Whole Latte Love (The Jewells) Read online

“You’re playing tonight?”

  His eyebrows raised and lowered. “Care for a front row seat? Remember to sigh a lot, clasp your hands over your chest and look like you’re admiring me.”

  Yuck! That had been on his ‘wifely duty’ list.

  “I’ll go, but don’t expect me to be your groupie.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Carina walked hand in hand with Dylan down a sidewalk filled with artsy tiles and panels of poetry. It was already dark, so she couldn’t read the writing, but she was able to appreciate the mosaics on the wall and the artwork decorating the storefronts. For dinner, Dylan treated her to an iconic Top Dog all-beef frankfurter with all the trimmings for only $3, tax included. She hadn’t known such deals existed in an expensive city like Berkeley.

  They approached The Underground where a crowd had already gathered. With his guitar case slung over his shoulder, Dylan guided Carina to the front of the line.

  “Dylan!” A swarm of female fans squealed and blew kisses at him, their eyelashes fluttering like hyperactive butterflies. They wore the strangest outfits, a mixture of tie-dye, sequins, studs, and amulet pouches.

  Absolutely no style. Carina was glad she’d put on a pair of black leather pants with a white cami trimmed with scalloped black lace. Her only accessory was a wide cuff of glittery Swarovski crystals around her wrist, and her low cut Alaïa stiletto boots could serve as weapons if needed.

  A woman with a nose ring and thorny rose tattoos criss-crossing her arms surged over the line and grabbed Dylan around the neck. “I missed you. You big lug.”

  She proceeded to smooch on him, leaving lipstick marks on his face. Another woman wore hair resembling half a bald eagle, shorn to brown roots on one side and dyed puffy white on the other. She grabbed him from the other side and nibbled his ear. “Where’ve you been, stranger?”

  “How about me?” A blonde in a slinky sequined black dress clawed at his back. “I’m totally DTF tonight.”

  Did she just say she’s down to fuck? And look at him enjoying the attention. Yuck.

  Carina tried to twist her hand from Dylan’s, but he gripped her tightly and pulled her past the frantic females.

  “Girls, enjoy the show.” He flashed them a megawatt smile while two bouncers held the crowd back and unclipped the velvet rope to let them pass.

  The women sighed and fanned themselves, some pointing at Carina and catcalling, “Who’s that skank?” “No way she’s with him.” “Try me, I’m better.”

  Feeling like she’d escaped a sorority hazing, Carina followed Dylan down a flight of stairs into an art deco designed basement. Columns and tiered starburst chevrons delineated a stage, and the chairs and tables were painted in deep blue, gold, maroon, and green tones.

  On the wall, plaques honoring donors and patrons were interspersed between hammered metal musical notes arranged on horizontal wires. A mural decorated the side of the stairwell, depicting cubist paintings of people with various instruments: a bowl shaped mandolin, an impressionist harp, and a black and white abstraction of a piano player with alternating black and white fingers and teeth.

  “Where should I sit?” Carina eyeballed the café tables arranged around the two step stage. “Where’s the rest of your band?”

  Dylan leaned over and spoke softly in her ear. “I’m improvising today. Solo. Sit here in the front so I can see you.”

  A tantalizing chill skittered over Carina. His voice was so seductive. Had he brought her here to impress her?

  He pulled a chair at a table directly to the right of the stage and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Order anything you want. And don’t forget to sigh.”

  She could swoon on the spot and melt into a puddle of mush. Even with the lipstick on his face, he was as sexy as a hot rod Porsche. Her legs giving way, she sank onto the chair.

  A waitress greeted her, and Carina ordered natural artesian water with a twist of lime. She looked over her shoulder as the rest of the crowd milled in, females outnumbering males two to one.

  The girls who’d attacked Dylan grabbed separate tables near the stage with their friends. Carina could feel the heated glares and questioning looks directed at her. She deigned not to acknowledge them, but kept her eyes on Dylan who had uncased his guitar.

  The instrument was beautiful. It had f-holes like a violin and the top was arched with smooth contours. The colors were lighter on the face and deeper toward the edges. He seemed to caress the neck of his instrument as he checked the strings and fingered a few chords, mentally rehearsing his piece.

