Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)(12)

“Were those jeans on sale?” She pointed at the closed door. “Because I know where we can get them one hundred percent off.”

“Jesus.” He turned the key in the lock and shoved open the door. “I’m glad you’re getting a kick out of this.”

She gasped when he picked her up again, but recovered quickly and glanced around the basic, no frills room. “Maybe I’m just nervous.”

His stride broke just inside the door, the dark stillness enfolding them. “You’re… nervous with me.”

Lita threw her arms around his neck and held. “That’s not what I meant. Or maybe it is. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

He continued his stalk toward the bathroom, throwing on the fluorescent light and setting Lita down on the sink. “Explain.”

Now or never. Lita opened her mouth to relay her thoughts, but James chose that moment to remove her right shoe, sending pain slicing up her calf. “Ohh, God.”

James dropped into a crouch to inspect the damage, alarm written across his chiseled features. It was bad. She knew the way his skin paled, the way his voice emerged strangled. “If you were trying to punish me, Lita, it f*cking worked.”

Shit. She was losing him. To anyone else, he would have appeared closed off since her arrival in town, but she knew him better than that. He’d been on the brink of finally talking to her. So she had to work fast before he retreated, risk be damned. “I wore this outfit because…I know you feel guilty about what happened that first night. So we’re going to go back and do it right.” She curled her fingers into the cotton T-shirt covering his broad shoulders, tugging, until he finally stood, watching her with a hooded expression. “Show me how you would do it differently, James.”

His gray eyes darkened, the sink groaning beneath his grip. “It won’t fix what’s wrong with me.”

“No.” She wet her parched lips. “It might fix what’s broken with us, though.”

Oh, he wanted to take the opportunity and run. There was no denying it. Not when he grew winded looking down at her thighs, her bare midriff. He’d been in check around Lita so long, resisting even her most brazen advances. Maybe it was their dynamic as musician-manager having changed, or maybe it was the feeling of isolation provided by the silent motel. But she saw his hunger, not just for her, but to replace the memory of their night together with one he could stand. One he could live with. “Have…” His throat worked. “Have you eaten?”

Lita shook her head.

James’s face remained impassive as he set to work cleaning her ankle, wiping it clean and holding a towel against the cut until it stopped bleeding. All the while, his gaze coasted up her legs, dipping to the space between where she knew the cream-colored material of her thong could be seen. She leaned back against the bathroom mirror and arched her back, letting him peruse her breasts through the awful polyester, focusing on keeping her breathing even.

When he finally spoke, his voice was so raw Lita was transported back to that night in the Los Angeles hotel. He sounded edgy. Just a hint pissed off. “Can you stand in the shower?”

“Yes.”

James nodded once. “Get clean while I find something to feed you.” He turned to leave the bathroom, but paused with one hand on the doorjamb. “If we do this, you need words. And you’ll need to remember them, Lita. I want you to say Beverly Wilshire if I need to stop. Do you understand?”

Breathe. Breathe. “Yes, I understand.”

He nodded once, his voice dropping another devastating octave. “Put the outfit back on when you’re finished.”

Without waiting for Lita’s response, James left the room, closing the door with a decisive click. She slipped off the sink, careful not to agitate her ankle, and started the shower. As steam filled the white tile room, she looked at herself in the mirror, noticing the red staining her cheeks. The excitement dancing in her eyes. How long would it take him to touch her? Anticipation blazed through her veins, vitalizing, electrifying. A significant part of her wanted to goad James to lose control, because while he’d roared over her like a freight train during their one physical encounter, he roused something hot and dangerous. Something she’d spent four years trying to recapture, to no avail. But no. If she forced him to repeat actions he regretted, she would regret it tomorrow. Staying the course was tonight’s game plan.

She’d been in the shower for a handful of minutes when James returned, slamming the door and making her jump. She soaped herself faster, wanting to hurry and join him in the room before he changed his mind.

James walked into the bathroom.

He came to a stop inches from the glass stall, watching as the soap rinsed from her body, down to the drain. For a heavy, breathless moment, he stared at her breasts, belly, and backside. Not moving. Just when she thought he’d frozen into marble, he heaved a shaking exhale that fogged the glass and twisted lust in Lita’s belly. She swore his warm breath reached her through the barrier, the way it turned her nipples to points, forcing a moan past her damp lips.

Unsure how to proceed with this wickedly intense James of her memory, Lita turned off the shower and stepped from the stall to dry herself with a scratchy white towel, rubbing the ends of her hair to remove excess water. His cool began to slip when she stepped into her discarded skirt, dragging it up her damp legs, situating the garment even higher than usual. The material clung to her hips and buttocks like seeking hands, turning her on, readying her body.