Главная страница | Эротические романы | Call On Me

Call On Me
Roni Loren


A Loving on the Edge novel perfect for fans of Fifty Shades of Grey.Oakley Easton wants two things: to be a good mom to her daughter and to ditch her less than ideal night job. Hooking up with bad boy drummer Pike Ryland? Not on the agenda. She needs a promotion. Not sex, tattoos and rock ’n’ roll.Pike isn’t about to let Ms. Prim and Proper shut him down so easily, especially when he stumbles upon Oakley’s sexy night job. She’s only playing a role on those late night calls with strangers, but when he gets her on the line, all bets are off. He won’t stop until that sultry voice is calling his name for real.But as they move from anonymous fantasies in the dark to the flesh-on-hot-flesh reality of the bedroom, the risk of falling in love becomes all too high. And the safe, quiet world that Oakley’s worked so hard to create is about to be exposed to the one person who could ruin it all.























Copyright (#ulink_ae4cfcd8-7103-5dd5-8be5-63b7b0af0fb7)


Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in USA by Penguin Group (USA) 2015

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

Copyright © Roni Loren 2015

House Call copyright © Roni Loren 2015

Excerpt from Break Me Down copyright © Roni Loren 2015

Excerpt from Off the Clock copyright © Roni Loren 2015

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Roni Loren asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780425278390

Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780008108243

Version: 2015-06-03




Dedication (#ulink_6f49a602-05fd-5a70-820a-61246b93c006)


To all those readers who demanded that Pike get his own story, this is for you.


Contents

Cover (#u14faa733-d364-5d0b-9937-a07582c9bd83)

Title Page (#u275cb10c-7460-5355-85f4-e21c1631e1c1)

Copyright (#uc3a97ad8-f578-58a8-bdbd-cb0af67a021a)

Dedication (#u8b72d63f-4702-5ff6-b636-6ef738f35b9d)

Chapter One (#u5814da32-01dc-58a8-ad2d-84936900083d)

Chapter Two (#ue4810a51-16da-53c7-966c-590b490e0881)

Chapter Three (#u92a7d90f-c217-5ca4-880c-e6d42bc5cb75)

Chapter Four (#uec17d35e-bfa3-5f95-b679-c44b393b2d9a)

Chapter Five (#ua636ccb6-0dd2-59ee-9f34-8842999338b0)

Chapter Six (#ue27a49ea-5573-5321-b398-2d8b487a5272)

Chapter Seven (#u8f869be8-25a4-5754-aaba-80b026730c5b)

Chapter Eight (#u98c88e42-d879-5634-b69c-55ebbcbfc4ec)

Chapter Nine (#ubd506d70-fe31-5ba8-8625-0e78e517a544)

Chapter Ten (#u1c03af50-66bf-51e8-be54-fadc6a15f5f0)

Chapter Eleven (#ued63a7ea-c326-5f8c-9ad6-d0aad0e5c0de)

Chapter Twelve (#u194d4238-e6be-56c8-90d3-139de667b608)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

House Call letter (#litres_trial_promo)

House Call short story (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading Break Me Down (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading Off The Clock (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

Praise for Roni Loren (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Roni Loren (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




ONE (#ulink_7424d34d-34b9-5419-a0be-8eadcc9864d4)


“Are you touching yourself?” The voice in Oakley’s ear sounded labored and overeager—like a Saint Bernard attempting phone sex. He was probably drooling, too. Lovely.

“Yes, you make me so hot …”—she quickly checked the sticky note she’d put on the kitchen island—“Stefan.”

Stefan. Literature professor. Single. Six foot five.

That’s the info he’d given her. Which probably meant: Steve, unemployed, married, and five-six on a good day.

He groaned. “You’re so sexy.”

Sexy? Two points off for lack of originality, Mr. Lit Prof. Though, even the suave guys tended to forget their vocabulary when they got to this point in the conversation. Oakley covered the mouthpiece on her headset and turned off the timer on the oven. If nothing else, she was impressed the guy had lasted through the full baking time.

“Thanks, sugar,” she said, letting her tone drop into a lower register.

“God, your voice is so fucking hot.”

That she heard a lot. A record company exec had once deemed her voice “smoky, X-rated perfection” when he’d heard her demo. At the time, she hadn’t considered how inappropriate it had been for a grown man to tell a fifteen-year-old kid that. But her raspy voice had gotten her the gig then, and it had gotten her this one now. Though, admittedly, the bar wasn’t set quite as high for this current one.

“I’m gonna give it to you so hard, Sasha,” Stefan ground out. “I can feel your hot mouth closing around me.”

Oakley donned oven mitts and leaned down to pull out the tray of brownies. The smell of chocolate and the heat of the oven hit her with full force. She inhaled deeply. “Mmm, that’s so good. I could just lick up every last bit.”

“Yeah,” he panted, the sound of his slick, pumping fist obscenely clear through the receiver. “That’s right. Show me how much you want it.”

There you go, Steve, you go on and get your money’s worth. Oakley set the tray of brownies on a trivet and tugged off the mitts. Her stomach rumbled. She’d stayed up late enough that her body was looking for dinner number two. But these weren’t for her.

She glanced toward the darkened hallway and the stairs beyond. Well, maybe one little corner piece wouldn’t be missed. She cut a small square and dipped her fingers in to grab it. But as she lifted the brownie, her knuckles grazed the searing hot pan.

“Ah, shit!” she hissed, jerking her hand back.

“Oh, yeah, let me hear it,” Stefan said on a moan. “Come with me, baby.”

Oakley shook out her hand, sucking air through her teeth, and tried to keep the pain out of her voice. Her phone companion thought she was mid-orgasm. She threw in an oh, oh, oh and ran to the sink to plunge her fist into the dishwater she’d drawn to soak the mixing bowl.

Stefan made choked sounds as he reached his own release. In another world, maybe it could’ve been an erotic moment. She’d talked a guy into an orgasm. He was calling her name. But the name was fake and so was the talk. And though she held nothing against the guys who called—after all, they helped her pay the bills—her libido had long ago crawled into a dark corner to die a quick, peaceful death. Even if she imagined the guy on the other end of the line looked like Johnny Depp or Justin Timberlake or something, she couldn’t drum up one ounce of interest.

Stefan panted heavy, wet breaths right against her ear, resuming his resemblance to a Saint Bernard. Maybe she should offer him a “good boy” or a Milk-Bone.

“That was amazing,” she said, using her husky, after-sex voice as she soaked her hand in the water. “Thank you, Stefan.”

Panting. Panting. That was the only response.

Then a tight, high sound—whistling.

No. Wheezing.

Uh-oh. “Stefan? Are you okay?”

Those squeaking breaths continued for a few seconds then: “Yes … I’m … fine.”

He didn’t sound fine. “Stefan, if you’re having an asthma attack or chest pains or something, you need to call for help.”

“Can’t …” He gave a ragged cough. “My wife … can’t know … I’m down here this late. She’ll know I’m up …”

He coughed again.

Jesus Christ. Oakley shook the water off her hand. “What’s she going to think when she finds you dead in the basement? Hang up the phone and dial 911.”

“I—”

“Stu?” a sharp voice said in the background. “What are you doing down here? Stu?”

“Oh, shit,” Stefan/Stu said between wheezes.

The dial tone buzzed in Oakley’s ear a second later.

She pulled off the wireless headset and sagged against the fridge, exhaling a long breath. Okay. It would be all right. Stu’s wife might kill him when she found him with the phone to his ear and his underwear around his ankles, but at least the guy wouldn’t die of a heart attack on Oakley’s watch.

She could handle a lot of stuff—callers threw all kinds of bizarre shit at her—but she couldn’t be responsible for helping kill one. It was bad enough that she’d just contributed to strife in another marriage.

Gold star for her.

It shouldn’t bother her. The guys who called were grown men making a conscious decision to seek out paid phone sex. She was simply the tool of choice. Another night, they may download porn and watch a dirty movie instead. If she’d learned anything during her years of doing this job, it was that it wasn’t personal. She had a job to do. The callers needed a faceless someone to fill in for their fantasy that night. The relationship was purely transactional. And hell, she’d been used for free by enough people in her past. Now she was at least paid for it and not getting emotionally annihilated in the process. But still, sometimes she felt like the drug dealer, giving addicts easy access to their vice.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to shrug off the stress of the call, and dug a tube of antibiotic ointment out of the junk drawer to slather on her burned knuckles. It was past two and she really needed to get to bed, but there was no way she’d be able to sleep after that burst of adrenaline from the call.

Plus, she’d never gotten her dessert. And right now, she could use a big honking piece of chocolate.

She went back to the brownies. They’d cooled enough by now, so she cut herself a bigger square than the original corner she’d planned and took a bite. She closed her eyes. Yeah, that’s the stuff.

After pouring a big glass of milk, she brought that and the rest of the brownie to the table. She glanced at the walkie-talkie she’d placed on the table, the soft white noise relaxing her, and leaned back in the chair to enjoy the solitude. She was used to pulling the night shift by now, but usually she fell into bed after the last call, grasping for any shreds of sleep she could get before the alarm went off to start her real job. But it was nice to sit for a moment and simply be.

She polished off the last bit of brownie and milk and brought her glass to the sink. The exhaustion was settling in full force now. She braced her hands on the edge of the counter and eyed the soaking dishes. Her mother had always had the rule to never go to bed with a dirty sink—as if a bright, gleaming, empty sink was some sign of how together the household was. Maybe it was.

Oakley turned away from the dishes. They’d have to wait until tomorrow. She didn’t have it in her.

She put foil over the rest of the brownies and grabbed the walkie-talkie and her headset. She should be able to get at least four hours of sleep. But right as she flipped off the light, the walkie-talkie beeped.

“Mom?”

Oakley halted, startled by the sudden break in the quiet. She pressed the button on the side of the device. “Yeah, baby?”

“What’s that smell?” Reagan asked, her voice groggy from sleep.

Oakley shook her head and smiled. She should’ve known the bionic nose would pick up that scent even in her sleep. “It’s just the brownies for your bake sale tomorrow.”

“It’s not my bake sale. It’s the school’s,” Reagan corrected.

“That’s what I meant.”

“But that’s not what you said.”

Oakley leaned against the wall in the hallway. This was an argument she’d never win. Reagan was into exactness. When Oakley told people Rae was eleven, Rae would jump in and specify how many months past eleven she was. “I’m sorry I said it wrong the first time. Now go back to sleep, sweetheart. I don’t want you to be tired in the morning.”

“Did you put nuts or caramel in them?”

“Of course not. I know you’re a brownie purist.”

“Okay. Good,” Reagan said, and Oakley could almost hear her daughter nodding. “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

Oakley pressed the walkie-talkie to her chest for a moment, warmth filling her. “Love you, too, Rae. Good night.”

Oakley headed to her bedroom, listening to the footfalls upstairs and the flush of the toilet as Reagan made a quick trip to the bathroom. She must’ve really had to go because Rae hated getting out of bed in the middle of the night. And she outright refused to come downstairs after dark—a phobia she’d developed years ago and hadn’t been able to shake yet.

Hence the walkie-talkies. Oakley had gotten tired of Reagan yelling from afar anytime she needed something at night. And leaving every light blazing through the house all evening wasn’t an option either. The electric bill was already high enough.

Bills. No, she wouldn’t think about that now. Even though she could see the stack staring at her from her desk. The gas bill. Rent. The quarterly installment for Reagan’s private school and therapies. She couldn’t face that tonight. Plus, she knew the due dates by heart so she could hold on to her money until the very last minute without being late.

She closed her bedroom door and walked over to her computer to wake the screen. Her sign-in page for the service she used to get her calls was still up. It showed how many minutes she’d logged tonight. Not bad. But she was six minutes shy of hitting the bonus level where she got an extra fifty bucks for the night. Stu’s health scare had cost her more than stress.

She sighed and sagged into her desk chair. Fifty extra dollars could pay for that pair of lime green Chuck Taylors Reagan wanted for her birthday.

Oakley yawned and checked the box that indicated she was available to take a call. Her cell phone rang within seconds and she slipped on the headset again. “Hello, this is Sasha. Ready for a fantasy night?”

“So ready,” said the deep-voiced caller. There was male tittering in the background.

Great. A frat-boy call.

“What are you wearing, Sasha?”

Oakley looked down at her oversized T-shirt and yoga pants. “A sheer robe with nothing underneath.”

“Aw, yeah,” the dude said. “How big are your tits?”

Oakley put her head to her desk. Six minutes. She only needed to keep them on the phone for six more minutes.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

They hung up at two, laughing in the background as the phone went dead, their Truth or Dare game complete.

And she was short.

She lifted her head and checked the Available box again.

“Hello, this is Sasha …”




TWO (#ulink_3213e2f4-ab9b-5a34-82e6-1db69e1bce9e)


The chick in his living room was taking a selfie next to his gold record. Pike leaned back, watching her through his half-open bedroom door. “Fantastic.”

“What’s fantastic?” his friend Gibson asked on the other end of the line. “Did you even hear what I said?”

“No, I didn’t. And what’s fantastic is that I have a seriously hot B-list actress in my living room, who was all kinds of cool after the show tonight but is now snapping duckface selfies in front of my shit.”

Gibson snorted a laugh. “At least she’s not using you just for your body.”

“That I’d be okay with. But this …”

“Hey, if there’s no selfie for proof, the event never happened. At least that’s what my niece tells me. It’s like a tree falling in the woods.”

Pike sighed. “Observation: Duckface is a friend to no one.”

The longer Pike watched, the more he regretted his decision to bring this woman home with him. He’d been buzzing off the energy of the performance tonight and had wanted to keep that feeling going. Darkfall had kicked ass on stage and had impressed the promoters who were putting together some of this summer’s biggest tours. If Darkfall landed a sweet opening spot with some big-time band, they’d have a chance to recapture some of the traction they’d lost when their lead singer had taken extended time off between albums to get surgery on his vocal cords. In some ways, tonight felt like a rebirth of the band, and he wanted to celebrate.

And usually the only thing more exciting than pounding the drums, making thousands of fans scream, was making just one scream. But as he watched his date take another photo of herself, he was losing his enthusiasm for his plan.

Maybe a chill night at home with the dog would’ve been a better idea.

Monty barked from somewhere in the living room, protesting the fact that Pike hadn’t given him his requisite belly rub and dog biscuit when he’d come home. He’d been too busy pouring a drink for his guest.

“What’s her name?” Gib asked.

Pike scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. “Why does that matter?”

“Come on, tell me that you’re not that big of a dick and you remember her name.”

Pike grimaced at Gib’s tone. This is what he got for hanging out with businessman types instead of fellow musicians. The suits had a different code of conduct. With the guys in his band, remembering names was only expected after you slept with someone. Luckily, Pike’s memory was good. “Lark Evans.”

“All right. Hold on a sec.” The clicking of a keyboard sounded on the other end.

“Gib, look, can we talk about whatever you were calling for tomorrow? I’m ignoring my company.” He walked away from the door and dropped the towel from around his waist to pull on a fresh pair of well-worn jeans. “I told her I’d only be in the shower for a minute.”

“Ha! I knew it,” Gibson said, triumph in his voice.

“What?”

“Your girl’s on Instagram. And guess what pics are making their way around the world as we speak?”

Pike sighed.

“Damn, she is hot, though,” Gibson said. “Duck lips notwithstanding.”

“Which is why—”

“Ah, shit. You’re gonna love this. Wait for it … Caption to the pic: Hanging out with Spike, the drummer from Darkfall! Hashtag: hawt.”

“Hold up. Spike?”

Gibson burst into laughter. “Spike! Man, she doesn’t even know your name. How very rock star of her.”

Pike looked to the ceiling, letting that sink in. Karma was a fucking bitch. “You are totally ruining my hard-on here.”

“Now don’t kid. I know my deep, brooding voice makes you hot,” Gib said. “Want me to talk dirty to you, Spikey?”

Pike grinned. “So it’s finally happened. You’re going gay for me. I’m flattered. Of course, it was inevitable. I mean, have you seen me? But I hate to break your heart, Gib, I only play for one team.”

He sniffed. “If I were gay, I’d have way higher standards than you. That record would need to be platinum.”

“Aw, love you, too. I’m even making my duckface for you.” He made a loud kiss sound. “Now I’m letting you go because, unlike you, I’m about to get laid, son.”

“Fine. But call me back in the morning. I have a charity thing I need to run by you.”

Pike tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear and pulled his bedside drawer open to check the condom supply. “The Dine and Donate event? I told you the band’s in again this year, if you need us.”

“No, this is for something different. More of a favor than anything else.”

“Sounds ominous. But yeah, call you tomorrow.”

“Cool. Now go rock her world, Spike.”

Pike snorted and disconnected the call. He tossed his phone on the chair by the window and padded to his closet to grab a T-shirt. But when he stepped out of his room, ready to block out all the information he’d learned—selfies, Instagram, Spike—in order to enjoy his date, he was greeted by a shriek instead.

Lark hadn’t seen him come in because her gaze had zeroed in on a growling Monty.

“Give it back, you stupid mutt!” she yelled and jabbed a closed umbrella at Monty, catching him right in the side. Monty yelped.

“What the fuck?” Pike hurried forward and grabbed her wrist, stopping another poke. “What the hell’s going on?”

She pointed at Monty, rage twisting her pretty face into something ugly. “Look at him! Your idiotic dog is eating my Jimmy Choos!”

She said it like Monty was murdering her kid. Pike glanced at Monty, who was in defense mode, baring teeth, two little paws on one of Lark’s high heels. Pike shrugged. “Well, the brand does say Choo. Maybe he’s just following directions.”

Lark gasped and looked at Pike like he’d lost his mind. “Do you know how much those cost? What is wrong with you? Do something!”

The grating tone of her voice made his teeth clamp together. Being yelled at by anyone pushed his buttons. But messing with his dog pushed the ugliest of them. He took a breath, trying to keep his cool. “Do you know that my dog was abused as a puppy? And that jabbing him with a sharp object is fucking traumatizing to him? I’ll buy you another pair of your goddamned shoes.”

Her head snapped back a bit at that, and she had the decency to look chagrined. She glanced down at the umbrella still clutched in her hand. “Oh. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

And he didn’t care. Abused or not, you don’t poke an animal with something that could hurt them, especially over something as stupid as a shoe. He could put up with her using him for his fame or whatever. They would’ve both been using each other. They each knew the score. But he wasn’t going to let anyone fuck with his dog.

“Monty, release,” he said in the firm, dominant voice that worked best on the feisty dachshund/schnauzer mix. Monty looked up with big, sad puppy eyes and backed away from the shoe. But just when Pike was about to send him off to his bed, Monty trotted over to Lark and gave her the I’m-sorry look.

Lark’s expression softened, and she reached down to pat his head awkwardly. “It’s okay, buddy …”

Monty lifted his leg and pissed all over her bare foot.

“Monty, no!” Pike said.

But chaos ensued after that. Lark hopping and shrieking. Monty barking and spinning in a circle. And Pike doing his damnedest not to laugh.

He wasn’t entirely successful, and that earned him a glare from Lark and a happy, yipping bark from Monty. Finally, he gathered himself together enough to direct Monty to go to his crate so he could help Lark.

He showed her to the bathroom so she could rinse her leg off in the tub, and he cleaned up the mess in the living room—after sneaking Monty his treat and a belly rub.

He was halfway through a beer when Lark stepped into the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of lacy pink panties and a bra that made her breasts look like icing-covered cupcakes. His dick jumped to attention—the response automatic.

