Dear God, everything was more intense when he began to sing. The opening verse was his alone, full of smoke and smolder, and when he hit the chorus, Stella joined him in harmony. It elevated the slow, sultry love song, and it was so beautiful, my bottom lip shook.
She sang the lead in the second verse while he played, and his carefully placed accompaniment was perfect. I hadn’t thought of the song as a duet before, but now I didn’t want it to be anything else.
He crooned to the audience about desire and being lured in to capture, and not wanting to break free. About the power his lover held over him. And when he came to the bridge, I discovered the lyrics he wanted to change.
“If I said how much I loved you, would you say you loved me too?”
If I wasn’t already in love with him, I sure the hell was now.
Through the last note and the audience’s cheering, an eagerness began to swell inside me, because I knew what was going to happen when he was done and I was desperate for it. He thanked the audience and Stella, said his goodbye, and then exited the stage.
My heart was in my throat as he stalked toward me, took out his in-ear monitor, and handed off his guitar to someone. Anyone. It probably wasn’t the right person, but it didn’t matter. His focus was only on me, and mine was only on him.
“If I said how much I loved you,” I repeated, “would you say you loved me too?”
The electricity crackled between us. He knew I wasn’t reciting the lyric, and he was thrilled to answer my question. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then, I love you,” I said.
He grinned, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me tight against him. “These shoes you’ve got on really are lucky.”
My mouth dropped open, but he laughed, and whispered it just before Stella’s next song started.
“I love you too.”
Troy
Erika glared at me, fire burning in her eyes. “I hate you.”
“Sure you do, but you have twenty more seconds.”
She was in a squat position and had a black battling rope in each hand, waving them in ripples against the mat. The loud, rhythmic pounding of them echoed through the empty high-intensity training room of the gym, and it matched the rock song streaming from her phone nearby.
I thought about making a comment about how much I liked her form, but I also wasn’t stupid. She’d rage-quit our workout, and I didn’t want this to end with her in a bad mood.
“Ten, nine, eight . . .” I counted down for her.
We’d discovered she liked bossing me around in bed, and I liked bossing her around in the gym. I’d quit my job as an instructor once my advance from the record label had cleared, but three times a week I met my girlfriend-slash-manager at the gym, and she let me do whatever I wanted to her.
Today was upper body with a side of cardio.
“. . . three, two, one. Good job.”
She tossed the ropes aside in a huff, put her hands on her hips, and paced a circle on the mat as she struggled to catch her breath. Did she have any idea how hot she looked right now? Her fitted tank top and sports bra beneath seemed designed to tease me with her cleavage, and her tight leggings flaunted her ass that, as I’d explained to her, was made for trouble.
“You suck,” she growled, picking up her water bottle off the floor and unscrewing the cap.
I smirked.
Once she’d finished recovering, the endorphins would kick in and she’d be pumped about finishing such a challenging workout. Meanwhile, I considered the fastest way to peel her out of her clothes as she drank her water. It’d been four months since the best night of my life—when she’d said she loved me—and my desire for her had only gotten stronger over that time.
She’d written me six new songs too. More than half the album would be her words. The rest of the songwriting had been collaborations between us, or with Stella. I couldn’t wait to release it.
“Did you finish packing?” she asked.
“I packed my guitar. Do I need anything else?”
I was joking, but she was not amused. We were on a flight this afternoon to L.A., where I’d meet up with Stella and shoot the music video for ‘Power.’ It’d be the first single, and the hope was Stella’s accompaniment would launch my debut record.
Erika’s voice turned seductive. “Well, as much as I like seeing you perform naked, you can’t. That show’s only for me.”
She strolled to me and stroked a hand over my bare bicep. Just her touch made lust coil in my body, which was a problem. My gym shorts did fuck-all to conceal a boner.
“Yes, I’m packed,” I said. It’d been easy because I’d barely finished moving into my new apartment and was sort of living out of a suitcase anyway. I spent a lot of nights at her place.
Last night, we’d fucked in her hot tub, the steam rising from our bodies into the cold winter air. Afterward, I’d tossed some shock into the water out of habit. She’d hired a new guy to take over maintaining her pool and spa, but he was married and in his late fifties, and she said she’d make sure she’d keep his schedule in mind whenever she got the urge to sunbathe topless.
“So, what you’re saying is,” she drawled, “you don’t need to rush home.”
Had my session not been enough for her? My tone was skeptical. “You want to work out some more?”
A sexy smile burned across her lips. “Kind of.”
Oh.
Well, I was down. I was always down with her. Since no one else was in the HITT room, I put my hand on her ass and squeezed until her eyes lidded with desire. My voice was low. “What’d you have in mind?”
I was expecting her to invite me back to her place, but I wasn’t thinking big enough. My girl was full of surprises.
“I’m thinking about the time you kissed me against the mirror.” She pushed her hands up under my shirt, setting her warm palms against my chest. “How we both wanted to do more, but didn’t have time.”
My laugh was sinful and my voice full of sex. “We got time now.”
“So,” her fingertips trailed along my abdominals, tracing every inch, “if I asked you to fuck me in the dressing room, what would you say?”
I grinned. “I’d say yes, ma’am.”
I’d always say yes to her.
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