Blame It on the Bass (10 page)

Her feet tripped over themselves. She stumbled a step, careened off the arm of her couch and plonked down with a grunt on the armchair situated beside it.

“Damn you, Stan,” she muttered, scrubbing at her face with trembling hands. She knew he’d followed her into the living room. She could
feel
him. It was like he was a big, annoying magnet, an undeniable force that pulled on every fibre and molecule in her body.

She didn’t lift her head when warm, long-fingered hands smoothed over her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sonny,” he murmured, his breath warm on the back of her head.

Letting out a huff—she was going hyper-ventilate soon with all the ragged, shaky, huffy breathing she’d been doing since he arrived—she shrugged off his touch. She didn’t want to. She’d always loved the feel of his warm palms on her body, even when she was too inexperienced to truly understand the significance of the response.

Hell, the first time they’d spoken in the schoolyard he’d helped her up after she’d walked straight into a pole while staring at him. He’d been sitting outside the music block, plucking out a rhythm on one of the school’s acoustic guitars, his focus on the strings, his shaggy blonde hair hanging around his face, and she’d walked past him—an enthralled fifteen-year-old with an all-encompassing crush—unable to look away. Until she’d hit the pole and landed on her arse.

He’d hurried over to her and smoothed his hands around her upper arms, worry in his eyes even as a friendly smile played with his lips.

From that moment onward, she’d been defenseless against his hands.

Did he remember that now?

“Seriously, Stan.” She finally raised her head and glared at him. “What you’re doing, what you’re asking me to do, it’s a bit fucked up.”

He sat perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of her, looking at her, so close his knees brushed hers. The faint caress of denim on Sonja’s bare skin sent a ripple of wanton sensations through her.

Levi, the perceptive bastard, didn’t miss her body’s reaction. A knowing light danced in his eyes and he leant forward, holding her gaze with his. “And yet, you’re turned on by the request.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you and your boyfriend, Levistan.”

“But you want to.”

Her belly clenched. Not just at the calm confidence of his statement, but at the truth in it. Heat bloomed in the junction of her thighs and she turned her head aside, not wanting him to see how flustered he’d made her. “It’s fucked up,” she muttered.

Warm hands stroked her knees, smoothed up her legs. He skimmed the tips of his fingers high over her inner thighs, so close to her pussy she hissed in a swift breath.

But she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Not even when Levi’s fingertips trailed a soft, slow path over the lips of her sex.

A low whimper vibrated deep in her chest. She closed her eyes. Swallowed. She should close her legs.

Should. But couldn’t. Not when the feel of Levi’s fingers…
there
, felt so right.

“Do you remember when you didn’t wear underwear to school for a whole day?”

Sonja’s breath quickened at his murmured question.

“On the day I had to deliver a speech in Mrs. Campbell’s English class. You told me just before you left for your class—Modern History, it was. With Mr. Boulis. You whispered it in my ear as I was about to walk into English to tell Mrs. Campbell to stick the speech in her ear.”

The pad of his finger brushed the hood of Sonja’s clit. The deep timbre of his voice stroked her thinning control. “You knew I was going to fail English if I didn’t do the speech. It was my final assessment task and if I failed it my dad was going to beat the shit out of me. You knew that. You also knew telling me you weren’t wearing undies would distract me from my fear of public speaking.”

He rolled his fingers over the sensitive button of her flesh between her thighs.

“You helped me when I needed it the most, Sonny. I got a C plus, a passing grade. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that.”

“I’m pretty certain you did,” she said, her voice a shaky breath, her eyes still closed. “I remember coming so hard in the backseat of your car down by the river after school.”

Levi didn’t laugh. Didn’t say a word.

Opening her eyes, Sonja turned her gaze back to him. Their stares clashed, melded, and for a moment Sonja glimpsed something like wretched sorrow in his eyes. There and gone in a blink. Hidden from her. “Is that what you want me to do now, Levi? Help you?”

He didn’t answer. Just returned his hands to the tops of her thighs.

She let out a sigh. “I bet you haven’t thought about me at all until you walked into Do Re Me, have you?”

His Adam’s apple jerked up and down the strong column of his throat. “What does it mean that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since?”

The urge to lean forward and comb her fingernails through the dark-blond growth on his jaw damn near overwhelmed her. She’d had a thing for facial hair since she was a teenager. What were the odds Levi would wear a beard now?

Letting out another sigh, she shook her head. “I’m not going to sleep with you and your boyfriend, Levi. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m not it.”

“Life.” The word left him in a low breath. “I’m looking for life. And Corbin was right. I felt more alive when I was with you, singing and laughing with you, holding you, kissing you, than I have in a long time.”

His confession sheared into Sonja’s tenuous resolve. All too easily, images of the three of them together assaulted her. She swallowed, staring hard at the rock star before her. What woman with a healthy libido didn’t fantasize about two men giving her sexual pleasure? Two mouths worshipping her body, two sets of hands, two tongues. Two—

“Do you love him?” she asked, killing the arousing thought.

A slow smile lit up Levi’s face, turning him from good looking to drop-dead-make-you-weep gorgeous. “More than I could ever express,” he whispered, his gaze unfocused.

Unable to stop herself, Sonja surrendered to the need to trail her fingers through the glossy hair on his jaw, cupping the side of his face in her hand. “Then go home to him and tell him that.”

He closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping.

“I’d just be a band-aid,” she said. “And eventually band-aids have to be ripped off.” With a little chuckle, she traced her thumb along the velvet-soft line of his bottom lip. “But hey, if you ever feel like karaoke again, just give me a call.”

With a nod, he turned his head and pressed his lips to the centre of her palm.

