Page 24 of The Beat Match

Suck it, buddy.

Without many options, Weston danced. He couldn’t let Annie leave the stage yet, not when Duncan might pull her into another hip grind. Annie responded eagerly, respecting his distance at first, then closing the space between them. She didn’t put her hands on his body, but her hips bumped against his, her breasts brushed his chest. Her head lolled as her hands wove up into the sultry air.

He was radioactive, an atom about to split.

“I’ve been chasing you for weeks,” she yelled over the speakers. “Trying to ask if you’d teach me. I want to be your apprentice. I’ll do anything. I won’t be a bother. I just…I really need this.”

The desperation in her voice was unfamiliar. The Annie he knew was Wonder Woman strong. She’d gone into foster care after Leo’s death with her chin ticked up. Weston had tried convincing his father to take her in, but that had been a lost cause. She’d moved through three families, never once complaining or breaking down. She’d finished high school on the honor roll and got along with everyone and had a thousand hobbies to feed her natural creativity. To be this well-adjusted was no small feat. She was also a walking hurricane, flitting from job to job, her endless chatter and flighty nature beyond maddening, but she was so incredibly resilient.

Maybe this music did for her what it did for him, kept memories of Leo alive. A connection to the past. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be the one to give her that gift.

He maneuvered them in front of the TV monitors, gave the club a show. Blooming nature behind them, two dancers to watch. He only had eyes for Annie: the subtle curve of her lips, that birthmark sinking into the crease by her luscious mouth, the lazy sweep of her eyelids, like she was drunk on him. Annie’s hazel eyes often shifted colors. Sometimes they were vivid shamrock, fun and mischievous. Other times they were woven with slivers of gingerbread, sweet and daring. Tonight they were a seductive hit of chocolate-laced jade.

The room faded. Heat built between them. Her familiar smell of sage and honey mixed with the sweat-tinged air. He didn’t know when he’d pressed his hand to her lower back, drawing her to him. He hadn’t been aware of his erection rubbing against her belly, only the hot throb of his blood as they moved together. Those eyes. Those lips.

The curtain came down in front of them. Timing he’d arranged with his tech guy. The crowd cheered. His music blended into the usual after-performance song, a steady beat, slower but still catchy. Annie stopped dancing. He couldn’t catch his breath. He should step away, let her go. He slammed his mouth against hers.

He wrapped her in his arms, hauled her lithe body against his bulk. He swept his tongue between her lips and groaned. She tasted like lime and salt and sinful heaven. He dove in deeper. She made a pained sound as the edge of his mask caught her cheek. Worried, he moved to pull back, but she dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her lips moved greedily, their tongues swirling, a sensual rhythm that rolled over him in a massive head rush. This was Annie. His Annie. Leo’s Annie. A woman he shouldn’t want. A woman who had no clue who she was kissing.

That reality had him wrenching away.

Her lips looked plump and well used. Her cheek was red from his mask. She oozed satisfaction, then her eyes flared and she flinched. He wanted to ask her what was wrong. Instead he dug the note he’d written from his pocket and thrust it into her hand. He stalked past her, desperate to get away from whatever the hell he’d just let happen.

* * *

Annie stood on the stage, stunned. She’d kissed Falcon. Or he’d kissed her. Kissing had just happened, and it had been a-mazing. Her body still tingled, so much unquenched pleasure pulsing below her skin. Falcon hadn’t been satisfied, either. Not judging by the hard ridge that had jammed into her stomach.

And that kiss? She was ruined for all future mortals.

The only downfall had been that split second where his eyes had looked familiar. In that instant she’d imagined Falcon as Wes. She’d pictured dragging him in for a deeper kiss, his body pounding into her. She’d flinched, and Falcon had up and split. Now she was ditched. And annoyed. She had to stop thinking about Wes. It was becoming a problem, and her hesitation had spooked Falcon. She should run after him, get his contact. She was too discombobulated to move.

A guy with muttonchops walked around her and began packing up Falcon’s equipment. She lifted the note in her hand and read it. Ditch your date. Meet me at the back exit in fifteen.

“Yes!”

The equipment guy looked at her and laughed. She grinned like a loon.

Falcon had gone from ditching her at every chance, to hauling her on stage and mauling her. Did he want to be her DJ instructor? Her kissing instructor? Either would be fine with her, as long as she squelched those dastardly Wes flashes. For now, she had to speak with Duncan, explain their date was over. He would be pissed. He probably was pissed. She’d left him high and dry to dance with another man. At least he hadn’t seen the kiss.

Still feeling flushed, she peered through the curtain’s edge. Vivian and Sarah, and Sarah’s twin, were at the bar. Duncan was beside them, typing aggressively into his phone. Complaining about his graceless date, likely. She took a fortifying breath and hopped off the stage.

Two steps out, a girl ambushed her. “Oh my God, that was so cool.” Fluorescent makeup lit up her eyelids and lips. “Did he talk to you? What does his voice sound like? Did you see his face?”

Based on her Freed by the Falcon shirt, this groupie wanted Falcon gossip. All Annie had was kissing intel—ovary exploding—which she wasn’t about to share. “We just danced. And I need to catch my friends.”

Two more groupies assaulted her before she made it to Duncan. He looked up and fumbled his phone, quickly shoving it into his pocket. He’d for sure been texting crap about her. Not that she could fault him. She’d have done the same. “I’m so sorry. That was unexpected and rude of me. I shouldn’t have left you in the lurch. It’s just, I’ve been trying to talk with Falcon for weeks.”

Duncan waved his hand casually. “No worries. You seemed like you were having fun up there. But…” He examined her face. “Looks like you scratched your cheek.”

“I must have grazed it on the curtain.” She touched the spot, remembered Falcon’s masculine grunts, their burst of passion. She’d done more than graze her cheek. Duncan wouldn’t know about that tonsil tennis, but he was surprisingly unruffled. “I’m still sorry for leaving you. It wasn’t nice.”

“Don’t give it another thought. Besides, the night isn’t over yet.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Actually, it kind of is.” She glanced at Vivian, who was watching her from a few feet away. Vivian pointed at the stage, swayed her hips suggestively, then flapped her arms like a human bird. Her version of charades: Annie dancing with Falcon. As absurdly hilarious as those moves were, Annie needed saving, not awkward charades.

She could do the hook-nose signal, flag Vivian for some help. She opted for honesty. “Thing is,” she told Duncan, “what I said before about trying to talk to Falcon was true. I’ve been taking DJ lessons and am dying to learn from him. He invited me to meet him tonight, and I can’t pass this up.”

Duncan’s cheekbones sharpened, darkness flashing in his hollowed cheeks. The irritation she deserved. “You trust this guy to meet him alone?”