She leaned in the doorway, posing like she was at a Victoria’s Secret cover shoot, and gave him the inviting smile she’d given him from the audience tonight. “Sorry about all of that. How about we start over and get back to why we’re here, hmm?”

Pike still had the bottle of beer pressed to his lips. He lowered it and set it on the counter.

Lark’s smile spread wider and she sauntered over with a heavy sway in her hips. She pressed her hand to his chest. “I have all kinds of ways we can apologize to each other. For getting mad at your dog, I was thinking this would make it up to you.”

She dragged her hand down his chest and lowered to her knees. Pike stared down at her. She looked like a fucking porn star at his feet—pouty lips with a fresh coat of pink lipstick, blond hair flowing down her back. A wet dream of a woman. But when she put her painted fingernails to the zipper on his jeans, he put his hand over hers. “Stand up.”

She blinked, the sultry look shifting to a perplexed one. “Huh?”

He helped Lark get to her feet. “Be right back.”

Her smile returned, though it had a confused tilt to it. “O … kay.”

He headed back to his bedroom for a minute then returned to the kitchen. She was drinking his beer, putting lipstick marks on the bottle. He draped her dress on one of the barstools, set a pair of his flip-flops on top of it, and handed her a few hundred-dollar bills. “For the shoes and a cab.”

She stared down at the money in her hand. “What?”

“This isn’t going to happen tonight.”

“Wait, you want me to leave? But I thought—”

“It’s time for you to go.” He was tempted to take a co-selfie with her. Hashtag: HookUpFail.

She stiffened like a rod had been shoved up her back and she made these little sputters of disbelief—like she was trying to come up with a really good insult but couldn’t think of any.

When she obviously couldn’t string anything worthy together, she shoved on his flip-flops, which looked like flippers on her small feet, and yanked her dress over her head. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

He dumped the beer in the sink, bored.

His lack of response brought a new level of hatred glowing in her eyes. “Is this about the dog? Because that’s just stupid. How was I supposed to know he was abused?”

He walked to his front door and pulled it open. “You never know where anyone’s scars are hiding. Doesn’t mean you get a pass to hurt them.”

She reared back like he’d slapped her. Then her lips pressed together, and she flounced out the door, muttering something about hoping that the dumb dog kept him warm tonight.

He shut the door without watching her go and leaned against it, absorbing the quiet of the condo, relief instead of disappointment settling in. Hookup fail, yes. But even he had standards. He’d rather fuck his fist than spend another second with Duckface the Puppy Poker.

A year ago, he might’ve just written it off and taken her to bed anyway. What did it matter if a woman was shallow? It’s not like they’d be seeing each other again. Plus, he’d always hated sleeping alone in a house. But now he couldn’t stomach the thought of spending another moment with a woman like that.

Maybe he was getting used to being by himself. After his roommate, Foster, had moved out to live with his girlfriend last year, Pike had felt that old need to always have people over. Mostly of the naked female variety. But for the last few months, he’d been so busy with band stuff and working at his music studio in between that he hadn’t sought out that brand of companionship very often. He hadn’t even gone to The Ranch, the kink resort he and his friends belonged to, in at least three months. Tonight had been the first night he’d done the hook-up-after-a-show thing in a while.

Now he remembered why he’d backed off from this kind of thing. He had no issue being someone’s one-night stand. Most of the time, he preferred things that way. But now that he’d seen how Foster and Cela were together, how explosive the chemistry could be when two people connected like that, he could see how superficial this other shit was in comparison. Women fucked his type. The bad boy. The drummer. Whatever. They didn’t fuck him.

And he’d been guilty of the same. He’d fuck the groupie, the model, the B actress. If not for Monty chewing Lark’s shoe tonight, he would’ve never known that the woman was capable of hurting a dog for something as inconsequential as a shoe. Because he didn’t know her.

For some reason, that dug into him like a burr, annoying the shit out of him.

He sank onto his bed and Monty jumped up to join him. He scratched behind Monty’s ears. “Good job, Monts. You’re making me grow a goddamned conscience.”

Monty licked his chops. There were pieces of red shoe leather stuck in his teeth.

Pike chuckled and kissed the top of his pup’s scruffy head. Monty rewarded him by releasing some noxious gas and dog-grinning at the effort.

“Jesus, Monts.” He put his hand over his nose and mouth. “Take that stuff somewhere else.”

Monty, of course, took that as his cue to settle next to him on the bed. Pike waved the poisonous fumes away, coughing, and grabbed his cell phone.

Gibson answered on the second ring. “Please tell me you last longer than that because, seriously, any thoughts of going gay for you are definitely out of the question otherwise. I require stamina.”

Pike let his head fall back to the pillow. “Shut the fuck up and stop flirting. It’s not going to work.”

“So you kicked her out?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You’re better than that,” Gib said, no sarcasm in his voice. “You need to stop dipping into the groupie pool, anyway. You’re too old for that shit. Find yourself some normal women your own age.”

“Normal women have too many expectations.”

“What? Like remembering their names and calling them the next day?”

“Exactly. Plus, I’m best in limited doses. I’d send normal women running for the hills after too long.”

“I don’t know. You haven’t scared off your friends yet. I mean, yes, I thought you were an egotistical douchebag when I first met you, but now you’ve grown on me. Like a fungus.”

“So you’re saying I should try to infect some normal woman with my fungus? Good talk, buddy. Good talk.”

“Dr. Phil gets all his best stuff from me.”

“Just tell me about this charity thing so I can get to bed and think about the sex I won’t be having tonight.”

Gibson paused as if ready to push the topic, but then relented. “Fine. The charity project. It would involve music.”

“Excellent.”

“And would be helping my lovely sister-in-law out.”

“Making sexy Tessa happy. Good.”

“You’d be working with kids.”

“Aaaand … I’m out.”

Gibson scoffed. “You have something against kids?”

“I’m inked up, curse like a convict, and have piercings in questionable places. Parents don’t want me near their children, and kids freak me out.”

“Bullshit. How can you be freaked out? You’re one of them.”

“Sorry, Gib.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“I’m not a kid person.” He could still smell the stench of the house he’d grown up in. The overstuffed diaper pails. The spoiling government-issued baby formula. His younger siblings seeking him out when their mom had to work or when her boyfriend of the month was in a vengeful mood. That deep, terrifying feeling that lived in Pike that he was in over his head. That he’d never be enough to make it okay for them.

And he’d been one hundred percent right on that.

“This would be the older group, not the little ones.”

The dredged-up memories sent a sick feeling rolling through him, making his skin go clammy. “Can’t I just write a check or donate proceeds from a show or something?”

Gibson blew out a breath. “No, they need your expertise not your money. Just hear me out. Tessa has a great idea for a fund-raiser, but she needs someone with experience in producing music. All the money would go toward the college fund and resources for the after-school program. You know what the charity’s about. These kids don’t have a lot, man. You and I both know what that’s like.”

Fuck. “You’re really going for the jugular here, Gib.”

“Just speaking the truth.”

Yeah, that, and Gibson was a brilliant PR guy who knew how to pitch things. Monty laid his head on Pike’s chest, and Pike scratched behind Monty’s ear. “You’ve even got my dog giving me the don’t-be-a-bastard look.”

Gibson chuckled. “I sneak him treats when I’m there. He’s on my side.”

Pike ran a hand over his face. This was a bad idea. But even he wasn’t a big enough asshole to turn his back on kids who needed help. It was places like Bluebonnet that had helped his family when they needed it. He and his siblings probably never would’ve gotten a Christmas gift or decent coats if not for community programs. What kind of hypocrite would it make him if he said no? But the thought of working with children made him want to run for the damn hills. “What exactly do they want me to do?”

He could almost hear Gibson’s victory grin over the phone. “It won’t be a big deal at all.”

Pike closed his eyes. Famous last words.




THREE (#ulink_ae2f7d58-0df7-5d42-908c-e4831495e61a)


Oakley fought to keep her eyes open as she transcribed information from the millionth file of the day and added it to the new thirteen-page government form that Bluebonnet Place needed to keep on every child. She polished off the rest of her coffee and glanced at the clock. Only half an hour before she got to take a break from the office work and go have her session with the kids. She could make it without a refill. Maybe.

She traced her finger down the convoluted form, trying to figure out where this information should go. “If yes then go to line 7B. If no, go to line 10A. If neither, rip up this frigging form and forfeit any remnants of your sanity.”

“You know, I’ve always wondered if the people who create government forms spend their free time tying people up and torturing them.”

Oakley’s skin prickled at the low, smooth voice, the melodic sound like a soft stroke to the back of her neck. She spun in her office chair, poised to say Excuse me?, but nothing came out when her gaze collided with her visitor. At least six feet of lean, tattooed, blond bad boy was lounging against the counter and looking straight at her.

The guy gave her a conspiratorial smile and leaned a little closer, cocking his head toward her pile of papers, his eyebrow ring glinting underneath the lights. “I mean, only a sadist would make anyone try to fit letters into those little boxes.”

He was talking about documents, but he may as well have asked her if she’d like to go out back and get naked for the way her body responded to the comment. Oakley swallowed past the dryness in her throat, trying to regain her professional composure despite her rogue hormonal reaction to the man’s presence. This guy clearly was in the wrong place. Who walked into a children’s charity and started making jokes about tying people up? Maybe he wanted the tattoo shop down the street. Though there didn’t seem to be any spare spots on his arms to fill with ink. “Can I help you, sir?”

Yes. Good. That sounded calm and professional. Go her.

“No need for the sir.” His lips tilted, mischief sparking in gold-green eyes. “I didn’t say I was a sadist. But yes, I bet you can help me.”

Yes, she could. Right out of that tight T-shirt.

No, no, no. Stop. What the hell was wrong with her? Hello, libido, meet Mr. Not My Type.

The man kept close, like this was some secret conversation. “I’m here to talk to the leggy blonde who runs this place. She here?”

The words snapped Oakley out of her lust haze. Leggy blonde? Oakley straightened, affronted on behalf of her boss. “If you mean Mrs. Vandergriff, she has a parent in her office right now. Name, please.”

He tilted his head at her cool tone. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Name, please.”

He rose to his full height and hooked his thumbs in his pockets, vague amusement on his face. “Pike.”

She was about to ask his last name, but with a name like Pike, she doubted it was needed. “You can take a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here when she’s done.”

He glanced at the row of chairs in the small lobby. “Or you could take a break from the torture and give me a tour of the place. I’d like to know what I’m signing up for.”

She lifted a brow.

No way did he have a kid who qualified for services here. She’d taken a good long look at him now that he’d given her some breathing room. His worn jeans and vintage Dead Kennedys T-shirt may look thrown together, but she recognized expensive threads when she saw them. She’d taken that course in looking artfully casual once upon a time. Plus, imagining him with a kid just didn’t compute. He looked like the guy you’d try to keep your kids away from.

“You do realize that you or your child have to be under eighteen to sign up for anything? And we don’t give tours. We protect children’s privacy here.”

He grinned, undeterred. “I can see why Tessa puts you at the front.”

Oakley straightened the file on her desk and gave him a tight smile back. “Because I’m so welcoming and warm?”

“Exactly.” He eased forward again, challenge dancing in eyes framed by sooty lashes. “What’s your name, o’ powerful gatekeeper? Something about you seems so familiar.”

Her fingers tightened around the file, his nearness and evaluating look making her heart skip a few beats, but she kept her reaction off her face. It was near impossible that anyone could recognize her these days. She’d changed her hair color from blue back to the natural dark brown, was a decade older, and at least fifteen pounds heavier since she’d been anyone worth recognizing. “Oakley Easton.”

His eyes narrowed as if trying to place her. The name wouldn’t be familiar to him even if he were close to the mark. But he gave up soon enough. “Guess we haven’t met.”

“I just have one of those faces.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, his gaze drifting over every inch of her features. “I’d remember your face. I think it might be your voice. There’s something about it.”

Oh. Shit. She swallowed hard. No way Pike could be one of her callers. She didn’t know much about him, but she had all the information she needed by looking at him. Tall. Confident. Sporting a body that made her want to stand up and hang over the desk so she could get a better look. He could walk into any bar or club and make panties drop with a smirk and a head nod. This would not be a guy who’d pay per minute for phone sex.

She attempted an air of nonchalance. “Lots of people have similar voices.”

“True. But I have an ear for them. And yours is unique—smoky with some rasp in it. I like it.”

Somehow the simplest, most innocuous words sounded illicit rolling off his lips. I like it sounded like I’d fuck you in her head. Paired with his intent focus, she was fighting hard not to squirm in her chair. She cleared her throat. “A voice fetishist. That’s new.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Dammit. Nighttime Oakley was not supposed to make an appearance at the day job. She worked hard to keep them separate.

Pike chuckled, the sound rich and full, like cashmere brushing over bare skin. “Maybe I am. Kind of comes with the territory.”

Territory? That’s when it clicked.

She should’ve pinned it from the start. Tattoos. Piercings. Attitude. She’d known enough of the type to last her a lifetime. Distaste filled her. “You’re a musician.”

He eyed her. “Wow, clearly, you’re impressed. You look like you just smelled something bad.”

“It’s not …” But it was, and she didn’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding even ruder. She picked up her phone and hit a button.

Tessa answered on the first ring. “What’cha got for me?”

“Was just checking to see if you’re done with your meeting. There’s a guy here to see you—a mister … Pike.”

“Seriously?” Tessa said, triumph in her voice.

“Uh … yeah.”

“Amazing. Bonus points to my brother-in-law. He actually got him here.”

Pike reached over the counter and plucked a butterscotch from Oakley’s candy dish. She gave him a you’re-invading-my-personal-space brow lift, but Pike only grinned and dragged the wrapped candy between his teeth to suck it out of the cellophane. Obscene. Especially when he didn’t look away from her the whole time. Her body stirred in a way it hadn’t in longer than she could remember. Very, very stupid thoughts entered her mind.

She smoothed her lip balm and tried to tamp down her body’s ridiculous response. Maybe she had some genetic malfunction. This was exactly the type of guy who shouldn’t flip her switch. She’d already been burned by this kind of wildfire. No, not burned. Incinerated. “Would you like me to send him back?”

“Sure, that’d be great,” Tessa said, the sound of shuffling papers in the background. “Is Ella coming in to relieve you this afternoon?”

“She should be here any minute.”

“Great. Because there’s something I need to run by you after my chat with Pike.”

“No problem. I’ll be in the music room when you need me.”

She exchanged a quick good-bye with Tessa and set the phone in its cradle. Pike was still half-draped on her counter, making everything smell like butterscotch and male arrogance. Damn but she needed to get this man away from her.

“Mrs. Vandergriff is available now. I need to get a copy of your ID before you can go back there, though.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her his driver’s license. Pike Ryland. So he did have a last name.

She ran it through the small desktop scanner and handed the card back to him. “Just go through that door. Her office is the last door on the right.”

He tucked his wallet back into his pocket, which made that worn T-shirt stretch tighter across his lean chest. “You’re not going to escort me back there? I may get lost or violate privacy laws or something. Plus, you never gave me that tour.”

His tone was teasing, playful, but there was a dare in those wicked eyes. She pretended to busy herself with the papers in front of her. “I can’t leave my desk until someone else covers it.”

He glanced behind him. “It doesn’t look like there’s a line forming to get in or anything.”

“Someone could come in.”

He rolled the candy in his mouth. “You always so strict about following the rules, Miz Easton?”

“Yes.” She didn’t know why she was being so bullheaded about it. She could leave her desk for a few minutes if she needed to. One of the volunteers could watch the front. But Pike’s presence had her off balance, and she didn’t want to extend that feeling any longer.

“Mmm, shame.” He cocked his head toward the door. “Then go ahead and buzz me in, Lady Gatekeeper. I wouldn’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

“I have a feeling that’s not true at all.”

He laughed. “Touché.”

She hit the button under her desk to unlock the door, and Pike gave the counter two raps with his knuckles, like a warning that they weren’t done here, before disappearing into the hallway.

She sagged back in her chair and expelled a breath she’d been holding. Then as soon as she determined he was safely ensconced in her boss’s office, she opened up a search box on her computer, typing in Pike Ryland.

A page of results filled the screen in an instant, including a short line of thumbnail images. Pike Ryland, drummer of the hard rock band Darkfall.

Ha. She should’ve known. He had drummer written all over him—cut biceps, lanky frame, that I-own-the-world swagger. She had yet to meet a humble drummer. You had to be a big personality to make your presence known when you were stuck behind a drum kit and the rest of the band on stage.

Unable to resist, she clicked through a few of the images. Pike on stage. Pike shirtless, dripping with sweat, as he banged the drums. Good God. She shifted in her chair and clicked some more.

But the next few featured Pike with a rotation of supermodel-gorgeous women on his arm at parties and events. Ugh. That effectively cooled her jets.

She clicked on the Wikipedia entry. The page listed two albums and a gold single from a few years ago. She vaguely recognized one or two of their songs. Hard rock really wasn’t her musical poison of choice. But everything she read and saw in the photos confirmed why she’d gotten that bitter taste in her mouth when she’d figured out he was a musician.

They were all the same. And it only got worse when they had some success.

She closed out all of the windows and went back to her forms, vowing to not give Mr. Ryland another thought. If nothing else she’d learned a few things this afternoon.

Good news: Her libido was not dead after all.

Bad news: It still had destructive taste.

And like a recovering alcoholic, she knew to stay far, far away from that brand of temptation.




FOUR (#ulink_b98d1e4c-592f-5db2-a80b-cee71c5cf2cd)


“Local children’s theatre?” Pike settled back in the chair, focusing on Tessa and trying to ignore the raucous sound of children playing in the yard outside her window. He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. After his run-in with the hot, uptight receptionist, he’d almost managed to forget what he was walking into. Now it felt like the walls were closing in on him. “No offense, but you’re not going to make much money from that.”

Tessa frowned from behind her desk. “The guy we were supposed to be working with—the one who had to back out—was going to mentor the kids and polish them up musically. He said if we did a couple of shows, charged ticket fees, it could be good.”

“I don’t see that happening. The only people who will want to see kids sing live are their parents.” Pike hooked his ankle over his knee. “And I know that most of the families you’re working with don’t really have the money to pay a high ticket price. It’ll be a waste of time.”

Hers. The kids. And most of all, his. Maybe he could get out of this after all. No use helping with a dead-on-arrival idea.

“You’d make a lot more holding a benefit concert again and having some local bands play. I could get the guys to do a show, and I could reach out to a few other bands in the area.”

Her frown stayed in place, and she tapped her fingernails on her desk, thoughtful. “We could do that, but I was hoping to do something where the kids are more involved this year. It’s their college funds at stake. I think it means more if they feel like they’ve had a hand in earning it.”

“Have them work the shows, sell tickets.”

A line appeared in her forehead. “These kids have talent, though.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m biased.” She gave him a what-can-ya-do smile. “But we’ve got some strong singers, a couple of guitar players, and a burgeoning drummer. Plus, the woman I have working with them is amazing. She’s helping them to write their own songs and has really invested her time with them. I want to see the kids share what they’re creating with the world.”

The earnestness in her voice was killing him. He didn’t know Tessa all that well. He’d only been around her when she was with her husband, Kade—and then it was usually at The Ranch where she was in submissive mode. But he could tell this wasn’t simply a job for her. Lord knows she didn’t need to work. Kade was a goddamned mogul. So this was all heart for her. And it was making him feel like a dick for wanting to get out of it.

He sighed, an idea coming to him that could be a perfect solution but a pain in the ass. “Having a performance at the children’s theatre isn’t sharing it with the world. Maybe you should think bigger.”

“Bigger?”

