Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2) (4 page)

“You’re welcome to stay love, take the day off,” Tate said pulling her back on the bed and kissing her neck. She was tempted, he could tell. He liked her, she was an enthusiastic lover. “Or come back tonight.” She smiled ruefully at him.

“I’d like to, but my husband will be home in about an hour, and I need to be there. And tonight I’ll be thinking of you while we’re at his parent’s house for Thanksgiving. I enjoyed myself, very much,” she smiled at him and stood.

“I enjoyed you, too,” he said and she laughed. “Very much.”

“You certainly lived up to the hype,” she said and he chuckled a little.

“There’s hype?” He grinned.

“Oh yeah,” she gave him a little wave at the door and stepped out of the room quietly closing the door behind her.

“Husband? Huh,” he said under his breath.

***

Fiona Brooks closed the lid of her grand piano and smiled. Nothing relaxed her quite like Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” It was by far her favorite piece on the planet and she loved to play it. It wasn’t terribly complicated, but it was evocative, and often made her cry her eyes out. But not today. Today she didn’t feel like crying at all, life was good, she was going to meet her favorite student’s famous family, so she tried not to think of anything sad as she let the music enfold her in its arms.

She stood and stretched her 5’1” frame and fanned out her fingers. She pulled her thick black hair back away from her shoulders and thought she’d have time for a quick bike ride before she showered and walked up the street to Tess’s grandmother’s house. She put a windbreaker and helmet on and rolled her bike out of her garage and on to Volta Place.

She thought she’d do a quick recce so she could find the house in two hours when she was expected. She pedaled north and east from her house and was delighted that there wasn’t much traffic. People must be where they needed to be already, she thought and turned a corner to head back to her house when out of the corner of her eye she saw a black SUV swerve directly toward her. In an effort to avoid one black SUV she barreled into another black SUV, which luckily wasn’t going very fast, because she flipped over the high hood of it and landed hard on to the pavement, knocking the breath from herself. The driver stopped and a crowd of people got out of the car to see if they’d killed her.

“Christ, are you all right, love?” A voice said above her. Fiona opened her eyes and saw a very pretty blond man with startlingly blue eyes looking down at her with concern. If she could have spoken, she would have said “Wow.” She sat up and he knelt down to her, holding her forearms gently and looking into her eyes for brain damage or something. “Don’t move yet, you wee lemming. Sit still, aye?” His voice was as gentle as the hands that held her, she liked his voice as much as she liked his pretty face.

“Give me a second,” she gasped, happy to have air again.

“Take your time.” After a few gulps of air and a proud smile from the pretty man, she assessed the damage. Once the necessity of breathing was fulfilled she started to feel her injuries.

“Okay, that hurt,” she said.

“Should I call the paramedics, Tate?” A young woman hovering over her asked. The woman was holding a phone, her finger ready to press the screen.

“Do you think you need an ambulance, love?” The pretty man asked. She stifled a giggle, she hoped they were Irish and she didn’t have brain damage. She read an article about a woman who after some trauma suddenly spoke with a Scottish accent when she had never even been to Scotland. She wondered if she had a similar trauma, only hearing, not speaking.

“I’m okay, I think, just a little banged up. Nothing’s broken, I don’t think. Did you get the license plate of that idiot?” She asked bending her knee and looking carefully at her hands, moving her fingers delicately.

“Which idiot was that?” Pretty man asked. He looked amused. She was still sitting on the pavement and he was still kneeling next to her holding her carefully. It should have bothered her but it didn’t.

“The one that swerved to hit me. I wasn’t initially aiming for your car. Oh no, your car, is it okay?” She asked and he laughed. She looked up into his very blue eyes when he laughed. He had a face that was accustomed to laughter, she could see it in his small lines around his amused eyes and grinning mouth.

“The car will live, are
you
okay?” She nodded and moved to stand. He pulled her up. She wobbled slightly and he held her to him. “Can we give you a lift home? You’re unsteady, my lass.” She thought it was him making her unsteady as he held her to his body. He was firm and warm and she liked the way he felt against her. Trying to concentrate, she looked at her bike. It might even be okay.

“You’re very kind,” she said and looked at him again.

