed me in the chest. “Hiding in the shadows until you deign to take on a client. Oh, and boohoo, that client isn’t perfect? Sorry.”

  “Back off.”

  She tipped her head. “Or what? You won’t work with me? That’s fine. I’ve got six more days to enjoy my vacation that I fucking earned. I came here for a friend. That friend is not you.”

  “I just bet you did. A little one-on-one time while his wife is with their children.”

  That pushed her back a few steps. Gave me the breathing room I needed. The air was charged with her perfume, her anger, the lust I couldn’t put back in a box no matter how much I wanted to.

  “You really think so little of me?” Her voice cracked into a whisper. “I’d never. Ever.”

  “Would just be a repeat performance, right? No big deal for old friends.”

  The slap cracked the air like a sonic boom. I could tell the sound shocked her as much as the fact I’d allowed it to happen.

  I’d seen it coming. I could have held up my hand to block her. Yet I hadn’t.

  The fact that she’d resorted to her version of violence a second time in as many days was probably a record for me. I pissed off people like others created laughter and fun. It was such a part of me now.

  Push people back.

  Push everyone away.

  But especially her.

  She was stuck in my brain, in my lungs, and was tangled up in so many memories I couldn’t shuffle them into that box fast enough. The phantom feel of her skin under my mouth and my ruined hands was a curse.

  She could never be mine.

  Her face went expressionless. The summer sky blue of her eyes went to winter. “You’re just like all the rest.”

  Before she could pull back, I grabbed her hand in a reflex.

  Not what I’d meant to do. But that flash of hurt in her eyes had hit its mark before the iceberg she’d become pierced something inside me I wasn’t aware still had a heartbeat.

  “Tell me why.”

  “I don’t need to tell you anything. Your judgment will keep you warm at night, I’m sure.”

  I chased her across the stage to the upright piano. Blocking her in again. My skin was on fire, and the old scars sizzled as if it was that night in the rain all over again.

  Don’t let her walk.

  I didn’t think that voice was still alive inside of me. The one from home. Back in Ireland, where things were simple. The piece of me that wasn’t scarred and charred, thanks to nearly twenty years in the music industry and demons of my own making.

  Her hating me would make everything easier. I could go back to the city and mark her down as a fevered dream. The kind that twists and rips like a nightmare wrapped in the trappings of pleasure.

  “Tell me.”

  “No. I owe you nothing.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “Why does it matter? You’ve already concocted a scenario in your mind. It doesn’t matter what I say. You believe your own truth.”

  “Mine is easier.”

  The pain receded in her gaze.

  Walk away.

  I curled my fingers into her hair along the base of her skull. Cornsilk over unending heat. The kind that would leave me like scorched earth.

  Her gaze dropped to my mouth before bouncing back to lock with mine. “Easier isn’t always better.”

  “It is when it comes to you, duchess.” I lowered my mouth to hers before I could think better of it. Her fingers curled into my ancient thermal shirt, pressing hard enough to tattoo the pattern on my chest.

  Another scar to wear. One I’d take willingly right now.

  Her other arm hooked over my shoulder to pull me in, her sweet, smooth skin dragging over the scars on my neck.

  I jerked back, staggering away from her to wipe at my mouth. It was no use, her taste was branded there. That night in the piano bar had been me touching her on my terms. She’d been faced away from me.

  She couldn’t see me.

  Couldn’t understand the whole of what she’d unleashed.

  “Whatever you may think of me, I’m not into games.” She slipped around the upright piano and down the stairs to the maze of tables set up for one of the smaller concerts. Drinks and a show. Easy, small town charm without artifice.

  Not anything like the night we’d played to a standing room only house.

  “If you’re not into games, then why do you keep running?” I called out to her. My voice was little more than a hoarse whisper at the best of times, but I’d shouted for her.

  She stopped and turned back to me. “Because if I don’t get away from you, I’m going to murder you.”

  I laughed, then shoved my hands into my pockets. Mostly to ease the ache of my raging hard-on, but also because the idea that this sweet and mostly sheltered woman could hurt me was ridiculous.

  Oh, but she could scrape you to the bone, boyo.

  That wiped the rare smile off my face.

  She whirled around and the swift click of her heels filled the room. The sound even drowned out my stampeding heart and the roar of dread in my ears.

  She shoved chairs and tables out of her way as she returned to me. “You think you know who I am. There are very few people whom I call friend. Logan King happens to be one.”

  Why did she have to keep mentioning his fucking name? Even with my taste fresh on her lips, his name was there.

  “Oh, I just bet.” My hands bunched into fists in my pockets. “Tell me, duchess, just how friendly have the two of you been?”

  Twelve

  God, he made me crazy.

  “A friend. Just a friend. He’s never been more than that. Ever.” Why couldn’t he understand that? Was he that thick or just incapable of listening?

  “Except that once, right?”

  I narrowed my gaze at him as I climbed the stairs. I’d never wanted to rip into another man as I did Alexander Nash. He made my skin heat and my heart beat double-time, but he also made no sense. One minute, he was taunting me, the next, he was kissing me.

