Sex, Desires & Rock N Roll Read online

  “Mmmm, this is good,” he admits after taking a sip.

  The waiter comes back over this time with a Charcuterie, a chef’s selection of three artisan cured meats that will pair well with the wine. Dash has put a lot of thought into our date, making it perfect… beyond perfect. I wonder if all first dates are like this. But something deep inside me tells me this isn’t the case; something tells me Dash and our date is a rarity.

  Dash notices my glass is almost empty, as I’ve immensely enjoyed it’s pairing with the artisan cured meats, and pours me another glass. I bring the glass to my lips, inhale, instinctively close my eyes and take a long drawn-out sip, relishing the taste as it hits my tongue. The saltiness of the meats still lingers and dances with the boldness of the wine, creating a very unique flavor profile. When I open my eyes, Dash is staring at me, his eyes swirling with desire as they darken from brilliant, steel blue to a deep, almost rich navy.

  “You are really making this slow thing hard for me, Sunshine.” His eyes glance down to my lips where they linger, his bottom lip gripped between his teeth. My tongue pokes out and wets my lips. It’s involuntary, totally solicited by him.

  Dash’s deep blue gaze meets my eyes, seeing right into me. I feel as though he can see everything secret I have and unlock them so easily. “Very hard.” He adjusts his position and then leans forward.

  My body leans toward his in response. I’m being pulled toward him like a moth to a flame. Our eyes stay locked on one another. I couldn’t look away if I tried or even wanted to. The intensity in his eyes goes beyond what I saw on that Jumbotron when he was singing. It burns through me, setting my body ablaze. The air is suddenly thick with a longing and wanting, but we are taking things slow. I clear my throat, hoping to break the sexual tension that is floating all around us. Dash shakes his head and regains his focus, just as I have. No words are spoken. I don’t think there are any in the English dictionary that could exactly express what is happening at the moment and how I’m feeling. All I know is Dash Ford is unlike any man I’ve ever met. I’m not only intrigued and captivated by his lyrics but by the man himself. Dash’s eyes start to lose their intensity, and it’s as though he’s actually seeing me. His eyes roam my face before settling back on my eyes. That crooked, sexy grin pulls at the corner of his lips and a small chuckle escapes. A smile overtakes my lips, and I can’t help the giggle that erupts.

  “You’re killing me, woman.” He shakes his head, his smile widening with a deep laugh coming from his chest.

  ONCE THE WAITER removes our empty plates and we both have a few more sips of wine; well, actually I sip, Dash kind of gulps his… the mood lightens and the sexual tension is but a whisper in the wind.

  “So back to slow. How did you end up writing for Wine Gourmet magazine?” Dash inquires, shifting the focus back to our date, back to the reason why we are doing this, to get to know the real us.

  How did he know I write for the magazine? I can probably guess—a little groupie or birdie told him. “Well, I have always loved to write, so I majored in journalism. One summer me and… ummm… ummm… I… I took a weekend vacation to Napa Valley and immediately fell in love. I visited several vineyards, and I was enthralled with the whole process. I ended up traveling to Europe, visiting France and Italy, touring wine country there, and knew I wanted to combine the two—journalism and wine. So when the opportunity came for me to do an internship at the magazine, I immediately jumped at the chance. Hank took me under his wing, and when the time came, he hired me.”

  I want to deter any further questions about it. I don’t want to explain right now that I went to Napa with Blake. I don’t want to ruin possibly one of the best evenings of my existence. I don’t want to see pity in his eyes. I only want to see the intensity and desire I’ve seen since he came to my hotel room to take me out. I divert the conversation away from myself and ask my own question. “Your turn. How did you end up the lead singer of a very successful rock band?”

  Dash smiles, and his eyes light up. He gets a distant look, his smile widening, his eyes even brighter. I can tell he loves what he does. “Well, Lance, Vic, and I have known each other forever. So long, in fact, each of our families has practically adopted the other. We’re more like brothers than friends. Anyway, my mom got me a guitar for my seventh birthday, and I was hooked. I would practice and practice every day, sometimes all day on the weekends. I never really had lessons; I guess it just came naturally to me. The following Christmas, my parents bought a piano, and I couldn’t wait to take lessons. When the teacher told my parents he wasn’t needed, that I could basically play any classical piece by ear, they were astonished. They wanted to enroll me in some prestigious music school, but I insisted on staying in regular school. They succumbed to the idea after much begging and pleading.”

  “Wow.” The word is just a whisper. I nod my chin in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

  “Well, one day, I think we were in tenth grade, Lance came over and just asked, since I was always playing, if I wanted to start up a band. I said sure. He had been playing bass guitar for a few years and was really, well, is really good. Vic was always around as well, beating on something, when finally his parents couldn’t take it anymore and they bought him a drum kit. We started rehearsing together, and we sounded pretty good. Each of us took turns singing lead vocals when the two of them decided it should be me. I really didn’t have a problem with it. We played a few birthday parties and whatnot, until we got our first gig playing at Club Z. I think we were in eleventh grade. We lied about our age just so we could. Roland took immediately to us, saying we were going to be big one day. And, well, here we are,” he finishes with a shrug.

