Divine Desire: A Lotus House Novel: Book Three Read online

  I leaned over the bar to get closer to her when she placed my tequila and shot in front of me. “Those phone numbers?” I jerked my chin to all the dollars stapled to the wall.

  She grinned wide, and I swear it took her from beyond pretty to downright gorgeous. “Yeah, when a guy asks for my number, I tell him to write theirs on a bill. Then right in front of him, I slap it on the wall. Dumb asses haven’t figured out I’m into women, they need their reminder up close and personal.” She winked and turned to help another customer.

  I laughed, twirled around on the barstool, slammed back the shot, and sipped my beer. I set my gaze right on the reason for my presence. Atlas was sitting on a stool on the stage looking ultracool. One knee was at a right angle, foot hiked up on the bottom rung of the chair. His eyes were closed as he sang a song I’d not heard before.

  Belief is a bitter pill to swallow…

  You said you’d be back…

  Tomorrow…

  I pretend the emptiness isn’t stacked…

  Yet I keep hoping every way that…

  Maybe never…probably someday.

  Is today.

  Today…today…today…

  I’ve learned there is no home…

  In maybe never, probably someday.

  Atlas’s voice filtered through my body, sending a feverish chill in every direction. Maybe never, probably someday. Who was that song about? A woman. A flicker of jealousy scuttled down my spine, and I straightened and clenched my teeth. Did it matter? He wasn’t mine. He could be singing to anyone.

  Then why would he ask you to come? Relax, Mila.

  I was getting worked up over nothing. And that was exactly what was between me and Atlas. Nothing. Just a bit of fun. It would be wise for me to remember just that.

  Atlas leaned into the microphone, his brown, messy curls falling into his strikingly handsome face. From here, I could see his eyes and could tell they were smiling. He sat in his element. The spotlight on him, the bevy of willing beauties crowing in front of him, and his voice. From the little I knew of Atlas, music was his passion. And it showed in the way he sang, tilted forward as if he needed to get out every last inch of emotion before moving to the next word, and the way he closed his eyes, letting his mind go and his talent spill out. Breathtaking.

  Every word he sang made me hot and aroused. The growl his voice took on when he got into a lyric made me think of hard-core fucking. The soft whisper of a melody was like a sexy caress across naked skin. A jolt of want rippled through me, settling between my thighs where I throbbed with every tap of his foot. Jesus Christ, I wanted him.

  No longer capable of sitting back, I slid off my stool and walked slowly through the throng of beautiful women. I didn’t push or tackle. No, I eased toward the front. Made sure that I stood in one of the spots where the light would hit as it flickered around the dance floor.

  Atlas sang, and I swayed my hips. He lifted his neck and belted out a phrase to the sky. I lifted my arms in honor, taken with his song. The music moved through me like I was swimming in open water, flowing with the current, taking me to a new height. Nothing but peace, lust, and heat surrounded me as I focused on allowing his music to take me where I wanted to go. Home with him.

  I opened my eyes and was caught in the snare of one blue and one brown eye instantly. Atlas had found me in the crowd; I knew he would. He continued to sing, only now he sang to me. Only me. His eyes didn’t close, and they never strayed away. I moved with each lyric, offering up my body on a pedestal to this crazy music man who somehow pushed every last one of my buttons.

  He grinned and finished his song. Then he stood and spoke into the microphone. “I’ll be back for one more set after I refresh the palate. So hit up the bar, your waiters and waitresses, for a refill and get your drink on because there’s more to come,” he said with a goofy smile. Then, instead of taking the stairs on stage right, he jumped down the four feet, prowling right for me.

  I didn’t move. Not an inch. When he got to me, he curled his hand around my neck and slammed his lips to mine. My surprised gasp gave him just the advantage he needed to lick deep where our tongues tangled and danced. His other hand came around my body, splayed low on my back, and then went even lower griping a handful of ass cheek. I squirmed and then moaned when he kept up the massage, feeling the hardening ridge of his cock swell under his jeans against my belly.

