“We have some signature cocktails,” the bartender offered. He stood by us, at the ready. I imagined that happened a lot to Ash Black.
“What do you recommend?” I asked.
“The Bardot,” he answered without hesitation. I raised an eyebrow at Ash to see what he thought.
“It’s pisco,” said the bartender.
“Peruvian brandy,” Ash explained.
I smiled. It wasn’t even the type of thing I was embarrassed to not know. I wasn’t sophisticated and worldly and there was no use in pretending I was. “Never had it before, but I’ll try it.”
I shrugged off my coat and Ash helped me drape it along the back of my tall bar chair, such a gentleman.
“You look amazing.” His gaze raked over me, lingering a moment on my thighs. As I sat on the stool, my skirt rode up and exposed a long stretch of skin. Take that, Liv. I’d still caught his eye, even though I’d covered up my lingerie with clothing.
But I did have on lacy black panties underneath. Who knew where the night might lead? I’d been raised with a strict moral code, of course, and had the virtues of chastity extolled to me on more than one occasion. I had to admit, it had worked its way into my brain. When fooling around with guys, I could practically picture a light-up map of the bases, big red Xs flashing over every one but first.
I’d had sex before of course, with Stan. Stan the man, over and out in five minutes. He’d been pretty proud of his prowess in the bedroom. I didn’t think he had much to brag about, but what did I know, really? Maybe lots of women never had orgasms with their partners? I’d given myself much more pleasure with my fingers and hot fantasies, some of them starring Ash Black. But maybe that was normal? I figured I wasn’t a very sexual person, that’s what it came down to.
But sitting next to Ash, our legs brushing against each other, I felt pretty damn sexual. Every time our legs grazed against each other, every moment his fingers drifted toward my own, lightly caressing my skin, I tingled, a slow, warm buzz forming deep inside. He asked me about the rest of my day, how teaching piano went, what my roommates had thought when I’d told them the story of how we met.
“Oh, they were hilarious. They always are.”
“Did they warn you about me?” He took a sip of his drink and kept the tone of his voice light, but I sensed something more in the question. As if he earnestly cared what I thought of him.
“Jillian warned me, yes. But she’s also worried about every news story she reads about the city. And also weather events.”
“Weather events?”
“You know, like tornadoes. She’s made us an escape plan in place in case one hits.”
“We don’t get tornadoes in New York.”
“You never can be too prepared according to Jillian.”
He seemed amused. “How about your other roommate?”
“Oh, Liv wanted me to wear nothing but a bra and panties to come meet you.” As soon as I’d said it, I couldn’t believe it had slipped out of my mouth. I blushed and took a quick sip of my drink. It went down smooth and delicious, creamy and lemony all at once.
“I like Liv,” Ash declared.
“She put eyeliner on me, too.” He smiled, but his mind clearly was still on the image I’d created a moment ago. I hadn’t meant to say that. Nervously, I asked, “Have you ever worn eyeliner?”
“What?”
“You know, like Keith Richards. Rock star eyeliner.” What was I talking about? Anything other than my showing up naked.
“When I first started out, stylists tried that sort of thing on me for photos. There were a couple of early shoots where they made me look a lot like Captain Jack Sparrow.”
I laughed. “I’d love to see those photos.”
“I’ve burned them all.” He looked deadly serious.
“Really?”
“Oh, no, you can’t get rid of anything these days. Even if you try. Once it’s out in the media, it’s out.”
I nodded, thinking of his recent scandal with Mandy. All around us, I could tell people were noticing him, watching and whispering. He seemed oblivious, but to me it felt like that paranoia from middle school where you were so self-conscious you thought everyone was staring at you in your new shirt. Only this time, it was true. The walls really did have eyes.
“Hi, sorry to bother you guys, but could I take a picture with you?” A middle-aged woman in a big coat interrupted our conversation. She only had eyes for Ash.
“Sure.” He gave her a gorgeous smile and the sigh she gave in return was audible. Mental note: he has that effect on all the ladies, Ana. Don’t think there’s anything special between you two.
“Could you?” She held her phone up to me and I positioned it to snap a photo of her and Ash. She wrapped her arms around him like she wanted to bring him home with her.
“My daughter’s a huge fan,” she explained. Yeah, right. This woman probably had an Ash Black mug she drank coffee out of every morning.
I took a couple of pictures, Ash looking magnificent in every one of them, and handed it back.
“Thanks so much. You’re so amazing,” she gushed.
Ash gave her a smile and a goodbye wave. Nothing out of the ordinary here. I took a sip of my drink.
“You OK?” he asked, hand to my wrist. Mmm. That shouldn’t feel so good, such a casual touch, but his fingers brushing my skin nearly made me fall right off the bar stool. His thumb stroked my wrist bone, then the sensitive skin inside.
“Um,” I cleared my throat and made myself say something other than ‘That Feels So Good.’ “Are you used to the attention?”
“You mean that woman asking for a photo?”
“Her, yes, but also all the other people here watching you, whispering about you.” In a quieter voice, leaning in, I murmured, “There’s a guy down at the end of the bar who hasn’t stopped staring at you. Not even for a second.”
“Yeah.” Ash nodded. “I know.”
“Doesn’t it freak you out?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Like when I’m getting chased by an angry mob.” He smiled and made light of the scene from earlier today. But he had been getting chased by a mob. They’d been one step away from yelling “Kill the beast!”
“It goes with the territory.” He shrugged. “You don’t get to be famous without that part of it, too. And most people are friendly.”
I sipped my drink, not too sure. It seemed pretty strange to me.
“Does it make you uncomfortable being here with me?” His dark brown eyes filled with concern over my well-being.
“I wasn’t trying to say that.” I looked up at him. “I’m happy here with you.”
“I only suggested the bar down here so you wouldn’t feel weird about meeting me in my hotel room. But it does happen to be a mere elevator ride away.”
“You’re staying here at this hotel?”
“Yes, I am.” He gave me a smile so inviting I just about fell into it. I had to get a grip. But it would be nice to be up in the privacy of his hotel room. No staring, no asking for photographs. Just him and me, me and him. It probably wasn’t a great idea.
Leaning in to me, he rested his hand on my bare, exposed thigh. His cheek so close to mine, his lips right at my ear, he whispered, “I promise, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” My eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. Such promise in that statement. I knew this man could get me to want him to do just about anything. Jillian, my mother and father, just about every Sunday school teacher I’d ever had jumped up and down in my head yelling “Are you crazy? Look at this delinquent with his tattoos and bedroom eyes! Run away!”
But his hand on my thighs felt so good, starting a slow burning heat for him between my legs. I wanted to part them, give him some access, see what he could do with those long fingers. He was a guitar player, after all, a master at playing an instrument. He must be sensitive to every response, so attuned to how each movement played into and aroused the next.
“Let’s get o
ut of here,” he whispered, husky and low, in that voice that made him world-famous. What was a girl to do?
“All right.” The words slipped right out of my mouth. He finished his drink, then carried mine and my coat across the bar, all eyes watching us, tracking every step. I had no idea how he was used to that spotlight.