He shifted forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, trying not to talk himself out of what he was about to say. “I don’t know if Gibson told you, but I’ve opened up a small studio in town. It’s kind of a side project for me when I’m not doing Darkfall stuff. I cut demos for people and have started to produce some local start-up musicians.”

“Yeah, he said something about it. Aren’t you working with Colby’s boyfriend?”

“Keats? Yeah, talented kid.”

She smiled, her amused gaze flicking over him. “I didn’t know you were into country.”

“I’m into good music, regardless of genre.” Plus, if Pike wanted to make a real go of producing in the future, he needed to attract talent now, get some buzz going. Keats had a real shot at breaking out.

“So what does this have to do with the kids?” she asked.

“Well, I’m thinking that if you want the kids to be heard, maybe that’s the way.”

“Meaning?”

“There’s no bigger world stage than the Internet. I help them cut a record. They can put a few tracks together and put them for sale online. The proceeds could go to the fund. Then once the songs are out, maybe they can put on a small show to promote it.”

Her eyes lit. “You could do that? They could have real-deal songs out there?”

Fuck. Me. He forced a smile. “If they have enough material and patience to put together a track or two. Recording can be tedious.”

She clapped her hands together. “Oh my god, that would be fantastic. They’ll think they’re stars! Imagine how proud they’ll be to have an actual song out that people can buy. I love this idea.”

Great. Fantastic. Shoot me. All he could picture was little kids running around his studio, screaming into the mics and climbing all over the expensive equipment. “How far along are they with having a full song ready to go?”

Tessa rolled her chair back. “Why don’t you go see for yourself? They’re working on it now in the music room.”

“We don’t have to—”

But Tessa was already cruising around the desk and grabbing for his hand. “Come on. They’ll be thrilled to meet you. They were so bummed when the other guy had to bail. But now they get to work with a genuine rock star!”

He snorted. “Marginally popular at best.”

And if his band didn’t get it together soon, they would be candidates for Where Are They Now? shows in the not so distant future.

His stomach knotted as Tessa led him down a hall filled with colorful drawings and finger-painted artwork pinned to the walls. He rubbed the back of his neck, finding sweat there. This was so not his scene.

But when they rounded the corner and Tessa stopped in front of a window that looked into a wide room, he forgot his discomfort for a minute. Ms. Uptight Receptionist was sitting in the middle of a circle of older kids, strumming a guitar and singing something. He couldn’t hear anything from outside the room, but the way her fingers moved over the strings was all confident elegance. Huh. The woman who had sneered at the idea of him being a musician appeared to be one herself.

And the tight-lipped, steel-spined posture she’d maintained during most of their conversation was gone, replaced with this sexy sway and bright-eyed smile. He let his eyes linger on her profile then travel down, watching the way her throat worked when she let out her notes and the way the swells of her breasts rose and fell with her breath. He adjusted his stance, willing his body not to react. Then Tessa cracked open the door, and Oakley’s sultry voice hit him in the gut—smooth water over jagged rocks. Every ounce of his blood traveled straight south.

Goddamn. If a voice could be fuckable, hers was. And the woman attached to it wasn’t hard to look at either. Dark hair and eyes that went cat green when she was annoyed—which had been about ninety percent of their interaction. He’d wanted that tour more than he’d let on just so he could keep teasing her and making those pink lips of hers purse. He put a hand on Tessa’s shoulder. “Don’t interrupt her.”

Tessa looked over at him with a knowing smile. “I told you she was pretty amazing.”

“Is that who I’m going to be working with?”

“Mmm-hmm. She works reception in the mornings, but once the kids get here after school, she helps out with them. If we do this project, I’ll find someone else to cover the desk so that she can take this on fully.”

“We met up front. I don’t think she likes me very much,” he said, keeping his voice low and his eyes on Oakley.

“Let me guess. You flirted with her.”

He glanced over at Tessa, feigning an innocent Who-me? expression.

Tessa sniffed. “I knew she sounded weird on the phone. You Ranch boys are a menace.”

“Hey, you’re married to a Ranch boy.”

“I stand by my statement.” She glanced at the room and the woman in it. The singing had stopped and Oakley was directing the kids on something or other. “If you want to get along with Oakley, lay off that kind of thing. She has a lot on her plate and likes to keep things professional. She doesn’t strike me as someone who’s looking for a walk on the wild side, anyway.”

“Who says I’m the wild side?”

Tessa gave him a withering look.

“Fine. If she wants to keep things professional, I can do that.”

Mostly. Maybe.

Tessa’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but then she shook her head. “Come on, let’s go in and do introductions so y’all can start planning.”

When they walked in, the kids were all chatting at once. But one voice rang above the others.

“I swear to God, if she mentions another One Direction song, I’m going to puke,” said a young girl with short-cropped black hair and a Runaways T-shirt. “That’s all we did last week. Their songs make me want to punch someone in the face.”

Pike had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Reagan,” Oakley said sharply. “That isn’t how we share our opinions here. Be respectful.”

Mini Pat Benatar turned her green-eyed gaze to Oakley. A little bit of a staring contest ensued, then Reagan finally gave in and turned to the girl she’d been addressing. She let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry. One Direction songs make my stomach hurt, and I would really like it if we could do something different.”

She punctuated the sentence with a toothy, plastic smile.

Pike instantly liked her.

The boy-band fan clearly did not, though. The blond girl crossed her arms and sneered. “At least it’s not as bad as your weird music. No one’s even heard of the stuff you like.”

“Okay, let’s get back on task,” Oakley said, a tired edge to her voice.

Tessa stepped forward out of the shadowed back of the room. “Sorry to interrupt, guys. But I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

Oakley turned and her gaze landed heavy on Pike. For a split second he caught her raw reaction—lips parting, gaze flicking down the length of his body as if she couldn’t resist a full look. But as quickly as it was there, she reeled it in. Wariness descended over her face, but like the younger girl, she managed to fake a smile, clearly more for the kids’ behalf than his. All the other heads in the room turned toward him, too—most of the kids staring at him with open curiosity. Tension coiled in his neck and shoulders.

“Everyone, this is Mr. Ryland. He’s going to be taking Mr. Gull’s place and has kindly offered to help with your song project.”

“You’re in a band,” Reagan blurted out. Not a question.

The outburst startled Pike out of his stiff posture. Oakley turned to correct Reagan. But he interrupted her before she could. “How’d you guess? You know Darkfall?”

Reagan crossed her arms, her eyes not meeting his but looking at the rest of him instead. “No. But your ears and eyebrow are pierced and you have lots of tattoos. Some have music notes and drumsticks in them. It’d be pretty dumb to get those if you weren’t in a band.”

His lips tilted up. “Yeah, I guess it would be.”

“My mom says all tattoos are pretty dumb, though.”

“Reagan,” Oakley corrected, pressing fingers to the spot between her eyes.

He laughed. He liked that the kid didn’t mince words. Plus, the fact that this girl had plucked out details from his intricate full sleeve tattoos from across the room was pretty impressive. “I guess your mom would think I was a big dummy then.”

Some of the kids in the group giggled and others started to announce who had tattoos in their family.

Oakley shook her head at the quickly deteriorating order in the group and then clapped her hands. “All right, all right. Let’s get quiet so Mrs. Vandergriff can talk.”

The kids settled after a few more seconds, and Tessa went on to explain what Pike had proposed—making a real record. Controlled chaos broke out again after that, the kids cheering, tossing out suggestions on songs, and planning their mansions in the Hollywood Hills for after they became famous. The only ones who weren’t bubbling with excitement were Oakley and Reagan. Reagan was sitting quietly, a thoughtful, intense expression on her face. And Oakley looked as if she’d just been told she had a meeting with an executioner.

“Ms. Easton, can we steal you for a minute so we can work out some details?” Tessa asked.

Oakley instructed the kids to gather into two small groups and to brainstorm on what songs they wanted to work on the most, then she headed over to where Pike and Tessa were.

Tessa put a hand on Pike’s shoulder. “Oakley, I know you two have already met at the front, but I wanted to officially introduce you. Pike’s a good friend of Kade’s brother, Gibson, and he’s also the drummer in Darkfall.”

Oakley didn’t look a bit impressed by this news. She stuck out her hand formally. “Nice to meet you.”

Pike took her hand. It was ice cold as he wrapped his fingers around it. She tried to pull back quickly, but he wasn’t letting her get away with that. He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. “Likewise, Ms. Easton.”

He released her hand when she gave another minuscule tug and flashed a warning with her eyes.

“Pike is doing us a huge favor to take time out for this,” Tessa said. “So I really need you to help him in whatever way you can on this project.”

He smiled. He could think of some interesting ways she could help him. Oakley wouldn’t look his way.

“This will be our flagship project this year,” Tessa continued. “And it’d be great to unveil at least one song at the annual benefit dinner. It’s important for those who donate to us to see what we can do.”

Oakley nodded. “Of course. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“It may take extra hours,” Tessa said, looking over at the kids and missing the barest wince from Oakley.

“Extra hours?” Oakley asked.

Tessa nodded. “I was thinking you can make use of your time in the mornings. I’ll find someone to cover the desk in the meantime. But I have a feeling this will end up being a lot of informal time not here at the office since, Pike, I’m assuming your schedule is a little erratic.”

“It’s not nine to five, for sure,” he said, watching Oakley shift and her shoulders droop. The woman did look tired. Maybe extra hours were a hardship.

“I figured. So, don’t feel like you have to keep everything here at the office within a certain time slot. You two do what you need to do to get this done on a schedule that works best for you. Let me know whatever overtime you log and keep me up to date.”

Oakley gave a curt nod and smile to Tessa. “Of course. I’m sure I can get most of it done on my own and won’t have to bother Mr. Ryland too much.”

He smirked. So she was trying to get rid of him already. And though when he walked in, he would’ve happily taken the opportunity to have as minimal a role as possible, now he wasn’t so sure. “It’s not a bother at all. I’m looking forward to working closely with you. No use of bringing me in if you’re not going to take advantage of my skills.”

Her small smile radiated sarcasm, but she managed not to say anything snide in front of her boss.

“Fantastic,” Tessa said, oblivious to the silent exchange. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. And dinner’s on me. Take tonight to make up a rough plan of what needs to be done and when and we’ll go from there.”

Oakley’s gaze darted back to him. “Tonight?”

But Tessa was already strolling out the door.

Pike hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Guess it’s a date, then.”

Her lips thinned. “Not a date. Work.”

He grinned, unperturbed by her chilly response. “How can you not like me already? Usually it takes women at least a time or two to give me that look. And usually they get something out of the deal first.”

She blinked, then that cat-eye green came back into her eyes. “You really have to ask?”

“Yeah. I’m asking. What did I do to you?” He leaned a little closer. “Well, besides make you think really impure thoughts at work. Because let’s face it, that totally happened. It may be happening right now. With children present, no less. Are you thinking impure thoughts, Ms. Easton? You can tell me.”

“Does wishing bodily injury upon someone count?”

He laughed. “Kinky.”

She stared at him for a long second, looking as if she may maim or dismember him, but then she blew out a breath. “Look, I’m sure you’re having fun, but I’m not playing this game. You’re here to volunteer. Great. The kids are going to love it.”

“But you’re not.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not about me.”

“You’re saying you don’t need the help?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the kids, her expression softening before she turned back to him. “We always need the help. Sure. But this job means a lot to me. These kids mean a lot to me. And to be frank, I don’t have time to cater to some celebrity who’s here to put in time with the poor kids for the sake of a press clipping.”

He frowned, all playfulness draining out of him. “You think that’s what this is about?”

She shrugged. “Why else would you do it?”

He opened his mouth but then shut it again. If he said he was doing it for the sake of the kids, that’d be a lie. It’s not like he would’ve strolled down here on his own out of the goodness of his heart. But he sure as hell wasn’t doing it for the press. “I couldn’t give a shit what the media says about me.”

She crossed her arms, unconvinced.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m doing it as a favor to my friends, all right?”

She considered him a moment longer then gave a brief nod. “Fair enough. You really want to help, then I’ll be done at six. We can go to the Italian place on the corner. But I need to be home by eight.”

“Hot date?”

She leaned closer than he would’ve expected, right near his ear. “Yeah, with my daughter.”

She gave him an angelic smile when she stepped back, then turned on her heel to head back toward the kids, leaving him staring after her. When she passed mini-Benatar, who was cross-legged on the floor, she ran her hand over the child’s head and smiled down at her.

Well, hell.

Oakley had a kid.

At least now he knew which mom thought tattoos were dumb.




FIVE (#ulink_b60e0615-d80d-5a93-95e3-24312124b856)


Oakley smiled to herself as Pike rattled off timelines and tasks in between bites of calzone. He’d been all business since they’d sat down in the back corner of the little dive restaurant. Her tactic had worked. It usually did. Childless men found out she was a mom and ran away like their ass was on fire.

Pike seemed to be no exception. Since she’d informed him that she had a daughter, he’d turned off the flirt. A small, selfish part of her was disappointed. Not that she had any interest in pursuing anything with anyone right now, especially with someone like him, but it had been kind of heady getting that kind of attention thrown her way. If nothing else, it had reminded her that the sexual part of herself wasn’t totally dead. Even now, that warm energy hummed through her as she surreptitiously watched Pike lick a dollop of red sauce off his thumb. He had a pouty bottom lip that would look feminine if not for the hard angle of his jaw and the scruff. She kind of wanted to bite it—see if it felt as plump as it looked.

He glanced up, caught her staring, and smiled. “So, wanna screw in the bathroom?”

She startled and stiffened, instantly yanked out of her less-than-PG thoughts. “What?”

He leaned back in his chair, vague confusion on his face. “I asked if you wanted to keep working in that back room? We could rehearse at the studio once they’re close to being ready to record. But until then, it’s probably more trouble than it’s worth to cart everyone over there. It’s not that big of a place.”

“Rehearse in the back room?” she repeated, running the words back in her head to make sense of them. “Oh, right, yes, that’s fine. I’m sorry. I thought you said something else.”

She eyed the small Bellini she’d ordered with her meal. Maybe that had been a bad idea. She was hearing things now.

Screw in the bathroom? How the hell had she gotten that out of what he’d said? Of course, now all she could think of was him doing just that—taking her by the elbow and leading her to that dark alcove at the back of the restaurant, pushing her up against that wall with the faded Italian flag on it, and putting his hands all over her. She licked her top lip, tasting the sweet remnants of her drink. Pull it together, woman.

Apparently, once her libido had been brave enough to peep its head out, it had decided it was Groundhog Day and needed to run around, declaring spring was coming early. She hated to break the news, but nothing and no one was coming anytime soon.

“What did you think I said?” Pike took a long sip from his drink, his snake-charmer eyes never leaving hers.

She followed suit, hoping the fruity drink would cool off more than her throat. “Doesn’t matter.”

His lips twitched. “You’re all red.”

“I think it’s the Bellini. I don’t drink very often.”

“No way.” His expression turned smug. “You thought I said something dirty, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” She smoothed her napkin in her lap, trying to loosen the tightness in her voice. “No. Why would I think that? You’ve been very professional since we got here—which I appreciate, by the way.”

His gaze slid lazily down her body, like butter melting over toast, and goddamn it all to hell, she could feel her nipples go hard and obvious beneath her bra. No wonder he’d figured it out. Her body was waving all kinds of flags in his face. Hey! Over here! Horny girl, booth eight!

“I am capable of being professional, you know,” he said, but his tone was all sex and sin. “I’m also more than happy to turn that off when the occasion calls for it. So why don’t you tell me what you thought you heard and why it’s gotten you all flushed and nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

He grinned.

Dammit. She schooled her face into a stoic expression. “The music is too loud in here. I thought you propositioned me to defile the restroom.”

His eyebrow ring twitched. “Now you’re just trying to turn me on with those big, stiff words of yours.”

All she heard was big and stiff at first, but she managed to rein in her temporary insanity. “We’re so not going to do this.”

“Well, probably not here, you’re right. I saw those bathrooms. But—”

“No, I mean, any of this. Flirting. Teasing. Whatever this is.”

He leaned onto his forearms, looking all too pleased that he’d gotten a confession out of her. “You got a guy?”

“No,” she said before she could get wise and fib.

“Then why can’t we do this?”

“Because I’m not interested.”

“Liar.”

She huffed. “Are you always this cocky?”

“No, it’s dialed down right now. I can get way worse.”

She stirred her drink. “Not. Possible.”

His lips spread into a menacing smile. “Challenge accepted.”

“No, that’s not—”

But he was already getting up from his side of the booth. He slid smoothly into the spot next to her on the cracked vinyl seat. He put his arm along the back of the booth, near to touching her, and leaned in close. “I dialed it back because what I could’ve said was how if you heard what you heard, it must’ve been on your mind already. That those pictures must be there in your head. Were we in a stall? Or bold as you please up against a wall?”

“Stop,” she said softly, somehow frozen in place, the clean scent of his shampoo mixing in with the heavy oregano smell of the restaurant and making her head spin.

“So that was it, huh? Against the wall where anyone could’ve walked up and seen? That would’ve been hot. Legs wrapped around my hips. I could’ve unpeeled all these layers you’ve wrapped yourself in.” He touched the collar of her blouse but not skin. “I could’ve also said that I saw the want in your eyes before I knew what question you’d thought I’d asked. That your body jumped to attention like I’d stroked you. That you can tell me no and to shut the fuck up. But you can’t tell me that you’re not interested because I can see that truth all over you.”

She swallowed hard, fighting her body’s response as he let his gaze drift down and over her curves. No way was she going to let him get to her like this. She did this for a living. She talked dirty to men every damn night and they talked dirty back. But never had words rushed through her system like these. Every part of her was now achingly aware of just how long it’d been since she’d let a man touch her. But there was no way she’d allow herself to act on it with him. She cleared her throat.

“Does this usually work for you? A little dirty talk whispered in a woman’s ear and she’s all over you? Or maybe you just tell them you’re in a band and that’s enough.” She turned to send Pike a frosty look. “Back off, Mr. Ryland. You’ve entered a restricted area.”

His eyes flared with heat, like her attitude only turned him on more, but he moved back and gave her space. “If you think that’s dirty talking, you’ve been seriously deprived.”

She pointed. “Back to your side.”

He raised his palms. “Not a problem. All I want to know is why not?”

Because attraction clearly wasn’t the issue. Her traitor body had announced that loud and clear to him.

“Because this is my job, and this project is important to me. I’m not going to muddy the waters by crossing any lines with you. Plus, I’m a mom.”

“So? I’ve heard rumors that moms get lives, too.”

No, they didn’t. Not really. Not when there was no dad in the picture, two jobs, and a kid with special needs.

She barely resisted rolling her eyes. “Come on, Pike. I know we don’t know each other yet, but why in God’s name would you come barking up this tree? The groupie business running low? You’ve got to have women with much simpler lives who want to play the hookup game with a big-time drummer.”

His jaw tensed, expression darkening.

She sighed. This was probably about ego, challenge, and all that male bullshit. If she let him take her to the bathroom and do what he suggested, he’d be over it by the time he got home. And then everything would be weird between them for the rest of the project. She needed to clear this air and move on. Tessa had told her this afternoon that there could be a promotion in her future—project coordinator. A job that would allow her to quit the night gig. But it hinged on how well she did on this major project. She wasn’t going to let some misguided attraction on her part or bruised ego on his part thwart that.

“Look, Pike. Yes, there’s attraction. Maybe an inappropriate thought or two crossed my mind, but this has to stay professional. I don’t have time or interest in anything outside of that.”

Especially with a musician. Hell. No.