  After he’d spent long minutes kissing me as if this were our last day on earth, Atlas ripped his mouth away and rested his forehead against mine. I’d never had a man do that to me before. It felt bizarrely intimate, breathing in one another’s breath, third eye chakras touching. I found I liked it more than I would have expected to, not having spent much time connecting to a man physically in that manner in the past. Usually I just went straight for the cock. Holding one another never lasted long in my nighttime excursions. Then again, the point was to get off. With Atlas, I didn’t know what the hell the point was. All I knew was that I enjoyed being in his presence. Enjoyed verbally battling with him. And most of all, I enjoyed the way he made me feel. Like a wanted, desirable, beautiful woman. I had no idea how long that would last, because once we hit the sheets, the odds were it would all be over.

  Atlas inhaled sharply. “Seeing you there, shaking your ass for me, all for me…” He clenched harder on his handful of booty.

  “Ouch,” I said before putting an arm around his body and getting my own fill of man-buns. And, of course, his ass was firm and rounded to perfection.

  “Christ. I want in. All in, wildcat. With your legs wrapped around me, I’d be so deep in you I’d never want to leave.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, curly. You just might get it,” I taunted.

  “Oh, I’m getting it. Taking it. Living and breathing it in until we’re too exhausted to give it anymore.”

  A trail of excitement slid all along the surface of my skin. Every word was more tantalizing than the next. “You talk a good game for a man who still has another set to sing and a horde of hotties to play with.” I nodded at the girls standing in the circle around us, their surreptitious eyes glaring at me while simultaneously lusting after him almost laughable.

  “There’s only one girl I’m interested in playing with tonight. And tomorrow night. And the night after that…”

  I snickered. “Mmm hmm. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

  His eyes sparkled under the bouncing lights, and one lock of hair fell into his face. I pushed the strand back, scratching along his scalp in the process. He jerked his hips against my pelvis, and I grinned.

  “You are so bad,” he growled and nipped at my lips.

  “I can be better.” I kissed him softly and tugged on the roots of his hair.

  He groaned into my mouth and dipped his tongue to twirl with mine. He tasted like beer and oranges. Probably a citrus beer. Same as I was drinking.

  “Stay till the end?” He traced the side of my face with two fingers. Hope and desire filled his gaze, drowning me with anticipation.

  “Okay.”

  He smiled. “Okay. I want to introduce you to my roommate and his friend. I think you may know him already.”

  We walked over to the side of the bar where two giants teetered on stools that looked doll-sized in comparison.

  “Mila, this is Clayton Hart, my roommate, and his friend…”

  I smiled and held out my hand. “Trent Fox. You’re Genevieve’s man.”

  “Guilty as charged.” His smile was warm and friendly.

  “Where is she?” I glanced around, looking for the curvy blonde. The girl was my size, only the exact opposite. She was light everywhere I was dark. And her personality exuded kind, calm, and collected. Mine…well, mine did not.

  “With our son and the rest of the fam. Guys night out.”

  “Cool.”

  Atlas put his arm around my shoulders, pressing me close to his side. A claiming move if I’d ever felt one. Being squished up against his bulk definitely spoke posses
sion even if he causally caressed the ball of my shoulder with his thumb, sipped on the beer the bartender passed him, and joked with his friends. While he seemed completely at ease, I felt every muscle in my body locking down. I didn’t know how to act in this type of scenario, had no clue what was expected of me. Was I supposed to just stand here and be quiet? Could I even do that? Most definitely not something that came naturally but for Atlas, could I?

  “Hey, Mila, Atlas said you’re an artist?” Clay said. “What kind of art do you do?”

  Art. Okay. Whew. Now that I could talk about. Endlessly really. It also gave me a grand opportunity to mess with Atlas, something I enjoyed almost as much as my passion for painting.

  “I’m working on an exhibition. All paintings. Right now, I’m painting nudes.”

  Chapter Nine

  The solar plexus chakra is influenced by the sun. Its earthly element is fire, and alongside the masculine nature of this chakra, it encourages individuals under its influence to find their appropriate place in society.

