Hearts Aflame Collection IV: 4-Book Bundle (2 page)

Sin wiped her
damp palms on the hem of her short skirt. She had to keep it together. Anyone could
play the simpering groupie. Tonight she needed to work it and work it well.
Genna
drained her second martini glass, and Sin flicked her
ear. “Cool it. I need a wingman, not a drunk.”

Genna
grinned over her shoulder. “Please.
I could drink ten more of these silly
fru-frus
.”

Tate reappeared
and settled a new glass between her fingers. “Good. Here’s another.”

Genna
smiled and lifted her glass in
salute, then faded into the growing mob of groupies. Sin watched the clinging
curve of
Genna’s
retreating skirt before meeting
Tate’s openly-appreciative gaze.

He handed her a
tumbler of amber liquid over ice. “Come here often?”

Sin chuckled
softly as her fingers curled beneath his and she lifted the glass to her nose
and inhaled the bouquet, then lowered it without taking a drink.
Interesting that he hadn’t
brought her a
fru-fru
.

“Oh, I get
around.
How about you?”

“First
time.”

All around them,
nervous and excited chatter was rife with girls daring friends to interrupt and
ask him for autographs. A few even went so far as to—loudly—make snide comments
about Sin’s shape and size and cautionary woes for the poor arm of the couch.

They rolled off
her like marbles on a polished statue, and she let her gaze linger on Tate’s
lips as he took a pull off his beer. She wet her lips, but still didn’t take a
drink.

“You want to get
out of here?”

Sin’s gaze flew
to clash with his.
Genna
hadn’t even made a single
revolution of the room yet. He’d struck far earlier than they’d planned. Good
thing
Genna
was a big girl and could fend for herself
alone in this immature crowd. Once she got back here and found Sin’s chair
vacated, she’d figure it out.

With a deliberate
slowness, Sin finally lifted the glass, licked the rim, and took a sip. Her
eyebrows rose in appreciation as the expensive whiskey purled over her tongue.
“Have any place in mind?”

His fingers
dipped beneath her elbow, and he swept her off the couch and against his side.
Sin’s belly clenched, and her nipples puckered. Rarely did men ever manhandle
her with such conviction. Most of them were wimps and contentedly allowed her
to lead. If she wasn’t careful, Tate was going to unravel her before they got
upstairs.
Aloof, Sin. Stay cool.

Warm breath
caressed the curve of her ear. “I’d like to take you upstairs to my suite.”

He didn’t wait
for an answer, but moved them through the door she’d purposefully placed
herself next to. Even though this had been the plan all along, Sin had a
split-second of hesitation,
then
relaxed into his warm
strength.

Sin forced her
knees not to wobble and when his hand slid to settle in the small of her back,
she nearly moaned with the sensations pulsing through her body. Being so near
him was taking everything she had not to lick every inch of him. God, he was
devastating.

The door opened
into a tight foyer and elevator. Tate took Sin’s glass and set both on a small
table, then pushed the button. “What’s your name, babe?”

This was her
favorite part. Sin turned into him, arched her back, and purred, “Sin.”

His eyebrows shot
up.
“Sin?”
In a heartbeat, his gaze roamed her face,
her lips, dipped into her cleavage and his irises dilated. “God, you are, baby.
You are.” His mouth claimed hers, and Sin’s fingers slipped up his chest as his
tongue slid between her lips. He plundered her mouth like he’d already turned
over his soul. Sin moaned and his kiss deepened with a tenderness she’d never
experienced. Sin melted into him, and his thigh nudged between hers. His
fingers swept into her hair, and he stole her breath.

The doors swept
silently open, but Tate didn’t let either of them come up for air. Again, he
moved her like an expert, backing her into the room and not giving up one
molecule of her lips. She moaned again and realized she was actually in Tate’s
suite. She’d made it!

His hand kneaded
her ass and crushed her tight against his bulging jeans. Sin pulled up before
it was too late and this spiraled out of her control. She kissed him softly and
he blinked. “What’s wrong, babe?”