His gaze held hers for a moment longer, and she almost got lost in the mix of ambers and greens in his hazel eyes, but finally he dropped the eye contact and slid out of her side of the booth. “Okay, then. Let’s get back to hammering out a rehearsal schedule. I have to be honest, your drummer needs more than a little work.”






Oakley seemed startled by his quick acquiescence and shift in subject, but he’d heard the message with ringing clarity. If he’d learned anything in life, it was how to not linger where he wasn’t wanted. And really, Oakley had been one hundred percent right. What business did he have chasing a woman like her?

She lived a normal life, had responsibilities, and a child to worry about. She’d want some guy who fit into that—a nine to fiver with a steady job who played golf on Saturdays and went to church on Sundays. A guy who wouldn’t show up at her place and make all the people in suburbia whisper about his weird haircut and his inked skin.

This was why he tended to stick to the twentysomethings who hung around after shows. Those women knew what they were getting into with him—sought it out. He was the thrill. The dare. The shocking story to tell to their girlfriends after they’ve settled down behind their white picket fences and are remembering those crazy days right out of college.

Oakley was a grown-up. She knew he had nothing to offer her beyond a hot night or two. Smart.

Didn’t make him want her less.

“So just like that, you’re going to drop it?” she asked, not answering his question about rehearsal schedules.

He shrugged. “I always respect a no.”

Her gaze shifted to her food. “Well, that’s something.”

The words had been muttered to herself, but he’d heard them well enough. He frowned. “I’m not going to force anything, Oakley. Contrary to popular belief, I’m pretty harmless.”

She glanced up, sardonic smile returning. “Now there’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

He pointed at her. “Nope. I’m a lot of things. But not a liar.”

“Oh, really? Mr. Honesty, huh?”

“Try me.” He took a bite of his calzone.

Her Bellini must’ve been fully settling in because she asked him something he never would’ve expected. “So have you really done it in a public bathroom before?”

He smirked. “A few times. Taking a chance in a place where you might get caught can be really hot. Though, bathrooms aren’t my preference. And never, ever try in one of those portable ones at music festivals. Learned that one the hard way.”

She blanched. “I don’t even want to pee in those.”

“Wise girl. So what about you?”

“Me?”

“Ever in a bathroom?” He picked a pepperoni off his plate and popped it in his mouth.

Her gaze skated away. “Once. But it was one of those private single ones.”

Based on her tone that was not a pleasant memory. “If there’s no chance of discovery, you only get partial credit.”

Her expression turned grim. “Believe me. That whole relationship was about trying not to get discovered. I should get all kinds of points.”

He wiped his mouth on his napkin. “How so? Married guy?”

“God, no. I would never.” She looked back to him, guarded. “I was young. He was a lot older.”

“Ahh. I’ve had one of those, too.”

Her mouth flatlined at that. “How nice for you.”

The shift in demeanor surprised him. Only after a few seconds did he catch why she’d sent such a cold front his way. “Oh, shit. No, that’s not what I meant. I haven’t been with too young of a girl. I’m not a creep. All I meant was that I had one of those forbidden relationships when I was young. Lost my virginity to one of my high school teachers.”

She lowered her glass without sipping. “Seriously?”

“Looking back, I realize it was a pretty messed-up thing on her part. But at the time, I was all for it.”

He’d been young and dumb and horny as shit. His history teacher had been hot and still in her twenties. And he’d much preferred stopping by her house on the way home to get his education on the female form instead of going back to his own family’s chaos.

He laughed when he saw Oakley’s still-shocked expression. “And hey, let’s pick Things You Shouldn’t Tell Complete Strangers for five hundred, Alex.”

A small smile finally broke through. “Sorry. It’s just, I’m a mom. I’m horrified at the thought of a teacher taking advantage of a child.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, I know now it was screwed up. Back then, I thought I was the man.”

“I see life hasn’t cured you of that last condition yet.”

He cocked an eyebrow, enjoying this relaxed version of her. Alcohol was good for the uptight receptionist. “Touché, Ms. Easton.”

“See, now you say the Ms. thing and it sounds dirty.”

He smirked. “She let me call her by her first name. But be warned, I can make anything sound dirty.”

“I’m noticing that. It’s quite a gift.”

“Absolutely.” He had the suspicion that she’d have that gift, too, if she wanted it. Just listening to that low, husky voice talking about mundane things had made him hot earlier. But having an R-rated conversation with her now—well, he was halfway to hard already. If they kept it up, he’d have to order the cannoli just to prolong the time he could keep his lower half hidden under the table.

But before he could ask her anything else, she excused herself to go to the restroom. He asked her if she wanted him to join her, but she rolled her eyes and told him, “No, it’s only going to be me and the pride of Italy.”

He watched her walk away, enjoying the way her black slacks highlighted the curve of her ass. She had a nice swaying walk—one that would look downright decadent without the business clothes in the way. His phone rang, interrupting his appreciation of the scenery.

He reached for it without looking and slid his thumb across the screen to answer. “Yeah?”

“Uh …” asked a hesitant male voice. “Is this Sa—”

The phone cut out for a second. “What? I’m having trouble hearing you.”

“Is this Sasha?”

“Who? No. I think you’ve got the wrong number, man.”

“No, I mean, it’s not. I have it programmed on my phone.” There was a pause as if the guy was checking his screen, then he was back. “It’s the right number. I reserved a call at eight. Am I going to get charged for these minutes? Where’s Sasha?”

Pike frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID, but when he did, he realized the phone in his hand didn’t have a black cover like his. It had a bright blue one. Shit. He’d answered Oakley’s phone.

But the dude was asking for a Sasha and the caller ID said Private Number. He put the phone back to his ear. “Wires must be crossed, dude. Wrong number.”

“No, but—”

Pike hung up the call and dropped the phone back onto the table next to his own. Same brand and model. Same standard ring. Motherfucker. If Oakley realized he’d answered her phone, she’d be pissed. And have good reason to be.

But it had been a wrong number, so maybe it wasn’t too big a deal. It hadn’t been some boyfriend calling or a family member. Nothing that could cause any problems. Maybe he should just mention it to her, and they could laugh off the mix-up. It was a weird enough call.

The guy had wanted a Sasha … who he’d reserved at eight and had on speed dial … and would get charged minutes for.

He snorted when all the information locked together. Shit, had he intercepted some random 900-number call? Hilarious. Oakley would get a kick out of that.

Oakley hustled up to the booth, a frantic edge to her movements. “We’ve got to go.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I just saw what time it is. I can’t believe we’ve been here that long.” She reached for her purse, which she’d left on her seat. “I have to get back home—like now.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Pike said, pulling money from his wallet to toss on the table. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed either.

“Tessa said she’d cover this. I have the company card.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re in a hurry. I’ve got it.” He scooted out of the booth.

Oakley’s phone rang again. Private Caller flashed on the screen.

Oakley’s gaze darted toward it, slight panic crossing her face. She swiped the phone from the table. “Crap, I need to take this. Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

“But—”

She turned in a flurry and put the phone to her ear, leaving Pike standing there in confusion. But before she got far enough away, he heard the hello, the name Sasha, and the utterly cock-hardening downshift in her voice.

He plunked back down in the booth.

What.

The.

Hell.




SIX (#ulink_0817c82f-ff98-5d20-b151-b55e0a43fea9)


“Mom … Mom … MOM!”

Oakley jolted awake, almost rolling off the couch, and blinked in the bright lamplight. “Huh, what?”

Wispy threads of her dream clung to her brain like spiderwebs—something where Pike was sweaty and shirtless, like that photo of him drumming but with no drums involved.

“Why are you sleeping?” Reagan asked. Oakley’s vision cleared and she stared up at Reagan’s big, worried eyes. “It’s only six thirty. Are you sick?”

Oakley yawned and sat up. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, baby. I’m fine. I guess that show was just really boring.”

Little frown lines appeared around Reagan’s mouth—her thinking face. Reagan didn’t like when things didn’t go according to her expected schedule. A few years ago, something like Mom falling asleep before bedtime would’ve probably freaked Reagan out enough for a tantrum. But thankfully, they’d moved past the tantrums with age and the help of Reagan’s therapists. Her little girl was learning to cope in quieter, more effective ways. High-functioning. That’s what went on all the reports now.

Oakley thanked the universe every day for those simple words. It was far beyond what she’d hoped for when she’d brought her mute three-year-old into a clinic and they’d given her the autism diagnosis. At twenty, Oakley had barely been keeping her head above water with single motherhood. The word autism had felt like a death sentence for them both. How was she going to handle something that big on her own?

But she had. They had. Her and Rae together. Day by day. Hour by hour. Sometimes in the worst times, minute by minute. Now she had her smart, quirky, beautiful eleven-year-old girl to show for it. They’d both learned how to work with each other and how to accommodate the needs Reagan still had. Not every day was a good day, but they far outweighed the bad now.

“What have you got there?” Oakley asked, noticing the papers clutched in Reagan’s hand.

“Did you write these?” She held the pages up like an accusation.

Oakley rubbed her eyes and leaned closer. The handwritten title “Dandelion” stared back at her. Crap. “Where’d you find those?”

“In the garage. I was looking for some paint for a project and found a box of papers and sheet music.”

“You’re not supposed to be digging through stuff in the garage without my permission.”

She cocked her head in that way Oakley knew would only grow more sarcastic as she closed in on the teen years. “You were sleeping. How could I have asked permission?”

Oakley sighed. Reagan was going to be a demon on the debate team one day. “Then you wake me up or wait. Did you dig through any other boxes?”

“No. They were labeled with boring stuff.”

Thank God. She’d managed to keep her past tucked away from Reagan this long, she didn’t need it coming out now. Good thing she hadn’t labeled any of the boxes “Remnants of a Failed Teen Pop Star.” One day she’d tell her the story of how Mommy was kind of famous once upon a time. But not now. She wasn’t ready for the questions that Reagan would have yet.

“So are these yours?” she asked again.

Oakley took the pages from her. “Yes, I liked to write songs when I was younger.”

She still did. Her feelings tended to come out in lyrics, and she couldn’t turn that nozzle off. But now they were messy words scrawled on sticky notes or in her journal. Words that had nowhere to go except into the silence of ink on paper.

“Could we use some of these for the Bluebonnet songs? I like the one about wishes. How does it sound on the guitar?”

Oakley smiled. “Wait, Ms. Punk Chick likes ‘Dandelion’?”

Reagan lifted her bony shoulder, a little sheepish. “I like that part about people’s wishes floating in the air. That seems kind of cool. And the other girls will probably like it because it’s about flowers. Even though it’s really about wishes and not flowers.”

“What about the boys?”

“Who cares what they like?”

Oakley laughed. “You’ll probably care one day.”

“Not today.”

Oakley reached out and ruffled Reagan’s pixie hair—a cut Rae had insisted on despite it drawing some teasing from the other girls at school. Short hair was a no-no in tween land, apparently, but Reagan wasn’t one to take polls of popular opinion—a blessing and a curse. “Go and get my guitar, and I’ll try to remember how this one goes so you can decide if you really like it.”

Reagan’s face lit up and she ran off to get the guitar. Oakley reached for the watered down Coke she’d left sweating on the side table and swigged it for the caffeine more than the taste. She was going to have to find a way to grab some more sleep. Last night, her regular eight o’clock Wednesday caller, Edward, had been more than a little put out by the fact that she hadn’t been able to talk to him at the scheduled time. He said he’d called first and had gotten redirected to the wrong number and then when he’d called a second time, she hadn’t been able to talk yet.

She’d almost died on the spot when the phone had rung in front of Pike. On Wednesdays, her brother kept Reagan overnight to give Rae a chance to visit with her cousin Lucas and to give Oakley a night to herself. But instead of relaxing, she typically used it to log more hours on the line and earn extra money. So she had her account set to sign in automatically at eight. And Edward was used to getting his call at that time every week.

She’d apologized profusely, not wanting to lose one of her most steady and decent customers, and had agreed to give him time off the clock late last night after she was done with her other calls. So he’d taken full advantage of that time. He liked to talk to her like she was his girlfriend. So though it always led to sex stuff in the end, he first had conversations with her about life, things going on in the news, the weather. She had to make up things about her job and life, keeping everything confidential, but he seemed to enjoy the relationship-y parts as much as the hot stuff. It was the behavior of a lonely guy, but he wasn’t demeaning and he talked to her like she was a normal person.

She’d gladly take ten Edward calls a night than the rest of the stuff. Talking about the weather felt decadent after a night of being called a dirty little slut for the hundredth time.

Her phone buzzed from the coffee table and she grabbed it. Unknown Caller. It was too early for any calls to be forwarded from the service. She put it to her ear. “Hello?”

“I have two pizzas, a free night, and a lot of ideas. But I need your address in order to deliver these wondrous gifts.”

“Who is this?”

“Well, someone has a lot of guys calling her and offering free food.”

“Ryland.”

“Give the lady a prize. So what do you say?”

“Pike, it’s a weeknight and Reagan’s here and—”

“This is strictly business. We didn’t get to finish up last night and I’m booked up this weekend, so I figured we could squeeze in some planning tonight. Plus, what kid doesn’t like pizza?”

“She’s already eaten. And I didn’t say we could have meetings at my house.”

“Come on. I figured that’d be easiest on you since you wouldn’t need to get a babysitter. And I really am harmless. Ask Tessa. You think your boss would let me work around the kids if she thought there was anything to worry about?”

Oakley blew out a breath. Of course Tessa wouldn’t. The background check process was extensive. Oakley had almost backed out of the job when she’d realized she’d have to reveal the truth about her past to Tessa in order to get hired. But Tessa had thankfully been very understanding and hadn’t brought up anything since.

Regardless, did Oakley want Pike at her house? She only had a little while before she’d need to put Reagan to bed and get on the phone. Last night had already been too close of a call.

However, the work had to get done and if he was going to be gone all weekend, they’d be even more behind next week when she had to report progress to Tessa. “Fine. But you can only stay a little while.”

“Deal.”

She rattled off her address, hung up, and glanced down at what she was wearing—a worn-out Mickey Mouse T-shirt and yoga pants. Very sexy. She ignored the ridiculous instinct to rush to her room and put something more flattering on. If he wanted to stop by last-minute, then he could deal with the true-to-life version of herself. Plus, she could use all the armor available to her. This outfit said loud and clear that this was not anything more than a planning session.

Now if she could just convince her racing heart of that.






When Pike walked up to the door of Oakley’s small clap board house, music drifted through the slightly open window. He tilted his head, recognizing the dulcet tones of Oakley’s voice singing along with a guitar. Nice. He closed his eyes, straining to pick out the words.

Take my wish, pluck it from the air, plant it with your hands, and let it bloom …

The song was upbeat but had a yearning to it that made it almost sad. Wistful.

Blow it away, blow me away. Watch us fade away.

Pike hummed along with the chorus, picking up the pattern of notes quickly, and inserting a matching drumbeat in his head. Huh, the song was a catchy little thing. Sweet and raw. Like a Jewel tune with an updated rhythm.

He hated to knock and interrupt, but the next-door neighbor had stepped onto her porch and was sending him an evaluating glare. He was used to that look. He’d gotten it as a kid when he’d walk through his friend Foster’s gated neighborhood. The blond kid with the thrift store clothes and the punk rock hair did not belong. He resisted the urge to lift the pizza boxes to neighbor lady and let her know he wasn’t there to steal or pillage anything but to deliver gifts.

The music stopped and Oakley answered the door a minute later. Her dark hair was piled on her head in a haphazard bun and her T-shirt looked liked it’d seen better days—probably in the nineties. But she looked ten times sexier than she had in that boring work outfit. Now he could see the details of the tempting curves beneath the thin shirt and yoga pants—all woman. All the way down to the bright pink polish on her toes.

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to dress for a slumber party,” he said, allowing himself another head to toenail perusal. “I would’ve brought my footed pajamas.”

“You come to my house after seven. This is what you get.”

“Well, lucky, lucky me.”

She shook her head. “I swear, you could flirt with a tree stump.”

He handed her the pizzas. “Why do that when I can have fun annoying you?”

With a sigh, she opened the door wider and let him come inside. He shut it behind him while Oakley handed Reagan the pizza boxes. “Baby, you remember Mr. Ryland?”

Reagan nodded and shifted her weight to the other foot. “Hi, Mr. Ryland.”

Her gaze was so serious, so … adult. Those old soul eyes made him forget how uncomfortable he was around kids. “If it’s okay with your mom, you can call me Pike.”

Reagan looked up at her mother and Oakley nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Why are you bringing us pizza, Mr. Pike?” Reagan asked. All bluntness.

He didn’t bother correcting her that he’d meant she could drop the mister. “To get on you and your mom’s good side.”

Reagan’s lips twitched into a little smile. “You’d have to bring dessert for that.”

He laughed. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“Can I eat another dinner, Mom?” Reagan asked, clutching the pizzas like she was afraid she’d have to give them back.

“Sure. Why don’t you bring them in the kitchen and get out some paper plates? We’ll be there in a minute.”

Reagan hurried off, and Oakley grabbed her guitar to slip it into the case.

The living room was small and lived in, the furniture and carpet worn but not in disrepair. Nothing fancy, but Oakley’s place had a cozy, welcoming feel to it.

“I heard you playing when I walked up. Great song.”

She latched the case. “Thanks.”

“Who’s it by? I haven’t heard that one before.”

She glanced over at him, wariness putting lines around her mouth. “No one. It’s just a thing I tinkered with a long time ago. Reagan found the lyrics and wanted me to play it.”

“Wait, you wrote that?” He moved closer without realizing he was doing it. That was her song? “What’s it called?”

“‘Dandelion.’ It was just a stupid teenage thing I scribbled down.” She gave him a dismissive wave of her hand. “Reagan wanted to change some of it around and maybe use it as a starting point for one of the songs for the group.”

“Oh, hell no.”

She set down the guitar case next to the TV and peered back over her shoulder. “What?”

His mind was already working, grabbing onto thoughts and running with them. “I only heard a little bit of it, but that’s not a kid’s song. Too much yearning in it for that. And that’s a one-voice song. Besides adding in some drums and a bass track, it didn’t sound like it needed to be messed around with. Maybe you could play the whole thing for me?”

She crossed her arms. “We’re here to work, not to waste time serenading you with my teenage ballads. Plus, I don’t play my own stuff for other people. I only did it because Reagan asked.”

“Hold up. You have more stuff?”

A smile finally broke through at that. She tilted her head. “What’s with you? You look like a beagle who just got offered a rack of ribs.”

What was with him was that he had been trying his hand at producing for the last year, and he hadn’t had a song hit him with that kind of gut-level force since he’d heard Keats. He was still new to this producing thing, but his instincts on what was good hadn’t let him down yet. “Fine. We’ll eat pizza and work. But before I leave, you’re going to play that song for me.”

“I will n—”

He raised a finger. “Remember, I am selflessly donating this Thursday night for the good of children, Oakley. I provided dinner. And I am mostly keeping my eyes to myself even though you are parading around in that enticing ensemble. All I’m asking in return is a song.”

She snorted and looked down at her shirt. “Mickey Mouse does it for you, huh?”

“His ears are very strategically placed. Not that I’ve noticed.”

She narrowed her eyes in playful warning. “Okay. I’ll think about it. One song. But only if we get this plan hammered out before ten.”

“I will accept this deal.” But there she went with the time limit again, which had his mind chasing that bunny trail from last night.

After their dinner the night before, he’d gone home and had tried to talk himself out of his crazy theories about the phone calls. He’d ruled out the most ridiculous one first. No way was Oakley a call girl or escort. She had a kid and wouldn’t be able to get away that much. Plus, during their conversations about the bathroom, she’d blushed. A hooker doesn’t blush.

