Ballroom Blitz (5 page)

“Struggling with finances? Or your career?”

“Both.” Jon drummed his fingers on the table. “Starving artist is a reality in all the arts. I lived that hand-to-mouth lifestyle for many years. I’m happy to be past it. But now I’m struggling with fulfilling the creative side.”

“Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?”

Maggie dropped her hand over his fingers, still tapping out a beat on the table. “Use everything within reach as a drum?”

“Yeah. I guess I don’t notice it.” Then he had a flash of embarrassment. “Why? Is it annoying?”

“No. It’s cute.”

Cute.
Awesome. He hadn’t ever remembered being called cute.

“Have you done anything fun since the band…disbanded?”

“Ha-ha, funny girl.” Jon twisted his hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m learning new moves from this sexy dance instructor I just met.”

She blushed. But she didn’t jerk her hand back.

Emboldened, he leaned forward. “Would you go out with me?”

Her pretty blue eyes searched his. “You’d want to go out with me? Seriously?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Because you’re famous. You have gorgeous women all over the world falling at your feet. I did a little online stalking and I saw that picture of you and Desiree at some big music producer’s house before your breakup.”

Desiree—one name—was the up and coming darling of the indie rock world with ambition on becoming the “Indian Beyoncé”. No doubt Desiree had talent; her voice was suited to a smoky blues style, pop or hard rock. She was a beautiful woman who proudly wore her Choctaw heritage. But Desiree had no intention of living her life out of the spotlight. She’d never settle down in South Dakota and he couldn’t imagine settling anywhere else.

“The tabloids get a lot of shit wrong. I’m not nursing a broken heart over her. And here’s where I point out that you’re a gorgeous woman and I’ve fallen at your feet, more than once, in public, if I recall correctly.”

She laughed. “My God. You are so smooth.”

Jon brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “And sincere. And really happy you’re here with me.”

Their food arrived.

After Maggie devoured every morsel, she shoved her plate aside. “So about this date. When are you thinking?”

“You busy tomorrow night?”

“I’m free after rehearsal.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up…” Wait a second. He wasn’t free. “I just remembered Saturday night won’t work for me. Here I’m telling you Sapa is on break, but we’re doing one set at the Heritage Bar. It’s a benefit we agreed to months ago. But if you don’t mind a late date, we can go out after I’m done.” It’d be good for her to see him in action. Doing what he did best. Which wasn’t dancing.

When Maggie hesitated, he cranked up the charm. “Come on. I deserve a chance to show you that I can keep a steady beat in some capacity.”

“All right. It’s a date.”

“Excellent.” Jon caught her trying to mask a yawn and he dropped cash on the table to cover the check. “Now that your belly is full, I don’t feel guilty sending you home.”

“I am fading fast.”

Jon offered his hand to help her from the booth. He didn’t release his hold on her until they reached her car. “Thanks for the lesson tonight, dancing queen.”

“My pleasure. What time should I be at your show?”

“We go on at eight. There might be a crowd—” an understatement, “—so maybe get there a little early.”

“Where will I find you once you’re done playing?”

Security would be tight around the stage, by the back door and the tour bus. “I’ll meet you by the east side door. It might be as long as thirty minutes after the encore before you see me, so don’t think I’m not coming. I will be there.”

As much as Jon wanted to curl his hands around her face and take the kiss he craved, he settled for brushing his lips on her cheek. “Drive safe.”

Chapter Five

Maggie’s feet were killing her. Her body ached from holding dance pose after dance pose. Seth had run rehearsal today as a sadistic drill sergeant. Six hours with one fifteen-minute break.

She’d been so tempted to hobble home, soak her feet in Epsom salt and crawl in bed.

But when she’d turned on the radio in her car, the station was promoting the benefit concert. Then they played a couple of Sapa songs. And holy shit, it wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She figured Sapa’s musical style would be a cross between folk and instrumental, like those pan-flute playing South American Indians who annoyed the piss out of everyone at local fairs and festivals, with a few drums thrown in to call it hard rock.