Sin bit her
bottom lip, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb just a whisper where she held
it. “You have the most
fuckab
—”

Sin pressed her
index finger against his lips, silencing him. “You are insanely sexy, Tate.
Please believe that I want you something fierce. But I want something else,
too.” With her other hand, she rummaged around in her small clutch and clenched
her thighs to keep from rubbing up against his hard cock like a cat in heat.
Her panties were drenched, but she could do this. She just needed to focus and—

Tate pulled her
finger into his mouth, then a second and made love to the webbing between them.
Her knees wobbled just as her fingers finally connected, and she yanked her
hand from her purse, micro-recorder aloft.

Through the
dousing her panties were taking, she somehow managed to focus for the only
second she needed. “Tate . . .”
Okay, so
that came out as a complete moan and was not even remotely professional.

She cleared her
throat. “Tate—
ohmydeargod
—stop that and talk to me
about your upcoming album.”

He froze and
lifted his head, but kept her fingers in his mouth and doubled his efforts to
make her come.

And it was
working. No, she had to focus.
Had to stay the course.
With agonizing regret, she withdrew her fingers and moved her hand behind her
back. Tate blinked and ducked his head to take her lips again. Sin turned her
head, and he suckled her earlobe while his warm breath curled through her ear
and down her nape. Spirals of desire rolled down her body and pooled between
her thighs. He rubbed against her. “No time for talking . . . Sin.”

The way he said
her name melted nearly all of her resolve. She grabbed the last tiny bit and
held fast. “I want an interview.”

He didn’t answer
but worked her ear like a benediction.

“Please.” Sin
wasn’t sure what she was begging for, the interview, or more. His hips rotated
and pressed harder.
Oh God, yes.
More.

No! Wait.

She moaned and
pulled away. His hands strayed to her jaw, and he cradled her face, pulling
back just enough to meet her stare. “I don’t do interviews.”

His lips parted,
and his tongue darted out to moisten the center. Beneath his sex-hooded lids, a
well-practiced smoldering gaze told her exactly what he
did
do.

Soft fingers
trailed over the back of Sin’s arm. “Come on, babe. You didn’t ask me up to my
room so we could
talk.
You’re sin,
baby. Sin doesn’t talk. Sin fucks.”

Sin leaned closer
until her nipples graze his chest, even though that was doing exactly the
opposite of what she was trying to convince him of. “Any girl can fuck
you,
I want what you never give away. I want your story.”

He forced a laugh
and stepped away, running a hand through his sex-tousled hair. He pinched her
nipple and stared at her. “You really are sin.”

Tate crossed the
room to the kitchen, yanked a water bottle from the fridge, and took a long
pull. Heaven knew how many women he fielded up and down that elevator on any
given night. One after the other after the other, she guessed. His bicep flexed
and strained against his T-shirt and Sin’s mouth went dry. She licked her lips
and tore her gaze away, taking in everything she could about the room so she
could add it to the article—the article for the interview he
would
give her.

He turned,
grabbed a handful of shirt, and tugged it over his head. Chest muscles gleamed
beneath the kitchen fluorescents. Tribal tattoos swept up both sides of his abs
and curled beneath his
pecs
. Her palms itched with
the need to touch them. Touch all of him.

“
Then
will you let me fuck you?”

Sin licked her
lips and she tried to swallow. He was so much more than anything she’d
imagined. But he was also the interview that was going to catapult her career
out of the gutter trash tabloids and into
Rolling
Stone
. She needed that far more than she needed what he had in his pants.
Besides, the last thing she needed was for him to tell anyone that she was the
kind of journalist who’d do anything for an interview. Even though that had
been true at one time or another in her climb up the ladder.

“Interview
first.” No point in closing a door.

He finished the
bottle and tossed it into the sink where it
pinballed
off each side then rolled across the bottom a few times. “Mind if I change
while we talk?”

