Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5 (8 page)

Until he bent and kissed the stuffing out of me, tongue swirling masterfully, pure, hot sensation. I squeaked but he distracted me by rubbing his muscled chest into my palms. My fingers tightened compulsively. The man’s pecs were sauna rocks set to steaming. My fear melted away, leaving only need.

I stretched up, kissed him back.

He gripped me tighter, practically fusing me with his burning body, and rocked his pelvis into me. His hips were the blacksmith’s hammer and mine the anvil, sparking red-hot lust between. And oh, what a fine, large sword was developing.

I clutched his jacket, pulled him toward my room. We’d fall into a tangled heap on my bed. I’d be eager and open and suck him in for some mind-blowing sex.

As if he read my mind, Glynn purred, “Ah, Junior. This is what filled my dreams last night. You, all warm and wet and ready for me. It seems I have been waiting a lifetime to make love to you.”

Okay, that finally broke through the red haze of my mind.

Sex, sure, in small doses. But making
love
? Lovemaking led to neglect of duty, which led to regret. To rainbow dreams shattered. I had been a dutiful daughter for five years, and I was just on the verge of having it all, setting my parents up while fulfilling my dreams. I was
not
getting distracted now.

I jerked away. And stumbled, again nearly sailing through the joists.

Again Glynn caught me, but this time he set me away from him, his eyes violet-blue slits between black lashes. “What’s wrong,
babi
?” His voice sounded like maybe he was insulted and I wondered if that startling color of his eyes signaled strong emotion.

Time for “distract with any truth that was not The Truth”—a Wurstspeicher Haus Sales Maneuver, for those of you keeping score at home. “I don’t want to be late again. For rehearsal.”

“Oh?”

“See, if I do good, when the company goes to Broadway, I go with. So I have to do good.”

His eyes stayed narrow a moment longer, almost glittering. Then he nodded and held his hand toward my room, indicating I should go first.

I stared for a moment at that long-fingered hand, as sexy as his honed jaw and talented mouth. “But you knew that, right? If Mishela goes, you’re going too.”

“I have other obligations.” He flexed his fingers, a reminder that he was waiting for me to lead the way.

His long, strong fingers flexing, flexing between my thighs… I swallowed hard and went, but I kept my gaze glued to my feet the whole way. Not to avoid tripping. To avoid sexy
hands
. “Aren’t you going to New York?”

“I’m not.”

“Why not?” My instruments were where I left them after practicing at lunch. Normally I put them away, but there had been an emergency in the shop. A sausage emergency, now there’s an oxymoron. “Mishela needs a bodyguard for little Meiers Corners but she doesn’t need one in New York?”

“It would take too long to explain.”

“I have to pack up. You have time.” I disassembled instruments, mindful of Glynn with each joint. Stupid hands.

“New York is a different…territory, for want of a better word. Elias will hire a bodyguard who is native to the area, to avoid conflict. What’s all this?” He came into my room to point at my African collage—Pyramids, the Sahara and Mt. Kilimanjaro.

“Places I want to visit.” I knew he was trying to distract me, but I’d barely managed to stop thinking about sexy, strong hands, and now in this tight space I couldn’t avoid the heat of his big body, overwhelming the cool spring evening. Or his scent, masculine and leather-clad, mingling intriguingly with the light smell of new-mown grass. It made me think of laying him down in a field, climbing on top, snagging my thong out of the way and…stuff me into sheep guts and boil me, I was such a sausage-brain. I slammed the sax case shut and picked it up.

Or tried to. Somehow Glynn was there, shouldering me aside and snaring the handle in his own big strong hand. “You can carry the little ones,
babi.
”

I tried to think of something to say to take my mind off his fucking hands. Ooh, fucking hands rubbing between my… I cleared my throat. “
Babi
. What language is that?”

“Welsh.”

Which explained the lovely lilt to his words.

We managed to make it downstairs without me jumping his big, hot…
damn
or his lovely, strong…
fuck
. A limo awaited us at the curb. I’d never ridden in one before and wanted to savor the experience, but Glynn hustled me in next to Mishela, barely pausing to toss my sax in before sliding across from us and slamming the door.

I frowned. “What’s that smell?”