So there were only a few other possibilities he could think of. One was that she was seeing a guy who liked to role-play. Pike liked those kinds of games himself, so he’d been down that road of false names and such. But Oakley had said she wasn’t seeing anyone and he believed her. Then he’d thought it could be an online relationship thing—pretending to be someone else and hooking up via the Internet. But really, why would Oakley need to catfish anyone? The woman was hot.

So then he’d landed on the last theory. That she was some kind of phone-sex operator. That would explain the guy mentioning minutes.

But maybe he’d heard it all wrong and was chasing crazy ideas. First, did people still call those old-school lines when every porntastic thing imaginable could be found on the Internet? And secondly, after replaying the scene, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that she’d said Sasha to the caller when she’d walked away. Maybe he’d heard wrong. The music had been loud in the restaurant.

And as he followed Oakley into the kitchen to share a pizza with her kid, he couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that this doting mother who worked at a non-profit could flip the switch and play filthy phone-sex girl at night. He’d called those lines when he was a teenager. He’d lift credit card numbers from his mom’s boyfriend and charge the calls that way. And he’d gotten quite an education when he’d found there was no limit to what those women would talk about. He had a hard time picturing Oakley saying “fuck” much less describing sex acts in explicit detail.

However, once they were in the kitchen, Oakley turned to him and asked him what he wanted to drink, and that voice hit him again right where it counted. That tone, dropping half an octave, and pressed close to the phone? It could probably make a guy hard before a dirty word was ever spoken. It’d be lethal.

He liked Oakley a lot already but had accepted yesterday during dinner that he was too far from her type to get anywhere. She wasn’t looking to sow some bad-boy oats. She’d moved beyond that phase of life. But if the lovely Ms. Easton wasn’t as buttoned-up and conservative as she was portraying, if she was up to some naughty, secretive business behind closed doors, that put a whole new shine on things. Because nothing was hotter to him than a woman who had her shit together during the day but who could also let loose and play dirty at night.

Maybe that had been part of what had gotten him in trouble with his teacher. She’d been strict in the classroom, so put together. But one day he’d walked up on her in between classes. She’d been bending over to get something on the floor and had stumbled, giving him the glorious sight of her lacy red thong before she could right herself. After that, he’d lost hours in that class imagining what she was like outside of school, picturing what happened when she took the pins out of her hair and stripped off that stern expression. And one day when he’d run into her in town on a weekend, he’d found out.

But that had been his young infatuation and a raging libido at work there. He’d been dumb and eager. She’d been lonely and recovering from an abusive relationship. Looking back, he’d been the epitome of non-threatening, which is why she’d probably crossed lines that should’ve never been crossed. He hadn’t known what to do with that kind of situation then.

But now the thought of discovering a woman who had that ability to play both sides of the line had his mouth watering. The girls he usually hooked up with wore their sexuality on the surface. One-dimensional. Like the one he’d kicked out the other night. Physically, she probably would’ve been game for whatever he suggested. But it often lost its punch when a girl was doing something simply to impress him—to win the I’m-the-hottest-girl game. To play the porn star to his rock star.

So much of it was pure bullshit.

But a woman who wanted to do things because it would make her feel good, because she craved it? Well, that’d be an altogether different rodeo.

“You look lost in thought over there,” Oakley said, sliding a glass of tea his way.

He took a long sip from the glass.

“Nickel for your thoughts?” Reagan said, mouth half full of pizza. “And if you say them, Mom actually pays you a nickel. I’ve got a big jar of them. I have lots of thoughts.”

He nearly choked on his drink. His thoughts were so not kid-friendly, and he had a feeling it was showing on his face. He needed to pull it together. Here he was sitting in a kitchen with Oakley and her daughter in the middle of suburbia eating pizza and spinning some bent fantasy that the woman in the Disney shirt was secretly a phone-sex operator. He was an idiot. “I was thinking you should tell me what kind of music you like.”

Reagan’s face brightened like this was her favorite topic in the world. “Have you ever heard of punk rock?”

He laughed. “A time or two.”

Oakley slid onto a stool and grabbed a slice of cheese pizza. “Reagan is very into the eighties.”

“Is that right?” he asked, directing the question to Reagan. “How’d that happen?”

“Because Mom’s a whore.”

“Reagan!” Oakley said.

Pike spit out his drink.

Reagan’s eyes went wide as she looked between the two of them. “What’s wrong?”

Oakley looked like she’d swallowed a porcupine but managed to lower her voice, replacing it with a terse but calm one. “Where’d you learn that word? That’s not a nice word.”

“Whore?” she asked, all innocence and doe eyes. “On TV. How is it bad? It just means you like to keep a lot of stuff. That’s how I found all those records and magazines from the eighties.”

Pike bit his lips together, trying not to laugh as Oakley pressed her fingers between her eyes and rubbed. “It’s hoarder, baby. Hoarder. That’s the correct word. The other one means something different.”

Reagan seemed undeterred. “What does the other one mean then?”

“It’s an ugly word. We’ll talk about it another day. Finish your pizza. You need to be in the bathtub in fifteen minutes.”

Reagan didn’t look as if she wanted to let it go. But after a few seconds she rolled her eyes, muttering a “whatever,” and went back to her meal.

Pike had grabbed a paper towel and was dabbing at the spray of tea he’d sent flying. He cut Oakley an amused look.

She shook her head in kill-me-now chagrin, but the humor in her eyes warmed him right to his toes. Vixen or not, this woman was beautiful.

She pointed a finger his way. “Not a word from you.”

He raised his hands. “I didn’t say a thing.”

But boy was he thinking them.

Many, many things.




SEVEN (#ulink_b5da4466-95d1-5ecd-8aa3-07a4c46004d0)


After tucking Reagan in for the night, Oakley plopped down on the couch, settling against the side farthest from Pike. Like that would help. The guy had a gravitational field like a black hole. She could feel the force of it dragging her toward him, threatening to consume her completely if she let her guard down for one second. “All right, she’s zonked out. We’re good to go until ten as long as we keep our voices down.”

“Then you turn into a pumpkin?” he asked, looking up from the legal pad he had in his lap.

“Got to get my beauty rest.”

“Yes.” He nodded gravely. “Very important for a whore.”

She grabbed a throw pillow and tossed it at him. “Hey, only eleven-year-old kids are allowed to call me that.”

And almost every single caller every freaking night. She’d nearly died when the word had rolled off Reagan’s lips. For one panicked moment, she’d thought Reagan had somehow broken through all of Oakley’s safety measures and had discovered what Mom did at night.

“She seems like a sweet kid,” Pike said, glancing in the direction of the stairs. “And surprisingly knowledgeable about bands that existed decades before she was born. Good taste, though.”

Oakley tucked a leg beneath her. “That’s her thing. When she finds something she likes, she obsesses about a subject and wants to know everything about it. Wants to live and breathe it.”

“Nothing wrong with passion. I was a lot like that when I started getting into music. Though, I was a little older than her when I got to the obsessive phase.”

Oakley smiled. “I love that she’s passionate and smart. But it doesn’t win her many favors socially. She struggles with the group stuff, so I’m hoping this project will be good for her. At her school, she’s in really small classrooms with specialized attention. Bluebonnet’s where she gets a dose of the real world.”

“What school does she go to?”

“The Bridgerton Academy.”

“Whoa. That’s the fancy one downtown with all the ivy on the fences, right?”

“Yeah. She has a partial scholarship. It’s still crazy expensive, but it’s the best thing that ever happened for Reagan. She has some extra needs, and she’s made so much progress since I moved her there. She’s finding her confidence.”

“That’s awesome.” He shifted on the couch to fully face her. “So ready to get this stuff done or do you want to sing for me first?”

She grabbed her cup of coffee and lifted it in a toast. “Work comes first. This caffeine’s only going to last so long.”

“I see how it is. You’re into making a guy wait.”

She smiled sweetly. “Endlessly.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. “Sadist, huh? I can work with that.”

“You’re flirting again.”

“So are you.”

“Am definitely not.” She totally had been. It was like a goddamned reflex around him. “Talk to me about rehearsal schedules.”

“Slave driver.”

They worked for a little over an hour, Pike talking fast and her jotting down as many of their half-formed ideas as she could manage. Once Pike got started, his brain seemed to work faster than his mouth. Full-on creative mode. The energy rolling off him infected her, too, getting her heart beating quicker than the coffee ever could. This was the part she missed about the industry she used to be in.

She didn’t miss the bullshit, the business, or the backstabbing, but she missed being around artistic people who ran on the fuel of their ideas and passions. She missed being in that flow with others and creating art. Music.

“Maybe we could see how expensive it’d be to get the rights to record some cover songs. If we tell them it’s for charity, we might be able to get permission,” Pike said, almost talking to himself. “Or maybe the kids want to do all originals. I guess that depends on how strong the originals are. We’d need at least one anchor song that has solid hit potential. Something people can really sing along to. And we could do a YouTube video with the kids—something fun. Morning shows will eat that up. And how many kids are in the program, not just in the music one, but all of it? A choir of kids in the background of a song can sound killer. You know, like the kids in John Lennon’s ‘Happy Xmas’ or even like the crowd singing in 30 Seconds to Mars songs. It makes it anthemic. Or—”

“Whoa, slow down, speed demon,” she said, raising a hand and forcing Pike to take a breath. “You’re spinning ideas faster than I can write. I should grab my laptop.”

He nodded. “Yeah, do that. We can share notes better that way anyhow.”

She went into her room and unhooked her laptop from the docking station, double and triple checking that the window for the call service was closed, and then brought it into the living room.

Pike continued bouncing ideas with her, and the clicking keyboard filled the spaces between sentences. But she was watching the clock closely. When it hit 9:50, she set the laptop aside and stretched her arms above her head. “I think we’ve gotten more than enough done for tonight. Next week, we can look at the songs they have already first, and you can see what direction we need to go.”

Pike pulled his phone from his pocket. “Is it that late already?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Damn. Well, guess it’s time for you to sing for me.”

She shifted on the couch cushion. No way was she singing that song in front of him. It’d be like standing in front of him naked. “It’s too late. Maybe next time.”

“Come on, I’m sure you can stay up a little past your bedtime? It’s just one song.”

His tone was gentle, cajoling. Part of her really wanted to give in to him. But that was the same part that also wanted to crawl across the couch and run her hands up his T-shirt while she discovered what his mouth tasted like. She knew not to listen to that part. “I really can’t. I have some other stuff to do before bed.”

He frowned, considering her. “The same stuff that made you run out of the restaurant last night?”

Her heart ticked up a beat.

“You know how I said I have a thing about honesty?” he asked, setting aside his pad and pen.

The question caught her off guard. She swallowed past the tightness seizing her vocal cords. “Yeah.”

“Well, I have a little confession to make. Last night when you left the table, I accidentally answered your phone.”

Her stomach dropped right through the floor. Boom. Crash. Catastrophe. “You what?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “It was a complete accident, and I’m really sorry. We have the same ring and I wasn’t looking. I just grabbed it. A guy asked for Sasha.”

Her pizza was going to make a reappearance. She could feel it burning the back of her throat. “So a wrong number.”

“Was it?”

She’d gone clammy all over, like all the interrogation lights in the world had just turned onto her, glaring in her face. “Well, that’s not my name, so yeah.”

Pike blew out a breath and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Okay. I just wanted to let you know that it happened. I’m not into secrets.”

“I—I appreciate you telling me,” she said, her words coming out as nervous as she felt.

He stood and she followed suit. But instead of turning toward the door, he stepped over to her, standing far closer than any two co-workers had any business doing. He put a knuckle under her chin to guide her face up to his. “Also, I’m not into judging. Or telling other people’s secrets.”

His eyes were going to be the death of her—those long, dark lashes framing eyes that changed color with his moods. Right now they were golden brown, penetrating. But she couldn’t give him the honesty he wanted. She gave him a tight smile, ignoring her twisting insides. “Good to know.”

After a long few seconds, where he held her solely with the power of that searching, steady gaze, he stepped back and grabbed his keys from the coffee table. “I left a name and number on the kitchen counter. You call that guy and tell him I sent you. My band’s playing a big festival in Fort Worth next Saturday and he’ll get you tickets. You and Reagan should come. I think she’d like it—even if my band’s a little more hard rock than punk.”

Oakley opened her mouth to protest, but he was already at the door.

He turned back to look at her, as if he wanted to say something else, then his gaze flicked to the coffee table where her phone sat. He put his back to her again. “G’night, Oakley. Don’t stay up too late.”

When the door closed, she sank back onto the couch, head in her hands. It would be so easy to call him back in. So. Easy. She could tell him about her secret job, unload that burden. She doubted Pike would care. It’s not like he wanted to date her. He wanted to sleep with her. Who cared what she did for a living?

He could be in her bed tonight and sneak out by morning before Reagan woke up.

But then what? Awkwardness and hurt feelings, probably. She’d learned early on that she sucked at casual. Maybe it was her conservative upbringing, but she had trouble separating out feelings from sex. She didn’t have a ton of experience, but when she let someone inside her body, it left a mark.

She didn’t need any more marks. Especially ones meted out by fly-by-night musicians who bedded women for sport.

Her life was complicated enough.

So what if her libido had decided to make an appearance after a long hiatus? That didn’t mean she had to appease it with the nearest willing heartbreaker. She didn’t need some guy to fix it.

Tomorrow, she’d take a trip to one of those stores with the suggestive names and tinted windows. She’d handle this herself.

But for now, she had other people’s libidos to satisfy.

Her phone was ringing before she shut her bedroom door.

“Hello, this is Sasha …”




EIGHT (#ulink_1abe83b3-361c-5e55-a493-734876cd405f)


By quarter to one, Oakley was running on fumes. She’d taken seven calls tonight and the last had been a guy who’d wanted her to humiliate him pretty much non-stop. She’d had to pull out all her reserves to find creative enough insults because he’d complained that other women he’d called only said things like “You’re such a naughty boy.” He needed more than that. He wanted to be verbally assaulted. That took energy.

She let her head sag onto her pillow, her headset like a weight pressing down on her brain, and waved the white flag. She’d planned to work until one but she didn’t have it in her tonight.

After yawning loudly, she sat up and reached for her laptop to sign out of her shift. But before she could hit the button, the phone rang.

“Son of a bitch.” Once a call was in her queue, she had to take it.

She clicked the Sign Out icon on her laptop so she wouldn’t get another call after this one and slammed her laptop shut, then she sank back onto the pillows and hit the button on her headset to answer the call.

“Hello, this is Sasha. Ready for a fantasy night?”

God, she hated that cheesy scripted intro the service required. It made her teeth grind.

The caller cleared his throat on the other end.

Great. A breather. “Hello?”

“I’m here.” The voice was quiet, still.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to put some effort into it. “Well, hi there, handsome. How you doing tonight?”

A few seconds passed, and she thought maybe the call had dropped, but then he spoke. “You sound sleepy. Are you in bed?”

“I am. All alone. How about you? You want some company?”

“I want you.”

The words were ones she’d heard a thousand times before, but for some reason these sent a bloom of heat through her. Her body prickled with awareness. Huh. Weird. “Well, I’m right here for whatever you want.”

“I just got what I wanted.”

She frowned. “And what’s that?”

“To hear your voice one more time tonight.”

Her eyelids blinked open. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, have we already talked?”

The sound of sheets rustling filled the phone as he apparently shifted in bed. “Yes. And I’m still waiting for you to sing to me.”

Her heart jumped into her throat, time slowing around her and alarm bells blaring in her head. She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and flipped it over. A name she’d programmed into it only tonight showed on the screen.

Pike Ryland.

She hadn’t checked the phone before she’d hit the button on the headset. She’d been so tired she’d forgotten to look. Who the hell called after midnight? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her hands trembled, adrenaline chasing her panic. “You must have the wrong number, sir.”

“You know I don’t,” he said, his voice slipping into his normal tone now that he knew she’d figured out who it was.

“I’m sorry, I have to—”

“Oakley, take a breath. It’s okay,” he said, his words gentle. “I’d already pretty much figured it out. It’s why I thought I could get away with calling you so late. I knew you’d be up.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Pike, I—We—No one can know I—”

“Shh, hey, calm down. I told you tonight I’m not into telling other people’s secrets.”

“This is—No one knows this, Pike. No one can know.” She closed her eyes. “God, this is mortifying. You must think—”

“That it’s incredibly hot? That the woman who I thought probably said fudge instead of fuck actually has the ability to talk dirty enough to get paid for it? Yeah, that’s exactly what I think.”

She groaned, tapping the back of her head against her pillow. “Of course that’s what you’d think, isn’t it? Guys are so ready to buy into the fantasy. You probably think I’m dressed in a silk nightie and have come seven times for my seven callers tonight.”

He laughed. “Oh, no. We allow ourselves the illusion, but most of us know that we’re probably talking to a Chris Farley lookalike who’s watching infomercials on mute while she talks to us about how bad she wants us to give it to her.”

“Sounds like you have some experience.”

“Totally. Fourteen-year-old Pike was a big contributor to the Dial-A-Girl industry.”

“Oh, God. Don’t say that. I need to have my own illusions that the measures they have in place to keep kids from calling me actually work.”

“Sorry. You’d probably be able to tell. They’d just want to talk about feeling up your boobs.”

“Ha. Welcome to half my callers.”

“Really?”

“No. That’d be too easy. Most require more effort than that.”

He got quiet for a second. “So do you get into it? I mean, it’s got to feel kind of powerful knowing you’re turning someone on.”

She blew out a breath. “We’re so not going to talk about this.”

“Aw, come on. I want to know.”

“No, Pike. I do it for the cash. My position at Bluebonnet is great and I’m hoping for a promotion, but I could never afford Reagan’s schooling on a receptionist salary alone. I do this because it’s good money that I can earn from home. It doesn’t turn me on. If anything, it numbs me. Makes me immune to things most people would find sexy.”

“Well, that would explain how you’ve so easily resisted my undeniable charms. But sexually immune? No fucking way.”

“Believe what you want.”

He sniffed. “I saw how you looked at me in the restaurant, Oakley. That look did not come from a woman who’s numb.”

“That look is called shock. I thought I heard something I didn’t. And seriously, how do you and your ego fit in the same room?”

“We work it out. And that was more than shock. You wanted me.”

“Whatever.” Great. Now she was sounding like the kids she worked with.

“Close your eyes, Oakley.”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

“We’re not going there, Pike. I was not issuing a challenge.”

“Come on, close them. What can it hurt? I’m all the way across town. You’re safe from me.”

Lie. Lie. Lie. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it.

“Are you still wearing what you were earlier?” he asked.

“Oh my God. Seriously? The what are you wearing question? You could at least—”

“Tell me.”

“Ugh. The shirt but not the pants. Super hot.”

He made some sort of pleased sound on the other end. “Good. That’s exactly how I’m picturing you now.”

“Fantastic.”

“And though you didn’t ask, I’m wearing nothing. Just my sheets. I like the way they feel against my skin.”

She rolled onto her side and pressed her face into her pillow. Shit on a stick. Pike was naked. This was a stupid, stupid idea. She needed to hang up. She adjusted her headset. “You are making crap up right now. I know this game way better than you.”

“Don’t taunt me, mama. I’m not above sending you a dick pic.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Play nice then. Now, where were we?” he said, in a sleep-soft, sexy voice—all cool sheets and hot skin and long nights. “Right, you on your bed in just a thin T-shirt and panties. I bet you’ve taken your bra off, too.”

She had, but she wasn’t going to confirm it for him.

“Mmm, I can imagine that shirt is pretty see-through with nothing else beneath it. I wish I was there to brush my fingers over the front of your shirt, see your nipples rise against the cotton so I could put my mouth on them.”

