Anything You Want (25 page)

Several of the staff greeted her and she smiled at them as she casually crossed the room to where Marc was standing. To ask him about using the piano. That was it.

She felt jumpy as she got closer, like her skin was hypersensitive, like it was craving his touch. Watching his hands as he measured and poured wine into the saucepan he was using made her flush and she felt her nipples tighten. She glanced up at his face. He appeared to be concentrating on his task, but she knew he was aware of her and every breath she took. It was weird to be in tune with him being in tune with her. She looked at his lips and felt tingly in places his lips hadn’t even been.

The sex had been
so
good.
So
good.

“What’s so good?” he asked, slicing mushrooms on the cutting board next to the stove.

She’d apparently said it out loud. Maybe he thought she was talking about the aroma from the saucepan. “The sex,” she answered honestly.

He glanced at her sharply. “What sex?”

“Our sex.”

He looked around the kitchen but no one was close enough to hear. “Geez, Seattle. This isn’t the time or place.”

“Why not? I’m giving you a compliment.” She grinned. “Well, giving myself one too. I participated.”

He swallowed hard even as he rolled his eyes. “Nice day out, huh?”

“It’s a little
hot
.” Her only excuse for the flirting was that she wanted to punish him a little. Because it was his fault she felt like she was going crazy just standing next to him. “But then, you obviously like heat. And kitchens.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “We’re going to be busy tonight. We have a big welcome home party for a soldier coming home from Iraq.”

“That’s awesome. Why are you changing the subject?”

“You remember Jason Gilbert? This is Justin, his younger brother.”

They’d graduated with Jason. With eighty other kids. Less than ten years ago. Of course she remembered him. “What’s the deal? You don’t want to talk about us having sex last night?”

“I’m trying a new sauce for the chicken.” He dipped a spoon in the pan and lifted it toward her. “Taste it.”

She gave him a knowing smile—he wanted to change the subject because she was getting to him—but opened her mouth and leaned in rather than taking the spoon from him. Heat flared in his eyes and he touched the tip of the spoon against her tongue. Keeping her eyes locked on his she closed her lips around it.

The taste was amazing.

The way he watched her was more so.

She slid her tongue along her bottom lip and moaned softly. “That’s so good, Marc.”

He stared at her for several seconds. Then he frowned and turned back to the stove. “Stop it,” he muttered, sliding sliced mushrooms into the sauce.

“What?”

“You’re breathing hard and looking at me like you want to jump me.” His voice was low so no one else in the room could hear.

“I was actually looking at you like I’d like
you
to jump
me
.”

He rolled his eyes—again—but one corner of his mouth tipped up. “I’m trying to work.”

“You’re the boss. You can take a break.”

He looked at her. His eyes found her mouth, then met hers again. “Should we just do it right here? Or we could go in and clear Luke’s desk off. Just to be sure he didn’t miss the show.”

She knew his sarcasm came from guilt and the fact that he’d very much like to do both those things—well, probably minus Luke’s observation. “We’re good in kitchens.”

Marc pulled in a quick breath through his nose. “I thought we talked about bad decisions and choices.”

“We did.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean my body’s listening.”

His eyes slid over her body, then he returned to his cooking. “You really are a pain in the ass.”

She loved flirting with him, loved knowing that she turned him on. But maybe it wasn’t fair. If she truly thought it was a bad choice—and she was truly trying to not make bad choices anymore—she shouldn’t tease him.

She straightened. “Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t mess around.”

The look he gave her was hard to define.

He kept measuring and stirring for a few minutes as she watched. “You know, we have something else in common.”

“Something else?”

“Besides being downright amazing together sexually, I mean.” She grinned up at him, unable to keep from teasing.

“Seattle,” he said warningly.

“No, seriously. Creating recipes is a lot like songwriting.”

He looked at her with an eyebrow up.

“Come on,” she said, stealing a slice of tomato from the cutting board. “You take some plain old ingredients that are like notes—by themselves they’re nothing special. But you put them together into something new, something that wasn’t there before. Like magic.”