  I just sit there gazing at him, trying to process everything. Dash is a musical genius, I surmise. “Wow, Dash.” He has me at a loss for words. Here I thought he was just some guitar-playing, screeching rock guy. In reality, he is the exception.

  The waiter approaches our table, serving our dinner. The sun has now all but disappeared, leaving a pinkish, yellowish tinge to the skyline. The moon is slowly making its presence known, starting to cast its glow. I look down at my plate, and my mouth begins to water. Dash has really given much consideration to the menu, because the wine is now wonderfully paired with grilled flat-iron steak, crushed potatoes, sautéed spinach, and a Cabernet Jus.

  “So, not only are you a musical genius apparently, but your expertise on creating the perfect first date is astounding. This meal is exquisite, complementing the wine perfectly. How did you know?” I compliment and question.

  “I had some help.”

  The proverbial light bulb goes off above my head. “Ahh, birdie and groupie?”

  “Yep. I wanted to make our first date memorable. They told me some things, including your favorite wine. Once I had that bit of information I went to the chef, he offered me several choices that would pair well with it, and I chose what we are now about to eat.”

  “You did all this for our date?”

  “No, I did this for you.” His voice is somewhat shaky.

  I feel the tears prick my eyes. “Dash, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.” I hold the tears back not wanting to ruin what’s turned out to be a perfect evening.

  “You’re more than welcome.” He smiles.

  We both savor our meal, continuing to tell little bits and pieces of ourselves. Nothing too heavy. I learn he would walk a thousand miles to have one of Marty’s burgers when he’s on the road. He learns that I have a weakness for the Food Network, an addiction really, especially any show featuring Guy Fieri. The conversation flows easily. We laugh every once in a while as we slowly get to know each other

  At one point though, things turn with a simple question from Dash, when he asks about my parents. My heart stutters and constricts in my chest. Even though I start to feel uncomfortable, when I look at Dash and feel his hand in mine, his thumb gently caressing my knuckles, the feeling begins to fade. I want to open up to him
. I need to open up to him. He makes me want to open up. And that’s what I do. I take a relaxing breath, and then the words easily pour of me. “My parents died in a car accident when I was just a few months old. They, um, they went out to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary, leaving me with my grandmother. On their way home, a drunk driver ran a red light, and my mom was killed instantly. The… um… the impact was on her side mostly. Dad died on the way to the hospital. My parents were both only children… so… so Grams raised me after that. She… she died a few years ago. She… um… she developed bronchitis which turned into pneumonia and had to be hospitalized. She died a few days later after being admitted. I… I never got a chance to say goodbye…”

  I didn’t realize I was actually crying until Dash’s thumb sweeps under my eye, capturing several tears. Before I know it, I’m out of my chair and in his arms. Dash’s grip on me is tight, his hands splay against my back, rubbing soothingly. I feel his unsteady heartbeat in my ear. The pounding matches my own. No words are spoken; none are needed. I still feel guilty about not being there when Grams took her lasts breaths. Blake wouldn’t let me. My tears subside with a shuddering breath. I pull back from Dash’s comforting embrace and look up at him. His brilliant blue eyes are dulled as they glisten in the pale light. He leans forward and his lips ghost against my forehead, then the tip of my nose and then my lips.

  He squeezes his eyes closed as he rests his forehead against mine. After a few moments he pulls away, and when his eyes open, there is so much pain swimming in them. My heart aches for him. “My…” He begins but doesn’t continue. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut. When they open, something has shifted—a mask is put in place. Dash pulls away, making me feel alone. I don’t understand what happened. I don’t understand this sudden change. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the words die on my lips. My mind is swimming, I’m not sure which way is up at the moment. A cold shiver rips through me. Dash clears his throat, and my eyes immediately turn to his. I see a flicker of pain, but then it’s gone.

  “So, do you have any other family? Brothers? Sisters?”

  I stare at him blankly. His steel-blue eyes bore into mine. I shake my head. He nods. “It’s just you then? No one else?” His voice is devoid of all emotion; it’s like he’s robotic. I nod. His response mirrors mine. I feel a large gap bridge between us. Something has shifted around us, and I’m not sure how it happened nor how to change or fix it. This evening was perfect until now. I need to do something—anything. I don’t like the awkwardness that has encompassed us. I grab the port and take a big sip, a gulp actually, giving myself some time to regroup. Dash is staring of into the distance, his eyes show he’s somewhere else, lost in his thoughts. I reach across the intangible distance that’s between us, my hand gently gliding against the warm skin of his arm. He doesn’t acknowledge my touch. I press a little harder. He shakes his head, and his eyes flicker to mine. Again I notice a deep, residing pain, but as quickly as I recognize it, it’s gone, replaced with a non-emotional stare.

  “Dash?” My call is a whisper in the night air caught in the breeze that rustles the nearby trees.

