Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (reading a book TXT) 📕

More of her.

The ring of the phone on the nightstand shattered his reverie. He snatched up the receiver, hoping it was she before he realized she didn’t have his number. Maybe she didn’t even remember his name.

God, he hoped he was wrong about that.

“Yeah?”

“Get up on the wrong side of the bed?” Rick Trajean, the lead guitar player and the band’s leader chuckled on the other end of the connection.

Marc shook himself mentally. “Sorry. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I hope it was in a good cause,” Rick teased.

Maybe Rick knew who she was. Could help him find her.

“Listen, did you happen to notice someone new in the club last night? A blonde, tiny, drinking a beer?”

Now Rick’s laugh was full and loud. “Are you shitting me? That could describe half the women who come into Aftershock. What’s with you?”

Being an idiot. Rick’s right. Why would he even notice one woman from another in a crowd like that, unless she came onto him?

“Sorry. Stupid question. Forget I asked. What’s up?”

“Rehearsal at one o’clock tomorrow.” The club was closed on Mondays, which meant they could work straight through into the evening. Other days, they had to squeeze it in before five then go home, change, and psych themselves up for the night. “I want to work on those two new numbers.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there.”

“See you then,” Rick told him before hanging up.

Marc dragged his fingers through his hair. Maybe Nico, the bouncer could tell him something about her. Except if she’d been to the club before, he was damn sure he’d have noticed her. She wasn’t just another good-looking female. She was special. Very special. And if he didn’t see her again, he might drive himself nuts.

What could she possibly be hiding that made her refuse to give him her name? Or run away like that? Was she married? Living with a jealous boyfriend? Somehow he didn’t think that was her style. She didn’t look or act like a cheater.

Quit driving yourself crazy. Get up and do something.

Wanting her scent and the imprint of her body to linger as long as possible, he left the bed just as it was, unmade. He needed to do normal things to get his brain back on track. Shower. Get dressed. Eat. But the remnants of whatever in his fridge were enough to take away his appetite.

Good thing I didn’t try to feed her. Okay. Shower then hit the grocery.

Very few people knew that he often relaxed by cooking. He came from a family where food and cooking were a traditional pastime. His father was an accomplished chef and he’d passed the love of cooking and the talent on to him. In the early days of his career when he was still living at home, sometimes on the weekends he’d wake up totally drained from the performance the night before, needing something to smooth out the edges. He’d sit at the kitchen table drinking coffee while his father made culinary magic with his fingers. It fascinated him, drew him to try his hand at it. Now he found that working in the kitchen was a great counterbalance to the frenetic atmosphere of a rock club.

In the bathroom he stared at his face in the mirror, flinching when he spotted the thick beard stubble on his jaw.

I should have shaved last night. She probably has whisker burns all over her.

Damn! Where was my head? I was in such a fucking hurry I didn’t think of half the things I should have. Strike two. No wonder she ran off the way she did.

As if doing it after the fact would somehow absolve him, he took the time to shave very closely. Then he showered and washed his hair, and spent time taming it so he didn’t look like a wild man. A clean pair of jeans and a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled down and buttoned at the cuffs, one of the vests he loved to wear, and he was ready.

Marc the hot rock star was gone for the day, replaced by Marc, the nice guy next door.

***

Emma still couldn’t believe she’d actually done it. Not just running out of Andrew’s house in the grip of frustration that was choking her. Not even the daring visit to Aftershock where she’d been so seduced by the music. No, what shocked her was going home with a man she’d just met and having wild sex beyond anything she could have imagined.

And ohmigod! She’d cheated on Andrew.

Where was the guilt? Didn’t good girls feel guilty when they did something like this? Except in her mind it wasn’t really cheating. The minute she left Andrew’s house, it’d been over. Finished. She just had to make sure he knew it. Even without Marc that relationship was dead.

What would people think if they knew?

She actually smiled to herself.

Right now? Who cares!

She should take a shower, but she hated to wash away the remnants of his touch on her skin. Safe in the shelter of her own home, she alternated between wild exhilaration and the terrifying feeling she was swimming in water over her head. She curled up in the big armchair in her living room, eyes closed, and just relived every moment of the night with her bass player.

Yes, her bass player. She couldn’t stop thinking of him that way.

Guitar Man.

Leaning back in the chair, she let torrent of sensations and emotions Marc had stirred within her cascade over her once more, hugging each detail to herself like a precious jewel. The image of Marc in the club flashed across her brain like an instant video, his body limned by the stage lights, wild with the beat of his music, the sound of his bass humming through the darkened room. In her mind she saw the image of him in the dim light of his bedroom, magnificently naked, his cock jutting proudly from its thick nest of curls.

She shivered