Not so. Sapa rocked it hard, musically a mix of Godsmack, Evanescence and Alice in Chains. A primal tribal drum line alongside a chunky bass, and screaming electric guitars. The vocals alternated between male and female leads. Melodic one song, discordant the next, and punctuated with screamo sections any heavy metal fan could dig.

So there was no way she was missing it.

At her small cabin, she let the hot water soothe her sore muscles. After eating, she downed four aspirin and searched her closet for something edgy to wear.

Her job working for a civilian contractor on a rural Air Force base, sitting in front of a computer in a roomful of men, hadn’t unleashed her inner fashionista. Pathetic to realize she didn’t own anything funky or hip. Which made her feel…decidedly uncool.

At least the years dealing with hair and makeup in dance competitions allowed her to add a more dramatic look to her face. She shimmied on her favorite pair of jeans and a red camisole that’d shrunk in the washer; the shorter length did show some skin and her belly ring. After slipping on her red cowgirl boots, Maggie headed to the Heritage.

She’d given herself enough time, planning to arrive an hour early. The line to get in was unbelievably long. By the time she was inside, the place was wall-to-wall people and she couldn’t get near the stage. But from what she could see, it’d be impossible to get past the multitude of security guards anyway.

It took fifteen minutes to flag down a cocktail waitress. Maggie checked her phone and saw she’d missed a call from Billy. Strange that he was calling her on a Friday night—hopefully everything was all right. But it was too loud to hear his voice message now. She’d call him in the morning.

Finally the lights flickered off and on. The crowd’s anticipation electrified the whole place. She found a spot against the far back wall where she had a view of the entire stage.

Chants of, “Sapa, Sapa,” ended abruptly when the area in front of the stage went dark.

A man’s high-pitched voice sliced through the air in traditional Native American chanting, singing without recognizable words. Another male voice joined in. And another. Then the steady
thump thump thump
of a drum. Deep tones that blended perfectly with the high notes. The sounds built and built…and then everything stopped.

The crowd collectively held its breath.

Then guitars and drums blasted from the stage, along with an explosion of light.

Maggie was absolutely blown away. One song segued into the next. A different style that showcased each musician’s strength. She was a little shocked to see the person shredding guitar was a woman. When it came time to showcase the drummer, she was surprised when the stage hands rolled out another, completely different set of drums than the ones Jon had been using for the previous songs.

Jon jumped behind the new drum set and twirled his drumsticks above his head. The crowd roared when he began to play. The main beat was slow and steady. Very primal. The kind of deep thud that passed through her muscles and tissues and settled in to vibrate her bones. Her body tensed in anticipation for the next pulse. Then the next. And the next.

He layered a variety of drum jams—fast, syncopated, off-tempo, but no matter how quickly his drumsticks moved between drums, that first low, seductive beat never faltered.

No rhythm my ass.

Even when the guitars and voices joined in, turning the primitive beat into a song, Maggie felt the reverberation of the drum inside her body. Her pulse mimicked it. Her blood throbbed with it. She’d never had music affect her on such a visceral level.

She closed her eyes and imagined touching Jon, this primal rhythm in the background. Stroking him with her hands. With her mouth. Feeling the heat of his body as he rose above her. Feeling that hot, sweet throb of need as his flesh teased hers. Over and over. Until she was begging. Until they were joined and moving as one to the same rhythm.

That’s when she realized her panties were slick. Lust burned through her so thoroughly that when she opened her eyes, she saw couples sating that same overpowering sexual need. Locked in a passionate kiss. Grinding and rubbing their bodies in sensual motion.

That jungle beat, hypnotic and strangely melodic, called to her. She couldn’t see Jon behind the wall of drums, but she felt his presence every time his drumstick connected with the drum skin.

The song ended and the band exited the stage. But the crowd wasn’t ready to let them go. Maggie stomped her feet, ignoring the sting of pain, clapped her hands and whistled right along with them.

Several minutes later Sapa returned to the kind of deafening applause she was used to hearing in a stadium. The first encore song was a hard rock cover tune and Sapa knocked it out of the park. The second song was a stripped-down bluesy number, which morphed into an oddly compelling dissonant lullaby. The lead singer introduced the band members, the lights went up and the show was over.

