Sultry Groove (Reckless Beat #4) (9 page)

“Well, unless there’s another set of drumsticks in your pocket—”

“Drumsticks?” His laughter echoed into her chest, the vibrations making it necessary to squeeze her thighs together. He pointed the sticks at her, the rounded tip almost reaching her chest. “There’s a big difference, sweetheart.
Huge
.”

His smooth, deep voice was killing her. She was going to have to move. She was going to have to leave
.

“Want me to prove it?”

Run.
She slid out of reach, glaring. “Not funny. You promised no flirting or innuendo.”

“What?” He threw his hands up in exasperation and chuckled. “I can’t be honest now? You made reference to something
popping up
. I assure you, I’ve been hard as stone for over an hour now. My dick can’t
pop
up any more than it already has.”

Not cool. So, not cool.

“Let’s play a game then.” He chuckled through his words.

“If your next sentence contains the words
hide the salami
, I’m walking out that door to find my own way home.” She held in her own laughter and willed herself to stop looking at his devilish grin.

“Simmer down, Red. It’s all above board and PG rated.”

He said
PG
, but his tone and the look in his eyes said fuck-fest extravaganza, or maybe it was just her underappreciated hormones messing with her mind.

“I’m listening.” In honesty, she didn’t want to leave. He was a sight. A dreamy, mouth-drying sight she didn’t want to back away from. All she needed to do was stay out of his pheromone range.

“I’ll play five drum beats, and you have to tell me what song each of them are from.”

“Oh, come on. As if I’m going to have any correct answers. I love music, but I don’t break it down into instruments.”

“I’ll make it easy on you.”

I’ll also mesmerize you with my grin so you can’t say no.
Damn him.

She pondered her answer. If she declined, she’d regret it for the rest of her life. If she said yes, he was going to blow her away with his awesomeness. She’d be driven to have sex with him. He’d see her scars, judge her, think less of her, and she’d end the night hating herself even more than she already did.

“
Fine
. What do I get if I win?”

“Let’s make it something simple like—the satisfaction of knowing I think you’re pretty cool.”

She rolled her eyes. Wow. Great prize. Far better than an orgasm. “And if you win?”

He glanced at his watch. “Then you have to stay here with me—”

“No way.”

“—for an extra half-hour.”

Oh. Way to go jumping the gun, Melody.
“All right. Just don’t make them too hard. They need to be popular songs.”

“Promise.” He started twirling again, running those wooden sticks in and out of his fingers like a magician.

She diverted her gaze, needing to concentrate, and stared at the soundproofing on the walls like a mental patient in need of asylum. The first tap against one of the hi-hats startled her, and she turned, unable to stop herself from watching as he rhythmically kept tap, tap, tapping in a fast rhythm against it.

He didn’t waver in tone or pace, just continued on the one hi-hat,
tap tap tap tap tap tap.

“Is that it?” She stepped closer, frowning at him.

“Be patient.”

Seconds later, he hit two of the drums in front of him, twice, while his foot pressed hard against the pedal underneath, making a booming sound. Instantly she knew the beat; it was ingrained in her mind yet she couldn’t think of the accompanying lyrics to come up with the song title.

Dun-dun, danannahnananahnah. Dun-dun, danannahnananahnah.

In time, he went from working the hi-hat, to the big round drums and the pedal thingy. The same thing, over and over.

“
Thunderstruck
.” She almost yelled the answer and felt a burst of pride when he smiled back at her, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

Again, he started on the hi-hat, this time in a different rhythm. A few beats later he did that floor pedal thing, then added a drum beat up top while still working the hi-hat. She had no clue how he did it all. One hand going one way, while his other did something different, along with both feet working two different pedals on the floor.

Her thug had skills. And when the hell did he become
her
anything
?

“I don’t know this one.” She shook her head, too confused from his gorgeousness, the way his muscles flexed, and the ease in which he played something that seemed extremely difficult.

He hit the cymbal, then continued to do another loop of what he’d just played. “You sure? Do you want to take a guess?”

Her only guess would be that this game sucked. She was going to lose. “No. I’m done.”

“
Roxanne
,” he sang the word, playing along in time. “
You don’t have to put on the red light
.”

Shock consumed her at the voice that almost perfectly matched pitch with the song. He was talented, and on such an intense scale that it took her half a life cycle to respond. “By the Police?” She scowled at him. “Oh, come on. You can’t pick songs that were made before I was born.”

He chuckled, cutting off the beat and leaving the room in silence. She wanted to lick him—his smile, his jawline, his muscles…or maybe just one in particular.

“Fine. I’ll pick something in your era.” He twirled the sticks. “And I’ll start later in the song so you get a better feel.”

Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam crash.

This beat was harsh, dirty, with cymbals and a whole heap of pounding on the drums in front of him. The room vibrated, throbbed. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the heavy lines of concentration on his face. Like her, he became one with the music. He
was
the beat.

“I’ve got nothing.” She raised her voice over the banging and crashing. “I don’t know it.”

“Oh, come on, Red. Don’t let me down.”

He continued thumping those sticks, making her heart echo the fast tempo. She didn’t want to disappoint him, which was weird because impressing men had never been her thing. They could either take it or leave it. Yet now, she was frustrated with her inability to name the song.

“It sounds like cult music,” she yelled. “I don’t listen to that crap.”

The sound cut off, and her ears rang from the silence.