  Whiplash wasn’t a strong enough word.

  “Is this your version of jealousy?”

  His spine snapped straight and he stood at his full height. Just a few inches taller than me in my heels.

  “Is that what drives you crazy? The idea of me with someone else?”

  His otherworldly eyes went hot, but he said nothing.

  Was that the problem here? Why?

  “You don’t even want me.”

  The muscle in his cheek jumped and flexed.

  “Or is that the issue?” Instead of stalking toward him, I loosened my gait. My hips went fluid as I slowed to a leisurely stroll. My chest pushed forward to strain at my shirt as I shrugged off my jacket, tossing it onto one of the half dozen trunks littering the stage.

  “You want me, and you hate that I’ve touched anyone else. Is that where we’re at in the evolution of the human race? Back to the caveman who wants to be the first and the only?”

  “Careful, duchess.”

  “Or what?” I tipped my head, pulling all my hair over my shoulder. I let my fingers drift over my breast to my nipple, currently pushing through three layers of clothing. “You’re imagining I climbed on Logan? That I fucked him again and again? Or even worse.” I swallowed the ache and the raging sadness, pushing them down with anger. “That I’m some sort of whore? That I’m not worth any more than this?” I gestured at myself.

  “Stop.” He stumbled back a step, tripping on a cord.

  “That’s what you’re saying, right? This is all I am.” I lifted the hem of the concert T-shirt I was wearing over a clingy white cotton top. I peeled it off and tossed it aside, shaking my hair back. “I’m no more and no less than a willing body.”

  “No.” Horror drifted over his face, turning his eyes stark.

  But I
was already too far gone. The fact that he was just like the rest of the guys out there who believed I was nothing more than a vessel for men to use. That I was a sparkly piece of fluff on stage who just wanted to be pretty. Who just wanted to play dress up with the glitter and the glam parts of being a rockstar.

  It didn’t matter that I rarely got more than four hours of sleep a night because music and words wouldn’t let me rest. I lived and breathed them every day. And the rest of my time was filled with taking care of my people.

  Making everything work from the shows to the interviews and the admin that fell to me when it came to running a rock show with so many moving parts.

  It definitely didn’t matter that I was alone in the night worrying that it all could fall apart at any time. I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than my career because too many people depended on me.

  “Take what you think I offer to every other man. It’s no big deal, right?”

  The other shirt I wore was tighter than the Bon Jovi one and I couldn’t get it up fast enough to suit the raging argument I was having with myself.

  He crossed to me and stopped me, dragging the shirt back down. “Duchess, no. Not like that. Not for me.”

  “Now I’m not good enough for you. Which is it? I’m a whore or a Mary?”

  I pushed my hair out of my face as the full effect of my strip session sunk in. God, what the hell was I doing? Why did he leave me so off-balance?

  He stood in front of me, tipping his forehead down to touch mine. “Neither.” He lowered his mouth to mine. “None of those things,” he said against my lips and then it was nothing but his flavor blooming in my mouth, in the space around me. He tasted like the dark scent that clung to his skin and permeated the air.

  Like spice and fresh rain.

  Like darkness.

  I’d been living in the spotlight for so long. I wanted to taste his dark again.

  I pushed my hands up under his shirt. His belly quivered under my fingertips. He was ridged with muscle and smooth, hairless skin. Just a soft, thin trail at his belly button that disappeared into his jeans. The farther up I searched, the more he stilled. He drew in a shuddering breath.

  At my touch?

  Then I found the tough skin.

  Scar tissue.

  I knew about the accident. Everyone knew about the night that had ended Nash’s career. And about his collision course lifestyle before it. The reckless singer who had destroyed as many clubs as he’d controlled with his powerhouse voice. He was a legend in the U.K. and had been roaring up the charts here when the car accident had taken him out of play.

  Instead of doing a comeback, he’d disappeared. The kind of ghosting that left the press salivating for a meaty story.

  Only there hadn’t been one. Then whispers of his uncanny genius in the studio. A song here, a record there, an unknown artist exploding into the stratosphere after Nash worked on his album.

  Then another. Then years of silence.

  He was shrouded in mystery.

  Add in his secret home in the heart of New York City and he was a curiosity to everyone. Enough that when he’d showed up at the festival, I’d been intrigued. Then I’d played with him and grew to crave his particular kind of voodoo, even if I didn’t fully understand it.

  Finding someone who was just as passionate as me on the piano, mixed with the anger he’d blasted into the keys, had messed me up. The notes he’d played had been harsh and rattling, his voice sandpaper over silk.

  He’d created a wildfire in me.

  I’d wanted to chase it then and now I was doing it all over again. Even though I knew I was chasing ruin.

  Instead of flinching away from me, he reached behind his neck to tug his shirt over his head. His raven’s wing-dark hair fell in disarray around his face and teased his shoulders.

  I dragged in a breath.

  “Not too late to run, duchess.”

  I didn’t look away from the pink, silvery skin. Scars raked over the left side of his neck and shoulder, moved down to cover half his chest, and ended at the top of his ribs. The right side of his body was smooth and perfect.

