Head-Tripped: A Sexy Rock Star Romance (Ad Agency Series Book 2) Page 6

  She kissed the tip of his finger.

  Flames of heat roared inside him. He wanted to grip the back of her hair and consume her. But the photographer could be lurking.

  “Where to next, flaquita?”

  “Take me on a tour,” she said. “Show me the secrets of the city.”

  “All right, a secret tour it is.” He bowed like a ringmaster. “We’ll start here. See the sharp curve of the street? It’s known as the ‘Bloody Angle.’ Chinese gangs use to ambush each other right over there. Underneath, there are tunnels where the Tong Gang hid their artillery.”

  She clapped and jumped. “Coooooool.”

  They hopped into a cab, took a five-minute ride north, and got out in front of a bakery.

  “Not sure I can stomach more food.” She patted her non-existent belly.

  “We’re not here to eat.” He led her to the back of the shop and unlocked the door.

  “What is this place?” She glanced around.

  “Used to be a theater. Now it’s a recording studio.”

  “How did you find it?”

  A realtor had showed it to him a few years ago, and he bought it that day. But he didn’t tell her that. “Did some recording here.”

  “And you still have the key?”

  He pushed a button on the jukebox and music poured out.

  She played with an old microphone then bounced down the stairs. Stage curtains billowed around a velvet seating arrangement. She tossed a couple pillows off and patted the seat.

  He crept toward her like a tiger waiting to pounce on his prey. He sat next to her, and she crawled into his lap.

  A breathy moan slipped out of her. “You’re so hot.” She pressed her fingertips under his neck and gave him a flirty little smile. “One hundred and forty BPM. You’re excited.”

  That he was. He wanted inside this beautiful creature, starting with her mouth. The scent of her skin made him drunk with desire. He brushed light kisses along her collarbone, trying like hell not to bite her. Slow. That’s how it needed to be. Slow, so she’d savor every second.

  He’d build her up one kiss at a time, one caress at a time, one lick at a time, one mouthful at a time. Then he’d bust her good-sex cherry with a long, slow fuck right before he left.

  In three days.

  He missed her already.

  “Ready for first base?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.” She closed her eyes and parted her lips.

  He hovered above her mouth, feeling like an asshole all of a sudden. She clearly had feelings for him. This wasn’t a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type of situation. He should have told her he was leaving. That’s what a nice guy would do.

  He traced her mouth with his thumb. “Tenés una sonrisa tan Hermosa.”

  The tip of her tongue darted out and invited him in.

  Forget being a nice guy. He captured her tongue between his teeth and reeled her in.

  The second their mouths met, a blast of white heat hit him. It was almost spiritual. That wasn’t a kiss, it was a meeting of souls.

  “Did you feel that?” he said against her mouth.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Do it again.”

  For an hour, all they did was kiss. At one point, he almost came in his pants. He didn’t even touch her boobs!

  He nibbled her neck. “You’re like a drug. I can’t get enough.”

  Her body tensed then she shot up and smoothed out her shirt. “So, what next?”

  Something upset her. He didn’t ask though, because they needed to keep things light and airy—just like her.

  A fuck buddy of his, who lived in Europe half the year, had a place nearby with a garden. She’d given him the keys a while ago and asked him to check in on the place when he was in town.

  “You up for a little fun in the sun?” he asked.

  “It’s a beautiful day.” She reached for his hand.

  He swallowed the sadness building in the back of his throat and threw an arm around her instead.

  11

  Pastoral

  “She found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.”

  Soundtrack “Wish I Knew You,” The Revivalists

  The world seemed brighter, and the air sweeter. New York had changed in the last twenty-four hours. Thanks to Elias.

  For the past six months, she’d gone from work to lessons to school—the same route every day—never paying attention to her surroundings. That day, though, she was fully present.

  Except when he’d mentioned drugs earlier. Anytime that word came up, guilt barged in and accused her of a crime she didn’t commit. It was a ridiculous reaction, of course, but often her past showed up unannounced.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I forgot something.” He disappeared back inside the bakery and came out with a gift-wrapped box.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “A surprise.”

  She shook pretend pompoms and did a one-legged toe touch. “Yay! Gimme. Gimme!”

  “I’ll give it to you when we get there.” He kissed her on the cheek. “But only if you do that again, naked.”

  “Let’s run.” She took off jogging.

  He caught her hand and nodded across the street. “It’s right there.”

  “That apartment building?”

  “You’ll see.” He climbed the stoop and put in a code at the entrance. At the end of the hallway, he pushed in another code and opened a door. Except for a few boxes it was empty inside. “Is this your dump?” she asked.

  “Friend’s place. But this isn’t what I want to show you.” He opened a sliding glass door and stepped onto the patio. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the gate key, so we’ll have to scale the fence.” He hooked his hands. “Come on, F-bomb.”

  On the other side, she slapped her palms on her cheeks and gasped. Trees, lit up with spring buds, surrounded the private park, and butterflies danced over wildflowers. “A secret garden,” she whispered.

  He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his face to the sun. The light tinted his hair the color of rich chocolate syrup. She yearned to run her fingers through it.

