A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)
Read A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) Online
Authors: Katie Mars
A Rocker's Melody
By Katie Mars
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any manner without express written permission of the author.
1
“Baby, don’t you think we should go somewhere?”
Dylan Bennett had a way with women, and tonight was just another night in paradise. He was sitting on a stool in a crowded bar on Sunset, cradling a beer in one hand and a girl in the other, as was his custom.
A wicked smiled curled at the corners of his lips, like a serpent coiling in wait. He turned to the girl who had plastered herself to his side, running a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair as if he was giving the question some serious thought. “Maybe.”
The girl smiled back, her plush lips parting in an obvious attempt at seduction. “Don’t play,” she said, with a teasing pout.
Dylan was used to girls like this—girls who pretended they wanted something more than his name and his fame, but who really only wanted one thing from him. The pretense was fun once in a while, but tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Despite that, high from the thrill of a low-key gig and buzzed on the vodka shots he’d been consuming, Dylan was ready and willing to succumb to a few hours of simple bliss.
Girls smelled nice, music was awesome, and life was good. What more could he want?
“I still can’t believe you’re
the
Dylan from Dust and Bones,” she breathed.
Dylan’s piercing blue eyes roved over her body, inspecting her unashamedly. Her breasts were perfectly round and pert, barely hidden by her low-cut tank top. She had a magenta dye job and a glistening silver nose ring. She was probably a freak in bed too. A carnal pleasure. Yet, for some unknown reason, Dylan didn’t feel as satisfied by the promise of an easy lay as he normally did.
“Tell you what,” Dylan said, relaxing and wrapping an arm around her shoulders to reel her in closer to his side. “You and I, let’s have a good time right here. We’ll see how things go.” He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and if no other exciting prospects presented themselves by the end of the night, he’d at least be able to fall into bed with her.
“How about I guess your favorite drink?” he asked, settling his other hand on her thigh, keeping her close enough that the heat of their bodies mingled in the same space. She blinked at him, seemingly dazed by his proximity, and Dylan resisted the urge to sigh. This one definitely wouldn’t be a challenge. He’d guess something simple, like Jack and Coke, and impress her to the point where she begged him to leave the bar with her again. Even if he was wrong, he could just make up some bullshit about it being raw and sweet, like her—either way, he’d be able to take her home.
All roads led to the same horizontal position. Same old, same old.
He left her at the small table near the stage before she could pull herself together to protest. After he reached the bar and ordered their drinks—premium vodka for himself—he gave the crowd a quick once-over and...
Fuck.
An unfamiliar face caught his attention from the room’s periphery. Its owner was stretching across the bar, reaching for a jar of cherries. Her long red hair tumbled over her shoulders in a messy yet elegant fashion. She pinched the stem of one of the bright, red fruits between her fingers and brought it to her mouth. Her eyes rolled back and her shoulders relaxed with a subtle sigh, perhaps in response to the sweetness touching her tongue.
Dylan catalogued her automatically: the flare of her waist, the curvature of her ass, the arch of her spine as she leaned across the bar to pop another lucky cherry into her mouth. He found himself stunned by how badly, how suddenly he wanted her. Lust bore down on him like a speeding train.
He didn’t think—didn’t
have
to think. He just moved until he was right beside her, unapologetically invading her personal space.
She noticed him at once—had to, of course—and furrowed her brow like she wasn’t sure why he was standing so close to her. Like his presence wasn’t welcome.
It wasn’t an expression Dylan was familiar with.
“Did you need something?” she asked, her voice piercing and melodic all at once.
Dylan felt another pulse of want in his stomach. “That was going to be my line,” he said, the words sliding out of his mouth instinctually like the opening measure of a sultry ballad. He drew in closer and leaned over her, ducking down to bring his mouth to the shell of her ear. “You look like a woman who knows exactly what she needs, and trust me—you’re looking right at him.”
The woman pulled away instantly, smoothly and calmly. She didn’t seem flustered at all—in fact, she laughed. “
Seriously
?”
Dylan laughed with her, unfazed. “What I meant to say was—you have the greatest eyes I’ve ever seen.” That hadn’t, of course, been what he was going to say. He hadn’t even looked at them, really, but once he was able to tear his admiring gaze away from her body to look into her eyes, he saw that it was true.
Her heart-shaped face, full red lips, and deep emerald eyes were overwhelming. She was a rare breed of exotic in a sea of mediocre women, and he wasn’t about to let her get away.
She leaned in for a moment, almost automatically—like her body was moving without the consent of her brain. She caught herself a second later, pulling back again. “Nice try,” she said with a derisive scoff and a curt shake of her head. “Points for that honey sex voice. It’s a nice touch.”
“Some people pay a lot of money to hear this voice, baby,” Dylan said with a grin, still unfaltering in his determination.
“Keep it real, Casanova,” she said, disappearing into the crowd at the back of the bar before Dylan could even register the fact that she had actually blown him off.
“Mother of
fuck
,” he muttered, wondering if he’d somehow stumbled into an alternate dimension where he had absolutely no game whatsoever.
“Hey, stud.” Dylan heard an appealing voice and turned around, his eyes latching onto a brunette who was leaning against the bar a few feet away. “I’m a big fan of yours. Looking for a good time tonight?”
He hitched his smile back into place and approached her. When he reached her, he ran the tip of his index finger along the length of her upper arm, and was pleased when she responded with a shiver of anticipation. Then Dylan remembered the magenta-haired girl—she was still probably sitting in the same exact spot, waiting for him.