“Red, you’re killing me.” He clucked his tongue. “It’s
Enter Sandman
.” Her scrunched expression must’ve said it all because he quickly followed up with an aghast, “You know Metallica, right?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and raised a brow at him.

“You know Metallica, don’t you, pixie girl?” His tone was gruff now, his gaze tracking her.

She waited out the moment, wondering how long she could taunt him. Of course she’d heard of the band, but it wasn’t on her playlist.

“You don’t know Metallica?” he gasped. “Get out.” He pointed his sticks to the door, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t belong here.”

She pressed her lips together to stop from grinning and shrugged her shoulder. Two could play this game. Turning on her sandal covered toes, she sauntered toward the door, adding an extra swing to her step.

“But if you leave, you lose.”
Ba-bang ba-bang ba-bang ba-bang bang bang
.

She paused, familiar with the famous beat. “Phil Collins.”

“Can you name the song, sweet cheeks?”

Sweet cheeks?
She swung around to face him. “
In the Air Tonight
.”

He inclined his head, grinning at her like he’d won a prize. Had he? She was definitely lost to him.

“One more to go.” He began playing, this time watching her instead of the gear surrounding him.

The beat was gentle, slowly growing, building, becoming a heavy sound mixed with cymbals before softening again. It was nice, she supposed, not thuggish, or overbearing. It kind of told a story, even without the words. It wasn’t a song she knew, though.

She shook her head. “I guess you win. I don’t know this song.”

“Sure you do.” He replayed an earlier sequence of beats,
ba-bang ba-bang crash, ba-bang ba-bang crash.
“Close your eyes and listen.”

She complied, swallowing over the vulnerability his request brought. She was naked to his perusal. Entirely exposed. Her body hummed with the image of him firmly planted in her mind. Her legs ached under his scrutiny, too. He was leading her, like a partner on the dance floor, his charm sinking under her ribs and into her chest. The beat didn’t even penetrate anymore. She was lost in the thought of him—how his skin would taste, how his mouth would take hers.
Damn it
. She had to have him.

The room fell silent, and she blinked her eyes open to find him staring back at her. His cockiness had faded; only the faint hint of a soft smile rested on his lips.

“You still don’t know it?”

Another shake of her head. She couldn’t speak, her throat was too dry.

“I thought for sure you’d know this one. It’s
Fighting Against Attraction
.”

“Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “I still haven’t had a chance to listen to the track.”

He stood, his large frame filling the room as he approached, squeezing her insides into a tight ball of yearning. “Wanna listen now?” He quirked a brow and continued toward the iPod dock in the corner. “I’ve got it here.”

“Sure.” She’d come to his penthouse wanting to be his distraction, now all she needed was something to take her mind off wanting him so badly.

He played with the device in the corner, then pivoted and leaned against the wall, watching her. “I hope you like it.”

No pressure.
She gave a soft smile as a guitar riff filled the air, and Mason Lynch’s unmistakable voice began to sing.
How did you work your magic over me? I never wanted you under my skin.

Snap!
The lyrics mimicked her thoughts, telling a story of attraction that wasn’t controlled or desired. The music was gentle, a delicate strum of guitars mixed with the basic beat Sean had been playing earlier.

She turned away and closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. Dance moves played like a movie in her mind, flowing effortlessly with the tune, building in intensity along with the crescendo in the music. Then the chorus hit and she jolted with excitement. It was entirely different. Up-beat, fast paced, hard, heavy.

Get outta my mind. Steer clear of my heart.

I’m fighting this attraction, and it’s tearing me apart.

Lifts, flips, pushing, tugging. This dance would be epic in its beauty. She could already see the story unfolding before her eyes. The two of them were trying to seduce each other, dying to be the one to win the battle, yet hating their own desire at the same time.

So, in actuality, all she had to do was display her current feelings through dance.
Awesome.

***

Sean watched, enthralled
, as Red kicked off her sandals and relaxed into the sound of his music. Her shoulders jerked in sharp movements, hitting each of his beats. Her fingers twirled at her sides, as she pointed the toes of her right foot and trailed them in an intricate pattern.

She pivoted on one foot, swaying to the final bars of the song as she faced him. Her eyes were closed, her face such a peaceful mix of enjoyment and nirvana that he wanted to bridge the distance between them and kiss the love of music from her mouth.

“What do you think?”

The final riff sounded, and a smile widened the curve of her lips. “I can’t wait to get started.” She blinked her eyes open, now grinning with full force.

“Then start.” He pushed from the wall and leaned forward to press repeat on the iPod. “Show me what you’ve got.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t have anything at the moment, just a mass of thoughts and images running through my mind.”

“I don’t care.” He didn’t give a shit what she came up with. He wanted to see her move, any way, anyhow. “Throw some ideas at me.”

Her smile wavered as she lowered her gaze to the floor. And there it was, her vulnerability returning to the forefront in Technicolor.

“Are you nervous because of me?” That had to be it. Every time they were close, or on the verge of touching, she changed. He didn’t like it. He wanted her confidence, and her head held high with her bright pixie smile beaming.

“Nervous? Because of you?” She let out a breath of laughter that wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “No. Not at all.”

He stalked toward her, noticing the change to her stance as he approached—the stiffening of her spine, the nervous twitch of her hand at her left thigh. Like hell, she wasn’t nervous.