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Shea O’Bannon scooted her chair farther back into the shadows of the dim, crowded bar. Ugh. Body odor wafted from the man who left the table next to hers. Hadn’t he ever heard of deodorant? She coughed, hacking a little. Though her table was next to the wall, she couldn’t very well duck under it or hide in the restroom until the guy she’d once dated left—or got the hell off the stage.
Trevor Madero serenaded the crowd with his throaty voice and sultry blend of blues-rock. As he shifted on a tall stool, his jeans highlighted the bulge she’d never had the chance to feel. His curly, oh-so-pullable hair bobbed as he swayed and strummed his guitar faster. The spotlight sharpened his cheekbones and gleamed off the badass dog chains around his neck. His snug black T-shirt shaped the fine chest she longed to lick.
Dear Lord. His presence, charisma, voice, everything that made Trevor irresistible washed over her with a hypnotic beat, tormenting her with what she couldn’t have. Rather, with what she denied herself. Why did she have to see him again? Why now? She tsked. Of all the bars in Denver, Colorado, she had to pick Frandare. What bad luck.
Chitchat and clanking bottles rumbled behind her like white noise. Several female patrons near the stage swooned as Trevor poured his ridiculously romantic lyrics into a microphone. As if he had any right to sing about love, desire, and forgiveness.
“Talk about crazy, Shea. The machine gave off enough sparks to set the room on fire, but I saved the day.”
The words penetrated the fog in her mind like nails tearing across the blackboard. She cringed as her coworker, Gordy Maher, boasted as if maintaining some computer equipment should earn him an award. His handsome face and short blond hair did nothing for her. Why had she agreed to meet him for drinks? So what if he’d been pestering her? Dating a coworker ranked high on her Don’t You Dare list. Players like Gordy weren’t her type, not anymore.
She downed a mouthful of her martini and moaned as the delicious spice skimmed across her tongue. Better not go there. No more thoughts of Trevor, but how could she lock her memories back in their cage when he crooned some twenty feet away? His very essence glued her ass to the seat.
“Shea? Hello? Anyone there in that pretty blonde head?”
She scowled at Gordy. Was he serious? If not for Trevor trapping her in place, she would leave Gordy’s sorry ass right then and there.
The prick chugged his beer before lifting it to flag the waitress for another bottle. “You haven’t said much, but that’s all right. Mouthy women have no substance.”
She snorted. “Neither do mouthy men.” How could she talk when he wouldn’t shut up? “I don’t see a point in prattling on about nothing.”
The fine hair on the back of her neck rose. Oh, no. Please. She turned back to the stage. Air lodged in her throat. Damn it. Trevor stared right at her. She forced in a breath and closed her eyes. Everything would be fine. She didn’t matter to him, so he wouldn’t bother her with more than a cursory glance. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her slacks and looked back at him. Their gazes locked. Electricity arced between them in bands of red-hot heat, or was she imagining that?
After a waitress delivered Gordy another beer, he gulped the brew and cleared his throat. “I don’t get musicians. Rock stars, sure. They make tons of cash and groupies flock to them. Nobodies like him”—he hiked his thumb toward Trevor—“need to cut their hair and find a real job. He’s a thug, believe me.”
She snapped her shoulders back. “My friend Belle is the best musician I’ve ever heard. Trevor is damn good too.”
He lifted his eyebrow. “You know that guy?”
As if he deserved the truth. She crossed her arms and glanced back at the stage.
Belle had introduced her to Trevor four months earlier at the Blue Magick Music Hall, one of the biggest independent music venues in the city. After two weeks and a handful of dates, Shea had dumped him and set her love life on the shelf.
Trevor stared at Gordy with pursed lips. As he strummed an ending note, he faced the audience and smiled.
People clapped and cheered. Someone whistled.
“Thank you. It’s been great.” Trevor announced the next performer and fist-bumped him as the crowd cheered even louder. He descended the steps at the right of the stage and passed through an open doorway to the backstage area.
Now. No more waiting. She stood and grabbed her purse from the back of her chair. “I have to go, Gordy. It’s getting late.”
He frowned and checked his phone. “It’s only seven. You haven’t finished your drink.”
She eyed the half-empty glass and shrugged. “Feel free to stick around. See you on Monday.” She dashed across the busy room. Would Trevor approach her? Try to talk with her? Any of the women who clapped for the bearded rocker now seducing them with a sexually overt number could be warming Trevor’s bed. She’d probably hurl chunks if some bimbo jumped into his arms when he came back out.
She pushed open a large metal door and stepped outside. Yes! Freedom. Warm, muggy summer air slammed into her, the early evening light stinging her eyes after the dimness of the bar. Who cared? She wove around passersby en route to the bus stop and lifted her ponytail as a breeze swept down the street. Ooh. Nice. The sweat on her nape dried. A car horn blasted as someone from behind her suddenly grabbed her arm. What the hell? Her heart leapt and stomach sank. She jerked free and flipped around, drawing up her purse as a weapon.
“Whoa. It’s me.” Gordy raised his hands, palms out, and laughed. “Don’t do the crazy woman thing and rail on your date.”
She scoffed and lowered the bag. So mouthy women had no substance, and women startled by pricks grabbing them were crazy? Right. “This wasn’t a date. Just two coworkers having drinks.” Which would never happen again. She nodded in the bar’s direction. “Go enjoy yourself. You don’t have to leave. I just want to go home and relax.”