Mishela quirked a smile. “Hello to you too, Junior.”

“Hi. Don’t you smell that? Something’s burning.”

“Is it?” She blinked big green eyes, and her eyebrows lifted like she was the most truthful being in the world. I knew it as a Sales Maneuver. Maybe actors had Truths and Maneuvers too. I wondered if they used different numbers.

The limo turned in to the underground parking structure and dropped us off on B1 (I didn’t see who was driving but I did catch
Hybrid
on the back of the limo…yeah, environmentally conscious extreme consumption). From there, we trotted upstairs. With Glynn carrying the sax, we made good time, despite my still-wet thong hitching every other stride. He wasn’t just decorative but useful. If a guy like that were mine…dammit, Queen Bess was wrong. The problem hadn’t gone away, it had gotten worse—and I still had no idea what to do about it.

The nice thing about being dedicated to your work is that you can put awkward questions on hold to do the job. Mishela peeled off to go to the dressing rooms. Since Glynn had my sax, he continued alone with me, but I was confident that my professionalism would not let me trip him and grind his naked hips into the plush new carpet.

Mostly confident.

He held the house door open for me. I said a professional thanks and slid by him with a professional foot of airspace. I shivered at his body heat, but dammit, it was a professional shiver.

The moment Julian Emerson saw Glynn, he set down his cello and jumped to his feet. Tucking my sax next to the pit, Glynn took off with Julian. Huh. Blue-blood lawyer and Welsh bodyguard, BFFs? That might explain why Glynn had Julian’s limo, but I wondered why Julian had warned me to be careful around Glynn if they were friends.

But hey, maybe here was the secret to dialing down my attraction to Glynn. Maybe Nixie and Julian had the goods on him, some personal wart since the whole knifey, teeth-picking thing hadn’t worked out. Grilling was in order. After assembling my sax, I grabbed my gig bag and slid into the chair next to Nixie, who was already warming up. “So we went out with Glynn and Mishela last night and didn’t explode or catch any communicable disease.”

“Sad for you,” Nixie said around her clarinet mouthpiece. Blowing a couple more notes that squeaked like fingernails on chalkboard, she grimaced and yanked off the reed, slid it into its case and pulled out a new one.

“Julian warned me off Glynn too. What is it with you guys, anyway? Mishela’s perfectly nice. And Glynn…” Well, Glynn was Glynn.

“So nothing happened? ” She stuck the new reed in her mouth. “Nothing at all?” The reed wobbled like a sucker as she spoke.

Besides wolf-dogs and Rocky’s strange reaction? “What counts as nothing?”

Nixie sucked on her reed a long time, seriously thinking, which worried me. I’d wanted a wart, but Nixie doing serious meant a plague.

Finally she drew a breath. “Knowing how dedicated you are to your folks, I shouldn’t worry. But if there’s even a chance of you and Glynn coupling up, you need the 4-1-1. He’s not what you think, Junior. He’s a—”

Clapping hands cut her off. “Places, people.”

Hot pink, lime green and saffron yellow sashayed onto the stage, making my eyes water. Director Dumas. He called, “Places for warm-up. Last night was a disaster, so we’re going to do mirrors. Everyone up-up-up.” He glared into the pit. “Including musicians.”

Takashi waved his baton as if it could parry Dumas. “We need to run the overture and entr’acte.”

“Later. Get your asses onstage for the warm-up. Stage crew.” Dumas whirled, waved to the hesitating, black-clad figures. “Everyone means ev-ry-one.”

Mishela glided into view in the wings, Dorothy braids swaying. Glynn was a dark, faithful shadow behind her. Near her, Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man also poked their heads around the side curtains.

“Everyone! Actors, crew, musicians. Now-now-now, what are you waiting for? Yes, even you stars.” Dumas pointed at Dorothy and her companions.

Scarecrow shrugged his bony shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

“Parents and sitters too. You, skulking there.” Dumas jerked two fingers at Glynn. “Let’s go!”

Glynn edged back into the wings, ready to bolt. Smart boy. Acting exercises held as much appeal as flossing with barbed wire.

Dumas simply strode into the curtain legs, latched on to Glynn and pulled. The director was surprisingly forceful, but Glynn was a Welsh mountain, obstinately not going anywhere.