  ATLAS

  Music was my life. I loved playing. Only right now, it was the bane of my damned existence. Watching Mila down in the crowd shaking her ass for every Tom, Dick, and Harry had me semi-hard all through my set. I only had one more song, and then I was going to grab my feisty Latina, carry her over my shoulder if I had to, and take her to her place. I would have taken her to mine, but I wasn’t planning on a quiet fuck. On tonight’s menu was some doggy style, bucking bronco, maybe some sixty-nine, and all the oral delights she could handle. I wanted her limping when she walked into that studio tomorrow, preferably with my stink still all over her.

  I gritted my teeth and growled the next verse. It worked because I was grounding out a little “Sunshower” by Chris Cornell who, on a good day, sounded like he’d swallowed a handful of razors. Mila was unaware of the power she exuded over me. A silent seductress, lost in her own world, she danced like she’d been doing so for years. Moved her hips and arms to each vowel as if I was singing just for her. Every so often her eyes would open, and the pure, unadulterated lust in them shone right through me, to the point where I’d burn if I didn’t get through this set, get my money, and get her under me. I felt like a lunatic caveman, wanting to drag her out of here by her hair, while thumping any man with my homemade tree trunk club who dared to set his eyes on her.

  Maddening.

  Insanity.

  Everything about Mila Mercado screamed sensuality and sexuality, with a hint of spirituality. There were so many facets of her I wanted to tap into, the first one being her sensual side. I watched her dance to my songs, loving every one so much she’d closed her eyes and let the music rule her, trusting in the music to keep her standing. And it did. Boy, did it ever. I’d sing to her forever if I didn’t have the need to put my mouth and hands all over her. We’d have eternity to sing and dance. Now was the time for our bodies to dance in a hedonistic way that led to sweat, sore limbs, a pleased woman, and one sated cock. Mine.

  I belted out the last verse of “Sunshower” while standing. The crowd roared as I stood there. Normally, I’d smile, wave, and thank them for coming. Right then my eyes were set on one thing—a pint-sized wildcat who I fully intended on taming the second I jumped off this stage. I put my guitar into the case right over the cash the grateful patrons had tossed inside. I’d settle that up later. Way later.

  Mila came up to the stage at the same time that Jack did, pile of cash in hand. I grinned at Jack and put my arm around Mila. “Want to get you out of here and get you naked. Now.”

  “Um, check please,” she joked as I licked the entire column of her moist neck, tasting her in a carnal, animalistic move.

  “Fuck. You taste so good. Working your body to my music. Like that, hotness. Like that a lot.”

  “Mmm,” she mumbled as I kissed my way up her neck.

  Jack cleared her throat. I ignored her, too intent on tasting this sexy wildcat.

  “Whatever!” I heard her groan, and the back of my pants jerked as a tiny hand went in my ass pocket and back out of it, lightning quick. “There, you’ve got your money. See you next week. Now take that somewhere else!” she ordered as I pulled away from Mila.

  “I don’t think she wants you groping me here,” Mila said rather shyly, a contrast to her normal abrasive nature.

  I chuckled. “No, I don’t think she does. We’re not her type of show.”

  “Oh?” Her inflection proved she already knew that. “Is there a dollar bill with your number on it, too?” She grinned wide.

  Her hand tagged around my waist as I gripped my guitar in one hand and her shoulder in the other. I scoffed, “No way.”

  She giggled. “I’d bet there is.”

  “You’d bet wrong.”

  Her eyes were slits as she tilted her head up toward mine. “I’d take that bet.”

  Little minx. We hadn’t exchanged phone numbers verbally, so she’d have to look hard to find it on that wall, though my name was pretty unique.

  I chuckled and leaned closer to her as we made our way toward the exit. “You’d be right,” I whispered into her ear, rubbing my nose along the sensitive cartilage.

  Her grin set my heart pounding. And then she was totally Mila. She pulled back and shoved me. “I knew it!” She laughed. “I so knew it! You hit on Jack, the lesbian bartender. Manwhore!” she said before falling into a fit of tipsy giggles against my side. The look, the laughter was so pretty on her. Mila smiled, sure. Just not a lot. Guarding her emotions and affections toward others tended to be her standard MO. Something I found absolutely fascinating about the sassy brat.