“Are you charging me by the minute?” She kept her voice even, but her hand had drifted to her breast. She drew her fingertips over her nipple, casually at first, then with more purpose, sending a hot bolt of sensation down through her belly. Her toes curled.

God, what was she doing? She went through this scenario all the time with callers and never once had the urge to actually participate.

“First call’s free.” She heard the glide of sheets again. “Especially since I’m going to enjoy this, too.”

She clamped her lips together. She would not ask him if he was touching himself. Would. Not. Ask. And she would not picture what he might look like laid out naked, thighs spread, cock in hand.

She shuddered and the spot between her thighs pulsed with awareness. “I’m going to hang up now.”

“Don’t. You don’t have to pretend to hate this. I told you I’m honest. Do me that courtesy, too. This is a no-risk proposition. We don’t even have to talk about it face to face. Work is work. Fine. This—this is just a no-pressure, late-night anonymous phone call. Give yourself a break, mama. Indulge a little.”

She let out a long breath, the weight of her limbs pressing into the bed. It’d been so long since her body had tingled and ached, so long since she’d fantasized about a man. The offer was so damn tempting.

“I’m hard for you, Oakley.”

Well, hell. That fucking did it. How was she supposed to stay cool after that? Hard. It was such a filthy word when he said it. She licked her lips, tried to find her voice. “Is that right?”

“Have been since you answered the phone. Your voice does it for me. I keep hearing your song in my head and picturing you in nothing but a T-shirt. If I were there, I’d peel it off of you and tie your hands with it so I could taste your skin and feel you against my tongue, watch your green eyes go black with want.”

She let out a soft, needy gasp. One he had to have heard. But she couldn’t help herself. Those sinful lips of his running over her body, tasting her? The image was too decadent to block.

“Still with me, Oakley?”

“I’m here.” It was all she could manage to say without totally giving herself away.

“Are you wet for me?” he asked, shameless and bold. “Because I’m leaking for you. You should see how slippery the head of my cock is getting just thinking about you.”

God bless America. A rumble of need moved through her like a possessed freight train, gears that had long gone rusty coming to life and spinning too fast. She could see him there, fist around himself, thumb rubbing the fluid over the tip, making his erection glossy and flushed. Could imagine being there with him, lowering her head and swiping her tongue across that little slit. She could almost taste the salt of him. “This is such a bad idea.”

“My favorite kind. What are you thinking about, baby?” he asked, voice gruff. “Don’t censor, and I won’t either.”

She swallowed past the tangle of protests in her throat. She could do this. Hell, she did this every night. She’d just never said the words and really meant them before. “I was imagining what you’d taste like.”

He groaned, and that gave her a strange thrill of satisfaction. She was getting to him, too. “Answer my other question. I want to know.”

She knew the answer but let her hand slide down her belly anyway. Her fingers dipped beneath the band of her panties and found the slickness waiting there. She stroked a finger over her clit, the simple touch making her thighs clench. “Yes. I’m wet.”

“Fuck,” he said in a strangled whisper. “You’re touching yourself, aren’t you? I can fucking hear it in your voice. God, you’re driving me crazy. Hold on.”

Something squeaked on his end of the line. “What are you doing?”

“Grabbing lube out of my drawer,” he said bluntly. “I want to imagine how sexy and slick you’d feel around me.”

“How very prepared of you,” she teased, her words getting looser the more she stroked herself. “Were you a Boy Scout?”

“Not in this lifetime or the last, mama, but I’m always prepared to get off.” Mattress springs creaked as he got settled again. “Ah, fuck, yes. That’s better.”

“Tell me what you’re doing,” she said, reaching down to slide her panties off and to turn off the bedside lamp. Darkness enveloped her, keeping her safe, secret. This wasn’t really happening if it was in the dark.

“I’m on top of my sheets and have my hand tight around my cock, rubbing slow and teasing myself, losing myself in your voice and imagining what you’re doing right now. Help me fill in the picture.”

“I’m in the dark and have a headset on so my hands are free. I’ve taken my panties off and am touching myself.”

“No,” he said, gravel in his voice. “Use the words for me. I know you’re not that polite on your calls. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

She inhaled a long breath, trying to find the courage. She said filthy things to men every night, but they were just words to strangers she’d never have to face. That was Sasha. She’d never gone there as Oakley. This felt altogether different—vulnerable. She’d have to see this man again, have to own this part of herself in front of him. She released the breath. Jumped off the cliff. “I’m pushing my fingers inside myself and rubbing my clit. Everything feels tight and achy, like I could come at any second. My pussy is clenching around my fingers just from me thinking about what you’d feel like inside of me.”

“Fuck, yes, baby. You’re perfect. And don’t deny yourself. Get a toy and give yourself more than your fingers.”

Her back arched, the pleasure building fast. It’d been so long since she’d done anything but snag a cursory orgasm in the shower. “I don’t have any toys.”

“What? I thought all women had a stash.”

“Not numb ones.”

“You’re not numb, baby.” She could hear his slick hand moving steadily on his end of the line. It was a familiar noise, but it’d never sounded so damn lewd and sexy. “Feel how hot and slippery you are against your hand. Feel it all. How awake and alive you are. How much you want this.”

She moaned, unable to stop the sounds now.

“If I were there, I’d fill you up. Give you more.”

Her fingers were pumping, pumping, pumping now but instead of the empty darkness of her bedroom, she saw Pike looming above her, his cock pumping into her, those inked arms sweating and flexing as he drove her into the bed.

“Oh, God.” Choppy, choked sounds spilled out of her—so different from the practiced, porny noises she made for calls. Raw. Real. She’d forgotten what that sounded like.

“Yes,” Pike said, his voice broken with sharp breaths. “Take it. Feel me there with you. Come for me, mama.”

The command was unnecessary because she was already tipping over, her hips lifting off the bed and her free hand grabbing her breast with a too-rough touch. She cried out, turning into her pillow to muffle the sound. Light exploding in the darkness.

Grinding, erotic noises filtered through the phone—unh, unh, unh—as Pike fucked his fist. Oakley only sailed higher. And when Pike cried out, she saw it all in her mind. His head tipped back in ecstasy, his cock pulsing in his hand, fluid painting streaks across his chest. She’d never wanted to transport herself somewhere else so desperately.

But, of course, she wasn’t there. And he wasn’t here. When they both panted their way down from their orgasms, chilly reality settled in around her like a wet blanket.

She was alone. And she’d just exposed more than one secret to a man she’d promised to keep at arm’s length.

Pike let out a long breath on his end. “Wow, that was …”

“Something we can’t do again.”

“What?”

She closed her eyes, tried to slow her heartbeat. “I expect you to honor your promise and not bring this or my night job up ever. When I see you again, we won’t talk about this.”

“I’ll keep my promise, but Oak—”

“Good night, Pike.”

She yanked off her headset, her blood still rushing through her ears and her body having aftershocks, and threw the damn thing against the wall.

Stupid, stupid Oakley.




NINE (#ulink_3398d651-f6ba-566d-bf22-0d5878b6f840)


Oakley stared at the collection of personal massagers in the Wicked boutique, already overwhelmed by all the choices and the prices. How could they possibly be this expensive? She’d had a makeshift vibrator once before, but it’d been a simple massage thing she’d bought at the drugstore. One that she could pass off as a non-sexual device. Back then, she’d been young and convinced everyone was staring at her while she made the purchase. Now she honestly didn’t care. But how the hell was she supposed to know which one to pick? It’s not like she could return it after trying it out if it was no good. And after the other night with Pike, she definitely needed one. Pent-up lust made her do idiotic things. She wouldn’t allow herself to be that desperate again.

“Need some help?”

She glanced toward the end of the aisle to find an impossibly good-looking golden-haired guy sending her a friendly smile. Jesus, what was it lately with the hot blonds?

“I, uh …”

He cocked his thumb. “Or if you’d prefer, I can get my assistant out of the stock room and she could help you. Get a woman’s opinion.”

“Um, no, that’s fine. I mean, yes, I guess I need help. But no, you don’t need to bother your assistant.” She could handle a ridiculously hot guy talking to her about vibrators. Sure. She was totally cool with this. Not awkward at all. Nope.

“Great.” He sauntered over and stopped a few inches from her to turn and face the rack she’d been staring at.

Suddenly, the words clitoral and G-spot and anal seemed to go neon on the packages, screaming at them in the silence. The tips of Oakley’s ears burned. She could talk dirty at night, but put her in the daylight and her conservative upbringing came back to haunt her.

“So have you narrowed it down any yet? Any features you’re really after?” he asked, relaxed as you please. Like they were discussing which coffeemaker to purchase.

She cleared her throat and peeked his way. His name tag said Jace Austin, Owner. Okay, well if he owned the place, this probably was about as interesting as picking out a coffeemaker. “Nothing too fancy, I guess. I just—there are a lot of choices.”

He pulled one from the display. “This is your most basic bullet vibrator. It can be inserted, but generally, it’s used for external stimulation. This brand has a few different speeds and the most intensity. It’s one of our bestsellers. And I think if this manufacturer stopped making it, my wife would picket the factory.”

Oakley laughed, some of the awkward tension draining out of her at the word wife.

Somewhere behind her, the bell on the door announced someone else had entered the store. Jace glanced up briefly in what was probably an automatic gesture, but returned his attention to her.

“There are also your multitaskers.” He grabbed a box off the top shelf. The picture of the device looked like a C. “This one can be inserted to hit the G-spot and will press against the clitoris simultaneously. It also allows for intercourse while inserted, which can give your partner some fun, too.”

Well, that sounded interesting. But there was no partner involved for her. She shook her head.

“Then there are anal—”

“I think the first one will probably be fine,” she said quickly.

He smiled good-naturedly and grabbed the one she’d selected. “Excellent. And I’d be a bad business owner if I didn’t mention that this one works great in tandem with one of our realistic dildos, which are twenty-five percent off today.”

She laughed at the bizarre conversation. “I feel like I’m in some X-rated infomercial. Buy a vibrator and get a fake penis for only nineteen ninety-nine!”

He chuckled. “Welcome to my life.”

She shook her head, any awkwardness she’d had early on fading now. The guy seemed well-practiced at putting a woman at ease. “Thanks. I’ll go take a look and see if there’s anything else I want.”

“Holler if you need me.”

She turned her back to him to wander over to the next aisle and look at the display of colorful dildos. It’s what Pike had suggested the other night—something more than her fingers. She’d avoided the aisle because she hadn’t wanted to give in to his suggestion. Hadn’t wanted to think about Pike. But now it seemed stupid not to get one while she was here. Plus, they were on sale. If she was going to take care of herself, she might as well do it right.

She heard Jace greet the other customers and then tuned them out, picking up an entirely too big hot pink rubber dong and wagging it in her hand.

She pressed her lips together, stifling a giggle at the wonky swinging motion. You could pound a chicken breast flat with the thing.

No, thank you.






Pike waited until his best friend, Foster, had exchanged a half-hug and slap on the back with their buddy, then he put his hand out to Jace. “How ya doin’, man?”

Jace shook his hand in a firm grasp. “Oh, you know, crazy in the best way possible.”

Pike stepped back. “Yeah, I haven’t seen you around much lately.”

Meaning he hadn’t seen him at The Ranch. Jace was a regular with his wife, Evan, and his husband, Andre—the threesome a fixture at the kink resort they all belonged to. But Pike couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the three out and about.

Jace crossed his arms, light in his eyes. “Yeah. Fatherhood is keeping me busy. Lucy’s started to crawl and is attempting to disassemble the entire house. But we’ve got Foster and Cela lined up to watch Luce soon so we can get a little grown-up time.”

Pike turned to Foster with a raised brow. “You’re babysitting?”

Foster tucked his hands into his slacks, a smirk on his face. “Unlike you, I don’t have baby-phobia.”

“Since when?” Pike asked.

Foster shrugged, all cool businessman.

“Fuck me, y’all are all going over to the dark side,” Pike said, shaking his head. Jace having kids. His best friend setting up house with his woman, and babysitting. “The Ranch is going to have to open a daycare.”

Jace snorted. “Don’t put it past Grant. If he knocks up Charli, which I’m pretty sure he’s trying to do on a regular basis, I guarantee you, he’ll have five-star nannies on-site.”

Pike sighed dramatically. “I guess that’ll leave all those lonely, single women at The Ranch to me and Gibson. We’re going to have to play relay to keep up.”

The guys laughed, but Pike didn’t really have any excitement at the thought. He had his fun at The Ranch, but he hadn’t hooked up with anyone the last few times he’d gone. He’d watched, but no one had caught his interest. The problem was that he didn’t fit into a neat category like his friends.

Foster and Jace were both sexual dominants. The Ranch catered best to those who fell into those roles—dominant or submissive, masochist or sadist. People wore their labels there with pride. But Pike couldn’t slap one of those stickers on himself. Like most things in his life, he didn’t quite fit in. All his edges were messy, the wires tangled.

Once upon a time, he thought he’d become a dominant. He certainly could enjoy tying a woman up and playing some obedience games. He also didn’t mind dishing out a little pain. There wasn’t much out there hotter than his bright red handprint on a beautiful woman’s ass. But he’d lived with Foster for many years and had shared women with him. He’d seen his best friend when the suit and tie came off and the dominant sadist came out. Dominating a woman was like breathing for Foster—natural and absolute.

Pike had never felt it in his blood like that. He didn’t need the dominance to get off. And frankly, he knew if a woman wanted to turn the tables and tie him to the bed and beat on him for a while, he could have fun with that, too. Shit, he’d done it before.

Bottom line: He liked sex. He liked it rough and tumble without a lot of rules. And he’d try almost anything once. A sexual omnivore.

But that didn’t fly as well at The Ranch because he couldn’t give a true submissive what she’d need long-term and he couldn’t give a dominant that either. So he hung out in purgatory—comfortable with his preferences but vaguely jealous of those who had discovered so clearly what would light them up. He knew for a fact he’d never tapped into that level that Jace and Foster had reached with their partners. He’d watched both of them scene and that shit looked transcendent.

“So what are y’all doing here? Need some supplies?” Jace leaned against the checkout counter.

“We were in the neighborhood for lunch. But Foster wants to buy a violet wand and needs you to swear that you won’t tell Andre.”

Jace sniffed. “Andre can’t throw stones. He’s a big fan of the violet wand.”

“Not for his baby sister,” Foster said. “He still winces anytime she mentions The Ranch in front of him. If I give him any more reason to think too hard about what I’m doing with Cela, he’s going to beat me with his nightstick.”

Jace sniffed. “The sadist in me wants to tell him he needs to get over himself. But I promise I won’t say anything and will leave him in his state of semi-denial for now. Come on, they’re over here.”

Jace led Foster to the back corner of the store, and Pike took the chance to browse around. He hadn’t been in Wicked for a while and always liked seeing what new, perverted things Jace stocked. Even with his dirty mind, Pike usually found something that surprised him.

But when he turned the corner of the third aisle, he stopped cold. Because hanging out at the other end was the biggest surprise he’d ever gotten in any store ever. The woman he’d left in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt last night was standing there with one hand on her hip and the other holding a giant rubber cock.

He must’ve made some sound of surprise because she turned his way. The impassive expression on her face shifted in an instant when she recognized him—from shock to horror then to outright red-faced mortification.

Of course, he should probably leave her to it. He should give her privacy. Everyone had a right to buy their sex toys without someone gawking at them. But all he could do was grin and cross his arms over his chest. “Well, hello there.”

She glanced down at the dildo in her hand. He expected her to shove it back on the shelf, but instead she poked out her chin, held on to the thing like she was proud to be wielding it, and straightened her shoulders. “Hi.”

He strolled down the aisle toward her. “Looking for a self-defense weapon?”

She blinked, clearly not as devil-may-care as she was trying to appear. “What?”

He nodded at the pink monster dick and imitated a batting motion. “You could take someone out with one swing. Or intimidate every guy who comes near you.”

He flicked his finger against the head of the toy and it swayed back and forth in a rude, lumbering display.

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks still stained pink, but laughter entered her eyes. “I think this one is a little out of my ballpark, but they’re twenty-five percent off if you want one.”

“Nah, I’d break the bank buying enough lube to manage that one. I’ll stick with the small ones that vibrate.”

Her mouth went a little slack at that, but he figured the best way to fight off her potential embarrassment was with his shamelessness. And by the look on her face it’d worked. A brief flash of heat had lit her eyes. Good. She was probably picturing exactly what he’d do with one of those. Dirty girl. He’d happily demonstrate in person if she wanted a show. Or better yet, try one on her.

“Is that what you’re here for?” she asked in an apparent attempt to sound casual.

“Vibrating butt plugs? No. Not today. My toy box is fully stocked. I was just stopping in to say hi to a friend. The guy who owns the store is—Well, this is going to sound complicated, but he’s married to my best friend’s girlfriend’s brother.”

Oakley’s forehead scrunched like she was doing advanced math in her head. Two point three, carry the one. “Wait, the owner is gay? He said he had a wife.”

“He does. And a husband. They’re a triad, poly, whatever you’d like to label it as. Basically, three people in love and married who have a kid.”

“Wow. That sounds … complex.”

He shrugged. “Not for them. They’re like those ridiculous people in romantic movies—so shit-faced in love you want to vomit a little when you’re around them.”

She laughed and put monster dong back on the shelf. “My brother and his husband are like that. Unbearably happy. Even when they were going through the stressful process of adopting their son two years ago, they stayed so upbeat and supportive of each other. It’s freakish how well-adjusted they are. Jace seemed nice, by the way.”

“You met him?”

“He, uh, helped me earlier.”

Pike lifted a brow and leaned against the shelf. “Yeah? What’d you need help with? I could certainly offer a few opinions. Or we could just ditch the toys, and I could take you into his office to provide you with the real thing. Though, fair warning, I can’t compete with Mr. Pink here. I’m a lot warmer, though, and have better moves.”

Desire flared in her eyes for the briefest of seconds, boiling his blood, but she quickly covered it with a sardonic smile. “Now you’ve moved from flirting to outright propositioning. Not appropriate workplace behavior, Mr. Ryland.”

“You’re not on the clock right now, Miz Easton.”

“Ryland,” Jace called out from the end of the row, Foster at his side. “No hitting on the customers. My store is a safe zone.”

“What if I already know her?”

“Ma’am?” Jace asked, firm tone. “Tell me if you want him to go away, and I will take care of it.”

For a moment, she looked tempted, but she waved him off. “No, thank you. It’s fine. I do know him.”

Jace gave Pike a warning look that said don’t fuck with my customers, and Pike blew him a kiss.

Pike caught Oakley watching Jace and Foster walk away with a little too much appreciation. He shook his head. “They’re both taken, mama. You can stop staring now.”

“Are all your friends that hot? Maybe I was too quick to limit our time together. You should introduce me to more of them.” She said it so completely deadpan that he had no idea if she was fucking with him.

“Yeah? Which one does it for you? Mr. CEO or Mr. Blond Bisexual? I have a lot of friends. It’d be helpful if I could narrow down your type.”

She tapped a finger to her chin and now he knew for sure she was fucking with him. “Well, I do love a man in a suit. And dark hair really does it for me. The clean-cut type is really hot. And no tattoos because, you know, they’re dumb.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Which aisle has the floggers? I’m feeling a little violent all of a sudden.”

She put her hand to his chest and leaned close to him. For a crazed second, he thought she might kiss him, but instead she pressed her lips close to his ear. “The truth is … my type is sitting on that shelf. That’s all I’m looking for right now.”

