Play Dirty: Brooklyn Dawn Book 1 Read online

  This was one of my safe havens. Not his.

  Even without the boots, he was taller than me. He lowered his gaze as he walked by me. “We work in an hour. I’ll give you some time to primp.”

  The urge to hurl my suitcase at him was almost too much to bear.

  Screw it.

  I stalked past him and swung my bag at him. He caught it against his chest with a grunt.

  “Take that upstairs for me? Thanks.” I patted his shoulder and headed for the kitchen. Logan was in the doorway, his eyebrow winged up. I gave him a bright smile. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

  Logan coughed around a laugh. “You do that.”

  I brushed by him and into the kitchen and headed for the back stairs. Evidently, I’d need to get more than airport funk off me.

  Maybe I’d need that wine after all. It might be the only way I could keep from killing Nash.

  Or something far worse.

  Nine

  I dropped her bag. It clattered to the floor and Fiona came running.

  Logan gave me a bland look as I stalked into the kitchen. “Really?”

  “I’m not her fucking monkey.”

  He shook his head and picked up the bag, setting the obscenely pink suitcase near the doorway to the stairs. “I’d go with manservant first, but monkey might be too on the nose.”

  “Fuck off, Lo.”

  He stuffed his fingers into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. “So, is there anything I should know?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Wow. That good, huh? Is this going to be a problem?”

  “Bit late for that kind of question.” I dragged out a chair and spun it around to straddle it.

  Bella glanced from me to her husband. Fiona whined and set her head on Bella’s lap. “Is it safe to leave you two alone?”

  “Three is probably the question. I don’t have an issue with Lo.”

  Logan sat down beside me. “Since when did you have issues with Lindsey?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it.” And I didn’t. It was bad enough I’d tripped over my own idiot dick and fucked her that one night. I didn’t need to dissect it with one of the few men who knew me far too well.

  No one knew about our hookup.

  Not even Kyle.

  It wasn’t a relationship. It was a fuck. It had stayed in that dingy bar and at the back of my memories. I’d erased everything I could about that night down to the clothes I’d been wearing. I couldn’t get her scent off me fast enough. It had seeped into me for days. Her sighs, her groans, her flavor.

  The phantom memory of the taste of her skin exploded on my tongue. Her scent was still on the air. Some fancy perfume. Night-blooming orchids or something equally classy. After all these years, she hadn’t changed it. How was that even possible?

  I gripped the back of the chair and ached for a drink.

  Bella patted Fiona’s head and stood. “I’ve got to go get the kids. I’m going to hang with Skye for a while and let you guys work. Please clean up any blood splatter.”

  Logan snagged her fingers before she could walk by. He dragged her down for a hard kiss. “It’ll be fine.”

  She patted his cheek. “Mmm-hmm.”

  I lowered my forehead to my stacked arms. Normally, their easy affection didn’t bother me, but right now, my skin felt too tight. I’d wanted to walk it off, but the fickle bitch that was fall in New York took even that option away from me.

  Bella slicked her fingers over my hair. I jerked and sat up, unused to anyone touching me.

  “You should take a shower too. You’ve got to be frozen.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  I didn’t want to go upstairs. I couldn’t handle passing her in the hall right now. Not with these wrathful feelings churned up again.

  This house where she’d probably fucked Logan. Fucked others too for all I knew.

  I didn’t know how Bella was so easy with her. Lindsey York was a siren who made men into complete idiots. Having her under their roof seemed foolish.

  Had it been between them like it had been with us? Just a wild night that could be tucked away as part of their past?

  How could anyone tuck her away, just brush her off as if she was any other fuck? Hadn’t she burned herself into Logan’s brain like she was in mine?

  Bella laid a hand on my shoulder before she did the same to Logan and then left with Fiona hot on her heels. She never went anywhere without her dog.

  Logan laced his fingers together on the table. “Are we going to be able to do this? I mean, you can head back into the city. I can take care of the—”

  “No. I’ve been here for the recording of every fucking song on this record.”

  And it was my fault we needed her. My fault that I hadn’t seen the signs with Angel. Fuck. I didn’t know how, but I’d missed every damn flag. The missed calls, texts, even dodging emails. I should have picked up on it. But nope, I’d been too wrapped up in production. Too locked up in my head and sequestered in my own studio in the city.

  He shrugged. “We know she’s a professional. She’s already got a brand. This should be cake.”

  “Then we should be able to do the song in a day or two, right?” I stood and spun the chair back around.

  “We still have to put the door up,” Logan called after me.

  I paused, then headed for the stairs. I was going down, not up. “We’ll work in the living room until we get the door fixed.”

  “Get the black Taylor. That’s Lindsey’s favorite.”

  I curled my fingers into fists on my way down the stairs to the studio. Of course it was. Since Taylors were my guitar of choice. Why not?

  One of the Taylors had the heel puncture in it. Christ. Even the remnants of some sort of sparkle had been left in the edges of the jagged hole. The burn of embarrassment and anger threatened to light my admittedly short fuse.

  Shorter because she was here?

  Probably.