  Carina was surprised the club didn’t offer drool bibs. Every pair of eyes with double X-chromosomes had to be fixated on Dylan. Another sigh escaped her as she clasped her hands in front of her heaving chest.

  Shaking his hair from his eyes, he caught her staring and winked. Zing. Carina felt something stir inside, a secret wish taking flight, a subtle what if?

  He looked godawfully sexy, wearing a black leather vest over bare muscles, and jeans with ripped ladders so thin she could imagine licking right through them and tasting the salty tang of his skin.

  Dylan kept looking at her as the host for the show introduced him. “The Underground is proud to present a night of improvisation with Dylan Jewell of The Licked Blues. Dylan’s music is fresh and new, defying categories, a mixture of swamp blues, bossa nova, swing and jazz. Don’t try to overthink it, just sit back and let it flow into your soul.”

  The host stepped aside and adjusted the mic for Dylan who slid a hollow tube on the pinkie of his left hand. He then fitted metallic finger picks over the fingers of his right hand and slapped various parts of his guitar to start.

  Interesting. Carina had never listened to alternative music, that is, anything but classical and whatever was on the top forty. The music Dylan played was spooky, eerie, creeping up on her unexpectedly as she sat enthralled.

  Dylan’s torso twisted and gyrated to the bluesy slides. He threw his hair back and percussed the strings with his right hand, pulsing and swinging, in deep concentration, driving the tune faster and edgier as he segued into a jazzier fingerpicking, his left hand flying up the neck. Carina shuddered at the fat vibrato, imagining Dylan’s fingers wiggling all over her body and probing every crevice.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and crossed her legs, her thighs tightening, fighting the urge to jump up and take off her clothes to the crooning guitar, amped to smooth perfection.

  Carina wet her lips and sipped the water to cool her hormones. But the driving rhythm, the pulsating tones, sliding melody and slapped chords pushed her mounting excitement closer and closer to a frenzied edge.

  Each run rose and receded with higher and higher peaks, vibrating to a fevered pitch of overtones. Carina’s breathing tightened with each crescendo, and when Dylan arched his back, ravishing the guitar, she felt herself broken against the instrument. His hands worked the sound to an unearthly intensity, stretching the boundary lines of ecstasy, the chords increasingly dissonant and the melody screaming for release before crashing through a jumble of slides.

  Carina could barely breathe when he opened his eyes halfway and stared at her in that heated, half-dazed look of a man out of control. Notes tumbled and spilled from his skillful fingers. And when he added his voice, a bluesy baritone chant, “You got a hold on me. Oh, yeah, you got a hold on me, girl,” Carina clutched her leaping heart, fighting as it strained and lunged like a big dog tearing at its leash, wanting the god man on stage to hold it, steal it, and take it away.

  Dylan finished a cappella, his laser-sharp gaze searing her. “And baby, don’t you ever slip, slip, slip awaaayy from me.”

  ~ ~ ~

  After the show, Dylan wiped sweat from his forehead and latched his guitar case. He’d asked the bouncer to bring Carina to the backstage door and keep the other women away. Some of them had lobbed insulting comments at her, so he felt justified in skipping the autograph session tonight.

  The door cracked open. Screams and hands waved from behind the bo
uncer’s broad shoulders as he held the door open just enough for Carina to duck under his armpit and enter.

  She took a deep breath, looking slightly dazed as she fanned her flushed face. “Didn’t know it’d be so hot under the spotlights.”

  “You like the show?” He handed her a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Ugh. It wasn’t like him to have to fish for compliments when they gushed so easily from his many fans.

  Carina nodded and drank the water, but she stayed distant. “You’re very talented. Thanks for inviting me.”

  So polite. He bet she dutifully wrote thank you notes for every present she ever received.

  “Ready to go?” He slung his guitar case over his shoulder and gestured to another door. “We can avoid the crowd by going through the service hallway and coming out on the other side of the building.”

  “Yes, sure.” Her voice was subdued, and she lifted her chin with a defensive tilt.

