Summer Love by Piper Rayne

Chapter Four

“Ican’t see a damn thing.” She cupped her hands and peered into the swirl of wind and water. “I think your car is fine, though.”

“It’s a rental.”

She felt the warmth of his body directly behind hers. The warmth of his mostly nude body. How long had it been since she’d felt the warmth of a man’s body against hers?

A while.

They could finish what they had started in London. She got the distinct impression that he was amenable to it. In the morning, he would leave, and that would be that. He might come in a few more times for coffee, since Simone had recommended Two Beans, but then Simone and Douglas would come home from their honeymoon and he’d be gone. He would leave St. Caroline, never to be seen in these parts again. Would it really be that bad to finish what they’d started?

His hands settled on her shoulders, firm, confident. Those hands had played a thousand songs on guitars, on keyboards. Those hands had played her body, too, until she’d stopped him. It would have been an amazing night. She had no doubt of that. But it wasn’t what she had wanted at the time. She didn’t want to be just one of the many women he had bedded. Just as she had never wanted to be one of the endless numbers of aspiring singers in the world. There was this assumption that if you were in possession of a talent, you were supposed to monetize that talent.

But fame and fortune had never appealed to her. She had her issues with her parents—didn’t everyone?—but ultimately she wanted the life they had. She wanted a business and a source of income that she had control over. She wanted a family of her own and a nice house to raise that family in.

It was something people didn’t seem to understand—that she could sing like an angel, but want to run a coffee shop instead.

She wanted one more thing, as well—a man who would love her. A man who would love her and was willing to live in St. Caroline where her beloved coffee shop was located.

“So did you ever get back together with your boyfriend?”

And … that was his opening gambit.

“No. I didn’t. Not after that.”

“Are you the sort of person who doesn’t dole out second chances?”

She shrugged her shoulders beneath his hands. “Depends on the original offense.”

The breath of his chuckle raised the tiny hairs on her neck.

“I thought about you after that night. Thought about you a lot,” he said.

“Why would you do that?” On the other side of the window—inches away—was utter chaos. She couldn’t tell which way the wind was blowing. It blew in every direction, it seemed—taking the rain along with it. On this side of the window, though, there was a strange sense of calm. She was stuck inside for who knew how long with a man she barely knew. But she felt safe with him, the same way she had felt safe with him in London.

She wasn’t the sort of woman to accompany a stranger to his hotel room, whether the stranger was famous or not. He was right about that. But she’d done it with him. And it hadn’t been fear or a sense of danger that made her put a stop to the proceedings, get dressed, and call a cab to take her back to her own hotel. In fact, she hadn’t felt any fear at all with him. She’d felt safe, as though the two of them had known each other for years.

His thumbs were rubbing gentle circles at the base of her neck and just that tiny gesture had her toes curling against the bare wood floor.

“I liked you, Mai with an I. I wanted to spend the night with you. Wanted to have breakfast with you in the morning. Wanted to hear you sing again.”

“Well, you’ve heard me again now. And pound cake and iced coffee counts as breakfast in some quarters.”

He leaned his head down next to hers and stared out into the storm. “Looks like I’ll be spending the night here, too.”

“Your life is officially complete.”

“Your snarky sense of humor is coming back to me now.”

“Sorry.”

“No apology needed. I liked your snark. It made me think that perhaps you didn’t know who I was.”

“I knew. I just didn’t want to fan-girl all over you.”

“Somehow I doubt you’re really a Pulse fan.”

A tiny laugh escaped her lips. “Not really.”

“Now I like you even more.”

There was a snarky reply right on the tip of her tongue, but it was interrupted by the crash of a small tree branch against the window. Reflexively, she jumped back … into his hard chest.

Hard naked chest.

She held her breath and watched the window, waiting for a crack to appear. When none did after a minute, she exhaled.

“We shouldn’t be standing right next to the window.” He tugged on her shoulder to move her away.

