LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2) (3 page)

“I thought you liked Bryan?”

“Yeah, he’s sweet,” she said, smiling at the sax player, who raised his glass in return. Then she leaned across to whisper in my ear. “But you’re fuck hot.”

Blood was definitely moving in a southerly direction when I was saved answering by Gary’s arrival as he slammed down a tray of tequila shots.

“Come on, Hilary. I’m saving Luka from a fate worse than death. You’re dancing with me!”

He grabbed Sarah’s arm, towing her onto the dance floor.

Oliver shook his head in amusement.

“I never know if they love each other or hate each other.”

“
Dvema gospodarjema ne moreš služiti
,” I smiled.

“Which means what, exactly?”

“No one can serve two masters.”

He snorted in amusement.

“That sums it up. So, things were looking interesting with you and Sarah for a moment there.”

I groaned. “We’re friends.”

“And? Friends can make the best lovers.”

“I don’t want to lose a friend. Sex fucks things up.”

Oliver laughed. “That is true. Well, if you’re sure?”

“Anyway, she’s going to Australia for three months to catch up with an ex of hers.”

He gave me an amused look. “Am I supposed to believe that one-night stands aren’t your thing?”

I answered seriously, even though I knew he was pushing my buttons.

“Sure, but they’re not Sarah’s.”

He nodded and let it go.

“Sarah says you’ll be staying in her apartment while she’s away?”

“I’m going to chill for a while, check out London. I’ve only been here on tour and I’d like to see what it’s really like. What about you? Back to Chicago?”

Oliver nodded. “Yes. I want to visit with my parents. They’re not getting any younger so it’ll be good to catch up. And I’ll see my brother and his kids.” He stared at his glass before downing the shot. “And I want to scout some locations for a dance studio.”

“Are you still thinking of setting up a school?”

Oliver nodded. “I’m not getting any younger either. When Ash gave me this gig, I was so damn grateful. You know what it’s like. Well, you don’t yet, but once you’re over 30, getting dance jobs only gets harder. Pass 35, and paying gigs are rarer than flying pigs.”

It was true. Being a dancer was hard. A fast life, a short life, a hard life. You only have to look at our feet to know that. We have great bodies, but fucking ugly feet. Multiply that by a thousand for a female ballet dancer who goes
en pointe
.

Sarah and Gary were waving wildly from the dance floor, yelling at me to join them. I slammed the tequila shot that Gary had bought for me and chased it with a beer.

“You coming, Ol?”

“No, honey. Us oldies need our rest.”

I grinned at him. “Whatever. I’m down with the kids.”

He saluted me with another tumbler of tequila.

I drank and danced, drank and danced until the evening began to blur.

As people peeled away, back to the hotel or their homes, tearful goodbyes and sweaty hugs were happening all across the room.

Ash staggered toward me, followed by an amused Laney.

“I’ll see you before I go tomorrow,” he slurred. “Yeah?”

He pulled me into a tight hug.

“Thank you for being here, Luka. I couldn’t have done it without you, brother.”

“Nah, you’ve got Laney now.”

“You should find someone,” he said, grasping my shoulders and staring into my eyes. “It’s the best fucking thing ever.”

“You already got the best woman, so I should just quit,” I smiled.

“I know,” he said smirking at me. “Best fucking woman ever. Best at fu—. . . best woman. Ever. Best . . .”

“He’s drunk,” Laney said, raising one eyebrow at Ash who was swaying.

“Very drunk,” he said happily. “We’re going back to the hotel to have lots of sex.”

“Well,” said Laney, a tolerant smile on her face as she watched her husband stagger around the room hugging everyone. “We
are
going back to the hotel room, but then I think he’s going to pass out.”

I laughed as I bent down to kiss her on both cheeks.

“Look after my boy.”

“Always.”

They left shortly after with Oliver, and I carried on dancing and drinking until I could barely remember my own name. It’s amazing—I can dance when I’m drunk, but walking in a straight line is a challenge.

I gulped down some water as Yveta slumped onto the couch next to me and stole my bottle.

I watched her duck her head as one of the stage crew walked past, her long hair swinging across her face, hiding the ragged scar.

Ash said she’d been completely different before the knifing, before the rapes—outgoing, confident, sexual. She hadn’t even had coffee with a guy in the 15 months that I’d known her. Other than the people in the cast, of course. And it had taken her a long time to trust us. She was probably closest to Gary, because he’d suffered with her when the Bratva foot soldiers had abducted them. Neither of them talked about it—but they danced the story every night in
Slave
. Gary told me once that it was cathartic. I think it must have been for Yveta, too, or why would she do it, repeating the horror of her assaults over and over?

I pulled her feet onto my lap and plucked off the five-inch heels she’d been dancing in all night. Then I pressed the pads of my thumbs into the arch of her foot, and she let her head roll back, groaning in appreciation.

Gary plopped into a chair opposite us.

“I’m next for the foot massage.”

“Special clients only, and I only do one a night.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Gary said, then screeched with laughter at his own joke.

Yveta threw me an amused look before stretching out with a contented sigh.

“Bitch,” Gary snorted. “Anyway, Sarah’s throwing up in the bathroom. She’s asking for you.”

“Ah, jeez! Can’t you go? If I smell puke, I’m gonna hurl.”

“Stop being such a girl, Luka. Your little inamorata needs you.”