Sin’s thighs
trembled. No way was she going to keep her composure if he took off anymore
clothes. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. He was doing his best to keep
her off-kilter . . . and it was working. She took a deep breath and smoothed
her hands down her sides. “Whatever makes you more
comfortable.
”

He hooked his
thumbs into his waistband and slid his jeans to the floor, then stepped out of
the pile and walked across the suite. Sin watched him, blinking herself out of
her stupor. She couldn’t believe he’d just done that, but she wasn’t about to
waste another minute and let him get any more of an advantage. Throwing her
shoulders back, she followed his naked ass—like a dog tailing a meaty
steak—right into the bathroom. Marble and glass from top to bottom, the
bathroom was nearly as stunning as the man standing in the middle of it. Sin
consumed it all like a buffet, storing details for later. Right now, she had eyes
for only the heavenly inches of naked glory making her insides throb and her
nipples ache. Tate eased the heavy glass door open and leaned inside, making
his muscles jump and bunch. Sin wanted to lick every single indention and
bulge. He twisted the knob and steam billowed around his narrow ankles and
tight calves.

The inside of his
marble shower was big enough to hold the entire band and half the groupies
downstairs.

If she didn’t get
this interview started, she was going to forget why she was here. He paused
just outside the spray. “The water’s fine. Sure you don’t want to do the
interview after?” His voice dripped sex and rumbled in a sultry echo through
the room. Every syllable vibrated up the inside of her thighs and stroked her
long and slow. Tate left the door open, either by way of invitation or taunt.
Her stomach clenched and a jolt of electricity pinged lower.

Sin set her purse
by the door and stepped deeper into the bathroom, tape recorder clutched firmly
in her fist. Steam flowed from the open door of the shower into the room,
making her skirt cling. “Not today.”

He chuckled and
stepped beneath the spray. Water rivulets glazed his shoulders and darkened his
tattoos. He tipped his head back and ran his fingers through his hair, turning
the blond streaks to a dark cap of silk.

Sin cleared her
throat. If she waited one more second, she was going to step right into that
open door, clothes and all.
Now or never.
She pressed
her thumb into the record button and stepped to the doorway, staying just outside
the reach of the mist. “Have you always wanted to be a singer?”

His eyes opened,
and he drew his fingers down his face, scraping the sheet of water off his
cheeks. He grinned and reached for the bar of soap, rolling it quickly between
his palms until suds squeezed out from between his fingers. “Come on, Sin.
That’s the best question you could come up with? Hit me with something
original.” His eyes never left hers as he cupped each side of his chest and
smeared suds across his entire torso and down his abs.

Her fingers
trembled, and she wanted to draw patterns in the coating of white bubbles,
trace every inch of his sculpted chest. She drew her gaze upward and inhaled
the spicy fragrance of his soap.
“Alright.
I thought
I’d ease into it.”

“Hard, baby. Give
it to me hard.” His soapy hand lowered and he cupped himself, still half-stiff
like when he’d stripped in the kitchen. Sin forgot what she was going to ask
while he soaped and stroked himself. Desire pooled low in her belly and she
nearly mimicked his movements with her own hand. She wobbled on her heels,
then
gripped the edge of the shower door. If he wanted it
hard, she was going to give it to him hard—because it might be the only thing
that would keep her from giving in. “When your dad left, how did that change
your trajectory as a musician?”

His hand stilled,
and he lifted a leg onto the marble bench. “That’s a good girl.” His fingers
slid over his knee and down his calf, slowly and deliberately touching every
inch with soap. “Just remember how hard you gave it when I give it back.”

Water cut tracks
through the soap and it swirled in the water across the floor, but Sin held
fast to her position beyond the warm steam. Tendrils of hair stuck to the back
of her neck. He worked the other leg,
then
turned into
the water. His ass muscles clenched, and Sin bit her lip. She wanted to fill
her hands with his firm cheeks, press her thighs against his and lick the water
off his skin.

He was insanely
good at the art of distraction, but Sin waited for his answer, content to look
her fill while he shifted beneath the spray and rinsed off. He squirted shampoo
in his palm and rubbed his hands together, blue eyes intent on her face. When
he lifted them to his hair, the span of his chest made her catch her breath. He
grinned and lathered his hair in slow circles, then closed his eyes while the
soaking spray washed the bubbles down the length of his body.