Maggie wandered up to the bar, ordering a Coke and letting the crowd thin before she ventured outside. Security was still tight by the stage. As they moved the drum sets, Maggie wondered if Jon stayed backstage to supervise, or if his crew had done it so many times he didn’t have to worry, and he was basking in fan adoration.

After finishing her drink, she wended her way through the people gathering for the next act, exiting out the side door. The night air cooled her cheeks, but did nothing to quell the heat burning inside her. Unused to the edginess, she paced. She spun and ran into a brick wall. A warm, flesh-and-blood brick wall.

She stepped back to apologize, but he spoke first.

“Maggie? Hey. I thought that was you. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

She had to look away from his potent blue eyes. “You didn’t. I just got out here.” But her gaze dropped to his corded neck.

Do not imagine pressing your lips to the spot where his pulse is pounding as erratically as yours.

Jon didn’t immediately speak. He didn’t move either. Finally he asked, “Is everything all right?”

No. You practically gave me an orgasm just from hearing you play the drums.

“Maggie?”

Her hands had somehow landed on his chest and she squeezed his pecs.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Because then you’ll see,” she said softly.

“See what?” His fingers were under her chin forcing her gaze to his. His focus moved from her eyes to her mouth, then back to her eyes.

“See that.” She didn’t have to put a name to it; the man recognized lust.

Curling his hand around the back of her neck, he brought their mouths together, only allowing a whisper-soft brush of his lips across hers. But each successive near-kiss silently urged her to part her lips. Then she could feel his breath in her mouth. A tease. A taste. She wanted more. Now.

When Maggie made a distressed sound, Jon consumed her mouth in a kiss that robbed her of reason. A kiss packed with passion as his tongue invaded her lips, licking into her mouth. Cranking her desire to fever pitch as he proved he was a man in complete command. He situated her head to deepen the kiss to his liking. The tips of his fingers—so adept at creating hard driving music—stroked her jawline in the perfect mix of rough and tender.

She pressed her body to his, wishing for a solid surface behind her so she could twine her arms and legs around him.

Almost as if he’d read her thoughts, he propelled her backward until her spine connected with the building. He gripped her ass and lifted her, his pelvis held her in place as his hands roamed. Every spot he touched made her purr. Made her arch. Made her dizzy and greedy. Her hands dove into his hair, twining the silky damp strands around her fingers.

If a kiss was this mind-blowingly explosive, sex with this man would be off the charts.

Jon slowed the pace from frantic to flirty. Interspersing long, hot kisses with sweet, affectionate pecks. A tug of his teeth on her lower lip. Or her earlobe. A fleeting flick of his tongue on those same spots. Then that wicked mouth skated over her neck. Sucking. Licking. Biting.

She moaned when he placed his open mouth on the swell of her breast. “Don’t stop.”

He rested his forehead in the curve of her shoulder, his breathing ragged. “We have to stop. I’m not gonna maul you out here where anyone can see us.”

Maggie dug her fingers into his scalp until he lifted his head and looked at her. “Then take me someplace private and I’ll let you maul me all you want.”

He released her. Once her feet were on the ground, he clasped her hand and led her by the tour buses.

At seeing the crowd, she panicked for a moment and hung back.

Jon spun around to face her. “Are you changing your mind?”

“No. But there are so many people. And I don’t…” Want to be just another groupie you bang after a show on your tour bus.

He correctly read her anxious expression. “I’m not taking you to my bus. I’m taking the shortcut to my car.”

“Oh.”

When he kissed her again with a mix of authority and seduction she was lost to everything but how right his arms felt around her. How perfect his mouth fit against hers.

“Jon?”

The surprising sound of her sister-in-law’s voice had her ripping her mouth from Jon’s and turning around.

Eden and Billy stared at them in complete shock.

Then her hotheaded brother grabbed Jon’s arm. “Jesus, Maggie.
You’re
out here sucking face with White Feather?”

Jon didn’t acknowledge Billy at all. Keeping his gaze locked to Maggie’s, he said to Billy, “Get. Your. Hand. Off. Me.”