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“Do I get to hear you play?” he managed to say without sounding like a complete idiot.
She was silent for a few moments, and he noticed raindrops clinging to her hair. He inhaled sharply, liking the fresh smell of a hot, humid, Tennessee evening.
“That depends,” she said softly.
Shit. Her voice was low and husky, full of smoke and whiskey. And Christ, the mole beside her mouth was sexy as hell.
“On what?”
“On how long you’re staying.”
He leaned in closer. “I’m here all night.”
Freckles danced across her nose, and Jack fought the urge to bend even lower and swipe his tongue along the bridge. Just thinking about that got him to thinking about other things, other small and dark places he’d love to touch and smell and taste.
He had to take a moment, because his jeans were gonna get mighty uncomfortable unless he got his shit together.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jack.”
“Just Jack?”
He hesitated, knowing that a lot of folks would put two and two together and realize exactly who he was. “Simon,” he said roughly.
Her finely shaped eyebrows furrowed, and her face broke wide open in a grin that left him feeling even more enamored than he already was.
“You’re related to Maverick?”
Busted. “Cousin.”
“Oh, I’ve heard all about you Simon boys.”
“Huh,” he murmured, watching a slow blush creep up her cheeks. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“You should be,” she said slowly, as if
savoring every word. “Cause none of it was good.” She glanced behind him and waved at someone. “Nice to meet you Jack, but I have to go.”
Before he could ask her what her name was, she was sliding by him, her hand lingering a few seconds on his arm. That piece of skin felt as if she’d branded him, and it took another five minutes before she took the stage with his cousin for him to learn her name.
Donovan James.
It was insane. But in his mind, she was already Donnie.
And she was already his.
Jack shook off the memories, his T-shirt totally soaked, his hair plastered to his head. Thunder rolled across the sky now accompanied by lightening. Looked like the storm wasn’t letting up anytime soon.
He eyed the door once more.
With a sigh, he scooped up his gear and went inside, expecting a flood of angry words thrown his way. Instead, he was greeted by a backside he knew better than his own, barely covered by a lime green bikini.
Donovan was bent over, her foot propped up on a chair, and she hissed in pain as she tried to clean the bottom of her foot.
“What are you staring at?” she muttered, inhaling a big gulp of air as she twisted to the side, angling for a better way to get the job done.
“Your ass.”
