She scoffed. “I tie them. I’m not good at the untying.”
“I think you’d be surprised at how good you are at that.” He grasped her wrist, turning to hold her against him. Inhaling deeply.
God, he felt good. Like a permanent life vacation.
On that note, she stilled.
He wasn’t permanent. He was Linx. She’d best remember that, or this brief fling would break her heart. An ache in the vicinity of her chest warned that it may be too late.
“What do you want to hear?” His words rumbled against her neck as he spoke against her skin.
“Whatever you want to play.”
Extracting herself from his arms, she toed off her sneakers and removed her socks. Her feet were killing her, and she was only yay far from going the orthotic route of her mother. Then she sat on the stage in front of him, cross-legged. He played Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” and she clapped, giving a loud whoop with her hands held around her mouth to amplify the sound.
That got her a Linx grin.
Then he sang.
Oh, man, did he sing.
The song was mostly slow, but with an upbeat riff spaced throughout that he played with the precision of the professional he was. The soul he poured into the lyrics? She blinked back a whole heap of emotion threatening to spill right out of her eyelids.
Tears continued to sting as he sang about loneliness and stillness. She felt those words down in her marrow. And when he finished, he played two extra notes she was certain didn’t belong in the song, but somehow fit. Neither of them said anything as the last note dissolved into the air. He let the guitar hang from the strap and pressed his palms to his cheeks in a way that made her heart hurt. For him. For the band. For Courtney. For…herself.
“How can I help you?” she whispered.
He drank her in like she was the Jameson, but he wanted to slam it instead of sip.
She could live with that.
“Take off your shirt,” he said, the words gruff. Low. Nearly a growl.
At any other time in her life she would’ve thought he was daring her, but somehow she knew that’s not what this was. She’d asked a question. He gave an answer.
She drew a deep breath. First, she was technically at her place of work. Therefore, by the laws of keeping her employment, she should probably keep her top on.
However.
The bar was empty and locked up tight. Since she was on vacation, she was allowed to do things that pushed the envelope. And, most important, she had a rock star requesting comfort.
Second—there was no second. She could do this. Would give this to him. She removed her shirt, pulling the Brek’s Bar tee over her head and tossing it to the side.
Linx stared at her shirtless torso, running his tongue over his lips.
“What else?” she asked, the words so husky they didn’t even sound like her.
“Hair down.”
She pulled the ponytail from her hair, flicking the holder to the rest of the pile.
Keeping her gaze on Linx, she didn’t ask what was next. She waited for him to make the call.
“Bra,” he said, the heat in his gaze illustrating exactly what he wanted to do to her.
She’d never—not ever—thought she’d be this intimate with a rock god onstage with his guitar. Yet, here she was. Oh, yes. Maybe she did have a way to comfort him. A way that would reduce both their stress levels. Those lap dance lessons might come in handy.
She popped the clasp at the back of her bra and tossed it to the pile, too. He stopped playing, stared at her breasts, eyes flaring.
