Page 29 of The Drummer

But this already feels different than anything I’ve experienced. There’s nothing opportunistic in the way Callie’s lookingat me. Touching me. No expectation or entitlement, just the same innocent wonder she’s been wearing since I first made her stay.

A sub bass drop sends her shifting closer as she adjusts to the tempo change. The frenetic house beat is my new favorite rhythm when her body locks into mine. She rubs and grinds in all the right places, and I fight with my dirty mind to keep my hands where they belong.

But hers start to drift…

I suck in a breath when she unhooks her arms, freeing her palms to roam. One smooths over my chest while the other slips into my hair so her fingertips can play. Her touch is sensual and determined and so incredibly dangerous.

Shit, this is brutal.

Any lingering doubt about whether her flirting was intentional or just being nice falls away when her hungry gaze drops to my lips. A flood of anticipation rushes through me. My heart pounds as my body tenses with need. Her grip tightens on the back of my neck. Her hips plaster to mine, scraping over my zipper as if seeking ways to torture me. There’s not a chance this person plays games for the fun of it, and when her cheek nuzzles my chin, I know she’s wrestling with the desire to kiss me.

Blood pounds through every recess of my body. I’m on fire to taste her and show her how good I could make her feel. Just because my heart has never belonged to anyone else, doesn’t mean the rest of me hasn’t.

Her gaze creeps to mine with an open invitation. My fingertips dig into her hips as my brain fights my dick.

This isn’t her world. She’s drunk on an experience she will regret tomorrow.

The thought of her ever feeling regret when it comes to me is enough to break the spell.

With incredible fortitude—and against the protest of my body—I step back with a weak smile.

“I’m thirsty. Let’s go get a drink,” I explain.

Her expression sags with frustration I feel in my bloodstream, but it’s the right thing to do.

I didn’t come to this city to fix one person and break another.

At the bar, I ask for two waters and find an empty stool for Callie to sit.

Her gaze is saturated with questions, confusion, and maybe a touch of hurt.

I have no idea how to explain what just happened, especially while shouting over the music. So instead, I press the glass of ice water to my head as if to cool down.

“Whew. It’s hot in here, huh?”

When her expression doesn’t change, I brace for what’s bound to be an awkward exchange.

“Is everything okay? Is it your ex-girlfriend?” she asks, cutting a quick look at the dancefloor.

I flinch in surprise and release a dry laugh. “Jana? No.”

I hadn’t even thought about her since Callie reclaimed every brain—and body—cell I have.

Her face scrunches in an adorable pout. “Oh, I see. So it’s me. I’m just a terrible dancer.”

I can’t stop another grin. “Yes, that’s it.”

She lifts a brow, and I sigh. Guess I’m not getting out of this. Might as well go all in.

I lean closer and catch her gaze.

“You don’t want to sleep with me, Callie.”

She coughs through a swallow of water. “What?”

I search her face with a challenging look of my own. “Am I wrong? Is that where you wanted that to go?”

It’s too dark to tell if she’s blushing, but her nervous fluster doesn’t require light.

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