Rhythm of My Heart: Speed, Book 3 (16 page)

During the flight, Delilah and Devine chatted with her at length, insisting Sophie and Eve come up to Devine’s room later so they could introduce Sophie to the delights of Eve’s makeup case and skills. They’d agreed to meet at six thirty, before dinner, which had been scheduled in the hotel’s private dining room.

What amazed Eve was how normal all these people were. Apart from Sophie, who’d told her she’d just quit her job as a cleaner to join Nathan on tour, none of them lived a life at all similar to Eve’s. They lived in the world of superstardom. Yet they were all so nice.

Seth sat beside Luke, a faraway look in his blue eyes, as if he were lost to a wonderful dream. Luke, his hands now bandaged, worked on some papers, every now and again pausing to glance at Seth.

Nathan did not take his gaze off Sophie the entire time.

Eve watched him for a while. He was ridiculously good-looking, with flawless, model-like features. Perfectly beautiful, his eyes were similar to Zachary’s. Brown, with hints of green and black woven through them. Interesting eyes. Stunning eyes.

The Paces had a similar look about them. One glance would tell a stranger they were brothers. They were all gorgeous, no two ways about it. However, Seth, with his blue eyes, was smaller than the older two. A little more feminine even, although his lean strength and unshaven cheeks made him all man. And while Nathan had that picture-perfect look going for him, Zachary was broader and damn, he smoldered sexuality. It radiated off him in waves.

She’d noticed hotel and airport staff alike had similar reactions to the three brothers. They smiled at Seth, instantly beguiled by his dreaminess. They stared, entranced, at Nathan, and became flustered around Zachary. More than one person had tugged at the collar of their shirts around him, as if they wanted nothing more than to strip those shirts off.

Oh, yeah, Eve understood. She’d experienced just that. And then
had
stripped off her shirt, exposing her scars and her heart.

She turned to look at him now, leaning over the set of drums that stood in the foyer of the suite, adjusting something.

How easy it would be to fall in love with him. To just hand him her heart, knowing she’d never be able to take it back. How careful would she have to be to ensure she didn’t?

She already suspected it was too late to take those precautions. Which made her dumb as shit, because she could never have him in the long term. While it was fine to live in the here and now, to enjoy the time they had together, Zachary’s future belonged to another. And even if it didn’t, there was no way he would ever give his heart to a woman whose face had been permanently scarred by an exploding window while she was on holiday.

Zachary sat on his throne, sticks in hand, and tapped out a tune on his drums.

Eve froze.

He drummed a little more energetically.

Her heart began to pound.

Zachary closed his eyes and seemed to merge with his drums. He rapped with fluid movements, his muscles flexing in time with his beat, his actions so sure, so sexy it was like he’d been born playing drums. As if the instruments were a natural extension of the man.

The beat became a song, one she recognized. He played the underlying cadence of “Thunder ’n Rain”
.

He was brilliant. Enthralling. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. She was trapped in the rhythm of his drums, trapped in the incredible music he made.

The tempo vibrated through the rooms, echoed across the floors and reverberated up her legs, down her spine.

This wasn’t Zachary. This was Jonah, master musician and professional percussionist. And she had the pleasure of watching him play in a private performance.

Weak-kneed, Eve pressed herself against the archway to the foyer, listening to him, watching him and throbbing inside. His music was sheer magic, his appearance breathtaking. She ached inside, touched by something unfathomable as he performed. He was masterful, brilliant, and she was overwhelmed by her conflicting emotions.

She could spend the rest of her life standing here, content to watch him perform. At the same time she knew this would never be enough for her. Because now that she’d experienced his music in person, she wanted more from Zachary.

She wanted everything. His music, his tempo, his dedication… His heart. She wanted him with a compulsion that shook her to the core.

Her heart pounded so hard it took a few seconds to realize it was the only beat she now heard. Zachary sat on his throne, drumsticks in hand, staring at her.

“Th-that was stunning.” Words could never adequately describe how his playing affected her.

He shrugged. “Just messing around.” His words were light, his eyes were not. They were heavy-lidded and dark, and his gaze was hungry.

“Feel free to continue messing around. Don’t stop for me.”

He turned his attention back to playing and rapped on a drum again, just once. “Can’t do it, Tiny.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Play when you’re looking at me like that.”

She couldn’t help it, couldn’t not look at him like she was. She closed her eyes. “That better?”

“No. I have a massive erection, and playing my drums is not going to help me lose it.”

“Your playing
is
incredibly arousing.”

“It’s not the drums that have me aroused. Not the music either.”

Her breasts swelled, her nipples tightening. She opened her eyes again, found his gaze centered on her, hungrier than before. “Pacey?”

“Yeah?”

She recalled what he’d said last night about his other talent with his sticks, and her belly seemed to flip upside down. “You don’t really do
that
with your drumsticks, do you?”

“Oh yeah, beautiful. I
really
do.”

He held her gaze for just a second too long, and the air between them filled with a deafening silence. So silent, Eve feared Zachary would hear her heart pounding.

She crossed one leg over the other, squeezing her thighs together, but that only increased the ache and the throbbing. “Ouch.”

The drummer blinked. “Ouch?”

“Ouch,” she concurred, then explained in detail, “Splinters.” Yeah, actually, no. Splinters were the furthest thing from her mind.

Zachary chuckled hoarsely. “Splinters?”

“Believe me,
no one
wants to get splinters down there.” Her throat felt like sandpaper.

“The sticks are varnished. No fear of splinters there.”

“And your unvarnished ones?”

