Friday Night With Beethoven (4/4)

"No, Ms. M. It's not a game at all."

"But you said it was a game. You said some games are worth playing--"

Derek's lips descended on hers, soft and sure and full of heat.

So much heat.

His mouth molded to hers, the warmth of him melting her, making her pliant under the seeking pressure of his lips. Layla didn't know a kiss could feel like this, could taste like this.

She swiped her tongue across the seam of Derek's lips, but he pulled away to singe her with those flame-blue eyes. Instinctively Layla followed, sliding her hand around the back of his neck. She wasn't ready for this moment to be over.

Derek's nostrils flared as he brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. When he spoke, his voice had a huskiness that wasn't there before. It raked over her, stirring the coals in her belly and filling her with a delicious ache that made her squeeze her thighs together.

"You're amazing, Ms. M."

Well, maybe he said this wasn't a game, but she was going to play it anyway. Pretend, just like the other day.

Layla wanted to pretend that she was someone else. Someone who acted on impulse, who always made out with gorgeous men in her free time. Someone who got her kiss from her superstar, one way or another.

It had to be pretend. She couldn't do this if it were real.

She held on to Derek's gaze as she nipped at the pad of his thumb, squeezing the flesh between her teeth before tracing the tip of her tongue around the spot she'd just bitten.

"Damn, Ms. M." He sucked in a breath, his eyes following the path of her tongue. "How am I supposed to treat you with respect when you do something like that."

"I thought you wanted to improve the shitty day I've been having." Layla nibbled the tip of his thumb again, prompting him to groan softly in response. Wow. She was more convincing at this whole vixen thing than she thought she'd be.

He hesitated, and for a moment she though he was going to refuse her, that she'd just made a major fool of herself by assuming that because he undoubtedly kissed lots of women, he'd want to kiss her, too.

Disappointment pooled in her chest. Stupid, stupid Layla. You should know better than to want something, than imagining things could go your way for just once in your fucking life without it having to do with someone feeling sorry for you.

She dropped her hands to the bench and scooted away from him, turning her face so he wouldn't see the embarrassed flush painting her cheeks. "Forget it. I don't want pity, remember. And that includes a pity kiss. I'm such an idiot."

"Pity?" Derek hauled her against him, covering her mouth with his and swallowing her retort as it formed on her tongue.

Layla stiffened, but the hunger she tasted on his lips convinced her to surrender, to give in to her need to get lost in the fantasy he offered simply by appearing in her life, courtesy of a thumbtack.

Her breath hitched when he stroked her jaw then brushed her hair out of the way so he could trace his fingers down the curve of her neck, coaxing her to tilt her head so he could deepen his kiss. She almost moaned remembering how those same fingers had commanded the sound of the piano only moments before.

When he broke the kiss just long enough to say her name, a desperate plea against her parted lips, she realized she hadn't almost moaned. She'd really moaned. And judging by the way he crushed her to him, his tongue sweeping through her mouth and robbing her of her senses, he'd really liked it.

Layla clung to his shirt, fisting the soft cotton over his chest, relishing the way his muscles tensed under her fingers. His hand dropped to her hip, and his fingers gripped her outer thigh as if he barely restrained himself from hauling her into his lap.

No...this man wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she realized she didn't care.

She'd take this kiss, real or not, and she'd hold on to it long after he'd pulled his thumbtack from his map and gone back to whatever life he really lived. She'd cling to it the way she was clinging to him as his fingers wrapped in the hair at the nape of her neck, because if she didn't cling to something in this life besides her music, she might just float away.

The hand on Layla's thigh tightened as Derek gripped her hair with the other, urging her head back with a gentle pressure that promised she'd enjoy anything he did to her, if only she'd let him. He trailed his mouth down one side of her exposed neck, over her throat, and up the other side to nuzzle her ear.

Layla squirmed against him as his tongue traced the shell of her ear then dipped inside. His breath, hot and moist as he blew over her ear, jostled another moan from her lips.

She twisted against him, and as if sensing he urgency Derek scooted the bench back from the piano with her on it. Layla took advantage of the room she'd been given and threw her thigh across his lap.

She needed to be closer to him. She needed friction. The pressure of his leg against her sex. Anything to relieve the hollow ache he'd stirred up inside her.

If she wasn't sitting on a piano bench in a store in plain view of the main road, she'd would have straddled him by now.

Wait.

She was in a store.

With lots of windows.

Layla pulled away, instantly missing the feel of his mouth on her skin. Derek stared at her, his eyes burning with lust. For her.

Derek Taylor wanted her. And somehow between tucking her in on her couch, a healthy dose of Chopin, and Derek's tongue in her ear she'd decided to upgrade his status from "asshole" to "man she could definitely get used to having around."

"Um...thanks," Layla said. "Thanks" was much safer than begging him to stick his tongue in her other ear. And perhaps her belly button. And then her vagina.

Derek cocked an eyebrow, a half-smile forming on his lips. "My pleasure, Ms. M."

She shivered at the glint in his eyes as he said her name. Then she shivered again as she realized her thigh was still halfway across his lap, and his hand had migrated to grip her ass, holding her in place against him. Men couldn't seem to resist grabbing her ass like she as a piece of meat, but this was the first time she could remember actually liking it.

It occurred to her that his mouth hadn't tasted at all like cigarettes. "You tasted minty," she said.

"And?"

"I just expected..."

"What? Smoke?"

Layla nodded, heat flooding her core as he kneaded her ass, his fingers dipping dangerously close to the place where she wanted them most.

"I quit. Took up gum instead." Derek gave a lazy, one-shouldered shrug as his eyes drifted over the exposed skin above her v-neck.

"Oh..." She forced herself not to grind her pelvis against him.

Or worse yet, grab his hand and shove it down her pants so she could use his beautiful, piano-playing fingers to get off. Had it really been that long since she'd been with a man, or was her sudden knee-weakening bout of horniness simply the result of the Derek being a sex-flavored lollipop in red pants?

"I mean, that's good," Layla said. "When?"

"Last Tuesday. Right after you reminded me what a disgusting habit it was. I figured you'd never enjoy kissing me if my mouth tasted like stale cigarettes."

Heat flooded her face when she realized he'd been thinking about kissing her for days, and what's more, he was willing to give something up just so she'd enjoy it.

First the ride home, then the pie and tea, and now this. The man had proven more than once that he wasn't the self-centered jerk he came off as that first day in Chuck's. Maybe it wasn't fair to write of her attraction to him completely to him being a rock star-slash-sex flavored lollipop.

Maybe she actually liked the man himself.

That had to be bad. Very, very bad. No good letting herself develop any emotions--other than her default skepticism and detachment--toward a man who could never possibly return them.

But...

Sex without emotion might not be such a bad thing.

Layla cleared her throat. "We probably should...uh..."

"Anything you say, Ms. M." Derek removed his hand from her ass, but not before giving it a gentle squeeze that somehow translated into her nipples hardening almost painfully against the lining of her bra.

"I need to lock up." She cleared her throat again and glanced at the clock, reluctantly sliding from his lap and off the bench.

"Can I walk you out?"

"Sure."

Derek waited patiently by the counter while she locked the door and closed the blinds, his fingers tapping a lazy rhythm on the counter top. She stole a glance at him as she double checked the lock, her eyes drawn to those red pants like she was an addict and ripping them off with her teeth was the first step toward rehabilitation.

Layla involuntarily nibbled her lips. He raised his eyebrows as if reading her mind.

She should have gotten her fill of his pants when she had the chance, but maybe she still would. The night wasn't over yet.