Secrets to Hide 2: Naughty Little Christmas (12 page)

Damien stepped from backstage, his usual feline grace evident as he navigated the obstacle course of sound equipment, cords, and instruments littering the stage. A flare of need ignited in her belly as she watched him move toward her. It was their first time alone together since that night, and suddenly all she wanted was a repeat performance.

Dropping her gaze before Damien could read it, she focused instead on setting the guitar out of the way. “What’s up, boss?” If the words quivered slightly, it wasn’t pronounced enough for anyone other than her to hear, right?

Damien’s eyes glittered with something she couldn’t decipher in the gloom, but he remained silent until he reached her side. When he sat on the stage next to her, the chill of the room dropped away. The smooth muscle of his arm brushed hers, whether deliberately or not, she couldn’t tell, but her libido didn’t care. It flared hotter, like an obedient puppy eager to please its master.

“Got a call from Becca. Solar Uprising won’t be here till Friday night.”

Harley groaned at the delay, though there was nothing any of them could do about it. Her mind whirred with possible ways to shuffle the schedule so as to accommodate their headlining band’s late arrival. “Okay, we could—”

“Deal with this later,” Damien said.

“But—”

Damien reached out, tapping her moving lips with one strong, calloused finger. “I’ve already got Lenore working on it. You’ve taken too much on yourself this week. Besides, I have more important news.”

More important than the delay of Solar Uprising’s arrival? “What?” she asked warily.

“The concert is officially sold out.”

His words didn’t register, or they did, but their meaning hit a disconnect between her ears and her brain. She just sat there looking at him, blank, for a minute before the grin taking over his face finally made sense. “What?” She yelled it this time, more exclamation than question. Damien winced but nodded his head to confirm the news.

Her squeal had to hit the deafening range, but Harley was too busy launching herself at Damien to care. They both fell back onto the stage, the sound of Damien’s laughter filling her ears. She couldn’t believe it. She really couldn’t. Only halfway through the week, promoting only her second concert event, and they’d sold out. Even lying on the dusty stage, she was bouncing in Damien’s arms, her grin so big her cheeks hurt. “We did it!”

Damien tucked a leg around hers, probably to hold her still. “No, you did it. You’ve more than proven yourself, Harley.”

His leg pulled tighter, and suddenly Harley found her pelvis aligned with his, her soft mound cushioning a thick rod she knew wasn’t a metal bar in his pocket. She stilled, breath going light and thready, not sure what the next step was. She knew what she wanted it to be—she wanted him to kiss her, so much—but after the past week, did he want that too, or was he grateful for the distance that had been imposed on them?

A hard nudge under her chin brought up her gaze until Damien captured it with his. In a tone she’d never heard from him before, something tender, almost affectionate, he said, “Congratulations, Wonder Girl.” And then he was lifting his head, those sinful lips coming closer and closer. They scraped, whisper soft, across her own. Harley couldn’t resist the need to lick her lips, to savor his taste. The sight of her tongue obviously gave Damien other ideas, because he swooped up for another kiss, this one anything but soft. He devoured her, sucked on her tongue, rolled her beneath him to hold her still as he took his pleasure from her mouth. Harley moaned deep in her throat. So good. He felt so good surrounding her, and she wondered in that instant if it was even possible to get enough of what this man was giving her.

Unfortunately, they weren’t in private. The sound of the heavy outer door slamming shut had them scrambling to stand, tugging their clothes straight with trembling hands. As the members of Taste the Eight walked down the central aisle, Harley flushed, feeling like a junkie whose fix had just been torn out of her needy hands. When she glanced up, Damien looked cool and collected. It was his eyes that gave him away, at least to her. There, in the clear brown orbs, the crazed need Harley felt could still be seen.

Just before the band hit the stage, Damien leaned close, his breath fanning her hot cheek, and whispered, “This isn’t over, Wonder Girl. Not by a long shot.”

