Jess Dee - Rhythm of My Heart

His fingers wrapped around the stems and he looked at them curiously, as though not sure how to respond. Then he dipped his head in acceptance and pulled his arm back. “You’re right. It never occurred to me that you’d view these flowers as secondhand, or that I was giving away something meant expressly for me. My apologies. It must seem incredibly rude.”

He sounded both surprised and sincere, making Eve wonder if anyone had ever rejected a gift from Jonah Speed before her.

Her smile was as gentle and forgiving as her tone. “No apologies necessary. It was a lovely gesture.” She tried. God help her, she tried, but she just couldn’t help herself. Eve had to touch him. She grazed her hand gently over his biceps, just below the edge of his sleeve, so she met bare skin. Sparks shot through her hand straight up her arm.

With that, and before she did something stupid—like rip off that irksome top of hers and jump him—she turned back around and, tugging her makeup case behind her, continued down the tunnel until she entered the arena and dressing rooms.

She felt Jonah’s gaze on her back the entire way. It drilled into her like a million sharp darts of awareness.

Eve was only too relieved to shut herself in Delilah and Devine’s change room. Her heart pounded, a million beats a minute for sure. Jonah’s drums probably couldn’t hammer louder.

Never had anyone affected her so. Never had she desperately wanted to shove herself in a man’s embrace like she did with Jonah. Put herself at his mercy and beg him to do anything and everything to her body. He’d handed her half-dead, used roses, and all she could think now was how damn much she wanted to sleep with him.

No. Not sleep. Fuck him—all the way through the night and long into the next morning.

But then, who didn’t want to fuck him? He was Jonah Speed—rock legend, drummer extraordinaire and lethal to women.

Eve breathed deeply, calming herself while she waited for Delilah and Devine to shower before she fixed their hair and makeup, preparing them for the after party.

It was well past midnight by the time the crew arrived back at the hotel. Too tired to even contemplate a party—the third one in less than a week—no matter how much the back-up singers insisted she join them, and perhaps too scared to contemplate coming face to face with Jonah again, she ignored the party suite—jam-packed and writhing with people—and made her way to her own room.

The first thing that caught her eye as she opened the door was a massive bouquet of stunning blood-red roses, centered on the small table beneath the window. There must have been fifty long-stemmed flowers in the glass vase, each one fresher and more dazzling than the next. Their fragrance filled the room, making Eve dizzy.

She threw her key card and bag on the bed, set her makeup kit against the wall and trudged over to read the card attached.

Not secondhand, I promise.

These are meant only for you.

J

With his customary bottle of beer in hand, Zachary slipped through the crowded suite, searching for Luke. He had to thank the guy for cutting short the interview he’d just been subjected to. Although the TV anchorwoman had behaved like the ultimate professional, her cameraman had openly propositioned him, painting an explicit picture of what Zachary could do to him and the interviewer, given the opportunity.

He shuddered. His days of sex for the sake of sex were over.

Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.

T-shirts, he amended silently. Zachary had collected a sickening number of them, each one representative of his various degrees of debauchery. If it was doable, he’d done it, and the memories did not always make him proud.

Zachary never found Luke. Instead he was waylaid by a group of teenage girls. With their long hair, skinny jeans, skimpy shirts and impossibly high heels, they all looked the same. Zachary had long since stopped trying to differentiate one face from another. He’d become too accustomed to the clusters of females who swarmed him.

Not groupies. No, groupies were another kettle of fish. A kettle that shared most of his been-there-done-that T-shirts.

These were fans. Adoring girls who’d be content with a smile or an autograph or a high-five.

At first, when fame had struck so fast, he’d tried to talk to them all, tried to offer them each a real smile and a heartfelt word. But that had soon become impossible. When hundreds, sometimes thousands, of fans flocked to him, it was unfeasible to give each of them his individual attention.

He’d since mastered the art of singling out one admirer while tackling some of the hundreds of questions that were tossed his way.

Zachary smiled patiently and handled the girls. As he spoke, he eyed the quietest one, a plain redhead. Yeah, so sue him. He had a soft spot for redheads. Especially redheads with green eyes. This one was shyer than the rest of her friends and not trying to get his attention. Instead she seemed content to stand aside while her companions flirted shamelessly.

He grinned at her and almost laughed at her responding look of bewilderment. As a black marker was handed to him and he signed his name to someone’s shirt, he winked at the redhead.

Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned pink. She smiled back.

Zachary answered questions as he always did—mostly with non-answers or by deflecting the questions back to the girls.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Jonah?”

“A pretty girl like you asking me that?” Said with a winning smile. “I bet you’re trying to make your boyfriend jealous.”

“What’s your star sign, Jonah?”

“Well, now, I’m guessing you must be a Libra.” Libra. The first star sign he could think of. “It’s funny, you know. Libras ask that question a lot.”

And so the conversation went, with Zachary charming the young women and signing his name at least five more times. The girls grew bolder, and by the time he penned his last autograph, it was to bare flesh, just above firm breasts.

He refused to sign the bare breasts themselves. The girls were just too young for that to sit comfortably with him.