Yveta sat up, pulling her feet out of my lap and curling onto the couch like a cat. Sighing, I staggered to my feet and Gary smacked my butt to send me on my way.

I wandered down the hall and tapped on the bathroom door.

“Sarah?”

I heard the sound of retching, and had to hold a hand over my mouth, swallowing back the saliva that pooled on my tongue.

“I’m dying,” came the pitiful voice.

I pushed the door open and found Sarah hugging one of the toilet bowls, her hair sweaty and tangled, her blue eyes begging me to make it stop hurting.

I sank onto the floor and pulled her hair back from her face.

“Throw it all up,
buča
.”

So she did. Groaning and tearful, she puked herself inside-out, while my stomach rolled in sympathy.

Half-an-hour later, she was feeling much better, and I was feeling tired and far too sober. I washed her face and got her a bottle of water, then asked the barman to call a cab.

He was more than happy to see us go, and I left an extra-large tip for having to clean up puke. I’d worked in a bar before my dancing career took off, so yeah, I knew what that was like.

The cab arrived, although the driver didn’t look very happy about having Sarah for a passenger.

“I’m not clearing up vomit, mate.”

“She’ll be fine. She’s just tired.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Sarah, what’s your address?”

“Street with trees,” she mumbled. “That way,” and she pointed over her head, nearly poking my eye out.

“I need an address, mate,” said the driver, getting annoyed.

“Sarah!” I grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “Wake up! Where do you live?”

“I’m not taking her like that.”

“She lives in Camden, near the Tube station.”

He shook his head.

“Give it a rest, mate. I need an address! Are you her boyfriend?”

“Just a friend.”

He gave me a judgmental look and shook his head again. Sighing, I climbed into the taxi, and told him to take us to my hotel which wasn’t far. The driver was much happier about that and dropped us at the entrance, glad to be rid of us.

I hooked my arm around Sarah’s waist and managed to get her into my room without any more drama. She fell backwards onto the bed, grinning at me.

“Luka! I knew you loved me.”

“Of course I love you,
buča
. Take your shoes and pants off and let’s get some sleep.”

She kicked off her shoes, but got tangled in her jeans. I had to help her pull them off her feet, while she unhooked her bra and tossed it in my face, giggling drunkenly.

“Do you want to brush your teeth? Sarah?”

I thought about tossing her in the shower, but in the end all I could get her to do was use some mouthwash before she passed out.

Sighing, I stripped down to my boxer briefs, dizzy when I bent down to pull off my socks, then had a real quick shower before stretching out in the bed, yawning as Sarah rolled over without opening her eyes and snuggled into me.

I put my arm around her and she laid her head on my chest.

“I love you, Luka.”

“Love you, too.”

I woke up in the dark with Sarah’s hands on my hard dick.

“What are you . . . ?”

“Shh . . . I’ve been wanting to do this for ages.”

“Sarah . . .”

My alcohol soaked brain whirred and stuttered, but no coherent thoughts made it through the tequila haze.

“Relax. You know we’ll be hot together.”

“Fuck, I must be drunker than I thought.”

“Well, I’m not. Much. I threw it all up,” and she laughed lightly.

Then she pulled my dick free as she kneeled over me, her thighs on either side of my waist. One hand rested lightly on my shoulders, while the other guided my dick upward.

“Thank you for looking after me.”

Her lips brushed against mine, then she lowered herself onto me.

A rush of heat pulsed up from my balls as she slid down, a soft moan rising up from her throat.

She was silk and warmth and intensity as she moved up and down, slowly at first, then faster and less controlled.

My hands gripped her hips as her tongue thrust into my mouth, and our bodies met in the oldest dance of all.

There’s something special about fucking with a friend. You’ve got trust between you, shared moments of laughter and sadness. We’d worked together, lived together and loved together for over a year—she was my friend, my little
buča
, and although a voice of reason struggled feebly to be heard, the louder voice was the blood pounding in my body, and the heat of her chest pressing over mine.

We were drunk and sloppy, wild and abandoned.

She tossed her long hair, back arching, tits jutting forward into my eager hands as she writhed on top of me, drawing a pulsing orgasm up my shaft, exploding from the tip in a cry that rang out in the dark room.

She quivered around me, my name ending in a sob as she collapsed against my racing heart.

“Holy fuck!”

“Told you it would be hot,” she muttered.

She slid off me and was asleep in seconds.

I stroked her hair, my heavy eyes closing again as a smile pulled at my lips.

When I woke up, I was alone.

“IT’S GOING TO
be weird not getting ready to do the show tonight.”

Ash nodded as he yawned and stretched.

“Yeah, but I’m really ready to take a break. I just want to go home, spend some time with Laney.”

I smiled at him and raised my coffee cup in a salute.

“I still can’t believe you’re married, brother. I never saw that coming.”

Ash shrugged.

“Neither did I, but it’s the best thing I ever did. She just . . .” he paused, looking for the right word, then gave up. “She gets me.”

A ripple of envy ran through my veins, but only a small one. I couldn’t imagine willingly being with just one person for the rest of my life. And despite the crazy, full-on, balls-to-the-wall way I lived, I believed in the possibility . . . for other people. But I didn’t believe in settling, and with the rare exception of my best friend and his wife, nobody else I knew came even close to meeting the ideal that marriage should mean. Certainly not my parents.

“I heard you left with Sarah last night.”