* * * *

A seething mass of humanity filled Twice’s vast expanse, even the roped-off portion reserved for the cocktail party Harley had arranged. This week’s contest winners roamed the area with their guest of choice, rubbing elbows with Taste the Eight’s and Solar Uprising’s band members. The indie band had played earlier, wowing the sold-out crowd with a mix of their popular music and Goth versions of Christmas songs. It hadn’t hurt that their lead singer looked a bit like Marilyn Manson in a Santa Claus outfit. Damien thought the mainstream band, Solar Uprising, would be more to his personal liking. His friends had played Twice’s concert hall several times over the past few years.

Lenore had decked Twice’s black-and-silver halls in her usual unique, magnificent way. Bare tree branches had been painted black and mounted through the bar and dance areas, their stark silhouettes outlined in traditional white Christmas lights, giving the appearance of floating in midair. The only color in the club was the gigantic Christmas tree situated in the open lobby, its silver ornaments reflecting the shine of more white lights, and the Santa hats worn by all the staff members, their psychedelic colors glowing in the dim light. Clusters of neon-green mistletoe hung throughout the club, just above the partygoers’ heads, providing the perfect excuse for some holiday “revelry.” Damien eyed them as he walked across the bar, noting locations he wouldn’t mind taking advantage of later, with Harley at his side.

The sound of the jingle bells worn around the staff’s necks or ankles—their choice—added to the cacophony of people and music. For the first time since this month had begun, the excitement of the holiday hit Damien. He even found himself smiling as he stepped through the rope into the VIP section and headed straight for Daniel Korvello.

“Daniel!” Damien grinned at Solar’s lead singer. “Sorry I missed your arrival. The trip go smoothly?”

“Dude, you know it did! How’s it going?”

Damien had met Daniel and the other members of Solar Uprising at Once five years ago. The blond rocker’s movie-star good looks were an even bigger draw for the fans who chased him incessantly than his phenomenal voice. Daniel wasn’t above partying with a groupie or two, but he was much more likely to be hanging out with family and friends than worrying about his image. Besides, Solar had their publicist, Becca Buchanan, a cute little thing with the tenacity of a bulldog, to handle that part of the business.

Glancing around, Damien took note of the other band members’ positions and their relatively relaxed states. “Everybody seems happy.”

“They are. And no one’s swinging from the mistletoe yet, despite the generosity of your bartenders.”

Damien laughed. “Hey, have to keep the artists happy, ya know?” Speaking of drinks, he snagged a passing waiter and put in his usual order. When the man headed for the bar, Damien turned back to Daniel. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough for doing this, especially with Christmas so close. The money will mean a lot to the charity we’ve chosen.”

“No worries. You know we like to help out when we can.”

Which wasn’t often, considering their schedules and the fact that Michael Korvello, Daniel’s brother and the band’s bass guitarist, had kids. The musician took his family time with a hefty side of serious, one of the things Damien admired most about him, though the thought of adding the responsibility of a child to the weight of his business made Damien’s gut churn.

“I do, and I appreciate it. You guys heading back out tonight?”

Daniel shook his head. “Nope. Plan to stick around for a few days of holiday vacay, maybe hit the slopes, enjoy some downtime with the family and crew. Sort of a Christmas bonus.”

Damien nodded as the waiter returned with his Jack and Coke. Sipping the drink and talking with Daniel bled off even more of his stress from the last couple of weeks, induced not only by the planning and preparation for the concert series, but the chaos Harley had brought into his life. Remembering the feel of her beneath him on the stage just a couple of days ago set off all kinds of havoc, in his body and his mind. Maybe having her would allow this insatiable need to die down and his real brain, not the little one in his pants, to take back the control he’d lost.

“And speak of the devil,” he murmured as Harley appeared in his peripheral vision. She and Lenore approached from the general side of the club. Her lime-green Santa hat perched jauntily on her head, a jingle bell dangling from the tip to swing with every step she took. But it was the rest of her outfit that had him choking on a too-hasty swallow of his drink.

