Player(40)

It’s dangerous, I reminded myself. You’ll hurt her.

Be honest, the devil said, disguised as an angel. Just tell her you can’t give her anything more. Then you’re free and clear.

Lies, all of them. And I believed every one.





16





Everything, Everywhere





Val

An ocean of people rocked in front of me, bouncing and spinning and flipping to the beat of Ian’s drumsticks.

Sam looked over at me, his smile so utterly perfect. I closed my eyes, my cheeks high as I blasted a riff that hit a note so high, I could feel it zing all the way through me.

Adrenaline pumped through me as it had since we’d stepped onstage. I’d imagined this feeling, but reality didn’t come close—it was a religious experience. It was what I’d been born to do.

Sam, I’d discovered, was a doorway to a world I’d only dreamed of. A world of kisses and touches and music. A world of dancing and flipping and laughter. A world where I was onstage in front of hundreds of people, doing the thing I loved most.

It was every version of me that I’d wished existed come to life.

Our set was nearly over, which I would have hated if not for the fact that afterward, I’d be bopping around the dance floor with Sam.

My Sam. For the time at least.

My heart flung itself against my breastbone when Sam spun his bass with the help of his foot and stepped into the open stage in front of us. I let him ham it up, and he did. The instrument rested between his legs, and he shifted his hips like he was dancing. Or fucking.

Oh, the things those hips could do.

Oh, the things I wanted those hips to do to me.

When he tipped the bass and the verse wound toward the break, I walked over, still playing. Until the four-count break hit, and in a flash that shocked even me, I grabbed his hand, stepped on the waist of the bass, and kicked my leg over his neck. My red dress flew—the same dress I’d worn on that first night—and just like that, he straightened up. We hit the chorus at the exact same moment. His hand slapped that bass like he was punishing it, and my horn pointed at the ceiling in exaltation as I made my way through an epic, barely planned run. All the lights were on us, the crowd absolutely wild, my heart blindly racing and the man between my legs playing as if the devil himself were spurring him on.

When we split back into the verse, I laid a hand on his shoulder and jumped, kicking my feet out behind me. I jumped into the verse, jitterbugging around Sam in a circle—hips swaying, shoulders shimmying, twisting on the balls of my feet—before heading back to my spot. A few minutes later, the song was over, along with our set.

The crowd broke into applause and cheers, everyone stopping to face us, hooting and whistling and smiling their thanks. We stepped out and bowed. Sam and the guys turned to me, applauding me from the stage, and I thought my heart might stop from shock and the overwhelming humbleness it evoked. The noise from the crowd rose, and not knowing what else to do, I stepped out and curtsied, waving to them all before following the guys offstage.

I’d barely passed the deep navy velvet curtains when I was scooped off my feet and spun around by Sam. His arms clamped around my waist, and I flung mine around his neck in an effort to hang on while he madly spun us backstage.

“You were amazing,” he said in my ear, and I buried my face in his neck to hide my smile.

“Thank you for that, Sam. Thank you so much.”

He nuzzled his nose into my hair. “No, thank you.”

He set me down, but his hand found mine and clasped it. The guys congratulated me as Sam took my trumpet and set it on its horn next to where his bass lay on its side. And the second they dispersed, he towed me behind the stage to an alley of curtains. The next thing I knew, we were behind them all, completely alone in the almost dark. The curtains rippled against us from the disturbance, the brick wall biting at my back. And, when I took a breath, Sam’s body held me in place, his hips pinning mine, his golden eyes on fire.

“Pop quiz,” he said. And before I could wonder what he meant, his mouth covered mine.

Hot and wet. Supple and sweet. He kissed me until we were coiled around each other with no breath, no air, no space between us.

To my disappointment, he broke away, his lips swollen and eyes smoldering. I couldn’t help but smile.

He smiled back, tracing my face with his gaze. “You are incredible, Valentina.” His voice was rough, his calloused fingers rougher as they brushed my chin, my jaw, the hollow behind my ear.

“Takes one to know one.”

He chuckled softly. Now his fingers were at the nape of my bare neck. “I like your hair like this. I love to see this curve. Here,” he said, trailing those damnable fingers down the stem of my neck to the point where it met my shoulder. “And I love the magnolia,” he said, running a petal of the flower behind my ear between his thumb and forefinger. “It kisses your ear right here, right where I’ve wanted to kiss all night.”

Before I could speak, he did just that. His mouth closed over my earlobe, his tongue wet and dexterous as he sucked. I went limp in his arms, my eyes fluttering closed with a sigh.

“God, how do you do that?” I muttered.

He hummed from deep in his chest, the sound so close to a moan, my body responded in every erogenous zone I had, plus a few I hadn’t known existed.