For the second time that evening, she followed him to one of the leather sofas at the rear of the shop. She let him take a seat while she felt her way in the darkness to the merchandise shelf along the back wall.

“Where’d you go?”

The sofa’s leather creaked beneath his weight.

“I’m getting a candle. It’s coffee-scented, though.”

He laughed. “You’ll get no complaints from me there. I’ve yet to be on a tour that wasn’t fueled by alcohol and coffee.”

“Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll?” She felt her way to the drawer behind the counter where she kept a lighter. A minute later, the candle flared to life on the wooden table Ian had dragged over to the sofa earlier.

“There. This is either romantic or apocalyptic.”

He pulled her onto his lap. His thigh muscles were hard beneath her legs. His bare chest was so close she could smell his skin. And the way those perfectly shaped lips were parted … well, it was making her body remember London, remember how his lips felt on hers. She was still mesmerized by those lips when they spoke again.

“Well, if this storm is the end of the world, I’d like to go out with a little romance.”

* * *

Two years later and she was having the same effect on him. Every inch of his skin craved to be pressed against hers. He wanted to touch her and listen to her sing and have a conversation with her and make love to her all at the same time.

Anyone who knew the Ian Youngblood would have said he’d gone round the bend. In reality, he had always wanted this kind of woman, a woman who would make him feel as though he knew everything and nothing. He’d just never met one.

Until the karaoke woman in London.

Until Mai with an I.

Mai.

Who ran a coffee shop in a tiny town on the Chesapeake Bay. He could spend all summer here. His manager would flip, but Ian didn’t care. Alex was in rehab again. Their tour was “on pause” again—code for temporarily cancelled. Their appearance at a big west coast music festival was in doubt. Frankly, Ian was tired of living his life subject to the waxing and waning of his bandmate’s drinking problem.

Also—he was just plain tired.

The woman sitting on his lap, however, made him feel alive—from the moment he’d first heard her sing, from the moment she’d first laughed at his lamest joke, from the moment his lips had first brushed hers. Then she’d had second thoughts and walked out of his life. That he had miraculously found her again? I must have done something right in a past life.

And what he was feeling? She was feeling it too right now.

Her brown eyes had darkened to the color of espresso. Her chest was rising and falling like the rhythmic sputter of a coffee maker. Her bare thighs were trembling against his—and it had him hard as a rock, a fact he couldn’t exactly conceal beneath the white towel.

“You’re feeling this, too,” he said, pointing out the obvious. Her nipples were hard beneath the thin cotton of her tank top, and the rush of blood in his ears was like a roar. “And we have some time to kill.” He glanced toward the street and the raging storm.

“We don’t know anything about each other.”

“What do you want to know? Ask me anything. Finish our twenty questions. I believe I answered about five. So you have fifteen left.”

She rolled her eyes and he wasn’t sure whether she would take him up on it or not. He watched her weigh the idea behind her lovely face.

“Have you ever had your heart broken?” she said at last. “And don’t say when I walked out of your hotel room.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“My lifestyle is not conducive to serious relationships.” He paused. “But you did break my heart, a little.”

She swatted at his chest. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm.

“Explain that.” She tried to tug her hand back, a move he decided against allowing. He kissed her thumb and then her index finger before answering.

“That night—I wasn’t sure whether you knew who I was.”

“I pretended not to. More for me than for you.”

He nodded, acknowledging the admission. “It was a pleasant change of pace to be around a woman who wasn’t angling for something from me—an introduction or a social media selfie or bragging rights. It was a little glimpse into normal, you know?”

“A lot of people think normal life is overrated.”

“Do you think that?”

“No. I like my quiet normal life here.”

He kissed her middle finger. “When you’re twenty-one, the life of a rock star sounds amazing. And for awhile, it was. I can’t deny that. But now? Eight years later? I’m getting a little old for it.”

“There are some aging rock stars who would beg to differ.”