Damien let his gaze wander from her cream-and-red hair to the thin spaghetti straps of her black sheath dress. The low neckline and sleeveless style revealed not just the full extent of the tattoo covering Harley’s right arm, but also a small symbol gracing the spot directly above her heart. Plump mounds threatened to spill from the tattered neckline, echoing the same tattered fabric at her feet. The material in between clung to every curve and hollow of her lush body, helped along by a black studded belt cinching in her waist. Who said sexy had to be naked? He certainly didn’t; every lick of moisture in his mouth disappeared just looking at her. Harley drew every ounce of his attention, and it was a few minutes before he realized Daniel was speaking and he should probably focus on the conversation instead of the sudden monument to lust taking up every inch of space in his too-tight pants.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

“I said, I would so hit that.” Daniel’s gaze was glued to the sway of Harley’s hips beneath the should-be-illegal dress. Damien had the itching need to tell the man to put his tongue back in his mouth before Damien stepped on it. Before he even knew it was coming, much less had a chance to smother it, a low growl escaped. Daniel startled, throwing a surprised look his way, but he couldn’t be nearly as surprised as Damien. Damn it, being possessive was so the shit—in the literal, not figurative, sense. He wasn’t possessive. He didn’t get territorial, yet here he was, acting like a dog whose buddy wanted to snatch his bone away.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a breath his lungs didn’t want.
Pull yourself together
. He and Harley had finally worked some of their issues out—sort of—and after the whole Hank incident, Damien didn’t want to risk any more misunderstandings. Not until he’d been inside her.

“Well, that was pretty clear,” Daniel said drily.

Damien’s eyelids popped open. Seeing the mocking tilt to his friend’s lips, he snorted. “Was it?” Well, at least someone understood what the hell was going on.

Daniel laughed so hard Damien seriously considered decking him, wondering just what was so damn funny about his being tangled in knots over a woman.

“My friend,” Daniel said, visibly struggling to control his amusement, “I don’t think it could get any clearer; those are some serious territorial vibes you’re putting out right there. Why don’t you just fuck her already? I mean, I know she’s an employee”—he jerked his chin toward Harley’s hat—“but there are ways to avoid that whole sexual-harassment deal. If you’re worried about it, have ‘the talk’ with her first. Whatever makes you more comfortable, but dude, don’t pass up the opportunity to get some of that.”

“I plan to.”

His eyes rounded.
Shit, did I say that out loud?
Yes, he had, because Daniel was off on fits of laughter again.

“Oh, go to hell. Isn’t it about time for you guys to get warmed up?”

Chuckles continued to escape as Daniel checked his watch. “No, I’ve got a few minutes. Wanna invite her over?”

“No.”

Daniel smirked. “You know, I remember a conversation with my brother that sounded very similar to this one.”

Knowing he shouldn’t take the bait, that he’d regret it if he did, Damien asked nonetheless, “What happened?”

Daniel slapped him on the back, the gesture one of camaraderie and pity all at once. “He’s now leg shackled with a baby on the way. Good luck, dude!”

Damien growled again, louder this time, but Daniel was already walking away, his laughter floating behind him.

Draining his drink with a sharp flick of his wrist, Damien pivoted to find the nearest table and set down his glass, then stalked across the space dividing him from the woman he was damn well going to work out his frustration on, much to their mutual satisfaction. Just a few more hours, he thought as Harley turned, her gaze colliding with his, her eyes going wide at whatever she saw on his face. A few more hours till he had her underneath him, but there was nothing to stop him from getting a little taste right now, was there?

Harley tensed, a doe in hunter’s sights, as she watched him weave through the crowd, but when he looked, he could see evidence of her arousal in the taut nipples clearly outlined by the clingy material of her dress. His mouth watered. He wanted those buds between his lips, wanted her taste and scent and touch filling his senses. He wanted to get lost in her, and hopefully, on the other side, he could find the man he used to be.

“Damie—”

Need roughened his voice. “No talking.” He didn’t stop, just kept right on walking, shooting an arm out to snatch her to his side. Despite her surprise, Harley met him stride for stride, her curves fitting against him as if she and Damien were puzzle pieces created to click together. He led her away from the bar, away from the crowd and the noise and the watching eyes. Led her past the wide double-doored entrance at the front of the club and the bouncers who guarded it. He could hear Harley’s breath catch as she realized what he was doing, but when he glanced down, it was anticipation and not anxiety that lit her shining green eyes.

He rushed her past the massive Christmas tree in the lobby, intent on getting her to the hallway beyond and the blessed concealing darkness it provided, the access to private offices a few steps beyond. But a sudden tug on his hand jerked him to a halt before he could reach his goal.