“Sure. That’s fine. I’m all about relaxing.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and steered her down the sidewalk. “I’ll drive. You took the bus, yeah?”
She shrugged out of his hold. Though she’d walked from the KIKA-TV Headquarters and Broadcasting station to Frandare, she always took the bus from home to work and vice versa. Better that than wage war with her colleagues for a space in the station’s parking lot. “The bus is fine. Good night.” She strode on and sighed as he followed. Couldn’t he take a hint?
“How about a kiss goodbye?” He clutched her elbow and yanked her toward him.
“Oomph.” She landed hard against his chest and coughed as his beer-tainted breath struck her face. “Stop. Let go.” She craned her head as he bent toward her, and his wet lips smashed her cheek. Yuck! Her belly roiled. “Damn it, Gordy. Let me go!”
He did. Rather, someone jerked him back.
She gulped for air and choked on exhaust fumes. After she wiped Gordy’s spit from her face, she gasped at the muscled backside of her rescuer. He stood between her and Gordy like an insurmountable tattooed wall. Splatters of blue paint with a large black musical note on the forearm inked his left limb. A dark-red guitar stamped his other forearm with gray-toned ivy twining around it and disappearing beneath his shirtsleeve. His citrus scent drifted toward her in the breeze. Why did it have to be him?
“Hit the road, man. She’s not interested.” Trevor set his leather guitar case by his feet. Sunlight gleamed off the auburn strands in his dark-brown hair and deepened his naturally tanned skin to rich sienna. He cracked his neck with an audible pop.
An intimidation tactic? Her throat tightened. Strangers veered around the three of them and cast curious stares that shot goosebumps down her arms.
“All right, fine. Whatever.” Gordy rubbed his eyes and turned. As Trevor faced Shea, Gordy whipped back around with his fist raised.
“Trevor, look out!”
He pivoted, ducked Gordy’s flying right hook, and clocked him in the jaw. The idiot stumbled back as Trevor shook his head. “What the fuck, Gordy? Get out of here.”
The groaning man clutched his face. “Shit. You’re an asshole, Alto.” His bloodshot eyes watered. He scowled back at Shea. “You aren’t worth it, bitch. You’re too mousy for me anyway.”
Trevor stomped toward him.
“Stop. It’s okay. I’m fine.” Shea grasped her defender’s elbow as Gordy shoved past a few bystanders to flee. The heat flooding her face could poach an egg. “How do you know Gordy? Why did he call you Alto?”
Trevor arched his eyebrow at her hand on his arm and drew back from her grasp. “I perform at some bars that he goes to. Don’t know what he meant by Alto, though. Maybe something to do with me being a musician?” He scratched his stubbly jawline. “How did you get mixed up with him?”
“He’s an engineer at the station.” The following Monday at work would suck, but at least she and Gordy toiled away in different departments. She massaged her stiff shoulders to relieve the tension as strangers passed. “I’m sorry. He was drunk and apparently doesn’t know the meaning of the word no. Thank you for stopping him.”
“No big deal, but stay away from him. He’s bad news.”
She frowned. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“All right.” He lifted his hand to placate her and flashed a crooked smile. “Need a ride?”
“No.” Her cheeks cooled even as her pulse quickened. “Why did you follow me out? Don’t you have someone waiting for you?” Like some tramp? She bit back the bitter words.
“I didn’t follow you, but I was looking for you. We haven’t spoken since—” He stepped closer to her as a trio of soccer moms dragged their whining kids past him. “—our misunderstanding.”
Her mouth fell open. “You screwed another woman.”
He winced. Crimson flushed his cheeks. “No, I didn’t.”
“I know what I saw. Never mind, I have to go.” She stomped away from him.
“Damn it. Hold up.” He hurried alongside her, guitar case in hand. “You’re pissed. Fine, I get it. But what about Gordy?” His voice deepened. “He could follow you or show up at your home later.”
“I’m taking the bus, and Gordy doesn’t know where I live.”
“The bus makes a lot of stops. Would you rather get home in an hour or so, or sooner? My truck is down the block.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder.
She scoffed and stopped in mid-stride. “First Gordy badgered me into letting him drive me home; now you are. If I say no, are you going to force a kiss on me too?”
He lurched back as though she slapped him. “Jesus, Shea. I’m not the jackass you think I am.” His nostrils flared as he breathed. “Forget it. Stay safe, all right?” He stalked away.
Her heart clenched, indecision tearing through her. She couldn’t let him go. Not like this. “Trevor, wait.” She chased after him and lightly gripped his elbow, pulling him to a stop. Static prickled her fingertips and stole the air from her lungs. “I don’t live far, maybe twenty minutes away in good traffic.”
He sighed, his chest deflating. “This way.”
After they darted across the street, she jumped into the hot cab of an older model truck. Oh, my. Trevor’s citrus-and-musk scent surrounded her like an aphrodisiac. Had anything ever smelled so good? The little button between her thighs throbbed.
Stop it, girl, none of that.
She fidgeted to soothe the ache and closed her eyes. Tonight, she’d get some answers—and it was about damn time.
****
If you plan to continue reading Trevor’s Redemption, you can order it in the Dangerous Entanglements box set, found here:
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