He shrugged and kissed the last two fingers. “They’re entitled to live their lives as they see fit. In the beginning, I drew so much energy from the crowds, from the attention. But now, it’s just a drain. Honestly? A lot of nights I’d rather sit in the hotel in my underwear and eat room service nachos and binge on Netflix.”

That drew a smile from her.

“So, yes, my heart cracked a little when that beautiful, normal woman up and walked out on me.” He closed his lips around her pinky finger, enjoying the way it made her mouth drop open to take in air. “That was probably more information than you wanted.”

“I’ll give you credit for two questions.”

“Only two?” He smiled as he sucked the next finger into his mouth.”We’re going to be here all night.”

“We’re going to be here all night anyway. In any case, you seem to be holding up fine.” She glanced down at the hard lump beneath the towel.

“So what’s the next question?” he asked. She fought not to squirm on his lap as he closed his lips around another finger. He ran his tongue up to her fingernail. She lost that fight. “But after ten questions, I’d like a kiss.”

“Fine. You’re up to nine.”

He sucked on her thumb, more insistently than he had her other digits. It was taking all his willpower not to thrust his hips toward her.

“If you’re not happy, then why not quit? Why not do something else? I imagine you’ve made enough money.”

“I have. Also made enough money for everyone around me. But there’s a tour the band is contractually obligated to finish, as well as a music festival later this summer—provided my bandmate gets released from rehab in time.”

“I saw something about that. Sorry.”

His tongue drew lazy circles on her palm. “Thought you weren’t a fan.”

“Idle curiosity.”

He laughed into her palm and her muscles clenched against his quads. “That’s ten questions now, Mai with an I.” He gave her palm one more kiss and pulled her down to him. He started the kiss slowly, a feathery nip at her lower lips, gauging her seriousness, giving her a chance to back out. When she began to kiss him back, however, all bets were off, and he pressed his lips firmly against hers. She tasted like coffee and cake, and he imagined that was the way she tasted all the time. A man could get used to that. Smoky and sweet. He was aroused before they began kissing—now the feeling was multiplied.

How many nights had he lain awake, remembering what it felt like to kiss her? Too many to count. On the one hand, yes, she had made him feel normal that evening in London. But on the other hand, kissing her didn’t feel normal at all.

It felt extraordinary.

He wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight. But a connection at first sight? Yup. He definitely had felt a connection to this woman the moment she opened her mouth and began to sing.

“Maybe we should skip the rest of the questions,” she whispered into his lips.

“I don’t think so,” he whispered back, breaking the kiss. “I’ve waited two years for this. I want you to have all the information necessary to make an informed decision.” He wanted to carry her upstairs to her bed and ravish her all night long. But he wanted her to be one hundred percent certain about it.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.

“Orange.”

“No one’s favorite color is orange.”

“You didn’t say I had to answer the questions truthfully.”

She bit back a snort-laugh and it was so effing adorable, he almost relented on the remainder of the questions. Almost. He wanted to tease her a while longer.

“Sun sign?”

“Leo.”

“Shoe size?”

“Ten and a half.”

“Coke or Pepsi?”

“Dr. Pepper.”

She was clearly rushing through questions. He took that as a good sign.

“Did you have the lead in any school musicals?”

“I had the lead in all of them.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised. I was Tevye, Danny Zuko, and Finch. What about you?”

“I was Annie—and yes, I wore a red wig. And Anita and Cosette.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Spirit animal?”

“Owl.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “First animal that came to mind. Chestnut tree.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that one.”

“Biggest regret?”

“Auditioning for a certain televised talent show.”

She studied his face for a long moment. Probably trying to decide whether or not to believe him.

“So what did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A fireman. Then an astronaut. Later, a rodeo rider.”

“What happened?”

“I’m terrified of heights, so that ruled out the first two. And I grew up in Pittsburgh, not a part of the world known for its rodeo circuit.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “That’s twenty, I believe.”