“I choose my tools carefully, oh, cautious one.” The air snapped and shimmered. “You know, I could make you come without laying anything more than my varnished tools on you.”

Eve blinked. “Prove it.” Her belly tumbled once more, this time in anticipation.

His voice had dropped, the deep baritone coming out soft and low, like a rumbled caress. “It’ll be my pleasure. And yours. Step closer.”

She did. Walked over until all that separated them were his drums and cymbals. She placed her hands on one of the drums and leaned forward. “Can’t get closer than this.”

“Close enough. For now.”

Jonah tapped his foot once, the rise and drop of his knee the only clue that he’d moved. That, and the reverberation through the drums as a low, soft boom echoed through the foyer.

The sound vibrated through her arms and down her body. She jerked in surprise. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Proving a point.” And his drum boomed again, a little harder.

This time the vibrations hit not only her arms, but her lower body as well, where it was pressed against the drum. The sound and feel echoed through her hips and groin.

She blinked.

Zachary smiled a knowing smile.

“Zach—”

“Shh. Just feel the beat.”

He began to play then, continually, a soft, sexy beat. Slow and seductive.

She tried to concentrate. Tried to identify the song but in the end gave up. The vibrations shivering through her made thinking too difficult.

The tempo was hypnotic, and Eve closed her eyes, letting it draw her in, letting her heart pick up the rhythm of the sound and pulse in time with it. But it wasn’t just the music that caught her. It was the movement of the drum. The gentle, ongoing throb. It wasn’t just her heart pulsing. Her groin pulsed too. Each beat shuddered through her pussy, a gentle tap against her clit. Or maybe it was around her clit, or under. No, the tap seemed to surround it, surround her whole groin.

The slow, steady vibration that had begun as a pleasant beat soon changed, increasing in tempo. Her pussy pulsated harder, and she clenched, realizing, almost belatedly, how arousing the rhythm had become.

A heartbeat in her pussy, stimulating, teasing.

She opened one eye and looked at him, stunned. “Za—”

“Uh-uh, Eve. Not one word. Close your eyes.”

She obeyed, speechless as moisture pooled between her legs. On some level she tried not to let go, not give herself over to the sweet harmony of Zachary’s drums, but on another level, a deeper one, she knew she didn’t stand a chance. She shifted closer, pushing herself harder against the drum.

He rewarded her by playing a little harder, a little faster.

The contented sigh that escaped her lips melded with the sound of percussion in the air around her.

And then the beat changed, slowed. Rather than a cacophony of sounds and taps, only two remained. One deep and steady, the other lighter, from the drum she rested against.

Before she could question it, something tickled down the front of her shirt. A soft whisper from her throat to her waist.

She tugged heavy lids open.

Zachary’s arm was stretched toward her, and as she watched, he drew his drumstick up again, this time tracing the outline of her breasts.

Her breath caught.

“You’re very beautiful when you’re aroused.” The tip of the drumstick found her nipple, circled it in a whispered caress.

She hardly noticed. Zachary’s brown eyes had darkened. They held her spellbound.

“The way your lips part, and the tip of your tongue wets the lower one?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His drumstick drifted over to her other nipple.

Eve’s chest felt heavy, as though her breasts had swelled beneath his attention. Her nipples were stiff beads of pleasure, and each sweep of the stick over them made her tingle.

“It makes me want to know how those lips would feel around my shaft, how your tongue would wet my cock.”

Eve swallowed at the image he painted. It made her want to wrap her lips around his shaft, lick him from root to tip.

“Here’s what I need you to do, Tiny.” He stroked the tip of one stick up her chest and neck, and traced her mouth with it.

How he kept the touch so gentle, so erotic, Eve had no idea. Years of experience with his sticks was her only answer.

“Lose the skirt. Get rid of it. Good as you look in it, and…” He stopped, cleared his throat. “And you do look edible in it, for this I need it out of the way.”

Trapped by the greed in his eyes, Eve reached behind her, unfastened the skirt and shimmied out of it so she stood before him in her blouse and panties.

Zachary said something, a nonsensical word that came out like a growl. And then his drumstick trailed carnally down her front, down between her aroused breasts, down over her navel, down to where the edge of her shirt met the elastic of her panties.

And that’s where it stopped trailing.

“I’ve played many instruments before.” His gaze was focused on the point where his stick touched her panties. “Made music on everything from violins to saxophones, drums to didgeridoos, but never…” Again he cleared his throat. “Never have I anticipated creating symphonies like right now.” His voice alone was a tempestuous assault on her nerves. “Never have I wanted to make music like I want to make music with you.”

Eve’s knees turned to mush. Wet heat pooled between her legs. She had to clutch the drums to ensure she stayed upright.

And her weakness only increased as he dragged the tip of that maddening drumstick lower, finding her clit, and pressing with just the tiniest amount of pressure against it.

Eve almost climaxed on the spot.

She closed her eyes, ground her teeth, clenched her fingers over the rim of the drums and held every muscle rigid in an effort not to.

Zachary’s hum of satisfaction told her he’d noticed. He eased the pressure minutely. Long seconds passed where all Eve heard was the sound of her breath and his, hers fast and shallow, his slower, softer.

And then the tip of the drumstick was gone. But not for long. Zachary flattened the stick so he held it parallel to her legs, the tip resting on her clit.

He strummed her pussy. Strummed it with his drumstick like a cellist strummed strings with a bow. He played that stick over her, drawing it up and down, ever so gently, ever so erotically.

And she stood there, panting, her legs trembling, her pussy pulsing as he created his music.