  What had crawled up her panties? Hadn’t he made her feel special, seated her in the front row, and sang to her? Other women would have eaten it up, melted to the floor faster than you could fling water on a witch.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yes, fine. I’m worried someone from the bank might have seen me come backstage with you.”

  Meaning she was officially upset.

  “Did you see anyone?” Dylan asked.

  Her cheeks reddened slightly as she shrugged. “There were a lot of people staring at me like I was some kind of freak.”

  Dylan put his hand over his mouth, hiding a scowl. Most women would have been pleased, but she acted as if she was embarrassed to be thought of as his booty call. Time to clear the air.

  “We’re friends, right? I only brought you backstage so we can get back to the apartment without talking to anyone. I didn’t mean to give anyone the impression we were together or anything.”

  “Right, it’s not like you’re banging me tonight, despite what those other girls think.”

  Girl, you don’t know how much I want to bang you. Her leather pants practically screamed ‘fuck me’ and that lace top barely covering her jeweled belly button was an invitation for a good rip.

  But she was still hanging onto the doorknob as if for dear life. Besides, she was his roommate. He’d have to face her the next morning, and every morning after that. Not a good idea.

  His cleared his throat, hoping she wasn’t looking at his crotch, and that his erection wasn’t bulging through a rip in his jeans. “Let’s go home before they lock up.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned off the light and opened the door to the corridor leading to the back alley. “Ready?”

  “Sure, let’s do it.” She inhaled deeply and followed after him.

  He let go of the door and it slammed, shutting them in the pitch black hallway.

  Carina grabbed his arm. “I hate the dark.”

  “Don’t worry, there’s a light.” He groped along the hallway and flicked the switch. No light. He flicked it a few more times. “Must need a new light bulb.”

  “Oh no,” she moaned. “What if there are spiders and rats in here?”

  “It’s not a long way.” He led her down the narrow hallway and around a corner. “We have to go up the stairs. Hold the rail and test each step.”

  She followed him up one flight and bumped into his guitar case when he turned on the landing.

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry. Are you okay? Where did you hit?”

  “My face.” She was trembling, and her arms were sprinkled with goose bumps. “How much longer? I thought I heard a rat.”

  “Relax, I won’t let anything happen to you.” Dylan pulled her into his arms and rubbed her back.

  Gradually, her shudders calmed, and her body relaxed against his as he stroked her hair and hummed softly. She leaned against him, her hands around his waist and let out a deep breath.

  A strange, gripping feeling tightened his heart. She was like the baby bunny he’d rescued long ago, frightened and nervous at first, but eventually affectionate and trusting.

  Unable to help himself, he lowered his face to hers, nose to nose. He could almost taste her lips, but he’d wait for her to make a move, because dammit, he wouldn’t be able to stop at a chaste kiss. No, it’d be a drop-the-guitar-down-the stairs kiss, hot, greedy and groping. And he’d bend her horizontal in this dark, dusty hallway, messing up her hair and snatching her clothes off with his teeth.

  “Dylan?” Carina’s breath brushed against his lips. “Thanks for the date.”

  Date? Oh, no, no, no. She was expecting a kiss. And she was his roommate. She paid the rent and shared the chores. She lived with him and there’d be expectations. Holy moly.

  Dylan stumbled back, almost losing his footing. He grabbed the bannister. “One more flight and there’s the door. Oh, and congratulations on your assignment. M&A. I knew you’d get it.”

  He opened the door, and they stepped out.

  “Wheee! It’s Dylan Jewell.” Shrill female voices gave chase as Dylan tugged Carina down the alley.

  Chapter 9

  Saturday morning, Dylan and his bandmates met in the garage where they practiced. Zeke clapped a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Roxy said you wowed the crowd at The Underground.”

  Roxy was Nico’s cousin and the band’s agent in charge of bookings. Dylan hadn’t been aware she would be there. Oh well.

  “Yeah, good job, man.” Nico sat on a leather sectional and lit the weed in his bong. “Apparently, the investor was impressed and wants us to play at Mogul Bank’s Fourth of July party.”

