Pure Iron (2 page)

Sonia looked at him, the tight tee shirt that looked as though it had been painted on, the low-riding cut-off shorts that were almost indecent, the bony feet bare of even flip-flops. He looked good, really good, but she nodded in agreement. The man ought to cover up or he’d have women drooling all over him as soon as he stepped into public.

He rose and said, “I’ll be just a minute. Finish your breakfast.”

A couple of minutes later he returned wearing jeans and a tight tee shirt that displayed his lean, muscular physique rather than covered it. His bare feet had been tucked into sandals. Sonia gulped down the last of her juice and said, “I’ll just be a minute getting my purse.”

He nodded and replied, “I’ll wait out front for you.”

And he was waiting out front for her, sitting in an Audi R8 convertible that, of all the cars he owned, he most preferred to drive. The car wasn’t flashy like the Maserati and it fit in with the Monterrey crowd. Sonia’s eyebrows rose and she thought that he did more than just play a few gigs here and there. Or else he had a trust fund.

“Nice car,” she complimented as she got in.

“Thanks. Buckle up.”

She fastened her seatbelt and hoped she just hadn’t given herself into the care of criminal. Again, she chastised herself for stereotyping the man who had just fed her breakfast. But he caught her worried look and said with a small smile, “Ask me about them.”

“About what?”

“The tattoos. You keep looking at them.”

Her face went red and she stammered an apology, “I—I’m sorry to have been so rude. Really, you’ve been nothing but nice. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Wow, she really was an innocent, a nice girl and all that nice implied, he thought.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he reassured her. “The ink means something. Otherwise why indelibly mark my body?”

She looked over the arm nearest her and asked, “What do the notes mean?”

“That’s the opening refrain of the first song I sold. It was the song that got studio notice and resulted in a recording contract.”

“What about the grape vine?”

“Alcoholism runs in my family. It’s a visual reminder to watch what I drink.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she asked, “And the … is it a phoenix?”

“I’ve not always had an easy life. I got the phoenix when I rose above some really difficult circumstances. It’s a symbol of my triumph and reminds me to be strong.”

“Wow,” she said. “That’s really admirable. It almost makes me wish I had something so incredible to celebrate so I can immortalize it on my skin.” She gave a short laugh and added, “But what would I have tattooed? A spatula?”

He briefly glanced at her, taking in the smooth, fair skin and said, “Your skin is perfect. There’s no need for ink.”

Again her cheeks flushed. He wondered whether that flush extended down her chest and felt a heavy heat pool in his groin. With a surge of will, he reminded his libido that this was neither the time nor the place for an erection. This innocent young woman obviously did not do casual hook-ups. This girl had permanence written all over her.

He could not help but wonder if she were still a virgin. She had that untouched air about her that practically beckoned for defilement.

“So, what’s the plan after your month of R&R?” he asked.

“I’ve got some résumés out with several restaurants, some with the big-name chefs,” she replied and shrugged. “I don’t really expect to be accepted by the big guys, though.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged and replied, “I’ve got the academic credentials, but not the fine restaurant experience they’re looking for. There aren’t any five-star Michelin restaurants in North Hampton, Ohio.” She chuckled and shook her head. “We’ve got a diner and a sandwich shop. The Lions Club’s annual spaghetti supper doesn’t qualify.”

“Small town, hm?”

“A village actually. I’d be surprised if the population topped a thousand. We don’t even have a gas station.”

“That is small,” he agreed and wondered just what in the hell he was doing in the company of an innocent like her. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t go where the big-name chefs are.”

She grinned at him and said, “That’s true. It doesn’t. Which is why I sent in those résumés.” She sighed and added, “I think, though, that I’d miss the living in the country. I like small towns.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from opening a smashing restaurant in a small town, though, is there?”

She held up her hand, rubbing the forefinger and thumb together. “That takes money that I don’t have.”

She turned her face away from him and so did not see his expression turn glacial. But she continued talking: “I’m determined to make it on my own, though, which means working for someone else, earning a good income, and getting the experience I need before taking that big step of diving into debt and opening my own restaurant.”

Listening to her, he detected no guile and relaxed. She wasn’t slyly trying to hit him up for a loan. Or a “gift.” She was merely being candid. It was a refreshing change of pace.

Which expressed volumes about his life.

They chatted about inconsequential topics ranging for the next several minutes until he pulled into the parking lot.

“Sonia, reach into the glove box and pull out my hat, would you?”

She cast him a confused glance, but did as he asked and handed him the baseball cap. He jammed it on his head and donned a pair of sunglasses.

“Going incognito?” she teased.

The expression on his face wiped the smile from hers.

“Oh,” she said in a subdued tone. “I guess you really are going incognito.” She paused, then asked suspiciously, “Is your name really Mick?”

Knowing the moment had to come, he nodded curtly and said, “Mick Hendriksen.”

Her expression showed no recognition.

“Iron Falcon.”

Now recognition dawned.

“Really?” she asked, eyes widening.

He nodded. Her mouth opened in surprise, lips forming a silent “O.” Consternation followed.

“Oh, God, I made you cook me breakfast! And you just wanted to be left alone. And now I’ve imposed upon you to take me to the aquarium. I am so sorry!”

Mick found himself charmed by her reaction, which wasn’t the fangirl giddiness he expected, but rather consternation that she’d imposed upon his good nature and desire for solitude. He reached over and took her hand in his. “Calm down, Sonia. You did not force me to make breakfast. You did not impose. I offered, remember? ”

She nodded, mouth still open in shock.

