Behind the Lyrics by Melissa Riddell

Chapter 23

Angela Morales

Terri was the only other person in my new life who knew the full story between Jeff and me. I don’t know why I confessed it to Viktor. Maybe because he’d shared such a private, painful story of his own, or maybe because I felt safe with him. Whatever the reason, it had seemed right spilling that terrible secret out of my heart and into his ears.

Viktor’s muscles rippled through the back of his satiny shirt, and I feasted my eyes on his outstretched hand, following the sleeve tattoo winding up the skin. On the inside of his forearm, a replica of David Bowie’s Aladdin Sane album cover lay hidden among flowing patterns of flowers, bare-branched trees, and black tribal symbols. Whoever his artist was, they were extremely talented.

He pulled me through a back doorway to a lush, tropical walkway. On either side of the path, recessed lights reflected against vibrant ferns and wide-leaved bushes, with a winding stream running through the foliage.

“This is so beautiful and relaxing. I bet the water bill for this place is astronomical.”

Viktor stopped and glanced around as if noticing it for the first time. “I suppose so.”

I pulled my hand from his and bent to the man-made channel, water tinkling through, next to the sidewalk. Upon closer inspection, I spotted several Koi, their fins waving in the gentle current. “I miss seeing this stuff.” In Texas, since there was less desert—especially in the east and south—it was common to see this type of landscaping.

I dipped a finger into the water and swirled the warm liquid. When a fish darted to nibble my fingertip, a delighted laugh burst from my throat.

The leathery smoke of Viktor hit me as he crouched at my side.

With a huge smile and laughter still trickling from my mouth, I gave him a glance, enjoying the tickling pecks of the fish’s delicate movements.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Angela.” Heat and something predatory gleamed from his stare. “If a few fish can make you this happy, I wonder what you’d do if I bought an entire lake?”

I snickered then cleared my throat.

He didn’t smile. Instead, he speared me with that brooding, dangerous gaze.

Jesus, he’s serious. “I’d probably eat them. Sushi, remember?” I stood and rubbed my arms. The air temperature turned downright cold. I’d left my jacket in the truck at the station and mentally kicked myself for not bringing it.

As if my movement broke his thoughts, he pressed his palms against his thighs and shot to his feet, wrapping me into his arms. “Come on. It’s warm in the studio.” He pointed to a separate building at the end of the pathway. If he hadn’t mentioned it was a studio, I would’ve assumed it to be a guest house from this distance.

When he and I stepped inside, he flicked a switch, and light flooded from the ceiling.

The entry led to a small foyer then he wound me through the brains of the setup with the control room with its many switches and dials and, finally, into the actual recording suite.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to a stool sitting in the middle, near the mic.

I’d been in a few recording studios over the years, but this one seemed state of the art. The walls, insulated with soundproofing, still showed traces of polished, glowing wood near the floor. A drum set dominated the back, and several shiny guitars sat neatly in their racks.

Viktor walked to one of the instruments, its body a rich, royal blue, and slipped the leather strap over his neck. Sauntering over to me, he threw a lazy grin my way and both dimples appeared, transforming his face from an angry god to a mischievous devil.

My heart squeezed, and I mentally reminded myself to breathe.

Strumming his fingers lightly over the strings, he fiddled with the neck, listening to the sounds, and fine-tuning the instrument. With a nod, he opened his mouth and sang.

“All through the dark, I see your light. In the throes of death, I feel your life.” His voice lowered an octave, taking his natural alto to the upper cusp of a baritone. “Never knew I needed an angel ’til I needed you.” He moved closer, standing before me, his guitar following the last verse with a complicated set of notes.

Did he write this for me? The song, unlike most of his heavier tunes, was closer to a ballad than a hard-rock melody, but something in it tugged at my heartstrings and settled into my mind, an earworm that would be difficult to forget.

The movements of his fingers intrigued me. Not only did he have an amazing voice, but he was a skilled musician, too.

He stopped and held out a hand. “Here, Love.”

I grasped his fingers and stood.

Circling around until he stopped behind me, he jostled the strings and they rang through the silent room with his movement.

The back of the guitar lowered in front of me, and he slid the strap behind my neck.

“Viktor, what are you doing?” I stiffened from the added weight. “I don’t know how to play a guitar.”

“Trying something new.” His voice whispered in my ear, seductive and hot against my bare flesh, and my eyes closed out of reflex.

He laid his palms on my hips and wedged his body next to mine, pressing his chest to my back. Slipping a hand around my waist, he gripped the guitar, tightening the connection between us. Strumming the strings again, he purred the rest of the song against my neck, drowning my senses.

I gripped the sides of my legs, fighting an urge to twist and kiss him. There was something sexy and primal being cloistered between him and the instrument, the vibrations transferring to my hipbones. His breath caressed me, his soft words soothed me, and his smell wrapped me in a protective shield.

When he finished, I kept my eyelids closed for a few seconds, wishing the moment would last a little longer.

With tenderness, his hands trailed my sides then wrapped around my stomach to slip under the waistband, and dipped lower, circling…teasing. His breath, hot against the shell of my ear, fanned across my cheek.

A low groan escaped my mouth as his fingers played me as deftly as the guitar. If he didn’t stop, I’d begin to sing, and my voice wasn’t rock star material.

“You’re an angel sent to tempt me, aren’t you?” His lips trailed kisses under my ear and across the nape of my neck.

“God.” I pressed my back into him, hoping to give him more room to continue teasing my body.

“Easy, now. I want to take this slow and savor every little sound you make, every little shift of your body, and every little pant you breathe.” His teeth scraped my skin, nipping and sucking, sending tiny shocks of pleasure through my nerves.

“Viktor, please…” My hands reached backward to grasp his hard thighs, pulling him closer to me. I wanted every part of him on my skin. He intoxicated me with his words and lips.

In one smooth movement, he lifted the musical instrument and threw it to the carpet, where it crashed with a discordant, angry clang.

Viktor grabbed my hips and twisted me to face him then dropped to his knees, staring up with lust and wonder on his face. His fingers skimmed the tops of my jeggings. “May I?”

Hot blood spurted in my veins, and I couldn’t take my eyes from those puffy, soft lips, imaging them—

“I need an answer, Love. I won’t do anything without your permission.”

Nodding, I could only breathe as the jeggings slid down and his tongue slid up my thigh, tracing a blazing, sensual path higher and higher.

I shuddered with anticipation.