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CHAPTER FOUR

Jade

Electricity fills the air in the car.

I can’t breathe when he looks at me, but I can’t look away.

He’s mesmerizing, larger than life.

And yet, I sense a touch of vulnerability under the cranky exterior.

Despite what he says, my gut tells me he is a good guy. Maybe rough around the edges, and definitely closed off, but there’s a gentleman beneath the gruff facade. Of course, there’s also a ton of chemistry between us. And no mistaking the fact that he’s staring at me like he wants to have me for dessert.

“I’m sure you know my story,” he says after a moment.

“I know what the press put out there but I’ve been around enough to know that’s probably only half the truth.”

He snorts. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not untouched by the pitfalls of the media.”

Our eyes meet and he nods. “None of us are. But the last two years have been rougher than any other time since I started playing rock and roll.”

“I’m sorry.” I put a hand on his forearm. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. But we don’t have to talk about that unless you want to.”

He sighs, is quiet for a long moment then says, so softly I can barely hear it, “Talking about the past just rips the scab off wounds that take a long time to heal.”

My heart squeezes. “Then tell me about the present.”

His blue eyes gentle. “There isn’t a whole lot going on in the present. I have a goddaughter I spend a lot of time with. She’s three. Her name is Frankie. Her mom is my best friend’s sister, and the dad is a deadbeat, so the four of us—me and my buddies Dash, Banks, and Atlas—have essentially stepped into the role.”

“That’s wonderful,” I say. “So instead of having one not-so-great dad, she’s got four amazing uncles. She sounds like a lucky little girl.”

The obvious love on his face for his niece has my heart squeezing again. “I’d like to think so. I’m teaching her to play guitar. It’s about the cutest thing you’ll ever see.” He hesitates. “Want to see a video?”

“Absolutely.”

He opens his phone and soon I’m laughing along with him as a delightful little girl with dark curls plays ‘Old MacDonald’ and ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.’

“She’s good,” I say. “There’s a lot of potential there.”

“Yeah. She’s a natural.”

“She reminds me of me. I started young too. And I couldn’t get enough. Guitar, piano, saxophone…I even tried the trumpet in marching band in high school.”

“That’s something I’d pay to see,” he says, chuckling.

“It was short-lived, thankfully. I quit after freshman year and joined jazz band instead.”

“Sounds better than standing outside in the August heat in Tennessee.’

“You got that right—oh, we’re here.”

We’re pulling through the gate at Rico’s house, and there are only a handful of cars outside.

“This is Rico Galagos, right?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation. I’ve never met him.”

“He’s a good guy. One of those people I think I can trust to be in my inner circle.”

“Good to know.”

My driver, John, pulls to a stop and then gets out and opens the door for me. He helps me out of the car, and Royal is right behind me. My pulse speeds. I’m acutely aware of his closeness, and I can’t help but shiver when he casually puts his hand at the small of my back as we walk toward the entrance.

This is what it feels like to be Royal Ewing’s center of attention.

I don’t know how long it’s going to last, but it’s magical. Far beyond anything I could have imagined in my fantasies.

“There she is—the lady of the hour!” Rico is short and slight but what he lacks in physicality he makes up for in personality. He has a loud, booming voice and a huge, infectious smile.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.” Rico’s husband, Marcel, has a more subdued greeting but pulls me in for a warm hug. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” I hug him back. “Guys, this is?—”

“Royal Ewing.” Rico doesn’t hesitate to hold out his hand. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for allowing me to be an uninvited guest.” Royal is smooth as he shifts the handshake to his left hand—as if he’s done this a thousand times—and my heart breaks a little. I don’t know the extent of his injury, but from what I’ve read, they almost had to amputate. He’s lucky to have the hand, much less any use of it.

It has to be devastating for a guitar player—one of the best guitarists in the world—to lose not just his ability to play, but his career.

I have so many questions, but he’ll tell me when and if he’s ready.

I don’t want to push him.

“Any time,” Rico says. “I’m a big fan.” Royal seems at ease now, as if he’s attended parties like this a million times.

He probably has.

“Appreciate that.”

More introductions are made and then Rico points. “Everyone has gathered out back by the pool. There’s food and champagne. We’ll do a toast later, but in the meantime, make yourselves at home.”

“Thank you.” I slide my hand through Royal’s left arm and whisper, “I’m starving. I didn’t eat all day to make sure I looked as good as possible in that dress.”

“Doesn’t matter how much you eat—you’d still look drop dead gorgeous no matter what you’re wearing.”

A flush tinges my skin but a wave of happiness hits me at the same time.

When was the last time I felt so comfortable on a date?

Even if it’s not a real date, he practically saw me naked in the car.

And as far as I’m concerned, that’s close enough.

There’s a huge spread of food on a row of tables set up outside, and I sigh happily.

“Shrimp cocktail,” I murmur. “And caviar.”

“This is quite a feast,” Royal says.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with the situation with his injured hand, because I notice that he hasn’t grabbed a plate, but I figure if I treat it like it’s not a big deal then it won’t be. I pile some shrimp on my dish and glance at him. “You want to share with me?”

“Sure.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

I take a little of everything—except the shrimp. I take a lot of that. Then I proffer the dish to Royal. “You carry this while I get us two glasses of champagne.”

“Perfect.” There are too many emotions lurking in the depths of his blue eyes for me to decipher, but it’s hard to miss the gratitude.

We settle on a small loveseat near the fire pit and, once again, I’m keenly aware of his nearness. The warmth of his body next to mine. How much I’m enjoying his company.

I meet lots of attractive, interesting men, but they seem to only want one thing from me.

Royal is in a class of his own.

I’ve never wanted to touch someone quite this badly.

Just breathing the same air as him feels incredibly intimate.

“Shrimp?” I ask, holding up the one I’ve just dipped in cocktail sauce.

He opens his mouth and I pop it inside, but before I can pull my hand free, he closes his lips around my fingers, lightly sucking them in.

His eyes don’t leave mine.

And all I can do is stare into his handsome face.

He’s rugged and chiseled and…powerful. That’s the only word that comes to mind. It’s not a physical attribute—though he’s certainly masculine—so much as an aura. He exudes sex and raw virility, and I can’t tear my eyes away as he slowly sucks the remnants of the cocktail sauce off my fingers.

“Delicious,” he says in a gruff voice.

I might have licked my lips.

I can’t be sure because I’m a little starstruck.

Mesmerized.

Smitten.

Good grief, I’m turning into a teenage girl.

The way he looks at me is so hot I can’t seem to help myself.

“M-more?” I whisper in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.

“Absolutely.” His blue eyes turn a shade of navy I’ve never seen before and I can barely remember where the dish of shrimp is.

Because I’m desperate for more contact.

And he doesn’t disappoint.

This time, his lips are firmer, sucking harder, and I’m captivated.

What would it feel like if that was my?—

I squirm just thinking about it.

“My turn,” he says, reaching for a piece of shrimp and dipping it in the cocktail sauce.

My mouth opens before I can think about what I’m doing, and I close my lips around his fingers.

This is ridiculously erotic.

Have I ever sucked a man’s fingers before?

It doesn’t matter because nothing could be sexier than this.

This moment.

This man.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers away.

I can’t seem to think of a response, so I reach out and put my hand on the side of his face, gently rubbing my thumb along the chiseled jaw and cheekbones.

“I’m really glad you came tonight,” I say quietly.

“Me too.”

“I love your voice…”

He almost smiles.

Almost .