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Hot though.
But man, it was the bra thing that held his attention. She had endless curves and a long line of freckles dusting her shoulders and across her chest. He’d be really happy if he got to taste every one of them.
“Know ‘Chopsticks’?” It was a longshot, but what the hell. He could cover for her as long as she made a good show of it.
Her full red lips quirked up at the corners. “I should be able to handle it.”
“Yeah? You sure?” He waved her over to the piano.
“Fire away, Piano Man.”
He grinned and pounded on the end of the keyboard. She counted across the keys and answered his easy melody.
Molly flew across the stage. “Boring!”
West looked up at her. “I’m playing here.”
“Better song.”
He quickened the pace of the song and moved down to the next octave. The girl followed him, then moved into the more difficult version of “Chopsticks”. He grinned and they went faster, her fingers going from stiff to the supple grace of someone who’d had a million lessons.
His own knuckles throbbed from the memory of the smack of a ruler from his teacher, Miss Drummond.
They raced over the keys
and she outplayed him on every turn until finally West slammed his hands down on the keys, changing it out from “Chopsticks” to “Bennie and the Jets”.
She laughed and matched him key change for key change.
She was all laughter and fun with lips that reminded him of hot, sweaty nights. She bumped him with her hip and slipped her arm under his to take over the middle of his upright piano.
No one took over playing his piano, and yet he didn’t have the heart to push her away. Not when her fingers flew over the old, worn ivories. She shut her eyes as she reached the solo, playing as if she’d done it a dozen times before.
Her hair slid around his chest and her breast pressed against his arm as she reached for a note. Full, soft, and firm—they were like every sin packaged in an innocent pink wrapper made to tease him.
He looked down at her. She didn’t even notice how naked she was. She was into the song so completely that Mal couldn’t stop himself from slamming the skins in time to her pounding.
West raced to keep up with her, but eventually, he just stood back and enjoyed the show. He turned to the crowd just to make sure he didn’t look like a slack-jawed ape. If he had to watch her tits bounce any longer, he was going to do something stupid like curve around behind her to show her just how she’d affected him.
Instead he turned so his back was to hers and matched her speed on his electric keyboard. The crowd clapped, Mal kept the beat, and Molly finally capitulated and sang the words.
Their singer was front and center of the stage with the entire crowd waving their arms.
“Put a little rock on it?” he asked his new favorite pianist.
She flicked a look over her shoulder and slammed harder. She cozied up against West’s back and rolled her head against his shoulders. She sang along with Molly. Her voice was messy and imperfect, but full of passion.
So much so that he couldn’t help but follow along.
The song finally ended and she swung around with a huge grin and hugged him. All that lace and vibrating excitement against his bare chest.
Fuck.
“What’s your name?” he asked. Damn, he hoped he didn’t sound as broken and out of breath as he felt. She yelled something, but he couldn’t hear her over the screaming fans and his monitors. He flipped one side out of his ear as he bent to her. “What?”
“Lauren.” Her voice was sweet and playful with a hint of something else. He couldn’t quite get there. Could a woman add in snark to just one word?
“West.”