  She should be well out of my goddamn system and she was not. If anything, it felt as if it was that night all over again. The festival memories—both good and bad—were making it even worse.

  The light inside of her that had lured me from the first time we’d met was followed by the knowledge that others had enjoyed it as well.

  Logan had enjoyed it.

  Unless he hadn’t and I was being a righteous dick for no reason. Not that I had any call to dictate who Lindsey slept with anyway.

  Tell that to your churning gut, boyo.

  The strings along the fret dug into my palm as I pulled the black guitar down. The guitar didn’t deserve my ire. If I was at home, maybe I would’ve relished destroying something, but Logan’s studio had been through enough. And Logan’s lovingly restored vintage Taylor twelve-string definitely deserved only respect.

  Besides, I was a little too old to relive my trashing hotel rooms phase. Which, thankfully, had been brief.

  I pulled down a walnut-colored guitar for myself and left the destroyed room. I’d have to check in with my guy in the city to see if he could fix the one Angel had damaged.

  Logan had one of his Martins on his lap when I got back upstairs. The large, L-shaped couch in the living room was now a square with a large hassock in the middle. A tray on top was full of drinks and snacks, including a large bottle of white wine, grapes, and cheese.

  “Are we having a fucking party?”

  Logan strummed as he tuned his guitar. “She’s been on a damn plane for ten hours. Cut her some slack.”

  “I drove three hours and got a water bottle.”

  “Are you going to be this snarly the whole time? If so, enjoy your three-hour ride home.”

  I settled into the farthest corner of the sofa. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “At this point, yes.” Logan shook his head and took a sip from his wine glass. “Your asshole gene is on fire today, pal.”

  I wouldn’t apologize for it. I never did, but the twi
nge in my chest made me bite my damn tongue. Logan was the one who should have my nuts in a vise for the last two days. Angel was my fuck-up.

  So, instead of making a big deal about any of it, I shut the hell up and tuned the two Taylors.

  I set the walnut twelve-string in a guitar stand and moved on to the standard Taylor. The rich tones of the guitar suited my mood tonight. I needed this well-loved instrument right now. Many a song had been written on it. Not just the holiday kind I’d been working on with Logan for the last year either. This year alone, I’d sold four songs from our sessions.

  Like a sickeningly sweet pop song we had written one night at four in the morning. A rare night of laughs had ended in ridiculous lyrics that actually became one of those juicy hit songs made for the summer.

  We’d been right.

  One of the Disney kids trying to go out on her own had taken a stab at it. I’d even gone into the studio to listen to her record it since she was signed to Ripper. The artist didn’t know who’d written the piece since we sometimes used pseudonyms, but it had felt oddly good to put together a song on the lighter end of the spectrum. It was a rarity in my portfolio.

  I’d only managed ten minutes before leaving.

  I hadn’t wanted to get sucked onto the production side and then push my ideas for the song on her and her team. Letting it go was the only way to save my sanity.

  I had a feeling tonight would be the same.

  My shoulders tightened. The air changed and her scent dragged me under for a moment. The aroma of night-blooming flowers, thick and unique. She looked as if she should smell like something light and sweet like bubble gum.

  Instead, she was the scent of the night.

  The place I lived in.

  “Hey.” She passed me as she dropped into the middle of the couch. “Oh, you know how to soothe my soul.” She reached for the golden wine in the fragile glass. Her long fingers were short of nail and high of bling. Thin rings wound around more fingers than were bare. It was the only bit on her that glittered.

  The rest was fresh and innocent.

  My dick throbbed behind my guitar.

  Christ, I didn’t need that reaction.

  Ever.

  It didn’t seem to matter that she’d never truly been mine. She’d been a moment’s insanity—probably had been for many a man since we’d been together. I certainly couldn’t blame them. Or even her. We all had different ways of getting through the night.

  Although I doubted fair Lindsey had ever imagined horrors like the ones that lived inside me.

  By your own hand.

  As was my obsession with Lindsey my own doing.

  With those huge eyes and distractible mouth, she was a walking wet dream. She was long and lean with curves in all the right places. Her lush tits were still carved into my memory. I’d barely allowed myself to touch her that night, yet she was still sitting in my brain like a ticking bomb.

  She’d destroy my peace and leave only shrapnel behind. As if I needed one more scar.

  I resisted the urge to stand and stalk out of the room. Because then she’d know just how much she fucked with my head. And knowledge was power.

  I had to remember that. Treat her just like any other person. Just like the artists I worked with.

  Like Angel? See how that worked out.

  The strings of the fret whined under my punishing grip. Lindsey was completely oblivious to my inner meltdown. Instead, she was happily chatting with Logan. The blond tail of her braid was still wet from her shower. The thick rope left a wet spot on the white cotton and lace wisp of a thing she was wearing under her flannel. Enough that the shirt revealed a hint of purple beneath.

  Lace?

  Cotton?

  Lindsey didn’t seem the type to wear anything but the best. I knew she’d come from the upper echelons even before her music took off. Brooklyn elite from old money. Generations of bankers and suits populated her bloodline. A true blue duchess of New York.

