Page 24 of The Deviation
I shouldn’t have come.
The street outside Johnny’s townhouse complex is quiet. Not surprising, given it’s past one in the morning. I pulled up to the kerb at least five minutes ago, but I’ve been too busy arguing with myself over why I’m here to get out of the car.
Nothing about tonight has gone the way I’d planned. After Genevieve left me alone in the boardroom with the threat of unemployment buzzing in my head, I’d made a beeline for my laptop and gone to the Upcoming Events page on Fifth Circle’s website. The notice about tonight’s gig at one of their local haunts just about had me weeping with relief. It seemed like fate. All I needed to do was show up and convince them to give me a shot.
By the time I arrived at the pub, it was all planned out in my mind. I’d approach Gavin and Oz first. We’d never met, so I still had a chance to make a good impression with them. When Johnny joined us, I would greet him warmly but keep a professional distance and say absolutely nothing about our prior meeting. By the time Ned arrived, I would have the other three band members in my pocket, and I’d be able to concentrate on charming their lead singer. Away from the pressure of a festival debut, I’d imagined him open to all the opportunities working with me could provide. I’d have the papers signed by the end of the night.
The whole thing was a pipe dream, of course, but I’d decided contrived confidence would get me further than fear andbegging. It didn’t matter. The meeting came to naught, anyway. Or so I’d thought, until Johnny reached out.
This visit is strictly business. Johnny made that clear in his text. An address, a singleJ. Nothing more. It was hardly an invitation to hookup. Yes, I’d recognised the hunger in his eyes earlier tonight when he saw me waiting in the car park. I’d felt the sparks zinging between us. But his frustration when Ned refused to listen to my offer overshadowed everything else. He’s keen to move the band forwards, I’m certain of it, and he knows I can help.
That’s why he sent the text. That’s why I’m here. Because we both want the same thing: Fifth Circle, signed on the dotted line.
Fortified by my own logic, I get out of the car and stride up to Johnny’s front door. I haven’t finished knocking when it swings open.
Johnny’s wearing nothing but a pair of worn, low-slung jeans. His feet are bare, his dark hair wet and curling at the ends. Water droplets cling to the sparse covering of hair on his chest, looking for any excuse to trickle downwards over his abs.
Christ. I stride past him, careful not to touch. “You need to put a shirt on.”
He closes the door. The lock engages with a quiet snick. “Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
His living room is small, but functional. A lone couch. Coffee table. Television. It’s the home of a bachelor who’d rather be elsewhere.
Johnny ambles over to invade my personal space. The warm, freshly showered scent of him creeps into my nostrils, causing me to inhale, but I don’t shy away from his closeness. He’s in a dangerous mood. If I show weakness, he may pounce.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks, gesturing with the tumbler that dangles from the fingers of his right hand.
“Sure.” It’s a terrible idea, but at the moment I’ll say yes to anything if it will put some distance between us. He withdraws to the kitchen, and I suck in a lungful of oxygen. It doesn’t help. His presence lingers in every square inch of air. It strokes my insides, burrowing into my cells and setting them on fire.
This is not the meeting I expected. We’re supposed to talk about Ned and how we can be allies in my bid to win him over. This isn’t supposed to be a seduction, and I am definitely not supposed to be gagging for it.
Stalking after him, I plant myself in the entrance to the kitchen and glare at the lines of his muscular back. “Why am I here, Johnny?” The clipped words imply irritation, though the truth is probably closer to lustful vexation.
He turns, smirking as he delivers the generous glass of scotch to my hand. “Because you can’t stop thinking about me.”
My spine stiffens at his knowing drawl. I snatch the drink before escaping back to the living room. It has more room for pacing and I’m unsure what he’ll do if I stay still. “I mean, why did you ask me to come here tonight?”
He drains his glass as he returns. Dumping it on the coffee table, he steps into the path I’m wearing through his carpet. I come to an abrupt halt to prevent a head-on collision. His hands lift to cup my face, the calloused fingertips dragging over my cheekbones. The deep brown eyes drink me in, and his mouth is a breath away from mine. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says in a rough whisper.
There’s no smirk this time. Only need and heat and passion. “I wonder where you are, constantly. What you’re doing. How you taste.” His body crowds mine. Our hips brush together and, holy hell, we’re both hard as nails. This man is lightning in my veins. The way I want him hurts, and I glory in the sharpness of the need. “I imagine you masturbating to the thought of me,” he whispers, “every time I masturbate to the thought of you.”
“Johnny.” The name is a groan, dragged all the way from my throbbing cock and up through my vocal cords. “We can’t do this.”
“Sure we can.” His head dips, and I shiver as his lips brush my throat. “I’ll show you.” His hands are on my hips now, tugging me more firmly against him. His mouth chases mine but I turn my head, my eyes drifting closed.
“I need…” My words falter as he rocks his hips, rubbing his erection against mine.
One hand threads through my hair. Taking it in a firm grip, he angles my face back towards his. His panting breath fills my open mouth. “I need you, too.” Then he’s kissing me. His tongue in my mouth. His body flush against mine.
God help me, I kiss him back. Even as I force myself to stay still, my arms to remain at my sides, I can’t resist losing myself for precious moments in his kiss, in the scotch and temptation of him.
When a needful moan reverberates from my throat to his lips, he withdraws far enough to smile at me. It’s the smile that shocks me back to my senses. Lifting one hand to his chest, I force myself to push him away.
“No, Johnny.” We stand there staring at each other, our chests heaving. “I need Fifth Circle. I need to sign a band, and my boss has decided it has to be your band.” His smile dies and he straightens away from my touch. “If I don’t sign you to Rush, I lose my job. If my boss finds out what’s going on between us, I lose my job.” The ramifications of my actions slam into me, and I drain the glass of scotch I’m still holding before putting it beside his. “I can’t risk my job. Not for anything.”
Not for you.The unspoken words hang between us.
His gaze hardens and a bitter grimace curls his lips. “In that case, we’re both shit out of luck.” Picking up the empty glasses,he storms back towards the kitchen. “There may not even be a band anymore.”