  Was that same war for control at play inside him? Was that why his moods were so damn changeable?

  Instead of reaching for what was easy, I ran gentle fingers over the raw, thick skin.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Every day.”

  My gaze snapped to his. Then there was no time to take anything else in. His fingers were in my hair as he owned my mouth. His tongue was rough and dominant. As if he needed to reach into every corner of me and draw battle lines.

  Mark me like he was marked.

  He dragged my head back and attacked my throat with his teeth and lips. He pushed at my shirt until it was up and over my head. He shredded the little hooks on the back of my bra, and then my flesh touched his.

  Too much. Not enough.

  He growled against the sensitive skin between my shoulder and neck, sinking his teeth into me until my knees buckled. He caught me against him and wrapped my legs around his hips. He swung us around until the piano bench was under my ass.

  I gasped as he laid me out. This time, we were face to face.

  Well, face to thighs.

  I lifted my head. “What are you doing?”

  “If you have to ask,” he grunted as he lifted my ass and stripped down my pants, “I’m doing it wrong.”

  “I’m a bit tall for this bench.”

  He glanced up from his task. “We made it work before.”

  That we had. Too well.

  He knelt between my legs, draping one of my feet over his shoulder to unzip my boot. When he found my fuzzy My Little Pony socks, he gave me a bland stare.

  “This was not on my agenda.”

  “Obviously.”

  Once my boot was gone, he surprised me with an absent kiss on the inside of my thigh before he unzipped the other and tossed them in a pile behind him in the middle of the stage.

  He left the socks on.

  I’d have laughed, but his gaze was direct and intense again. He dragged my panties to the side, and that damn tongue was my undoing.

  Holy shit.

  I reached behind my head to grasp the frame of the bench. He wrapped my legs around his head, then gripped my ass.

  My brain short-circuited as desire took over. There was no noise inside me for the first time in too many years to count.

  No, I knew just how many years. Three.

  Since he’d been there the last time. Because there had been no one else between my legs.

  “Stop thinking so loud,” he said against my thigh.

  Honestly, he was going to be the death of me. Forever ordering me around.

  He glanced up at me and slid two fingers into me without warning. I arched up and my thoughts drifted away as he lapped at my clit with long, lazy licks. Every time I looked down, he was watching me with relentless scrutiny. As if he was deciding how invested he wanted to get.

  I wanted to kick him.

  How was it that he could lay me out like this and be so detached?

  I rolled my hips in little circles against his tongue. It was backfiring on me, of course. It had been too long since anyone had been down there, including myself. His fingers were thick and no matter how hot I was, it still seemed as if he was trying to crack me open. I didn’t remember having this issue the last time.

  Pain and brutal enjoyment straddled the knife’s edge inside me. An endless war.

  Which side would win? I didn’t know.

  “God, you’re so fucking tight.”

  The combination of my restless hips and his relentless mouth created the perfect symphony. His name bounced along the rafters above us. Was that me? God, yes, it was. It wasn’t even from pleasure. It was more like he owned my body. Every touch and stroke of his mouth steered me toward some end he had in mind. My thighs shook.

  I was imploding.

  His fingers plunged deeper, his mouth electrifyingly acc
urate in every way. He gripped my hip with his other hand, holding me down and open for him.

  I tried to just hold on and enjoy it, but the pleasure shattered inside of me. I grasped his hair with my free hand, the other gripping the piano bench for dear life. He twisted my fingers free from his hair, lacing his with mine over my belly as he watched me break.

  I was splintered crystal.

  Everything raw and jagged inside of me. Memories of that long ago night layered over the now as I tried to breathe. Would he withdraw again? Push me aside and be done?

  He sat back on his feet then drew me forward to meet him. Rather than pushing me away, he lowered me on top of him, pulling me off the bench. The soft underside of the piano cover on the floor tickled my bare knees as I straddled him.

  We matched. His long, rugged legs tensed under my weight, but he took me.

  There was no space between us.

  The shattered pieces of me flowed out around his impenetrable granite, finding the holes and spaces he’d built to keep people out. Not me. Not now. I wouldn’t take half measures again. Face to face, there was nowhere to hide.

  It wasn’t just mindless bodies seeking relief this time.

  It was me.

  It was him.

  It was us.

  I saw the knowledge for a brief moment before he crushed me to his chest and covered my mouth. I tasted him and I together, a swirling, intoxicating flavor I’d never allowed any man to share with me. Oral sex was fun, but I had never needed to know what I tasted like. Except Nash and rules were mutually exclusive entities.

  He banded his arm around my back, rocking me against the bulge in his jeans. I fought the climb. I was too close to the last release. Too aware of every molecule under my skin.

  I didn’t want to go alone again.

  I was tired of him watching and not losing himself in me.

  I wouldn’t be the only one.

  I raked my nails through his hair and down his neck. I bit at his lips as the passion rose to a fever between us. Even the tang of blood in my mouth didn’t stop me. Nothing would until I got him inside of me again.

  I reached between us and freed him.