  “See the playground?” He pointed to a clearing where a slide poked out.

  She made a beeline for it. “Yippee! There’s a seesaw!” She straddled the seat. “Get on.”

  They bounced each other up and down, uncontrollable giggles pouring out of them. While he was still in the air, she hopped off and sent him crashing to the ground. “Ha ha!”

  “You little—” He chased her around the park, pinching her bottom when he came within reach.

  She slid under the jungle gym dome and thumbed her nose. “Nah nah nah nah. Can’t catch me.”

  Somehow, he squeezed his tall body through the bars and tackled her to the ground. His gaze stole her breath and sent tingles traveling down her belly.

  She needed another kiss. The first one was so intense, she’d almost wept.

  Eyes anchored to his, she snatched his bottom lip and sucked it into her mouth. His tongue greeted hers hungrily.

  Soon, she was zooming into outer space.

  “Quiero comerte la boca,” he murmured, nibbling her neck. After another long-lingering kiss, he rolled over and made a sound like a missile speeding towards earth. “Mierda He scrubbed a hand down his face and shook his head.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Shit.”

  “Good shit or bad shit?”

  “Both.”

  She tried not to dwell on the statement and focused on the passing seconds instead, willing time to slow down.

  “I forgot your surprise.” He crawled out and handed her the box.

  She tore off the ribbon and peeled back the tissue paper. Inside was the most perfect chocolate tart in the world. A peculiar feeling swelled inside her. Something she couldn’t pinpoint. No man had ever given her anything . . . except drugs.

  “It’s . . . oh my gosh.” She fanned her face to keep fr
om crying.

  “Is this your first dessert?” he mused.

  “My first one from you. Gracias.”

  “De nada. Try it.” He fed her a piece.

  It melted on her tongue. “Mmm. Tastes like a chocolate cloud.”

  “Good, yeah?” He licked his finger and took a bite.

  After they ate every crumb, he stretched out on his back and gazed at the sky.

  She settled next to him and watched the clouds drift by. “Doesn’t that one look like a snowman?” she said.

  He angled his head to the side. “Looks like boobs to me.”

  She turned to him and snorted.

  “What can I say? I love boobs.” He positively oozed machismo.

  And she drank it right up.

  “How free the clouds are, lying around all day long.” She sighed. “Bob Ross said that.”

  “Who’s Bob Ross?”

  She propped herself on an elbow. “Only the most brilliant philosopher ever. He had a painting show on public television back in the seventies. I watch YouTube reruns on my phone. His voice is so soooooooothing, and he says the most profound things. Total genius.”

  “‘If you look into the clouds long enough, you’ll find what you’re looking for,’” she said, imitating Bob’s voice.

  He pulled a leaf from her hair. “What are you looking for?”

  Love, she thought. “Success, I guess.”

  “At what?”

  “Anything.”

  A spell of silence passed. “Success isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “How do you know?” Wasn’t he unemployed?

  “I don’t know many happy wealthy people.”

  “So you think success means money?”

  He turned back to the sky. “What else did Bob say?”

  “This one’s my favorite: ‘You need the dark to show the light.’”

  “Very Zen.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I don’t remember the last time I stared at the clouds.” His tone was wistful, sad almost.

  As a homeless addict, all she did was get stoned, lie on the beach, and stare up at the clouds. But she kept that to herself, because as of this moment, that person didn’t exist anymore.

  “I can’t remember the last time I went to a playground,” she said. “Maybe when I was three?”

  “That long ago?”

  “I didn’t have much of a childhood.” Her mother had stolen it from her. “I was always practicing violin or performing somewhere.”

  He paused for a beat. “I didn’t have much of a childhood, either.”

  “Annie was strict?”

  “She didn’t adopt me until I was thirteen.”

  “So your real mother was mean?” If so, they had a lot more in common than she thought.

  “You could say that.” He sat up and brushed the grass off his shirt.

  “Where is she now?”

  “Dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.”

  The conversation had taken an unpleasant turn. And since this day was all about pleasure, she steered it in another direction. “If you could be a kid again, what would you do?”

  “Go to Disneyland, for sure,” he said without hesitation.

  A memory of her mother flashed in her mind. She’d refused to let Effie go to Disneyland with her father. They argued about it for weeks until he finally gave up. “I’ve never been there, either.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “What would you do differently?”

  For starters, she’d never play violin. “I’ve never been on a Ferris wheel.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been on one.” He picked up a leaf and twirled it. “I’ve always wanted a tree house. Growing up in Manhattan made it impossible.”

  “A tree house would be great,” she said. “If I could, I’d play Candy Land all the time.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A board game.” Her mother had hidden it from her and her sister, claiming it was too much of a distraction.

  For a second, he regarded her. “I bet you were the cutest little girl.”

  Not for long. “What else would you do?” she asked.

  “I never went trick-or-treating.”

  “Shut up! Me neither. I’d be a fairy princess.” She flapped her pretend wings.

  “Why not do it now? Dress up for Halloween?”

