Page 43 of The Sounds of Her

“My dancing shoes have retired for the evening. It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted.”

The firelight from the tiki torch behind us casts shadows and highlights across the planes of her face, her skin is dewy and flushed from all the dancing.

“You’re not calling it a night, though?” I ask.

“Not yet, but I don’t want any more alcohol,” she sets the empty glass on a table near us. “It was perfect today.”

“Yeah. You're right, they’re soulmates.”

“I’m happy for her, for both of them. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s Jen.”

“Adam is a lucky asshole.”

We watch our friends in silence for a while. It’s getting late and people are flagging, but when ‘Until I Found You’ by Stephen Sanchez plays, I ask Brooke if she can manage one more dance and hold out my hand. After a moment she takes it, and we walk back onto the dancefloor.

I’m conscious of her having taken off her shoes, so stand with my feet outside of hers and sway rather than move my feet. Brooke doesn’t look up at me as I put one arm around her waist and cup her hand, holding it against my chest. Her other hand rests on my shoulder.

Around us, other couples dance. Sandy is sitting with Stone, talking with a dreamy smile on her face as she watches everyone. Her eyes linger on Brooke and me for a moment, her brow arches and she smiles before turning back to Stone.

I’m not sure what she thinks this is, we’re just dancing. Yet, I’m hyper aware of the woman in my arms. She smells amazing, her hand is small and soft in mine. It’s not something I associate with Brooke, being soft and feminine.

I mean, she’s hot as hell, but she comes across as the strong one, the woman who doesn’t need a man to define her. Doesn’t mean she can’t be delicate too.

I haven’t fucked anyone since the night in Vancouver, when I took that groupie back to the hotel. That was some fucked up idea of getting back at Madison. Since then, I haven’t wanted to be with anyone. The tour schedule is insane and most nights, when I step off the stage, I’m ready to sleep.

For the first time in a while, I feel something. Holding a woman like this doesn’t happen very often for me, breathing in the peace of the moment.

The numbness following me around like a heavy chain around my neck is lifting and for a moment, I let it. Then I remember, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to force it out.

Brooke pulls back. I open my eyes and they hold hers and in that stare, she can see the pain, and I see it reflected in hers.

I don’t know what is making her feel that way, but in this moment, it’s like we’re feeling everything we’re both suffering. I sway closer, my head dipping fractionally. Her lips part in anticipation as I stare at her mouth.

“Who wants to go skinny dipping?”

The shout has us drawing back from one another. Brooke steps back, her eyes lingering for a moment before turning to see my idiot bandmate in the middle of the dancefloor. He’s holding up a bottle of champagne with an excited grin on his stupid face.

Brooke steps out of my arms and laughs with everyone else as Stone grabs Jordan and takes the bottle away from him. He protests until he sees Alessa standing with her arms folded, glaring at him.

“Sorry, divchinka,” he says to her, ducking his head as her eyes narrow at him.

Brooke thanks me for the dance and moves away from me, heading over to Sandy. I watch her, my eyes trailing down her back to her heart-shaped ass. Her scent lingers on my shirt.

Fuck that was way too close. I need to keep my distance.

Because that cannot happen.

Chapter Eleven

There are two days left before the band head off for the next leg of their tour. No one has seen Adam and Jenna since they left the wedding last night and no one is expecting to.

I eat breakfast with Sandy and Elle, then we sip on mimosas out on the back deck overlooking the ocean. Nick and Elsa are splashing about in the surf with Jake, while Adam’s parents watch on. There has been no sign of Keira or Archer yet, or Jordan and Alessa.

I don’t know the author that well, but she’s fun and tells us she spent almost two hours with Nick last night, discussing romance writing. I don’t know how Elsa deals with him until Elle tells us how many emails and messages she gets from her readers, telling her how much better their sex lives have gotten since reading spicy romance books.

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Sandy snorts, drinking the rest of her mimosa.

“You have no one special?” Elle asks.

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