His heart was beating too fast at having her hand on his chest and the smell of her grapefruit shampoo in his nose. She stepped back and grabbed a different flesh-toned dildo off the shelf. One, ironically, he’d estimate to be about the size of what was currently pushing against his zipper.

He looked down at the package in her hands. “So all you want is the fantasy? Nothing real?”

Her smile was resigned. “Ding. Ding. Ding. Give the pretty boy an A plus.”

The words stung more than they should.

She walked toward him, and her shoulder briefly touched his. “And for the record, your two friends have nothing on you.”

The words moved through him, stoked the fire.

“Oakley—” He spun toward her.

But she was already walking to the register, her faux lover in her hands.

She didn’t look back. And she didn’t say good-bye.

After she’d checked out and left, Foster and Jace found him scowling at the front window.

“Who the hell was that?” Foster asked.

My torment. “No one. Just a mom I’m working with on that charity project.”

Foster’s smile was wry. “Uh-huh. You normally get hard-ons for moms you work with? New fetish?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

But Foster only grinned wider.

Jace leaned against the windowsill, looking just as amused. “A mom, huh? That’s not usually your style.”

“What else did she buy besides the dildo?” he asked, turning fully toward Jace.

He arched a brow. “Customer purchases are confidential.”

The hell they are. Pike didn’t hesitate. He dodged to the left, skirted around Jace, and jogged to the checkout counter. Jace realized a second too late what Pike was doing and couldn’t beat him to the register. Pike rolled the receipt paper back.

The dildo and some kind of vibrator.

Jace scowled at him. “You can be a hardheaded asshole sometimes. She didn’t buy anything exciting. Vanilla basics. You’re sniffing around the wrong tree, brother.”

“That doesn’t mean vanilla. It might just mean inexperienced with toys or unexposed to other things. She’s got this buttoned-up thing going during the day, but I know that’s not all there is to her. I can tell. Did you hear that voice? That voice is not PG. And neither is that walk. Did you see how she walks?”

As he was babbling like an idiot, Foster leaned back on his heels, grinning. “Aw, fuck, this is going to be fun.”

“What?” Pike asked.

Foster tilted his head to the side and cupped his ear. “Jace, did you hear the same sound I did?”

“Hmm, I think maybe I did. Did it start with timber?”

“I believe it did.” Foster reached out and slapped Pike’s shoulder. “Hope you enjoy your downfall, brother.”

Pike stared at his friends, then provided them with the backside of his middle fingers. “Fuck the both of you.”

Their idiotic smiles didn’t falter.

Pike stared for a few long moments then yanked his wallet from his pocket and tossed his credit card at Jace. “Here.”

“What’s this for?”

“Open a tab. I’ve got a care package to put together.”

“For a certain mom?” Jace asked, always one to rub it in. “Good choice. Nothing says I really like you a lot like a box o’ kinky filth.”

“That should be your slogan,” Foster chimed in.

Pike turned his back on them. “You’re both fired as friends. Fucking sadist motherfuckers.”

“Motherfucker? Isn’t that what you’re trying to be?” Foster called after him.

“Fired!”




TEN (#ulink_a5e3fc65-6dbe-5f31-8d1a-bf30a9cbea93)


Oakley stared at the open red package she’d set on her bed. It had arrived on her doorstep this afternoon with instructions not to open until she was alone, Pike’s slashy, masculine signature on the note.

She’d had no theories about what could be inside, but she definitely wouldn’t have guessed this. She’d thought this whole Pike detour had been effectively shut down. They’d worked together a few days this week at Bluebonnet and he’d been nothing but professional. He hadn’t so much as hinted at their late-night phone call or the run-in at Wicked. He’d respected her wishes to keep all of it confidential, and she’d figured he’d moved on just as she would’ve expected him to. He’d gotten a little something out of her and was over it. Bored. They could go on as co-workers.

Based on this box, she’d been wrong.

Inside were things from almost every aisle in Wicked. Vibrators of varying sizes, plugs, clamps of some sort, lubricant—the works. He must’ve spent a small fortune.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hello, most inappropriate gift ever. What in God’s name was Pike thinking?

She removed all the items and dug through the black satin everything had been wrapped in. A card was tucked into the very bottom along with a longer envelope. She pulled them out and opened the card.

If all you want are fantasies, you should at least make them really dirty, well-equipped ones. Hope you enjoy what I picked out for you. Best, Pike.

She ran her fingertips over a dildo made of smooth glass, a shiver moving through her at the thought of Pike hand-selecting things that would bring her pleasure, things that would be inside her. What had he imagined when he’d picked out each thing? Her neck went hot and her sex pulsed with a dull ache.

P.S. There’s a key taped to the bottom of the box. You can lock this stuff up so Reagan doesn’t find it.

P.P.S. I included four passes to the show tomorrow. Don’t deny yourself the joy of watching me bang on things.

P.P.P.S. I did not include Mr. Pink. Unrealistic expectations are unhealthy.

She snort laughed and put her face in her hands. Who was this guy? She reached back, grabbing her phone off her bedside table, and typed out a quick text.

Oakley: Thank u 4 the gift, but u know I can’t accept this.

Pike responded within a minute.

Pike: No returns on that stuff—already licked each piece to make sure.

She snorted.

Oakley: U r a sick, sick man

Pike: PSA—silicone is not tasty.

Oakley: The more u know …

Pike: Tonight, on a very special episode of Family Ties …

She groaned and fell back against her pillows. He wasn’t supposed to be funny. Slick, she’d expected. Charming, yes. But funny was like her kryptonite.

She tried to think of how to respond to cut things off before they went too far, but he messaged her first.

Pike: U busy? I could come over after rehearsal and show u how they all work ;-)

She closed her eyes, breathed through the urge to be reckless and say yes.

Oakley: I’m always busy.

Pike: The scandalous night activities of Oakley Easton …

Oakley: You mean Sasha

Pike: I’m not interested in her. Is Oakley taking calls tonight?

Oakley: Good night Pike

A few long seconds passed before he responded.

Pike: Sleep well, mama.

She sighed and tapped the phone lightly against her forehead. This guy was good. And so … damn … dangerous.

She needed to shut this speeding train down because she was losing control of its direction. Despite her best intentions, she found herself flirting back with him, playing the game, encouraging him. He made it too easy to let down her guard. And that night on the phone made him too hard to forget.

But it was all fantasy. She had to remember that.

Pike was not some single dad down at the PTA meeting. He wasn’t some guy looking to date her and see where things went. He was a drummer in a successful band. A guy who toured the country and most likely the beds of many, many women.

She had to get that message through to her misguided libido. It was easy to trick herself into thinking Pike was some normal, dateable guy because she was seeing him out of his element. Hanging out at her house, eating in dive restaurants, volunteering at a charity. But this wasn’t his life. This was a small diversion in between his real-life activities.

This needed to be a strictly professional relationship. Tomorrow, she’d take Reagan to his concert. Reagan would love it, of course, but Oakley was going for herself, too. She needed to see the real Pike, remind herself what that world was like. This had already gone way too far. And it probably had less to do with Pike and more to do with the fact that she’d shut down this side of herself for so long.

Now that interest was stirring again, maybe she needed to open herself up to dating. Regular dudes. Guys who would take her to dinner and a movie. Ones who would bring her flowers—not send her a box of nipple clamps and butt plugs.

She inhaled a long breath, feeling better now that she had a plan, and sat up to shove all the toys back into the box. Tomorrow she’d fix the Pike situation. Tonight she’d take a necessary leap.

She grabbed her laptop from her desk and sat on the bed. She had a little while before she needed to sign in for her shift, so she opened up a site she’d never thought she’d visit. Perfect Match. She’d seen the commercials enough times to know it was a pretty popular one. Before she could let herself chicken out, she opened up an account, uploaded a pic, and filled out the profile information. When she was done, her finger hovered over the button that would make the profile active.

Nerves crawled up her throat. She’d never truly dated in the normal sense. The only long-term relationship she’d ever been in had been bent from the start. And after that, she’d been a teen mom. Not exactly the type who’d be hot on the dating market. She’d tried a few years ago to go out with a guy she’d met at the grocery store. Things had gone well for a while, but then he’d asked about her night job when her schedule kept interfering with dates. She’d been dumb enough to think honesty was the best policy. He’d been so disgusted, he’d left her in the restaurant to finish her dinner alone.

Hell, maybe she wasn’t even capable of sustaining a real dating relationship. She had no idea. But she only had five minutes before she needed to take a call, and this was how people did it now, right? She closed her eyes and hit the button. A perky dinging sound let her know her profile was live.

She kind of wanted to vomit.

But she didn’t have time for a full-scale freak-out. Work awaited. She closed the window for the dating site and signed in for her nightly shift.

Strangely, there was some comfort in putting on her headset tonight. This was predictable. Safe. Once she was on duty, the only men she needed to worry about were the ones who were paying.

They could be annoying and needy and misogynistic, but at least they couldn’t rip out her heart when the line went dead.

Oakley eyed the concert tickets she’d set on her bedside table as the first call connected. She’d take care of everything tomorrow night. Life would get back to normal.

Whatever that was.






Oakley squinted through the orange rays of the setting sun, keeping an eye on the two kids in front of her. Reagan was bouncing on the balls of her feet and rapidly talking with her younger cousin, Lucas, as the stage crew turned over the set between bands.

“Mom,” Reagan said, peeking back at her and talking too loud, “I can’t believe you’ve never taken me to one of these. This is awesome!”

Oakley pointed to her ears. “You still have your earplugs in, baby. You’re talking loud.”

“What?”

She waved her hand. “Never mind.”

Reagan gave her a toothy grin and turned back toward the stage.

“She really loves this stuff. It’s like she’s on some music high,” Devon said from beside her. “You used to be like that. Remember when you had that complete breakdown after Mom found your Alanis Morissette CD and confiscated it? It was like you’d lost your religion.”

Oakley tucked her hands in her back pockets and smirked at her older brother. “And she made me go to church every day for two weeks to pray for forgiveness. I didn’t really know what most of those songs were talking about at the time, but I felt them in my bones. I knew I needed to write music like that.”

“You were an angst factory for sure. I think Mom still blames Alanis for your defection from the righteous path.”

“Yeah?” She bumped his shoulder. “And what does she blame your defection on?”

“Group showers at church camp? George Michael?”

She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

Devon shrugged, his blue eyes shifting toward the stage. “Nah, she only blames me. And maybe Jake Walton, the neighbor she caught me making out with behind the cow pasture when I was sixteen.”

“God, I had such a crush on him. He had these lips …”

Devon smiled broadly, adjusting his baseball cap over his dark hair. “Yes, he did.”

“It’s not nice to gloat. And good thing Hunter isn’t here. You look a little too wistful about young Jake Walton.”

“Nah, Hunter wins on every level. But you never forget that first one, that first time.”

Oakley went cold at the words and wrapped her arms around herself. Not everyone remembered their first relationship so fondly. “Yeah.”

Devon made a sound under his breath. “Damn, sis, I’m sorry. I didn’t think …”

She put her finger to her lips and shook her head, reminding him that Reagan was only a few feet away. “It’s fine.”

Devon was one of the few who knew the whole story. The ugly one. The one she hoped she’d never have to tell her daughter. Of all of her six brothers and sisters, he was the only one who she trusted to love her no matter what, to listen without judgment. Her other siblings were good people, but they hadn’t strayed from the very conservative lifestyle that her parents had raised them in. Home-schooling. Church. Unbendable rules about right and wrong.

Most of them still lived within a hundred miles of her parents’ farm in Oklahoma. Only she and Devon had bailed. Devon had gotten a scholarship to attend college in California and had moved out before her parents could realize that whole kissing-a-boy thing hadn’t been a drunken whim but a life plan. And Oakley had followed him out to California shortly after when she’d gotten discovered at fifteen by a music producer while singing in a local Christian group. She’d moved in with Dev until Pop Luck had gotten popular and started touring. He’d been her closest family since.

“So,” Devon said, obviously searching for a change in topic, “you know a guy in the next band?”

“The drummer. He’s the one helping out with that music project at Bluebonnet. He gave us tickets, thought Reagan might have fun.”

Dev’s eyebrow arched. “Right. Because he thought your kid might have fun.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

Guitar chords blasted through the speaker for a moment as the crew on stage did the sound check. Oakley turned her head as the big screens on the side of the stage lit up with a publicity photo for Darkfall—the wind making the screens ripple and the bodies in the picture come to life. The crowd cheered.

“Look, Mom!” Reagan shouted back at her. “It’s Mr. Pike!”

“I see, baby.” Boy, did she. The larger-than-life image had Pike staring down the camera with his bandmates. Badass. Tough. Beautiful.

“Which one is he?” Devon asked, following her gaze.

“The blond.”

“Whoa,” he said low enough for the kids not to hear. “You had that guy over for pizza and managed to keep your clothes on? You have more restraint than I do.”

He had no idea. “I have no interest in being a groupie.”

“Can I be one?”

She shoved his shoulder. “You’re such a tramp. I’m so telling Hunter when he gets back in town.”

“Tell him. He’d agree. But seriously, is the guy a jerk? He looks like he has high potential to be an egomaniac. I don’t want that kind of guy around my baby sister and niece.”

She frowned and dragged her eyes away from the picture. “Oh, he’s got an ego, all right. He’s entirely inappropriate most of the time and a shameless flirt. But I wouldn’t say he’s a jerk. He’s kind of, I don’t know, weird and manic and … funny.”

Devon tipped up the bill of his hat, eyeing her with a sly smile. “Oh, so we have a mad crush then?”

“What? No.”

“Oak, you’re here in the Texas heat at a hard rock festival. You don’t even know these bands. And a few weeks ago, when I asked if you wanted to take Reagan to see that eighties cover band, you told me she was too young for concerts.”

Oakley crossed her arms. “Rae has since proven her maturity.”

He smirked. “Bull. Shit. You’ve got the hots for this guy.”

“He’s not my type.”

Dev shook his head and draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so the kids couldn’t hear. “Come on, don’t freak out about it. You work too hard and spend too much time alone. This could be good for you.”

“An ill-advised hookup with a drummer who will drop me as soon as he gets bored could be good for me?”

“Exactly. Look, I know I’m your brother and shouldn’t be saying this, but there’s nothing wrong with finding yourself a hot, temporary fuck buddy.”

“Dev!”

He laughed. “Oh, don’t be such a prude. I mean, yes, you’re right. The guy’s probably not boyfriend material. But you’re a grown woman and deserve some fun. You know we’re always happy to have Rae over if you need a date night.”

“I think you just flunked big-brother school.”

He gave her shoulder a pat. “Okay, fine, want responsible brotherly advice? Use a condom. And don’t let him take video.”

She poked him in the ribs. But before she could respond to his comment, the lights on stage began to flash and the crowd surged forward, excitement like a contagion moving through them.

“Come on, Mom! Let’s get closer.” Reagan grabbed her hand and dragged her with the flow of the crowd.

They’d already been pretty close to the stage, thanks to the special passes Pike had sent, but now they were only ten or twelve rows of people back on the far left side of the stage. Bodies pressed close to them and she couldn’t help but get caught up in the fervor of the crowd.

She pushed onto her toes, knowing the drummer was almost always the first one to come out.

“Is that him?” Dev asked.

“Where?”

Devon pointed to the other end of the stage, and Oakley froze up the moment her eyes landed on Pike. Tight gray jeans, combat boots, and a black sleeveless T-shirt that showed off his ink. All swagger and sex and guyliner. Pike waltzed onto the stage like it’d been built just for him. He lifted his hand in greeting, earning screams from the audience, then hopped behind his drum kit. He put in his earpiece, raised his drumstick, and leaned over to his mic with a cocky smile. “Y’all ready for us, Dallas?”

The crowd erupted. Sound exploded from his drums.

And Oakley forgot to breathe.

Good. God.

The rest of the band ran onto the stage, adding guitars and vocals to Pike’s heavy rhythm, but Oakley barely heard the words.

All she could do was stare. Pike took command of the drums like he had a personal vendetta against them, banging hard and violent but with a sharp-edged grace that made it look like moving art. Every part of his body worked in perfect rhythm—muscles flexing, tattoos dancing, sweat flying—and the expression on his face wasn’t far from what she’d imagined he looked like in the throes of sex. He was taking the songs in his fists and making them his with every swing of his drumsticks.

Oakley swayed on her feet, the pounding beat taking on an erotic edge, vibrating through her and invading her like a drug.

He looked possessed.

He sounded amazing.

And she was toast.

She felt the urge ride up her throat and she couldn’t stop it. Her hands went up with the rest of the crowd and she screamed Pike’s name like a goddamned groupie.

Fucking. Toast.




ELEVEN (#ulink_6a238150-4137-5592-a350-109a71f67348)


Pike tugged off his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. His heart was still pounding and the adrenaline pumping hard after the set. Boom. Boom. Boom. His body felt ready to fight or fuck. They hadn’t played for that big of a crowd in a while, and the effect was potent. He’d missed that kind of energy blasting his way; made him feel like he could fly.

He snagged a bottle of water off one of the tables backstage, trying to cool down, and exchanged high fives with the guys along the way. Then he thumped Braxton, Darkfall’s lead singer, on the back. “You fucking killed today, man.”

Brax tapped his throat. “Felt good. Almost like the old days.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Braxton had gone through vocal cord surgery after their second album, which had screwed up a major tour and the publicity for the record. Nobody’s fault, but it had halted their ride to the top they’d been on after the first album. Then Geoffrey, their lead guitarist, had fallen off the wagon and ended up back in rehab, which had delayed things further. Now they were on the hunt for a big-time band to pick them up for an opening act—something that would give them a shot at arenas again. The local shows and festival circuit were cool, but if they wanted to break through to the next level, they needed more exposure than what they were getting here.

They had a few feelers out and their manager was hopeful. But if nothing else, at least all the guys were getting back into some sort of groove on stage. Things were gelling together again.

Pike moved through the crowded backstage tent, letting his eyes scan over the area. They had the usual suspects milling around—other bands who’d performed today, crew, spouses and girlfriends, promoters, and of course, the women they’d let backstage. Well, women and dudes. One of the other groups performing this afternoon was The Boys Club, which was an all-female band. They had their own groupies.

But Pike wasn’t looking for any of the people he saw. He’d given Oakley backstage passes with her tickets and was hoping she’d use them, but he had no idea if she’d made it to the show at all. After last night, he may have scared her off with the gift. The only hope he held on to was that Oakley would want to give her daughter a fun night, so would come even if she hadn’t wanted to see him.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” a redhead said, putting her hand on his arm as he passed through the crowd. “Where are you off to so fast? I wanted to tell you how much I liked the show.”

An automatic smile jumped to his lips—the politician face, the face for fans. His eyes flicked over her. Model pretty. Enhanced rack. Edgy look. Vaguely familiar.

“Hey, thanks. Glad you liked it …”

“Holly,” she provided, conspiratorial smile touching her glossed lips. “We met at a Houston show a few years ago. I hung out with you and Eddie Duff.”

By hung out, she probably meant slept with. He scanned his memory bank. Eddie was the lead guitarist in Crucial Madness and they’d done a show out there together. But memories of what had happened afterward were vague. Back then, Pike and pretty much everyone he surrounded himself with had been on a rotation of trying out every illegal substance known to man.

“Right, yeah. Good to see you. You look great.”

She gave him an of-course-I-do smile and gave his arm a squeeze. “So do you.”

He moved out from beneath her touch. “Thanks. And I’d love to catch up, but I need to find someone.”

“Maybe you’ve already found her.”