Stunning.
Every inch.

Two could play at
this game. Somewhere between the elevator and the bathroom she’d forgotten about
that strong, confident woman she’d been downstairs. One cock and she was a
whimpering puddle. Her journalism professor would be ashamed. Tate didn’t have
anything she’d never seen before, and even though it was brilliantly put
together, there would be more than a few opportunities in her lifetime to see
naked perfection again. No need to sacrifice her career just yet.

Sin backed away
from the steam until the counter pressed into her hip. She eased onto the
counter. Tate watched every step, every movement, then came to the shower door,
settled both hands on either side, and stared. She crossed her legs slowly, a
small smile on her lips. Tate’s lids shuttered to a lustful, half-hidden look,
and he licked his lips. Sin controlled the bubbly giggle and cupped her kneecap
with her fingers and leaned forward, feeling her cleavage press closer and
higher. His warm gaze slid over her, from top to bottom, pausing at her toes
before climbing back up her naked legs.

“You’re something
else.”

“Does that mean
you’ll be answering the question?”

Water rained off
his chest and onto the marble floor, mimicking the tripping of Sin’s pulse. She
could drink from that river and never get enough. His muscles bowed and
glistened as the overhead lights reflected off the running water, making him
look part machine, part man. Every bit of him made her
want
to cry out and hit her knees. She squeezed her fingers tighter until they bit
into her kneecap.

“I guess that
means you’re not joining me?” He twisted the knob, silencing the rush of water.

“Interview
first.” She inhaled the wet air that smelled like man and minty soap. Her
fingers shook and tingles raced over her skin, puckering her nipples and making
her toes curl. If she licked him, Sin wondered if he’d taste like mint too.

Tate stepped out
of the giant shower, pulled a white towel off the rack, and slung it around his
hips, then rubbed another through his hair. The dark blond spikes shot out in
every direction, and she wanted to know what they felt like against her
breasts. Sin squirmed on the counter.

“So you want to
know about my dad, huh?”

“I want to know
everything about you.” She rested her back against the mirror and set the tape
recorder on the counter by her hip.
“If you’ll tell me.”

He ran the towel
across his chest and tossed it on a small bench beside the low makeup section
of the counter.

This was some hotel room.
And even though the details hadn’t been lost on Sin, she
was struggling to focus on anything other than the barely covered man stalking
toward her. The tattoos rippled with each step like living armor. When had he
gotten them? What did they represent? She stashed those questions for the back
half of her interview. First, she wanted the meat.

Oh, my.
And the meat.

He
untucked
his towel and slid it sideways on his hip, then
slipped the corner back beneath the white fluff, but not before giving her
another glimpse of the glory that waited for her if she’d just shove her damn
tape recorder back in her purse and get to the fucking.

No!
She swallowed and stiffened her back. It didn’t matter that
The
Tate McQueen wanted her. She wanted
. . . needed this interview.

“How
about tit for tat?”

Sin inhaled as he
lifted his hand and trailed his index finger along her thigh, gently caressing
the curve from her knee upward to the hem of her skirt where it had ridden up
and revealed a long length of leg.

Her eyes were
glued to the temptation of his fingers, so long, so dexterous. She’d watch
every single YouTube video of his fingering—knew exactly how he could maneuver
them, how well he could keep a tempo, how extensive his stamina. All guitarists
were good; he would be legendary.

And she’d be his
first interview.

But not if she
let him get what he wanted first.

She yanked her
attention off his wandering finger and captured those blue eyes. “What do you
propose?”

Sin gasped as his
hand flattened and spanned the distance of her outer thigh, pressing into her
soft flesh. Her sex clenched, and she bit her lip. No matter where that hand
went, she had to stay strong. No matter what he proposed, she had to remember
why she was here.

His fingers
pressed high into the tight fabric, then swept low in a soft arc. “For each
question I answer, you have to answer one.”

“That’s it?”

A chuckle made
his chest muscles quiver. “Not enough? Alright, you also have to take off a
piece of clothing. We’ll make it a game of Strip Interview.”