He stared at her for several heartbeats. His voice was rough when he asked, “You like the sauce?”

She dipped her finger into the pan and tasted it again, trying not to lick her finger provocatively or sigh in pleasure. “Yes, it’s great.” When she looked up at him, she stepped back, recognizing what was in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to kiss her. “Hey, sorry. I wasn’t trying to be seductive.”

“You don’t have to try. That’s a bigger problem. Believe me.”

It probably made her a sadistic witch, she still liked knowing he felt that way. Because she did too. Even his hands turned her on. So, yeah, she got it. And liked it.

“I know how you feel. If it’s any comfort.”

He leaned in close. “You’re not the one who has to walk around the restaurant with a hard-on. Don’t try to comfort me.”

She couldn’t help it. She grinned. “Try to think pure thoughts.”

“You first.”

“That will take some work.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s probably the kitchen. Bringing back memories,” she said, feeling close to giggling.

“Probably,” he agreed sarcastically. “I’m sure when I see you behind the bar tonight I won’t be thinking about how your nipples taste.”

She sucked in a sharp breath as lust twisted her. “Right,” she choked.

“And when I see you in the lobby I’m sure I won’t remember how you sound when you come,” he said in a gravely whisper.

“Exactly,” she breathed.

“So, why don’t you get out of my
kitchen
while I still have blood circulating in places other than my cock?”

“Got it,” she squeaked. She turned and walked quickly toward the door, aware of his eyes on her ass the whole time.

Lord almighty, when he turned it on, he turned it on. She felt like she’d been burned in that kitchen. And liked it.

She should call in sick tonight.

But where would be the fun in that?

Besides, she clearly
was
a sadistic witch so it wasn’t in her nature to take pity on someone.

She headed for the dance hall where she knew she’d find the stage and the piano. She hadn’t actually asked Marc for permission but she wasn’t going back in that kitchen. She knew she didn’t really need permission anyway.

She was still thinking about Marc and how they shouldn’t have a repeat of the night before but how much she wanted to and didn’t register her surroundings until she was halfway across the room. Then she found herself craning her neck around as far as she could make it go in both directions, taking in the details of the room.

It looked exactly like it had the night of the Grand Opening—the night she’d left Justice.

Ringing the dance floor were round tables with chairs, lush green plants and trees and tall wooden posts with lanterns suspended from them. Above her, wires were draped with white lights that would make the ceiling look like a star-studded sky tonight when it was dark. The entire west wall was floor to ceiling windows with French doors that opened out onto the stone paved patio.

It was a gorgeous room. She was sure many happy occasions had occurred here. She knew the room was used for wedding receptions, anniversary parties, church youth group functions, even school dances. The prom was always held at The Camelot now, since the students considered it much nicer for such a big event than the school gymnasium.

At the far end of the room was the stage with a grand piano. But right now there was also a drum set and a keyboard along with amplifiers and two equipment trunks. Looked like they were having a live band for the party tonight.

She went straight for the stage like an alcoholic went for the bottle.

The first note from the keyboard rang out in the huge room. The acoustics were fabulous. The note resonated through her and she was soothed and stimulated at the same time. Much as she felt with Marc.

The thought of Marc was like a shot of adrenaline to her fingers and they began flying over the keyboard, finding the notes and creating the melody with little conscious effort on her part. She smiled as she began to sing, the words and melody coming easily.

Even the ending. Finally. The last note faded away and she smiled. It was a good song.

She loved writing, about whatever was in her heart, what was going on in her life. It was like keeping a journal. Or going to therapy.

She’d always been a songwriter. She hadn’t always been good, but she’d always done it, learning and growing and getting better over the years. She’d written in high school and college, but then when she’d left Justice, it had changed. She’d started writing for the bands she was with instead of for herself. First for the girl band, Expectations, she’d left home with and then for Willy Nilly, the band she’d joined when Expectations broke up.