  “Guess I’ve been too”—High? Broke? Homeless?—“focused on other things.” She pulled out her phone and typed in their conversation.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making our bucket list.”

  His smile wilted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nada. Tell me what else you’d do.”

  “I’ve always wanted to ride a horse.”

  “I’d learn to ride a bike.”

  “Get out!” She shoved him to the ground. “I don’t know how to ride a bike!”

  Their gazes collided and a zap of energy hit her with a bang. “We’ve lived parallel lives, it seems.”

  “Excuse me!” someone shouted. “You don’t have permission to be here.” Two cops and elderly woman pushing a walker headed their way.

  They crawled out from under the jungle gym. “My friend lives here,” he said. “I’m watching the place for her.”

  The lady scooted her walker closer. “And which friend would that be?”

  He tapped his forehead then snapped his fingers. “Jenny. Yeah, that’s it.”

  The lines around the old woman’s eyes crinkled together. “How did you get in here?”

  “A key.”

  “Jenny moved six months ago.”

  “Run,” he whispered.

  They darted toward the fence. He picked her up, tossed her over the gate, then ninja-jumped it.

  One cop called in a break-in and the other pounded after them.

  They dashed out to the street right as a cab drove by. He flagged it down, and they jumped in.

  A burly female driver with a dollar sign on her front tooth asked the rearview mirror, “Where to?”

  “Just go,” he said. “Drive!”

  A trumpeting laugh erupted out of her. “Why don’t I just take you back to my house then? Have a little party?”

  He stuffed cash in the box. “Drive.”

  “That’s right. Let the money talk.” The cab peeled out.

  “I think we’re safe.” He slumped down in his seat and winced. “You must think I’m some kind of criminal.”

  “Never crossed my mind.” On second thought. “Are you?”

  “No. But don’t you want to know who Jenny is?”

  “Um, no.” As far as she was concerned, his old girlfriends didn’t exist.

  “Really?”

  She bounced in her seat. “Where to next? I’m having a blast.”

  He gripped the back of her neck and gave her a hard kiss. “Cásate conmigo!”

  “Yes!”

  A gigantic grin appeared. “Know what that means?”

  “No! But it sounds amazing.” She climbed into his lap and kissed him back.

  The driver pounded on the safety glass. “Hey, no sex in the cab!”

  “What about heavy petting?” he asked.

  She slammed on the brakes. “Get out.”

  He boomed out a laugh. “Okay, okay. Drop us off in front of the Music Shack on Broadway.”

  “Say please.”

  “Esperá un momento, please, kind lady, would you take us to the Music Shack?”

  The driver blasted them with a look that would make babies scream. “I mean it! No fucking in my cab.”

  “Sí, señora, no fornication in the vehicle. We’ll save that for later.”

  12

  Staccato

  Soundtrack “Normal Person,” Arcade Fire

  As a teenager, Elias had spent hours in the Music Shack. It was his escape. And he knew Effie would love it just as much.

  On the outside, it looked like a flea mar
ket. Records stacked two and three crates high filled plastic foldout tables.

  On the inside though, the place was magic.

  Effie covered her mouth as she surveyed the store.

  Paul ducked out from under the counter and gave him a hearty handshake. “Elias, my main man, you here for the Fender?”

  “Is she ready?”

  “As ever.” He pushed his John Lennon glasses back on his nose. “Who’s this beautiful woman with you?”

  Effie glanced over her shoulder. Once she realized he was talking about her, she strode toward him with her arms out. “I’m Effie, you sweet, sweet man.”

  Paul hugged her and wagged his brows at him behind her back.

  She twirled around the store. “You own this place?”

  “You a music lover?” Paul asked.

  “I’m a music liver.” She wrinkled her nose. “Wait, that came out weird. I’m not a liver. I live for music is what I meant to say.” She reached out and caressed a curved instrument. “Is this a crumhorn?”

  “It is,” Paul said.

  “I’ve never seen one up close before. Can I try it?”

  “Cover this part with your lips and use your tongue to make a long hiss.”

  On the first try, she made it work.

  He and Paul shared another look. “Where’d you find this one, Elias?”

  “Picked her up in an alley.”

  She corrected him. “I picked him up in an alley.” She wandered over to a shelf. “What’s this?”

  “That’s a Xun.”

  “Looks like an egg. How do you play it?”

  “Like a flute.” He blew the instrument.

  She tilted her ear toward the sound. “It’s like a hummingbird.”

  “Oldest instrument in the world.”

  “Fascinating!” She clapped and wiggled. “What other cool stuff do you have?”

  “Elias, why don’t you go check out the guitar, while I kidnap your girlfriend.”

  If only she were his girlfriend.

  Paul led Effie upstairs, and he drifted to the back office. His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Gail again. She’d been texting non-stop since that morning. He closed his eyes and answered.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Instead of waiting for an answer, she shot questions at him like a machine gun—one after the other, rapid-fire—pelting him in the gut. Tickets, passports, airline information, tour information, missed interviews. Instantly, her overbearing force sucked up his joy like a black hole. When she finally paused for a breath, he spoke.