“No,” he said, drawing the word out. “I just want to see you safe, you wee lemming.” Fiona laughed. It felt very nice to be in this stranger’s embrace, but she pulled away a little and he immediately released her, yet stood ready in case she fell over.

“Thank you, but I’m not really a lemming. It was an accident, I wasn’t deliberately trying to hurt myself. I think my bike will get me home; it’s just a few blocks, and mostly downhill from here. Hmm, it’s a little banged up, too. Thank you for not running me over,” she said. Pretty man shrugged a little, still smiling.

“I wasn’t driving, but you’re very welcome. What’s your name, lass?” He said as she swung her leg over the bike.

“I’m Fiona Brooks,” she said putting her hand out and shaking his. His hand was warm and his handshake firm, but not crushing, something she always noticed since her hands were her livelihood.

“It is very nice to meet you, Fiona Brooks,” he held on to her hand. After a pause where she expected him to say his name in turn but he didn’t, she cocked her head at him. He made no move to tell her or disengage his hand, he only stood there gazing into her eyes with a silly grin on his face.

“Now you’re supposed to say
your
name,” she urged in a discreet whisper. His eyes opened a little wider and he cocked his head to the side and smiled.

“I’m Tate, Tate Dylan,” his smile got huge. His teeth were very white and even on the top with the bottoms only a little crooked. It was disconcertingly charming for some reason and her heart fluttered a little.

“Thanks for your help, Tate, Tate Dylan. Hey, by the way, you and your wife are Irish, right? I didn’t hit my head and start hearing everyone speak in Irish accents?” He laughed.

“She’s my sister, I’m not married. And yes, I’m Irish. And you, Fiona Brooks, are the most refreshing woman I think I’ve ever met,” he said gleefully. She looked at him surprised.

“Refreshing? In four minutes you decided that? Why?”

“It’s been closer to six minutes,” he grinned his lopsided grin. “Give us your number and we’ll discuss it over dinner, aye,” his smile was the sweetest thing she’d seen in a while, and she couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“I’m afraid I’ve got plans for dinner, it’s Thanksgiving… an American holiday where we eat until we’re too exhausted to eat any more,” she said. “It’s downright Roman.” He laughed, throwing his head back doing it.

“Then I’ll say ‘thanks for giving me your number,’” he grinned and she rolled her eyes.

“That was a little bit painful,” she said and they laughed together.

“Forgive me, I’m grasping at straws, I don’t want you to just ride out of my life. We’ll discuss it over breakfast, lunch, dinner tomorrow, pick one, or all. If only so I know you made it home with that terrible head injury making you hallucinate Irish people everywhere.” She liked the way he said Irish, it reminded her of her dad. He gave her puppy dog eyes and she damned near gave him her number. This man has flirted before, she thought. “Are
you
married?”

“Just to my work,” she said with a smile and started coasting slowly away from him. He kept up with her.

“Are you in a serious relationship?” He said and she bit her lip and shook her head. “Would you like to be?” He held his arms out from his sides in supplication. She laughed and he tried again.

“What, you’re just going to leave me here?” He said, still walking with her.

“You’ll be all right. Thanks for scraping me off the pavement,” she smiled at him and gained speed.

“Mind the road, Fiona Brooks,” he called to her and she gave him a thumbs up and pedaled home to soak in the bath and lick her wounds.

Tate watched her disappear down the road, and when she was gone he slid back into the car. “She had no idea who I was,” he said excitedly to Christie and Ryan. “Driver, will you follow her a few blocks to make sure she gets home safely?”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said and smoothly pulled back out into traffic. They caught up to her and followed for about three minutes before she stopped and opened her garage with an opener in her pocket and parked the bike in it, disappearing as the door descended behind her.

“I think this is considered stalking, Tate,” Christie said looking at her brother carefully. “Do you do this often?”

“Christie, I don’t usually have to, but she has no idea who I am, I have to send her flowers,” he said looking at the number on the door, and tapped it into his phone.

“So, it’s the ones that say ‘no’ that you want the most, is it?” Ryan said. “The thrill of the chase?”

“No one’s said ‘no’ before, but Genna, and she was a lost cause from the start. Anyway, this black haired beauty didn’t say ‘no.’”

