Page 55 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“I need bed.” Sam stifles a yawn behind her palm.
There’s a ripple of agreement. Goodnights go round, and we filter out of the ballroom.
Tomorrow’s a big day—the band’s last chance to work together before the wedding, and Christian disappears on honeymoon. TheShe Said Yescrew will be here in the morning, trailing the bride and us bridesmaids and turning it into must-watch reality TV. Byafternoon, the families will be here for the wedding rehearsal, and then it’s straight on to dinner. But my mind isn’t on tomorrow. I don’t want today to end.
At the foot of the stairs, I hesitate. I should let Teddy head to his ground-floor room alone. Fairy lights pulse along the bannisters, casting his hair in a festive glow; his eyes shine. The hallway is empty; no one to see us.
I’ve fallen off this sleigh twice already. Might as well enjoy the ride while the bells are still ringing.
I lace my fingers with his, and he guides me towards his room.
Chapter 18
Ishutmybedroomdoor behind us. A decisive clunk. Too bad if the neighbours hear.
Rachel turns, shoving me back against the wood, one palm on my chest, the other still tangled in my fingers.
“Thank you.” The lamplight catches her eyes, blue dark like a country night, pupils huge. Face flushed with the same rush of adrenaline that still pumps in my veins even half an hour after our song. “That was one of the most amazing and terrifying things I’ve ever done.”
“Think you could get used to that? Live performance? Adoring fans?” I drag a finger along her jaw.
She laughs, shakes her head. “Not a chance.”
I lift our joined hands; press a kiss. “Then thanks for giving me one of the best days of my life. My words, my music. I never thought it would happen.”
She leans in, breasts pressed against me, forehead resting on mine, eyes closed.
“I never thought this would happen.” Her voice is quiet, shaky. “Wasn’t meant to.”
My pulse leaps. “What? Me getting you into my room?”
“Me. Liking you. Maybe falling for you a bit.”
“Maybe? Just a bit?” My grin wavers; suddenly it’s not my jeans that feel too tight but my chest, like my heart’s outgrown it.
“Way more than I know what to do with.”
I tip her chin, smirk to hide the quake inside. “I’ve got a few ideas what you can do with me.”
Her answering nod is small, but sure. Her mouth finds mine; her free hand pops my fly. Warm fingers slip past denim, cup me through thin cotton. My hips jerk, a guttural sound catching in our kiss as her touch turns every thought to white-hot static.
Clothes need to come off. Now.
Arm looped around her waist, I spin her across the room. My hand fumbles at her zipper, sweaty fingers unable to get a grip.
“Let me,” she says, pulling away, arms stretching over her head.
In seconds, the dress is a blue puddle on my bedroom floor, and she’s standing in front of me, bra and knickers so skimpy they’re barely there. Lace sheer enough for nipples to peek through. Her long legs disappear into black stilettos. She balances on one heel, then the other, lean muscles flexing as she unbuckles ankle straps. Shoes skitter across the wooden floor.
I yank my tee over my head; it lands on the lamp like a surrender flag. Boots thud, socks follow, denim drags down my impatient thighs. She steps forward, slides her hand into my boxer briefs.
“I think they have to go.” She edges them down my hips, and I kick free, hard and ready. Her cool fingertips skim my hipbones; every nerve lights up like stage LEDs.
I haul her in. Lace brushes my skin; her breasts flatten against my chest. My fingers find the clasp, give the strap a cocky ping—and there’s that giggle. I want to sample that sound; loop it beneath every beat I ever play.
“Need some more help?” Her mouth slants up, a little taunt.
“I reckon I’ve got this.” It snaps open, and I slide the straps down her arms. “And these.” I tug the last scrap of lace down, and she kicks it free.