He would have stayed with them longer had an impulse to raise his gaze and look across the room not caught him by surprise.

Bam.

Desire hit him like a punch in the gut.

There she was, leaning against the wall, chatting to Delilah but watching him speculatively. Again that sense of familiarity wafted through his mind. He’d never met her before this tour, but something about her yanked at a string in his memory.

He answered his last question and held his palm out to the shy redhead. When she tentatively gave him her hand, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her fingers, leaving the girl flushed and her friends oohing and aahing.

With a final smile in her direction, he extricated himself from the group and walked directly to the woman whose gaze still followed his movements. In her hand she held a single rose in full bloom. Delilah no longer stood with her.

She was an enigma, for sure.

Apart from his mother, Zachary hadn’t given anyone flowers in a long time. Yet tonight, when instinct had dictated he offer this woman roses, she’d rejected them. Rejected him, cold. Hadn’t even bothered to tell him her name.

Eve Andrews.

Zachary couldn’t remember the last time he’d been rejected. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d made the first move. Continually surrounded by groupies and fans, anything more than a meaningful look or raised eyebrow had become obsolete.

He handed his half-empty beer bottle to a waiter, neatly sidestepped a woman who eyed him lecherously, smiled for a press photographer and finally reached his destination.

She leaned quietly against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, the single rose resting across her breasts. Breasts that looked pert and appealing beneath the tight, black T-shirt she wore. The shirt ended just above her hips, an inch or two short of her white jeans, offering Zachary an enticing view of pale female flesh.

Unlike him, she hadn’t changed since the concert. But even at this hour—well past one in the morning—she looked fresh and vital, as though she’d just stepped out of the shower.

He wondered how she’d react if he buried his nose in the crook of her neck and breathed deeply of her scent.

Probably not too kindly.

Zachary had a sudden, overwhelming urge to impress her. To say something that would blow her mind and replace the caution in her eyes with undimmed interest. He waited a heartbeat for the right words to come and then smiled at her.

“Hey.”

Hey? Seriously?

“Hey.” She bit her lower lip.

“How are you?”

Really, Zachary? That’s the best you’ve got?

“Good. You?”

“Good. Enjoying the party?”

Ah, fuck. Shoot me now. Could he say anything more mundane? If Luke and his brothers had heard him, they’d be doubled over with laughter.

She raised a dainty shoulder. “It’s all right.”

“Just all right?” Her answer made him smile. He knew the lengths people went to in order to get an invitation to these parties, yet Eve was totally blasé about it.

“I hadn’t intended to come. I was just going to go to sleep.”

Zachary angled himself in front of her, intentionally giving the rest of the world his back. Right now he was interested in no one but the beguiling woman before him. “What changed your mind?”

And could he just add, silently, that he was mighty glad she had changed her mind?

She raised the rose, offering it to him. “This did.”

He made a mental note to thank Luke. Who else could organize a delivery of fresh flowers—while coordinating the usual post-concert chaos—in a strange city, at midnight?

Zachary lifted it to his nose and inhaled. Sweet, but not nearly as sweet as Eve. “You’re giving me a used rose?”

“Ah, I’m not giving it to you. As soon as I leave, I’m taking it back. I just thought you might want to see what I’m thanking you for.” She ran a hand over her left cheek. “The flowers are beautiful. Every one of them. Thank you.”

Zachary drank in the sight of her. She was tiny. If he pulled her into his arms—which yes, he wanted to do, badly—her forehead head would press against his sternum. That wasn’t a bad thing. Not at all. Her long brown hair would feather across his chest and nipples. And if she wrapped her legs around him while he drove into her, over and over again, he doubted she’d be able to cross her feet behind his back.

The image was enough to stir his cock to life.

She was also incredibly pretty. The longer he drank in the sight of her, the prettier she looked, and the harder he became. Her makeup was perfect, the tones of her blush making her sky-blue eyes seem bluer and her cherry-red lips supremely kissable.

Given the opportunity, he’d press his mouth to hers and discover if her lips tasted as good as they looked.

It was lucky for Eve the rush of adrenaline from the concert had eased, otherwise Zachary wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stop himself from kissing her. From pressing her against the wall, pressing himself to her and ravaging her lips—and pussy.

Even now, his control was questionable.

“You’re very welcome. I’m sorry if I insulted you earlier, giving you flowers that were meant for me.”

She eyed him in silence for a good few seconds before letting him off the hook. “No harm done.”

“How about we start again? From the beginning this time.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Z…” Oops. “Jonah Speed.” Jesus, she had his brain all fried.

She batted his arm away. “There’s no need for such formalities. I know who you are.” Her laughter filled the air, a soft tinkle like a stream trickling over rocks. “The whole world knows who you are.”

Perhaps the whole world knew who Jonah Speed was, but Zachary Pace was another deal altogether. And right now Zachary Pace had an overwhelming need to get to know this woman better.

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve evaded my introduction. I’m beginning to think you’re determined to never tell me your name.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Fifty long-stemmed red roses mysteriously made their way into my hotel room at midnight. I have more than a sneaking suspicion that you already know my name.”