  “Excuse me, Atlas Powers,” a deep voice said at the same time a hand cupping my shoulder stopped our forward momentum.

  I groaned and turned around, trying not to scowl. If a fan prevented me from scoring with Mila, I couldn’t be responsible for my actions. Wound up didn’t begin to cover the twitchy, anticipatory need to fuck the woman that clung to my side. Her hand splayed at my chest, rubbing leisurely, the thumb of her other hand was looped through the back of my jeans. She was in for the plan tonight, that much was blatantly obvious. My intent to blast out of here was also obvious to anyone in sight.

  “I’m kind of busy.” I jerked my head to the hottie I had a lock on.

  The dark man smirked. I couldn’t be sure in the light, but he looked like he could be African American. His hair was cropped right to his dome in a way a soldier often sported. His eyes were light, too light to tell what color they were, but his teeth glowed a bright neon purple with the black lights shining over us.

  The stranger clapped his hands together. “I only need a few minutes of your time.”

  “Who are you?” I asked, nonplussed, ready to hightail it out of there and get where I was headed, between the toned thighs of the woman to my right.

  “I’m Silas McKnight of Knight & Day Productions.” He held out a hand, and I looked at it. Just looked at it, unmoving.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  I blinked, and all the sounds around me went dead silent. Every nerve within my body tingled and zapped as if I was being electrocuted over and over by a low level shock wave. Mila smacked my chest hard, breaking me out of my shocked stupor.

  “Rudeness, shake the man’s hand!” she urged.

  Mr. McKnight chuckled while I grasped his hand and squeezed. Probably too hard. “I’m sorry… I just… You kind of, uh, surprised me there. I didn’t expect to see someone like you here.”

  He rubbed his hands together and gestured over to an empty table not five feet from us. “Would you be interested in sitting?” he offered.

  Both Mila and I went to the table. She followed without saying a word. I ran my hand down her arm and gripped her hand in mine so tight she hopefully understood what this meant—I wasn’t blowing her off, but that this was a big deal. She seemed to instinctively understand if her rubbing the top of my hand with her thumb was any indication. Having her close, her hand in mine, soothed the inst
ant anxiety that rippled through every ounce of my being. This was it. My moment. My one chance.

  Don’t fuck it up.

  “So you, uh, wanted to talk to me?” I prompted, nervously running my other hand and sweaty palm over my jeans.

  Mr. McKnight leaned both his elbows onto the tabletop. “I did. I heard your act. Stayed for the entire thing actually.”

  Holy hell. That was huge. I’d read somewhere that most music industry professionals were not the type to sit back and enjoy an evening listening to someone they didn’t think had any potential. Please, God, let him think I have potential.

  “And?” I left the question hanging out there for him to answer at his leisure.

  He grinned. “Man, you were awesome. You do not lack talent, that’s for sure. Those three originals, those were stellar. Do you have any more of those tucked into your head?”

  Talent. He said I had talent. “Plenty more.”

  He canted his head to the side. “Now that’s what I want to hear. I’m looking for a new guy.”

  “Mr. McKnight, I’m him! I’m that guy,” I said, smacking the table with more confidence than I should have. It’s just this was it. The moment. I had to give it my all. Put myself out there and bleed so he’d see I was worthy of a chance.

  He chuckled. “Silas, please. I think we have a lot to talk about, but mostly I need to know…you against writing a song for other people to sing?”

  My heart sank a little. Not much, but a little.

  “No. If it’s music and I can put my stamp on it, I’m in.”

  “Good to hear, man.” He stood, put his hand in his blazer, and pulled out a card. “I’m going out of town for two weeks, but when I get back, I want a meeting. You up for that?”

  I smiled huge. “Absolutely. Thank you.”

  “We’ll talk more about music, writing songs, and what I’m looking for. But you’re special. Of that, you can be certain.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot, man.” I held out my hand, and he shook it.