Fuck. Normally he liked a forward girl. No use wasting time playing coy games when both people knew what the end result would be. And all the adrenaline coursing through him had his dick on a hair trigger. He could tug her in a back room, hike up her skirt, and be inside her in five minutes. But he couldn’t muster up any real interest. He knew he should tell her he wasn’t feeling it. But he didn’t have time for any drama, so he pulled a douche move instead. He leaned over and kissed her cheek then whispered, “Maybe later, sweetheart.”

She smiled. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He moved past her and continued his search of the crowd, but after twenty minutes passed, he’d given up. Oakley either hadn’t come to the show or she’d skipped the backstage tour.

He was disappointed. And pissed at himself. Why did he give a fuck if she showed up or not? He sank onto one of the couches and grabbed a beer. This was so not his style. If Oakley wasn’t interested, then that was her prerogative. He didn’t chase women. They chased him. He could have two back at his place before he finished this beer if he put the barest amount of effort into it.

This whole thing had been ridiculous from the start anyway. He had no business messing around with some soccer-mom type—even if she did have an X-rated job at night. What the hell had he been thinking? He leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face.

“This seat taken?”

His eyelids snapped open. He’d know that voice anywhere. He lifted his head to find Oakley staring down at him, looking altogether uncomfortable … and altogether lickable. She’d donned a pink tank top, a white pair of shorts, and her hair was pulled high into a ponytail. The glisten of sweat and the rosy glow from a day outdoors clung to her. No sign of the buttoned-up work outfits or oversized T-shirts. Just lovely, luscious curves and sure-to-be-salty skin.

“I was saving it for you,” he said, forcing the flirt out past his suddenly dry throat and patting the couch cushion.

“Liar.” She sat on the chair catty-corner to the couch instead of taking the spot by him.

“I didn’t think you were coming. Where’s Reagan?”

“I sent her home with my brother. She had a great time, but I wasn’t sure if backstage would be kid-friendly.”

He shrugged. “Things will be pretty tame back here since it’s a daytime all-ages show. A few guys brought their kids. Any debauchery will happen in the buses or hotel rooms.”

She glanced toward the rows of tour buses parked behind the tent then back to him, her eyes briefly dipping down to his naked chest. “Is that where your harem awaits?”

He smirked. “Nah, I waited too long to gather them up. Most have already found their prince for the day.”

She frowned, something flashing in her eyes. “Right. If candidate A isn’t readily available, they’ll find candidate B.”

He rubbed the back of his damp hair, her comment landing squarely. Wasn’t that the truth. People came backstage to fuck a band member. As long as the guy was halfway decent looking and willing, in the end, it didn’t matter who they ended up with. The sentiment was the same from the other side, too, though. Pretty groupies were just as mix and match. “It is what it is.”

Her expression was wry but grim. “I’m aware.”

That’s when he realized he shouldn’t have invited her back here. Even if he wasn’t partaking of anything, it highlighted exactly how different their worlds were. Sometimes he forgot this wasn’t normal. He could see her opinion in the vague disgust on her face.

“So how’d you like the show?” he asked, pulling her focus away from the scene around them. He hated that he felt the urge to ask, probably sounded like he was fishing for compliments. But for some reason, her opinion mattered to him.

She leaned back in the chair, considering him. “Your guitarist is crazy good. Crazy good. And hot.”

He sniffed. “Is that why you’re back here? Want me to get his phone number for you?”

“That’d be great. Is he single?” she asked, all wide-eyed eagerness.

He gave her a stony look.

Her mouth tilted into a pleased smile. “You’re kind of cute when your ego is bruised.”

“Wonderful. You know, I don’t really need another sadist in my life. I’ve got enough of them.”

She leaned forward, bracing her forearms on her thighs, unintentionally giving him a nice view of her cleavage. “Oh, get over yourself. You know you’re a phenomenal drummer. Watching you is like falling into some voodoo spell. Arms and sweat and sticks flying. Even I had to fight the urge to throw my granny panties at you.”

He laughed. “Granny panties?”

She patted the waistband of her shorts. “I’m all about the comfort, my friend.”

A lightness filled his chest, his mood buoying. “So what you’re saying is, watching me drum turned you on and now you must have my sweaty, dumbly tattooed body or you’ll just die of lust.”

She gave him a droll look. “What I’m saying is that I came back here to be honest with you. You have a thing for honesty, so it’s only fair I give you some of mine.”

His eyebrows lifted. “All right.”

“Yes, I’m attracted to you. In truth, I couldn’t tell you what your guitarist looked like because I never took my eyes off of you.”

Pike leaned forward, his blood stirring.

“But this can’t happen. I know I’ve given you the wrong idea with the phone call and all, but you need to hear this. I’m the kind of woman you most fear. The relationship kind. I don’t do casual hookups.”

He shifted on the couch, the word relationship making his skin prickle. “What’s so bad about casual?”

“I have a daughter to worry about.”

He released a breath. “I get that. Believe me.”

“Do you?” she asked, clearly unconvinced.

He glanced around, making sure no one was in earshot. “Yes. I do. My dad walked out on us when I was five and left us with jack shit. After that, I can’t tell you how many ‘friends’ my mom brought home to play daddy and help pay the bills over the years. I hated those guys. Hated those men who used my mom and acted like they had some say over me and my brothers and sisters. I’d never want to be that guy.”

He could still remember the first boyfriend—Louis. Pike had been young and gullible enough to let himself get attached to that one. Louis would play baseball with him sometimes, so he’d thought he was a good guy. But he’d been a petty criminal with a mean streak and had disappeared after getting in a bar fight that left a man with a brain injury. His mom had been pregnant at the time. That had started the pattern of the many dangerous, destructive men who would come into his family’s life, wreak havoc, and bail without looking back.

Oakley frowned and he braced himself for the trite sympathy. Why the hell had he let himself tell her that? No one besides Foster and Gibson knew about his background. Even the band had a false bio for him.

But she didn’t do the oh-you-poor-thing routine. She simply nodded. “So you get it, then.”

He shoulders loosened. “I get why you need to protect her. But I also get that there are ways around it. She doesn’t have to know. You’ve kept your night job private. We could keep this private.”

She sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

It was. It could be. He eyed her. “So this isn’t just about Reagan, then. This is about you.”

A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Maybe.”

“Because of the relationship thing? You want that?”

“I—” She frowned in frustration. “I don’t know what I want. I mean, we’re doing the honest thing, right?”

He nodded.

“Good. Then I’m not going to be a bitch and lie about the night on the phone. That was great. I needed that. God, did I need that. But I know myself. The minute I take this a step further, my emotions are going to get involved. I’m not—” She looked around at the others backstage. “I’m not like these women. I don’t judge them for taking what they want and having a good time, I just can’t relate. I had a kid when I was still a kid. I didn’t go through the stage where you layer up that tough skin, where you can just hook up for fun and move on. I tried it in my early twenties and I sucked at it. I’m not built for what you’d want from me.”

“I think you’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for,” he said, not trying to push her but sharing his honest opinion. The girls he’d met backstage city after city had nothing on Oakley. She’d raised a kid on her own, was holding down two jobs, and had no qualms about laying out what she needed from a guy. Potential. A relationship. There was no apology there. No game. He liked that.

Even if he wasn’t the guy who could fulfill it.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get it out, long, bare legs appeared in his periphery. He turned right as Holly lowered herself into the spot next to Pike. Her hand went to his knee. “I’m about to head out. You ready?”

Oakley seemed to grow in height as her spine stiffened in the chair.

A flash of anger whipped through Pike at the interruption and uninvited touch. He put his hand over Holly’s and moved it off his leg. “I was in the middle of a private conversation.”

“No, it’s okay,” Oakley said, moving to get up, her voice tight. “I need to get going anyway.”

Holly smiled, victory in her eyes.

Fuck. Pike stood. “No, Oakley, don’t. Please stay.”

Her jaw twitched as her gaze slid over to Holly. “It’s okay. I think three’s a crowd.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Holly said, suggestion in her tone.

Jesus Christ. Pike swiped a hand over his face. “Holly, give us a few minutes.”

Holly shrugged, but didn’t look too perturbed, probably because she figured he was going to work out a threesome with Oakley. She stood and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll just go and grab a drink.”

She sauntered off, her heels clicking on the concrete in a slow, purposeful beat. Pike moved closer to Oakley. “I’m sorry about that. I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a dismissive lift of her shoulder. “It’s fine. I know how all this works. That’s why I can’t be a part of it. I’m not built for this. For you.” She cocked her head in the direction Holly had gone. “You don’t need to waste your time talking to me. You’ve already got someone who can give you what you want tonight.”

He frowned. “So you think it’s like that? Women are interchangeable.”

She smirked. “Aren’t they?”

The blow stung. Mainly because it was mostly right. Until now. For the first time in longer than he could remember it wasn’t about getting laid in general. This was very, very specific. And he had no idea what to do with that.

“I don’t want Holly or any of the rest of them. I want you.”

“And if I say no?”

“I go home alone.”

She scoffed. “Sure you do.”

He stared at her for a few long seconds, feeling the distrust roll off her. She truly thought that the minute she walked out, he’d bed Holly or some other random chick. He had no idea how to prove otherwise because she certainly wasn’t letting him go home with her. And it’s not like he could lie and say he was looking for a relationship and maybe they should give it a try. He slept with a lot of women but never under false pretenses. He couldn’t give her what she needed.

At least not in that way.

But …

“Give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand.

“What? Why?”

“Can you trust me just a little?”

She pressed her lips together and he waited for the no, but finally she dipped her hand into her purse and slapped the phone into his palm.

He smiled and took it over to the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. I’m working here.” His thumbs moved over the on-screen keyboard.

“Pike.”

After a few minutes of typing and clicking, he stood and handed the phone back to her.

“What did you do?”

“Just added a few of our songs to your playlist. At least I can go home with you that way.” He leaned close to her ear. “Have a good night, Oakley.”

He kissed her cheek and walked away.

“So we’re done here?” she called to his back, confusion in her voice.

He smiled and waved.

Oh, we’re so not done here.




TWELVE (#ulink_c1b24932-2f27-5763-9199-27d825ce5f66)


Oakley hated that she was listening to the music Pike had added to her phone. What was she? Twelve? A mixtape should not get her going like this. But lying on the couch in the dark with her headphones on, hearing the songs he’d chosen drift through her ears, had this intimacy to it, like a private conversation.

He’d chosen a mix of songs, some from his band, most from other artists. All had a dark, sexy edge to them. Visceral beats. Nothing romantic. If dirty, sweaty sex could be put into music, this was the soundtrack. And her body hadn’t missed the memo. With every heavy, pulsing beat, her blood pumped and her skin tingled.

Reagan had gone to sleep over at Devon’s place after the concert, so Oakley had the house to herself. It’d be easy to take advantage of the solitude. So simple to call Pike. But she hadn’t been lying to him backstage. She couldn’t let herself get involved with someone like him. Plus, Pike was probably wrapped up in the model-thin legs of that redheaded chick by now. Oakley’s stomach twisted, but she tried to ignore the kick of jealousy. The fact that she was feeling that emotion at all proved why she needed to keep her distance with Pike. She was already getting attached.

The current song ended and one by Darkfall started. It was the one they had opened the show with. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the rhythm of Pike’s bass drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. She could still see him there, biceps flexing, knees bouncing, confidence bleeding through every moment, could feel the sound vibrating through her bones, his music curling inside her. She pressed her thighs together, warmth building there.

Her phone dinged, interrupting the music and her daydreaming state. Her eyelids fluttered open. She hadn’t signed in to take work calls tonight since she’d needed a break. But who else would message her this late? Worry that something was wrong with Reagan was her first instinctual response, but when she lifted her phone to look at the screen, it wasn’t Reagan or a work message, it was a calendar reminder. All it said was, Open me.

What the hell?

She pressed the notification and the calendar page opened up. The words on the screen danced in her vision.

It’s bedtime for you, Oakley. Time to have some fun.

Make sure Reagan is in bed, then do the following.

Her heartbeat ticked up a notch. She scrolled down.

Find the gift of glass that I gave you and put it in a bucket of ice water. Don’t question it. Just do it. You can back out of the game at any time but don’t stop before you try. (Allotted time: 5 minutes) Go.

She stared down at the words as she sat up on the couch. What. The. Fuck. Pike had obviously been doing way more than adding songs to her playlist. The message glared at her, daring her. Just do it. The gift? Only one thing had been made of glass. She wet her lips. This was ridiculous. Pike wasn’t even texting this in real time. This was some sort of game he’d set up on her calendar. She should ignore it.

But she found herself climbing off the couch and heading to her room anyway, strangely compelled. Her fantasies had already been running rampant while listening to the music, and this felt like it was still part of that dream. Not real. A distant voice of a mystery lover telling her what to do. What could it hurt to do this one thing? He wouldn’t even know if she’d done it or not.

The locked box of toys was in the bottom corner of her closet. She grabbed the key off a high shelf and unlatched the lock. Right on top sat the clear glass dildo, an erotic piece of art daring her to touch it. She let her fingertips run over the smooth surface. What would it feel like ice cold? A shiver raised goose bumps on her skin.

Before she could talk herself out of the ridiculous move, she grabbed the thing and brought it to the kitchen. The freezer blasted her flushed cheeks with cold air and she filled a wine chiller with ice then brought it to the sink to fill it with water. She plunged the glass toy into it.

Another ding came from her phone.

Good girl. I know you did it for me. Now reward yourself with a hot, relaxing bath. Use your best stuff. Scrub your skin until it’s rosy and nothing of the day is left. But don’t touch yourself. That’s off limits. For now. (Allotted time: 30 minutes)

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the rush his words caused. She should be irritated that he was arrogant enough to think she’d follow some arbitrary instructions—especially after she’d told him they couldn’t see each other. But her body was already warm and needy, her thoughts and logic blurring from the arousal. She peered toward her bedroom. Pike was keeping his word. This wasn’t seeing him. He could be sleeping right now for all she knew or out with friends or … no, she wouldn’t let her mind go down the groupie route again.

She went into her room, set aside the bucket of ice water, and headed to the bathroom to turn on the faucet. It’d been at least a month since she’d even used the tub. A quick shower in the morning was about all she had time for these days, so she had to dig deep in her cabinet to find bubble bath. But once the tub was full, the air scented, and the mirrors steamy, she sunk into the fantasy again.

She set her phone on the edge of the tub and submerged herself in the water, the heat gliding over her skin like a lover’s touch. Was Pike thinking about her right now? Was he picturing her sinking into the tub? There was something kind of hot about him being out wherever he was, going about his business but knowing that somewhere across town, she was getting naked at his command.

A wave of arousal went through her and she groaned.

The man was a hazard.

She needed to stop.

But she was too curious to see what was next.






Pike propped his feet on the coffee table and tried to concentrate on what Gibson and Foster were discussing. His two friends had shown up at Pike’s place after the show with takeout and his favorite beer. A Rangers game was on the TV, but Pike had barely glanced at it. All he could focus on was the damn clock. Was Oakley getting his messages? Would she follow them?

“So she thought his name was Spike!” Gibson concluded, his triumphant voice breaking Pike from his obsessing for a moment.

Foster laughed and peered over at Pike. “Wow. That’s a new one. Remember that chick who kept getting our names mixed up and finally just gave up and called us both sir? I thought that was bad.”

Pike took a sip of his beer and smirked. “Not her fault. She barely knew her own name by the end of that night. I blame you and that flogger.”

Foster smiled, unrepentant. “Subspace is a beautiful thing, my friend.”

“Yeah, it is. You don’t miss that life?” Gibson asked Foster. “You two had a pretty good setup going.”

Foster leaned back, blue eyes crinkling. “Nah. Those days were fun at the time, but they’re nothing compared to what I have with Cela. Having someone play submissive to you for a night is one thing, but having the woman I love surrender all to me?” He shook his head. “Fuck, I can’t even tell you what that’s like. That absolute trust. It’s like the scariest and hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. You can’t get to that place with someone you’re just scening with for the night.”

Gibson frowned. “I’m not sure I’d want that much trust from someone, that kind of responsibility. I just like having a good time. That level seems … heavy.”

“It is.” Foster shrugged. “But it’s the ultimate drug. At least for a dom.”

Pike watched Gibson’s expression change, the downshift, the doors closing. He should ignore it. He didn’t. “Maybe you just don’t see it that way because the dominant thing isn’t really your drink of choice, Gib.”

Gibson shot him a murderous look.

But Pike had a few beers in him and wasn’t in the mood to play nice, especially after Gib had taken so much glee in telling the Spike story. “Whatever happened to that chick you were subbing for—Sam? Wasn’t she Tessa’s friend?”

“I wasn’t subbing for her. I was helping her with her training.”

“To be a domme,” Pike clarified.

“I was teaching her how to top.” Gibson’s jaw flexed and he ran a hand over his dark, curly hair. “And it didn’t go further than that. We didn’t hook up. She needed a real bottom.”

“Mmm,” Pike said noncommittally, which, based on Gibson’s expression, pissed his friend off even more.

“Nothing wrong with switching,” Foster said, either oblivious to Gib’s tension or ignoring it. He reached over to scratch a napping Monty on the head. “Or bottoming. That girl you were with was a firecracker. I saw her at The Ranch the other day. She’s been topping Julian.”

“Julian?” Gibson looked like he could gnash rocks with his teeth. He gulped his beer instead. “Fantastic.”

Pike shook his head, but before he could annoy his friend more, his phone beeped. He’d included himself on the appointments he’d made for Oakley. He reached forward to grab his cell but Gibson swiped it off the coffee table first.

“Let’s see what’s going on in Pike world.”

“What the fuck, man?” Pike stretched toward Gib. “Give me that.”

“Are we keeping you from something? All this beeping. Sounds like you’re real busy,” Gib said, mischief in his eyes, revenge in his grasp.

Pike pushed himself off the couch to go for the phone but Gibson was already reading the screen. “‘Get out of the bath and put on something sexy. Allotted time: ten minutes.’”

“Give me the goddamned phone.” He yanked it from Gib’s hand.

Gib was already laughing. “What the hell? You reminding yourself to get pretty for us tonight?”

Pike flipped him off and sat on the arm of the couch.

“Or wait,” Gibson said, eyes alight. “Maybe all this talk of subbing is because you’re the one answering to a domme this evening.”

“Fuck off, Gib. Unlike some people, I’ve got no hang-ups about playing on that side if I get the itch.”

“No,” Foster said, leaning forward, shit-eating grin on his face. “That’s not it. You’ve been distracted all night. You’re the one telling someone else to do that, aren’t you?”

Pike didn’t respond.

“Is it that woman we saw at Wicked?”

“Wait, what woman?” Gib asked.

Foster’s smile went smug. “Pike’s got the hots for a mom at Bluebonnet Place. Sent her a big box of sex toys for a how-ya-doin’ gift.”

“Wait, what? You’re sleeping with someone who works for Tessa? Dude. Not cool.”

Pike scowled. “Hey, weren’t you the one who told me to find a normal woman?”

Gibson gave him the are-you-kidding-me glare. “Not one at the charity, idiot. I told Kade you’d be—”

“Look, I’m not sleeping with her, all right? Haven’t even kissed her. I’m just …”

“Telling her what to do and when to do it,” Foster said, his mouth tilting up at the corner. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He didn’t either. Though he’d topped women at The Ranch on occasion, it was all just fun and games, not the real dominance people like Foster wielded in the bedroom. That always seemed like too much work. Why waste all the energy on building trust with someone you’d only be with one night? But he couldn’t deny that the thought of Oakley doing exactly as he instructed had left him fighting a hard-on all night. “I have my moments.”




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/roni-loren/call-on-me/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.