“She didn’t say ‘yes,’ though, did she?” Ryan was enjoying himself.

“She didn’t say ‘yes,’
yet
,” Tate smirked at his brother-in-law. “I wonder if she’s just woken from a coma or something.”

“You’ve got an ego on you,” Christie said to Tate with an amused smile on her face.

“He does have a point, lamb,” Ryan said and Tate pointed at him and nodded.

“And you’ve an ego on you, too, Ryan O’Brian. Jimmy, please take us back to R Street now, my brother’s finished stalking the poor lass,” Christie said to the driver.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jimmy said with a smile and drove back to the Fleming’s house.

***

“I’ll get it, Amelia, you sit down you’ve been on your feet all day,” Tate said with a wink at his hostess, Amelia Fleming, when the doorbell rang. He opened the door and there stood the woman of his dreams. “I knew you’d be back.” He grinned wickedly at her. Fiona stepped back and looked at the address on the front of the house and then at the phone she held in her hand, and finally back to Tate.

Since she coasted away from him an hour and a half ago she kicked herself for not giving him her number after all. She had always been uncomfortable giving out her number to men, but this beautiful man standing in front of her had intrigued her, so much so that her body was reacting powerfully just to his penetrating azure gaze. Her heart beat quicker and she felt her face flush, and had he opened his arms she would have leapt into them. How did he manage to do that?

“Tate, Tate Dylan? You’re Tess’s father?” He stepped out on to the front porch with her, closing the door behind him and she stepped back a little and her breathing hitched. Tate stepped even closer and she stepped back too far and began to tumble backwards down the steps and he grabbed her and pulled her to his chest.

“Careful, lass. That’s it,” he moved her around so she wasn’t going to fall and released her when he knew she was recovered. Fiona was flabbergasted. Tate moved like a ninja, smoothly averting disaster. “Are you prone to this sort of thing?” He looked disapproving. She looked at the steps she nearly went down the hard way and put her hand to her throat.

“No, I…Thank you,” she said. He waved it off like it was nothing.

“You know our Tess?” He said taking her other hand and sliding his thumb over the back of it. He leaned close to her and said softly, “Please don’t tell me you’re her professor.”

“I’m
one
of her professors.”

“Christ woman, you can’t be one of her professors, you’re just a lassie,” he said. She pulled a face at him and he laughed throwing his head back. The door behind Tate opened silently and Fiona saw Tess over Tate’s shoulder.

“Tate,” Tess barked and he jumped guiltily. “No hitting on my professor, you agreed.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“All bets are off, Tess, my dearest,” he said good naturedly still gazing at Fiona. “You made me agree to that under extreme duress, it would never hold up in a court of law, and that was before I knew just who your professor was. I thought you meant some crone from the women’s literature department. This is none other than Fiona Brooks, lass, she’s the wee lemming who flew into my windshield.”

“Do you even know how to drive?” Tess said as she came around him and took Fiona’s arm and tugged her inside. Tate grabbed his heart.

“That was a swift blow to the bollox, lass. Did she learn that in school?” He said accusingly at Fiona who laughed.

“I didn’t teach her that,” Fiona said playing along.

“Come in, Fiona,” Tess said. “Meet the rest of my family.”

“Please tell me he’s not your mother’s husband,” Fiona said.

“See, she’s interested,” Tate said smiling smugly at them. “I told you I wasn’t married, though.”

“People will say all sorts of things to women they pick up off the street,” she said and he laughed again.

“I’ll never lie to you, lassie,” he put his hand over his heart and looked very solemn.

“No he’s not,” Tess brought the conversation back around. “My mother’s husband is Connor, I’m guessing he’s in the kitchen, from the racket I hear coming from that direction. Was it really you who rode into the car today?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fiona said.

“Are you okay?” Tess reached out to examine Fiona’s hands. There was a large scrape on her left palm. Fiona chuckled.

“That’s the first thing I did, too. I’m fine, a little bruised here and there, but no permanent damage. Nothing’s broken.” Tate looked over Fiona’s shoulder as Tess examined her hands. She must be a musician, he thought with delight, and a good one too, from Tess’s concern. How intriguing, he thought.

“Except for my heart when she rode away,” Tate said, unable to not flirt with her.