  The hair on Dylan’s arms prickled, but he quelled his irrational fears. Rebecca no longer worked there. His father had made good on his threats and put her on the partner track at Jewell Capital, making a point to send Dylan an image of her offer letter.

  “They’re talking a tour.” Nico took another pull off the bong and passed it to Dylan. “It’ll be awesome.”

  “Trying to quit.” The sweetish, steamy smoke swirled around his face as he waved it away. “Who’s the investor?”

  “Anonymous.” Vic took it and sucked on the mouthpiece, gurgling like a trickling creek. “Thought you had connections at the bank.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  He’d walked away from his entry level job two years ago when Rebecca dumped him for a VP.

  “Word has it the investor watched you soloing Wednesday night at The Underground.” Paul picked through the loose weed on the coffee table.

  Nico gave Dylan a playful punch. “You sure you didn’t set it up? Roxy was going to talk to you after the performance but she couldn’t find you. She didn’t see the investor after the show, so she thought maybe you took her backstage.”

  “I’m seriously in the dark.” Dylan felt the beginning of a headache combined with the lightheadedness brought on by the thick cloud of marijuana smoke.

  “So you say.” Nico blew smoke at him. “Did she enjoy your other talents too?”

  “Forget it.” Dylan walked to the bar fridge and pulled out a longneck. The only person he’d disappeared with was Carina. Could she be the unknown investor? She had acted strangely after the show, pretending she was pissed about being invited backstage and then thanking him for the “date.”

  The garage door opened and Sheila sashayed in, high-fiving Vic and Paul. “Heard you guys are close to getting signed.”

  “We’re getting rave reviews.” Nico opened his arms and she stepped in for a hug.

  Seriously, those two need to quit dancing around and get on with it. Dylan took a long pull from his beer.

  “Dylan, you’re a rock star.” Sheila disengaged from Nico and tugged Dylan’s arm. “Who’s the mystery woman?”

  “W-what do you mean?” He almost choked on his beer. He hadn’t been seeing any of his women friends since Carina moved in.

  “Someone posted a review.” Sheila read from her cell phone. “Dylan Jewell’s artistry expands and disintegrates the concept
of musical genres. With an eclectic mix of blues, hard rock, and Latin rhythm, his music drills deep into your soul. Wednesday night’s performance exemplifies the talent and freshness he brings to the Berkeley music scene. Blah, blah, blah. Oh, look. Could it be he has a new muse? Mr. Jewell arrived at the performance with a mystery woman. Avoiding his usual bevy of enthusiastic fans, he sang solely for her, then slipped away to the disappointment of his longtime supporters.”

  “Did they say anything else about her?” Dylan dragged his fingers through a tangled mass of hair at his neck. Carina would be royally upset to be mentioned.

  “You tell me.” Sheila’s voice brightened. “Are you, like, involved with someone new?”

  Dylan avoided the expectant gazes of his bandmates. “She’s just a friend.”

  “You’re not getting away with that.” Sheila glanced around the room, pausing for maximum effect. “Dylan Jewell, the article says you singled her out, sang solely for her. This is serious business, don’t you think?”

  “Dylan’s in love?” Paul drummed his fingers on Dylan’s shoulder while Vic made crude motions, sliding his index finger into his partially closed fist. “Is she hot?”

  “Oh, look on Instagram,” Sheila exclaimed. She clapped her hand over her cheek. “It’s Carina? I didn’t know she had such cool clothes.”

  “Let me see.” The guys crowded around her.

  “That’s your roomie?”

  “What a bod. Look at those fuck-me boots.”

  “And we thought she was a prude.”

  “Whoo, let’s get her drunk again.”

  Heat broiled the back of Dylan’s neck and his heart punched his rib cage. How dare they talk about Carina that way?

  He slammed his beer bottle on the table. “Carina and I are friends. I respect her, and for the record, I didn’t sleep with her.”

  Everyone froze, their mouths partially open, eyes widened in shock. Dylan felt like flipping the furniture and kicking the stuffing out of the couch.

  “Okay, cool, she’s a freaking saint.” Nico patted Dylan’s arm. “Let’s set up. I want to go over that new bass line you showed me.”