Sonja’s body reacted instantly to the intimate contact. A shiver raced up her spine. Her nipples pinched tight. She sucked in a swift breath, her belly a tight knot, her pussy warm with want. “Levi,” she moaned before she could stop herself.

Levi turned back to her, his gaze capturing hers. A second before he snared a handful of her hair and crushed her lips with his.

Raw and hungry lust erupted in Sonja’s core. Tight, hot and wet. Her heart smashed against her breastbone. Every other part of her body froze, lost to the sudden power of Levi’s kiss. To the invasion of his masterful tongue in her mouth and the fierce greed in his nips on her bottom lip.

And then it was over. With an animalistic growl, Levi tore his lips from hers and rose to his feet. He stared down at her, desire burning in his eyes. “Karaoke it is, Sonny,” he said, his voice strained. Hoarse. “I’ll pick you up at five tonight.”

And before she could respond, he left, striding through her home and closing the door behind him. Leaving her aching for more. Aching for release.

Aching for his touch.

The fucking bastard.

Chapter Six

Closing his laptop with a grunt, Corbin slumped low in his favourite armchair.

Three and a half weeks ago,
The Dead Even 2
’s director, Nigel McQueen, had requested rewrites on the screenplay’s third act, wanting to amp up the sexual tension between Chris Huntley’s rogue marine and his double-agent femme-fatale partner. McQueen had emailed Corbin, apologizing for the intrusion during Corbin’s mourning. Corbin had emailed back immediately, assuring Nigel it was no problem and he’d get to it straight away. The work on the script couldn’t have come at a better time. It was something to keep his mind from lingering on the pain of his crumbling relationship with Levi. The tension between them had increased to an unbearable point, a point where they had not only not spoken any more, they’d no longer slept in the same room.

Getting away from that had seemed like a good idea. The only sane idea.

But the second he’d flown to New York and tried to work on the screenplay, locked up in a hotel room overlooking Central Park West, as far from the pain of Levi’s emotional barrier as he could be, he’d realized he had to go home. Home, where Levi was. Back to Sydney, to the apartment built on a historic wharf jutting into the harbour, the place they’d made love every night.

He’d come home—he never should have left in the first place—needing Levi, needing to fix their relationship, followed him into Do Re Me and the rest was history.

Not the history Corbin had envisioned or planned, it was fair to say, but history all the same.

He’d watched Levi kiss Sonja. He’d grown harder than he’d ever been before and he’d made
that
suggestion.

When he’d woken that morning—the morning after falling asleep in Levi’s arms with an ache in his soul rivaling the sated pleasure in his body—Levi was gone, leaving a fresh pod in the Nespresso machine and a note resting against Corbin’s favourite coffee mug.

Gone to speak to Sonja.

L.

Corbin had read those five words five times, a strange mix of apprehension, confusion and excitement spearing down his spine like a hot wire.

After the fifth reading, he’d showered, relieved the morning wood in his cock and opened his laptop, determined to do what he’d planned to do six days ago—distract his mind.

But still the words didn’t come.

After three hours of staring at his screen, scrolling up and down through pages of direction cues, character dialogue and setting info, he’d written nothing.

Added nothing.

Amped up nothing.

Because all his mind could focus on was Levi and how alive he’d been with Sonja.

Corbin knew it should tear out his heart, but it didn’t. It gave him…hope.

Leaning forward, he slid his laptop onto the coffee table and then raked his hands through his hair.

“Fuck it,” he ground out, digging his cell phone from his back pocket. With a quick jab on the screen, he dialed his brother.

“Baby brother!” Martin Smith crowed into Corbin’s ear the second the call connected, the thousands of miles between Sydney and Connecticut disappearing straight away. “Where the hell are you? Still in New York? Or back in Australia?”

“Back in Australia,” Corbin answered with a small smile.

“Good.” Corbin could hear the nod in Martin’s approval. “Did you work it all out with Levi?”

The heavy lump in Corbin’s throat, the one that had been there since he’d made the suggestion to Levi about Sonja, turned hot. “Honestly, Marty, I don’t know.”

“What’s that mean?”

Corbin pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Oh man, what did he say?

Martin had been the first to know what Corbin was. The first to hear the truth from Corbin himself. Back in high school, when Martin had been a senior and Corbin a freshman, Martin had witnessed the school quarterback pantsing Corbin in the hallway and calling him a fag. Martin—a grease monkey who rarely interacted with the jocks—had cornered the quarterback in the student parking area after school and begun turning the douchebag’s nose to mush with his fist, demanding he apologise for calling Corbin a fag with each crunching punch. The only way Corbin had been able to get his brother to stop was to confess to his homosexuality right there and then, with a crowd of frenzied, scared and excited teenagers looking on. Martin had studied Corbin with a contemplative gaze for a moment and then nodded. “In that case, this fuckwit needs to be taught not to be a bigot.” And he’d KO’d the quarterback with a single, powerful punch before walking over to Corbin and hugging him for everyone to see.

Corbin would love his brother forever for that one moment, that one moment where Martin had made it obvious not only to the school, but to Corbin himself that he didn’t give a flying fuck that Corbin was gay, he’d always be his brother. He’d always be there for him.

In the twenty-three years since that afternoon, Martin—three years older, a mechanic with a fondness for old muscle cars and as straight as they came—never judged Corbin for his lifestyle. For Martin, and the rest of the Smith family for that matter, three older brothers and one younger sister, Corbin was who he was and that was that. It meant fuck all to them Corbin was gay. He was still their brother, their son, still loved beyond measure.

But how would Martin react to what Corbin was about to say?

“You gonna tell me, baby brother?”

Corbin flattened his palm to his forehead, dug his fingertips into his scalp and let out a slow sigh. “I watched Levi kiss a woman, Marty.”