He pulled on her hand, drawing her toward him a little. In a rough whisper he said, “If you don’t close your mouth, I’m going to kiss it.”

She squeaked and her jaw snapped shut.

Damn, he should have just kissed her, see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

Reaching deeply for a self-restraint he seldom used, he released her hand and said, “There’s a whole building full of fish just waiting for us to gawk at them. Let’s go.”

She fell into step beside him. He found himself watching her more than the aquatic displays. She read the placards beside each display, smiling at the gelatinous grace of the jellyfish, the sinuous power of barracudas, the creepy stretch of spider crabs. Every so often, she would glance back at him with a grin and sparkling eyes or a comment as though he were any hometown boy holding her hand. He found he liked that feeling of just being a boy holding her hand, rather than a celebrity hiding behind a hat and sunglasses.

Funny how he’d worked for so long to become famous and found it stifling and empty. When he focused on the music life was better, had deeper meaning. He had the niggling feeling that this artless young woman could bring even deeper meaning to his existence, to his music.

He wondered what the band would think of her. Then he wondered whether she should even meet them. Immersion in his toxic world would surely destroy that fresh, unspoiled innocence. Mick found himself reluctant to be party to such destruction. No, he’d keep her away from the band; he’d keep her separate from the rest of his sordid life.

“Oh, come watch the otters,” she exclaimed with a happy laugh.

Mick stood beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist. He could not help but notice how well she fit against him, which inevitably drew his thoughts as to how well he would fit inside her. She tilted her face up to his and grinned. He smiled back and tried to think of puppies and kittens and icy cold showers.

Sonia felt Mick moved behind her, wrap both arms loosely around her, encouraging her to lean back against him. She hesitated, then relented because his warm, solid strength behind her felt so good. She smiled to herself when the bottom of his chiseled jaw rested on top of her head. A fine tremor rippled through her when she felt something else press into her lower back.

Oh, dear. How did one extricate herself tactfully from that?

She arched her back away from his body, trying for subtlety. His arms tightened around her and he said in a low, quiet voice, “Let me hold you.”

She swallowed audibly and gradually relaxed against him again as they watched the otters’ high-energy antics. To his credit, he did not grind his pelvis against her.

A high pitched squeal accompanied by a bass exclamation of “Dude!” behind them provided an interruption that Sonia appreciated. Two seconds later, they were surrounded by a half dozen fans of Iron Falcon begging for autographs. Bursts of light from camera flashes made her blink as she watched Mick transform into a celebrity personality who smiled and wielded pens and traded quips with adoring fans. Two of the giddy girls practically draped themselves over him. One pulled at the already low neckline of her shirt and begged him to autograph her breasts.

“Who are you?” one of the young men in the group asked her. “You his latest girl?”

“No, I’m just his neighbor. We’re friends.”

“Cool. Where?”

“I don’t give out other people’s information,” she replied coldly.

“You’re cute. Where do you live?”

She looked down her nose at him and answered, “Ohio.”

One of the museum’s senior managers approached, asking the young people to please not use their flashes when taking pictures, as doing so upset the fish.

“I appreciate you guys,” Mick said, “but I came here with a friend for a bit of peace and quiet. I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d keep my being here a secret. Just among us.”

The girls squealed again and their male companions nodded as though they were undertaking an important quest. Sonia marveled at how easily he managed them.

“Thanks, folks,” he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet. He dug inside the main compartment to extract a handful of tickets. “Use the codes on these tickets. They’ll get you free admission to any Iron Falcon concert here in the USA this year.”

With more squealing, the six people happily accepted the tickets and, chattering animatedly, continued on their way. Mick sagged against the wall as soon as the crowd had rounded a corner.

“Are you all right?” Sonia asked.

“Sure,” he replied.

“How did they recognize you?” she asked. “It’s pretty dark in here.”

He shrugged and said, “I probably should have worn long sleeves. The tats are rather distinctive.”

She looked at his arms and allowed as how that might have been the clue. She said, “You handled them well. I would have been a wreck.”

“It gets to be second nature,” he replied, reaching out to take her hand. “Let’s head outside to see the tidal pools.”

She agreed, thinking that after being swarmed by fans, he wanted some space. Hand in hand, they headed in the opposite direction to the tidal pools which proved just as fascinating as the indoor aquariums. Sonia leaned way over the railing to get a closer look at colorful sea stars and spiny black sea urchins. Mick came up behind her, wrapped an arm around her to ensure she did not topple over. With her pert bottom aligned with his crotch, Mick found himself quickly returning to a state of arousal … and liking it.

Sonia straightened against him and put her feet firmly on the ground feeling the bulge of his arousal against her lower back as he tightened his arms around her. This time, instead of resting his jaw on her head, he leaned down to press a soft kiss just below her earlobe.

“I want you,” he said.

Sonia closed her eyes. She felt the strong attraction between them battle with her old fashioned values. “I—” she began awkwardly. She swallowed and said, “I can’t, Mick.”

His hands spread out against her abdomen, just barely missing the underside of her breasts. She inhaled slowly, felt her breasts swell, grow achy with want. Her nipples perked, poked against the fabric of her bra and shirt. Excitement and heat pooled low in her groin. She gulped nervously.

“I don’t do casual flings.” Actually, she didn’t do flings at all, but there was no need to advertise that.

“This doesn’t feel casual,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of her neck, punctuating his words with light kisses that made her shiver.

“I’m only going to be here for three more weeks.”