Until Mishela gave him a pleading look. Glowering, Glynn came.

Whoa. She wasn’t the boss of him. Which meant not only did he not pick his teeth with a knife, he was the rare male who set aside his own desires just to be nice.

A primitive need flared in me, an elemental
me want
.

Glynn’s big, dangerous body hit a pool of light. Dumas’s glare shattered into an agog stare. I sympathized. No matter how many times I saw that man candy, I went into hyperglycemic shock too.
 

But here was an opportunity marked obvious. I’d never want to throw anyone to the sharks, but if Glynn had diverted Dumbass, I was taking advantage of it. I hunkered down, disaster narrowly averted. Julian and Nixie exchanged a relieved glance.

Until— “Musishuns up here.
Nowsh
.” Dumbass’s diction was a little off, but drool will do that.

With a sigh, Takashi clicked baton onto stand. “We’ll get done sooner if we cooperate.” He gave us all a look of apology. “Please?”

Grumbling, we moved out like nonflossers lining up for Jill “The Drill” Schmerz (MC dental hygienist and WWII reenactment enthusiast), nobody wanting to be first. Takashi grabbed my elbow and marched me to the stage. He certainly would be successful, doing what needed to be done. Ass hat.

“Everyone pair up. Quickly now.” Dumas tried to tug Glynn onto center stage, but Glynn was doing his Welsh mountain thing again. He didn’t move an inch, which wasn’t surprising considering he probably had a good fifty pounds of pure muscle on Dumas. Dumas glared, found himself glaring at strong throat, shifted up.

I saw the exact instant Dumas intercepted Glynn’s sapphire Scowl of Dismemberment. Dumas fell back a step. “You then.” He pointed indiscriminately, his eyes still locked on Glynn. “You, come here.”

Unfortunately, he pointed straight at me.

I pretended I hadn’t seen his Judas finger, but Takashi oh-so-helpfully shoved me forward. Somebody was
so
getting a gumwad under his stand at break.

But Business Truth #3 is “If you can’t run, gut it out”. I went.

Dumas snatched my wrist, twirled me and shoved me ass-end into Glynn. I stumbled, would have fallen had not Glynn caught me—again. I blushed at how clumsy I was around this hard, sexy male, both tongue and feet. At least this time he grabbed waist, which was less intimate than breasts.

Or so I thought until my butt landed against his hips and his big, warm hand splayed over my stomach, covering my
whole
stomach. A bright bolt of need shot through me.

With a clap of hands, Dumas spun away. “Pair up, pair up.” He pranced center stage, heading for Mishela.

“Mine!” Gollum-like Steve darted in and grabbed for her wrist.

Glynn growled, low and not quite human, eerily like the animal last night. Pressed to him, I felt him tense to leap. Big, muscular Glynn, stick-thin Steve. This would be bad.

But before Glynn could jump, Julian Emerson seized Mishela’s wrist out from under Steve’s bony fingers. Julian drew her to the slim guy in patched jeans and a straw hat who was the Scarecrow, Jon Wise. Jon smiled adoringly at her.

Steve pouted.

Behind me, Glynn tensed more. He didn’t seem to like the idea of Mishela with Jon either. I tried to diffuse the situation. “Jon’s a star. Besides, how much trouble can he cause in the middle of a crowd?”

Glynn only growled, real animal this time. It jacked me straight, which rubbed my bottom against him. His growl cut off as he jacked straight too. And something else jacked stiff.

I’m not totally inexperienced, so I recognized the blooming in his jeans. What I didn’t recognize was the size. What, did he have a pneumatic XL sock? An inflatable, deluxe rubber raft? I deliberately tried to come up with the least arousing comparisons I could because, sweet lord, Glynn’s XL—make that XXL—nestled warm and snug into my bottom like coming home.

Speaking of coming home…he rubbed his cheek against my hair and murmured, “You’re right,
babi
. Sometimes I become too distrustful. Thank you.” He curled close.

I leaned automatically into his warmth. If I had the comfort of this strong male to come home to every night, it might almost be worth giving up dreams…ring me up as produce. Warts, picking teeth, professional distance, none of it seemed to work with him. I had to get away—