“Well, I’m already with someone…but if you’d like to tag along,” he said suggestively, “the more, the merrier, right?”
She flashed him a look that could only be described as sex kitten bedroom eyes—lids hooded, lashes shadowing her cheekbones—and said, “I’m up for anything as long as it’s with you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dylan said. All right, he was still in his own dimension where everything was right; Green Eyes, whatever
her
fucking problem was, had just been a fluke. He caught himself looking in the direction in which she’d vanished and quickly shook himself out of it. He returned his attention to the new girl at his side, flashing her a pearly white smile. “Let me buy you another drink.”
Dylan glanced back at the bar and noticed the Jack and Coke and the vodka he’d ordered earlier. Who knew how long they’d been sitting there while he agonized over a girl who wasn’t interested?
Fuck.
Why
wasn’t she interested?
Someone prodded him in the shoulder. When he turned yet again, irritation creasing his brow, the brunette was pouting at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I said, you can buy me a Cosmo,” she said, practically whining.
Dylan turned back to the bar and grabbed his vodka, downing it in one gulp. He waved the bartender over, shaking his glass. “Another—and a Cosmo for the lady.”
She beamed at him and leaned in closer to his side, pressing up against him.
Dylan wasn’t an asshole to women. He treated them well enough and moved on as politely as possible—but right now, he was treating this girl like shit while she practically oozed desire through her clothes. His ego swelled under this new attention.
He tried to be nicer in the minutes that followed, even though the brunette didn’t seem to notice or care. He made an effort to keep the conversation going, flirting and implying that the evening might have much more pleasurable events in store for them. But despite his efforts to concentrate on her, he couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering through the bar and looking, almost subconsciously, for the one that walked away.
A flash of red hair caught his eye moments later. He barely remembered to mumble a quick
I’ll be right back
to the girl chattering away at his side before he took off to chase after that streak of crimson in the crowd. The redhead was bent over the bar again, this time reaching for a drink. Dylan came up behind her and—
“Oh,
fuck
a
duck
. I’m sorry.”
A bright green concoction that smelled strongly of pineapple syrup splashed from the glass in her hand and soaked through the front of Dylan’s white T-shirt. He couldn’t help but notice the fact that the green of the drink perfectly complemented the green of the redhead’s eyes—the color looked a lot better beneath her lashes than it did staining his chest.
“I’ll pass on the duck,” Dylan said, taking his time to look her over again. He noted that, in this light, her hair was darker than he’d thought earlier. She wore a faded Beatles T-shirt and a charming diamond heart pendant, which settled against her chest just above a silhouette of Lennon’s head. Eyes darting up again, he noticed a pink flush of warmth on her cheeks. It made him want to cup her face with his hands.
“Sometimes I think I shouldn’t be allowed out in public,” she said apologetically as she handed him a wad of napkins that she grabbed from behind the bar.
He accepted the napkins and dabbed absently at his shirt. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
“What, by spilling a drink all over you?” she asked, smiling through the sarcasm. “No, I managed to make it out unscathed.”
“No harm done, then,” he said. “Let me make it up to you. You apparently drink—overly sweetened toxic waste? I’ll get you another,” Dylan flagged the bartender down again.
Green Eyes’ smile twisted into a smirk. “You’re going to buy
me
a drink to make up for the one I drenched
you
in?”
“Of course. After all, you are talking to a gentleman,” Dylan said. It was true enough, though he didn’t always behave like one.
“Is that what they’re calling it now?” she drawled, clearly skeptical.
“You don’t care for gentlemen?” he asked, instinctually moving closer.
Her T-shirt was drawn tight across the planes of her body, and it was plain to see that she wasn’t
completely
unaffected by him—at least physically speaking. Dylan, encouraged, slid his tattooed arm along the bar behind her back and pressed his forearm to the base of her spine.
“I love gentlemen,” she said. “I just wasn’t aware a member of that endangered breed of men was standing in front of me.”
“What can I say?” Dylan asked, undeterred by her biting wit. “I’m bringing chivalry back.” He leaned in even closer, pressing into the bubble of her personal space. He caught a whiff of her and—God fucking
damn
. She smelled amazing. A single whiff was worth the sticky mess of the drink that was already adhering itself to his skin.
“You’re bringing something back, alright,” she said, laughing. For a brief second, she leaned back against his arm.
Dylan just barely resisted the urge to pump his fist into the air in victory.
Oh, yes,
he thought.
She will be mine.
“So, you’re one of those types who likes to play the smartass?” he teased. “Even though I’m being so charming.”
“Charming, huh? I’m sorry, I didn’t notice.”
“
Ouch
,” he said, bringing his free hand to his chest. “A mortal wound. That’s two I’ve sustained from you in one night.”
She scoffed. “
Firstly
, you can’t sustain two mortal wounds—if you live long enough to see a second, the first one couldn’t have been mortal, could it? Secondly, a spilled drink isn’t a wound by any stretch of the imagination.”
“I wasn’t referring to the drink. I was referring to when you left without telling me your name.”
She rolled her eyes and let out a throaty groan. “
Dude
. Lame.”
He laughed, still convinced that he would have her. “Alright, so the cheesy stuff doesn’t seem to work on you, huh?” Dylan ducked down, lowering his lean, angular face to hers until they were practically breathing the same air. Another pleasurable shock of surprise ran through his body when he noticed that she didn’t pull away. “I thought you might prefer a little cheesiness to the truth.”