The idea was to be heard and liked. Period. If no one liked the music then playing it didn’t matter a whole lot. Her music was written with the idea of selling in mind. It had to be enough like the stuff that was popular at the time that it would be well-received but it had to be different enough that they would be remembered and sought out.

After she was done with the bands, though, she could write whatever she wanted. Mrs. Carlson, the little lady who lived in the apartment directly under Sabrina’s apartment, had owned a piano and she let Sabrina use it to play and write in exchange for Sabrina running her errands to the dry cleaners, grocery store and so on. It was a great trade and Sabrina had done some of her best writing there in that cramped apartment that smelled like chocolate chip cookies.

“That was great.”

The male voice behind her startled her and she turned quickly.

“Sorry.” The man was tall and wide, with a beard that was graying a bit, friendly eyes and a big grin. “Didn’t mean to scare you. But I didn’t sneak up. You were pretty absorbed in what you were doing.”

She felt herself blush. Chase and the other guys in the band had always teased her that the building could fall down around her while she was writing and playing and she wouldn’t notice unless it affected the acoustics.

“That was really great though,” the man continued, rounding the piano and then leaning his forearms on the top. “What do you call it?”

“‘Falling Hard’,” Sabrina answered.

He nodded. “You should try a key change there on that last bridge.”

She blinked at him. “I should?”

He grinned again. “Hey, it sounds terrific the way it is, but something like this.”

Before she could react, he came around the side of the keyboard and positioned his hands over the keys, bumping against her shoulder as he played the melody of the song perfectly, except for a key change on the last bridge.

When he finished, he grinned down at her. “But it’s your call. Either way it’s great.”

“How did you know I wrote it?” she finally asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen that look before.”

“What look?”

“The look on your face while you played. It reminds me of how a father looks at his newborn baby for the first time.”

She swallowed hard. “You’re a musician.” It wasn’t a question. It was quite obvious.

“Yep. In fact, that’s my keyboard you’re making sound so good.”

She stepped back. “Oh, wow, sorry. I saw it here and didn’t even think—”

He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you ruined it or anything. Besides, that’s what it’s for. Sitting here it’s not worth much, but if someone touches it, it can make magic.”

He said it matter-of-factly as he moved toward the back of the stage and checked the drum set.

“You’re playing tonight, I take it?” she asked. It had been awhile since she’d had a conversation with a fellow musician—other than Chase, of course—and she was drawn to the man by their common bond.

“Every other Saturday. Marc and Luke have been great to work with.”

The man bent to unpack a guitar case she hadn’t noticed until then. “They let us play here regularly.”

“Let you? They pay you don’t they?”

“Of course.” The man laughed again. “We’d do it for free, but don’t tell them that.”

Sabrina moved toward a second guitar case and knelt beside it. “What’s the name of the band?”

“The Locals,” the man answered. “Appropriately. Two of us are from Carson City, one is from Jackson and I’m from Waterton.”

Sabrina lifted the guitar from the case and set it beside her. “Are you any good?”

He grinned. “Yeah, we are.”

She liked his confidence and easy-going attitude. She helped him arrange the rest of the stage as they chatted. When they finished, he stepped back. “I take it you’ve done this before?”

“More times than I can count.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

Surprised, she shrugged. “Nothing. Hanging out here.”

“You wanna play with us tonight?”

“Play with you? The band?” She couldn’t believe the way her heart sped up. “Like a rehearsal?”

“No, for the party. We do mostly cover songs—you’d know almost everything. We have a few of our own, but I’m sure you could catch on. It’d be fun to have a female voice. We could do some new stuff.”

“I suppose I could. Maybe for a few numbers.”

“Why not all night?”

She knew her face was giving her excitement away “What time do we go on?”

“How long is she going to be up there anyway?” Luke asked with a frown as Marc moved behind the bar.

Luke was covering the bar while Sabrina was on stage, but Marc was finding plenty of reason to be out of the kitchen while she was performing.