  And yet she was acting as if she belonged here in Logan’s hideaway. Everything about her was soft right now. She wore no makeup and a worn men’s style shirt.

  Logan’s shirt? Had she stolen it from him when they’d hooked up?

  Ridiculous. As if she’d be so blatantly disrespectful to Bella. But still, the jealous thoughts lingered.

  Much as I hated them.

  I lowered my gaze and forced my fingers to strum out a gentle chord even as my heart raced and my mind demanded a rough and dirty song. Sometimes pounding on the keys was the only thing that could cool the fever in my goddamn blood.

  Lock it down.

  “I like that.” Lindsey’s voice was friendly. As if I hadn’t taunted her into fleeing the room less than an hour before. She plucked the guitar out of the stand and folded herself onto the square of cushion cross-legged, settling the worn Taylor against her as if she’d done it a million times.

  How many times had she played here? Sat here? Had they been cozying up like this for years now?

  Maybe Bella simply didn’t care, although even my twisted brain couldn’t make that bit of insanity line up.

  Even as my mind spun, Lindsey followed my rambling chords. The song hadn’t even had a real melody under it until we synced up. Then Logan followed suit until the three of us were playing as if we’d been doing it for years. She played without a pick, without any artifice. No fancy fingering or showing off.

  She curled herself forward around the instrument, then suddenly looked up with a wide smile just before lyrics tumbled from her lips.

  Over and over, she rehashed simple lines and refined them.

  Logan flipped his phone onto the tray and pressed record before he joined her. They sang together effortlessly. He rearranged one of the verses and she nodded, thumping her hand against the body of the guitar as the song took a turn.

  It went folksy and her voice dropped a few octaves. Husky and a near whisper, her words curled around Logan’s until they were a unit.

  My throat tingled and the hint of something scratched at me. Dug at a place I didn’t think I still had available to me. Where a song lived.

  Where words were locked up inside my hollow chest.

  I stood and set my guitar down.

  “Didn’t you like it?” She turned those huge blue eyes up at me.

  “It was fine.” I cleared the huskiness out of my voice. It sounded too thick, too foreign. “Keep going.”

  She frowned but turned to Logan. “From the top?”

  He nodded.

  I moved through the room to the kitchen. I could still hear them. Her range made my palms itch. I’d heard her songs on the radio. It was easy enough to push a button and silence her voice, but here it was in my face and there was no way to hide from it.

  Or from her.

  I was just as enamored as I’d been at the festival. When we’d sung together, I’d owed Logan a debt and I’d paid it. It had mangled my emotions and sent me into silence for months after it, but I’d done it. Because he was a friend and I owed him. The true problem was I’d enjoyed it.

  And I didn’t deserve to enjoy anything, but especially music.

  Not now. Not ever again.

  But she made me want it. I craved the words and melodies tangled inside me almost as much as I craved her.

  And that was dangerous.

  I glanced at the farthest kitchen cabinet. I knew there was a whiskey bottle stashed there. It would be too easy to knock back a shot or two of liquid courage. To soothe the beast coming alive in my chest.

  But that had been part of the penance. Denial was my life now. I’d embraced it.

  Until Lindsey had shaken something loose inside me.

  Exactly why I couldn’t afford to be here with them. And why I needed to get this over with.

  I grabbed a cold water from the fridge and downed it, forcing the icy liquid over the rawness and scars of my throat. The tickle died and went back into hibernation where it belonged.

  I strode back into th
e living room and sat down as far away from Lindsey as I could get. They were laughing and replaying the song they’d written in the light of pure fun.

  That was something else that was no longer part of my existence.

  I cracked my knuckles. “If you’re done fooling around?”

  She blinked at me, her laughter falling away. “Sure. Sorry. It felt good to play something not my own.”

  “You just wrote it didn’t you, duchess? You own that one too.”

  She tilted her head. “I guess I do.” She glanced at Logan. “Guess we have a new song.” Then she turned to me. “All of us, since I pulled the song out of your random chords.”

  “It’s not mine.”

  “Too bad. You’ll be listed just the same. I don’t hijack songs without giving credit where it’s due.”

  “I don’t need your charity.”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “You’re a real asshole. But I’m a real bitch and your name’s going on it.” She set the guitar next to her. “Now let’s hear this Christmas song you want me to play.”

  Logan leaned forward and grabbed his notebook off the tray. “Here’s the lyrics.”

  I picked up my guitar and nodded to Logan. We started off the slow build song. She listened as Logan sang it through once, then twice. She came in on the third.

  The song didn’t suit her voice, so we rearranged it and tried again. Increased the tempo and moved around the verses. Still didn’t suit her or the talent I knew she had. And still, I made her sing it over and over. Logan grew more frustrated with each repetition.

  She wouldn’t give up.

  When her voice cracked, she uncurled herself and took a long swig of her wine and started up again.

  “Stop.”

  We both swung our attention to Logan.

  “It’s not working.”

  “I’ll make it work.” Lindsey flipped her braid behind her shoulder. “I can just add some piano to it. Slow it down.”

  “No.”

  Her gaze snapped to mine. “No?”

  “Lo’s right. It doesn’t suit you.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “I can sing anything.”