Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) (31 page)

Using his hold as leverage, he began a slow rocking motion, up and back, up and back. Sage’s legs were spread wide, and with every tug forward, her pelvis rode the ridge of his stiff cock, pressing so hard he swore he could feel her engorged clit through her underwear and his light cotton dress pants. Her retreat left him desperate for the next glide, the next kiss, the next moment, and the next after that. “Sage…God, yes.”

He tilted her away from him and slid his mouth down the creamy skin of her neck to those breasts he couldn’t get enough of. “I love you, baby,” he said into her skin, then clamped down around one rigid nipple.

He bit her lightly, and that was all it took—Sage bucked up, breaking apart with a cry that shot straight to his straining cock and pulled his climax from the very depths of his body. When the last spasm had wrung his balls dry, he realized Sage was sprawled over him like a rag doll, boneless and pliant. And smiling.

He smiled back.

Still in his position by the other deck chair, Knight barked lightly, seeking attention. Hank eyed the shepherd. “I’m not the only one who loves you,” he told Sage.

“You think?” She leaned over the side of the chair, and Knight came immediately, head lifted to demand more petting. “Yeah, I think maybe it might be a little bit of that.”

“What else could it be?”

Sage sent him a
duh
look. “Bear claws.”

“Right.”

He laughed, the echo of Alice’s words filling his ears.

We still have laughter.

And love.

Walking inside the hallowed halls of the infamous nightclub, Once, was a bit like walking into Le Cordon Bleu during her first trip to Paris. Everyone in LA—and most people beyond—had heard of the trendy club and concert venue, and the man who owned it. Damien Adams had been LA’s favorite bachelor for several years before he’d married Harley Fisher, bass player for the indie rock band Aftershock. Their wedding had been featured above the fold of the
LA Times
’s entertainment section despite the fact that it had taken place in Atlanta. Meeting Damien wasn’t as nerve-racking as meeting his wife, though. Hank had known her way back when, a fact Sage tried not to dwell on as the pretty woman with candy-striped hair approached her.

“You have got to be Sage,” Harley said. Without waiting for a reply, she pulled Sage into a hug. Sage used the moment to hide her utter dismay at the mix of sophistication and raw sexuality the woman exuded. No wonder Hank had, in his words, “had a crush” on her. Sage was pretty certain she had a crush, and she didn’t even swing that way, for goodness’ sake.

Harley drew back, took one look at Sage’s expression, and broke into fits of laughter.

Am I drooling?

A handsome man she didn’t recognize walked up beside Harley and shook his head, his smile rueful. “Don’t worry,
querida
. It’s all the hormones running rampant in her system. She’s gone
loco
since Damien Junior made an arrival on the scene.”

The last word was cut off with an
oomph
as Harley backhanded the man in the stomach. “No hormone comments, Marc, if you don’t want yours cut off permanently.”

Beautiful and vicious. Sage grinned.

“Don’t mind him.” Harley patted the small mound of a baby bump beneath her shirt. “He’s just jealous because I’m still more beautiful than him.”

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Marc dared. He extended a hand to Sage. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lyndsey. I’m Marc Ellis, general manager here at Once.”

Sage shook hands with him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hank has talked nonstop about you all week,” Harley was saying. “I was beginning to wonder if he’d made you up, but I know you run your own business—and exactly how hard that makes traveling.”

If Sage remembered correctly, Damien had clubs in three different cities across the US. Harley probably understood very well then. Sage had come up last week with Hank, but he’d been immersed almost immediately in details and practices for the concert. She’d stayed only one day, to visit with Alice and Deirdre, who were working to finalize some of the details of Barry’s estate before Alice came home; then Sage had returned to Citrus Pointe. There were people to help Merry now, but it was still difficult running the market, and Sage hadn’t wanted to leave her for longer.

She’d managed one more thing while in LA last week, a surprise for Hank. She planned to reveal it to him later tonight, after the concert. The thought of his reaction—and how she’d be revealing it to him—started her nerves back up.

Can’t think about that now. Get through the concert first. It’s an important night for Hank.

Harley broke into Sage’s self-tongue lashing by taking her hand to lead her away from Marc. “So did you happen to bring any of those bear claws Hank talks about like they came down from heaven? Because I’d pay good money for sweets right about now. Think mail order would work for those?”

Sage couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and she didn’t bother trying, just let Harley chatter on as they crossed the club’s main floor. It took about half the length for Sage to realize Harley wasn’t talking just to talk—the woman was nervous. Which was laughable. She had nothing whatsoever to worry about. She was fantastic. If anyone should worry, it would be Sage.

Taking a chance, Sage put a hand on the other woman’s arm. “Harley.”

Harley ground to a halt, physically and verbally. A sheepish smile took over her mouth. “Sorry. It’s just”—she waved a hand in the air—“I always knew whoever hooked Hank would be a very special woman, and, well…look at you. I mean, you’re perfect.”

Sage had to be gaping. Had to be. She quickly closed her mouth. “Perfect is not a word I’d apply to myself, ever.”

That earned a laugh. “Would any of us?” Harley urged Sage forward with a slender arm around her waist. “Hank has been a good friend to me for a lot of years. I can’t tell you how it feels to see him so happy.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a loud whisper. “And obsessed, did I mention obsessed? That’s a very good thing.”

“What secrets are you telling, Harley?” Hank called as they entered the concert hall. His voice echoed off the walls of the massive space, emphasizing the room’s proportions and the stern tone of Hank’s words. His expression, however, was indulgent as he glanced at the pretty woman leading Sage inside.

“Every secret I can think of—you should know that by now. We women need all the inside knowledge we can get.”

“Is that so?”

He still hadn’t looked at Sage. Her heart sped up, waiting, hoping. When the bright hazel of his eyes finally settled on her, the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped in a rush. “Hank.”

He held his hand out. “Come here, baby.”

That tone. It was nothing like the one he’d used with Harley, nothing. It held a note of secrets, of intimacy just between the two of them. Those secrets were echoed in his eyes. She took the time to absorb it, revel in it, even as his command pulled her forward, feet moving of their own accord until she was close enough for Hank to wrap her up in those massive arms that felt like nothing else in the world.

She tucked her head against his breastbone. “I missed you.”

He didn’t respond with words; he responded with his mouth. His kiss took her over, tongue pushing inside, filling her mouth and her heart both. Even when he pulled back, his hand at her nape held her close.

“Wow!”

Sage jerked at Harley’s interruption, her eyes rounding up at Hank. He grinned. “Exactly.”

A giggle spilled over like the froth of champagne. Maybe she was getting poetic after all this time living with a songwriter.

Hank cupped her face, his thumb stroking across her cheekbone like he couldn’t get enough of touching her. “So, you wanna stick around for the sound check, or do you want to be surprised?”

She considered that. She’d heard most of the new songs he’d written, but there were a couple he was keeping as surprises. “I think I’ll wait. I’d like to have the concert experience. I’ve never seen you in concert before.” Something she would definitely remedy the next time Weekend went on tour.

“Okay then, surprise it is.” Hank released her with seeming reluctance. “Harley, think you can find some mischief for you and Sage to get into?”

Harley’s snort said it all, but she followed up with, “Of course!”

Hank leaned close to whisper in Sage’s ear, “Watch her. She’ll be teaching you all the ways you can disobey me before the night’s over.”

“Sounds fun,” Sage whispered back.

Hank’s free hand cupped her ass cheek, his palm so big it covered one side completely. He squeezed down, a playful warning in his eyes. “I think so too.”

A gentle push sent her off with Harley, who took her straight to the bar. By the time the doors opened for the limited audience to take their seats, Sage was relaxed just enough not to be nervous when V. led her to the front row.

V. had billed the concert as an “intimate acoustic evening with Hank Nash.” The concert hall would seat three hundred, but only half that many tickets had been sold to keep with the
intimate
part of tonight. If a hundred and fifty people could be called intimate, but considering Hank had played to fifty times that, Sage guessed the viewpoint was relative.

The stage had been kept minimalist too, just Hank and his guitars and a high leather padded bench with no arms. Sage never did figure out where the microphones were, but she could see an earpiece she assumed was giving Hank feedback from the sound booth above their heads.

All the missing bells and whistles didn’t deter the crowd. From the moment Hank walked onstage, they were eating up every note, every word. So was Sage. Seeing Hank play and sing at home on the window seat in the kitchen was one thing; seeing the power he radiated onstage was another. This was the man who had doubted he could be a Dom? If she hadn’t been able to see it before, she would now. He controlled the audience effortlessly, whether he was jamming out on an old rock classic or crooning about the night sky in a woman’s eyes. Sage figured some of those lyrics were about her—she was just thankful none of them were an ode to her nipples.

Two hours passed without notice. It was only when Hank stopped to down an entire bottle of water that she realized the time. Sadness twinged in her chest when he picked his guitar back up and smiled at the audience.

“One last song?”

People booed and hissed, but good-naturedly; they’d gotten their money’s worth and more. Sage had seen concerts before, but when V. had said people liked Hank, and not just for his skill on a bass, she saw what he meant now. He had a way with people that couldn’t be taught. And a talent that couldn’t be duplicated.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t want it to end either. You guys have been awesome guinea pigs tonight.” Hank grinned. “Have you enjoyed this just a little, maybe?”

A chorus of yeses echoed through the hall.

“Good. Great.” Hank adjusted a tuning key on the head of his guitar. “One more?”

When the chaos settled into quiet, Hank narrowed his eyes a bit and seemed to search the edge of the audience until his gaze came to rest on her. His fingers plucked the strings, one at a time, then two, the sounds creating a delicate melody that ran counterpoint to the heat his eyes bathed her in. He was playing for an audience, but in that moment, only the two of them were in the room.

A slight hush interrupted the music, and then he started to sing.

Pleasure and pain

Beauty in surrender

Looking back, how could I ever resist it?

Hunger so deep

It has to last forever

You found the me I never knew existed.

Sage brought her fingers up to her mouth, desperate to keep her tears back, to hide the overwhelming emotion his words evoked deep inside, where no one else could see. He could see, though; she knew by the way the green of his eyes darkened until the hazel was closer to brown. They did that when he got serious, when he felt something intensely. They’d looked like that when he’d fought with Kevin, when he’d told her she was the perfect sub. When he’d sung for Alice in the field behind the market.

And now for her. Good God, what had she done to deserve a man like this?

When Hank’s voice and guitar whispered off into silence, there was only one response, and everyone in that room knew it: a standing ovation. The power of the music brought them all to their feet. It took a long time for the whistles and catcalls, the clapping to finally settle. Sage watched Hank through it all, the exultation on his face. He’d pushed his creativity just like he’d pushed his perception of himself, his needs, his beliefs about the past—and accomplished so much more than he’d probably thought possible. He’d accomplished…magic, and they all felt it. He deserved far more than a simple standing ovation, so much more.

“You all liked that, didn’t you?” he asked when things finally settled. “How would you like to meet the woman who inspired it?”

A jolt went through Sage, the feeling magnified when an uproar of demand answered Hank’s question. She looked to the stage, to Hank, shaking her head helplessly at the determined look on his face.