  A brief closing of his eyes, and his attention is all on me; his steel-blue gaze is warm. It’s as if a switch has been flipped. “Sorry, Sunshine. Where were we?” His hand catches mine before I have a chance to pull it away. He holds me tight. It feels as though he’s afraid I’m going to pull completely away from him or even disappear. A part of me wants to envelop him in my arms, hold onto him for dear life, and chase away whatever had him distant and pained. That part doesn’t win out—the part that wants things to continue as they are does, and so I do, thinking very carefully about what I want to ask. “Ummmm, what about your parents?” I inwardly cringe at my question, not sure if what I told him about mine sent him into his own world. But I’m instantly put at ease by a light twinkle in his eyes, and a smile pulls at his lips.

  “You want to know about my parents?” There’s amusement in his tone.

  “Yes.”

  “You continue to surprise me.”

  I want to ask why that is, but he interrupts before the words can form. “My parents are happily married and have been for… nearly thirty years.” Dash has admiration and adoration in his eyes and his voice as he speaks about his parents.

  “Wow. Thirty years…” I didn’t think people stayed together that long any more.

  “Yep. And they are more in love today than when they first met.”

  “What do your parents do, for a living?”

  “My dad’s an electrician and my mom volunteers at the hospital.”

  “Do you get to see them often?”

  Dash’s eyes glaze over briefly with sadness. “Not as much as I used to. Things have gotten hectic since the band took off.”

  I nod my head in understanding, giving his hand a squeeze. His lips form a tight smile. “Maybe one day I can meet them?” I know I’m doing what I shouldn’t, putting too much into this with thinking that there might be future. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.

  “Maybe.” It’s all he offers.

  The night has taken a turn I hadn’t expected, and I desperately want it to get back to what it was before—carefree and flirty. But my plans are derailed when I ask, “So, do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  Dash’s hand releases mine as if it’s burned him. He abruptly stands up, his hand sweeping through his dark hair. His body is rigid. Even though he’s only a few feet away from me, it feels like miles. I get up on wobbly legs, approaching him as if he were a wild animal in the forest. My hand reaches for his shoulder, but I think differently and drop it to my side. His shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession. It’s barely noticeable, but I’ve been so in tune to his movements all night that I see it. I wait, my heart beating within my chest with ferocity. And I wait. I know I’ll wait as long as he needs me to. He slowly turns, his posture still rigid, but when his dark blue glistening eyes meet mine, he relaxes. Before I can utter my concern for him, Dash has me in his arms, his mouth consuming mine. His tongue gains entrance and explores mine. His lips are urgent as they continue to devour me. My hands reach up and grip his shoulders, steadying myself. Dash’s hands roam my body, and when his fingers caress my skin, white hot heat is left in their wake. Dash’s lips move along my jaw until I feel his lips suck on my earlobe and then his teeth bite, sending an intense rush of want and need throughout my entire being. His hot breath tickles the fine hairs of my ear. “I want you so much right now. Do you want me? Tell me, Sunshine, tell me.”

  His words spur my confession, “Yes. Yes, I want you, Dash.”

  Dash’s mouth continues to explore my neck, nipping and sucking as he does. I am putty in his arms. His warm breath against my skin sends shivers all over. My body is at war with the sensations he’s causing with his lips, with his hands, just being in his arms. If Dash can do this to me fully clothed, what’s going to happen if and when we finally… It’s as if I’ve been doused with a bucket of ice water. I haven’t been with a man since… Dash instantly notices a change in me. Moments ago I was limp in his arms, and now my body has stiffened. He pulls away, and his hand comes up and caresses my cheek.

  “Open your eyes for me.”

  I don’t want him to see the fear that I know is residing in my eyes. Dash is a man who has and has had everything. He’s probably had tons of women and has done everything possible with them and to them. How could he not? How will I be able to complete with that? I can’t. No, you can’t, and you never will.

  Dash clears his throat. “Open those beautiful brown eyes for me. Don’t hide from me.”

  I slowly open my eyes, and all I see is warm blue looking at me. His thumb tenderly rubs against my cheek. I lean into his touch, knowing I shouldn’t.

  “That wasn’t exactly slow, now, was it? I would say I’m sorry, but…” That crooked, sexy smile takes over, and I melt.

  “No, it wasn’t.” My voice is faint. I gather strength f
rom deep within and say, “And I’m not sorry either.” I give him my own sexy smirk.

  “Good.” Dash is looking at me with such intensity. I can’t tear my eyes away from his. Like at the concert, his eyes are holding me captive and spellbound. Dash’s other hand comes up, holding my face in his hands. I relish the feel of his calloused fingers against my skin, as a small sigh escapes my lips. On their own accord, my eyes flutter shut. And then I feel his lips against mine—lightly at first, and then with more pressure. His lips glide against mine with reverence and understanding. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, and that just makes this kiss feel that more sensual. His lips continue to nip and caress mine, and then with three light pecks he pulls away. A small smile tugs at his lips, and I can’t help but smile back. The word slow is a murmur in the wind. Throughout the rest of our dinner, Dash’s chair stays beside mine, and the conversation is light and easy like it was before.

  ONCE THE WAITER removes our dinner plates and the bottle of wine is empty, Dash stands and motions for me to do the same as he comes over to pull back my chair. His parents have definitely taught him some manners. He places his hand on the small of my back, and a jolt of electricity surges from the connection. I’m pretty sure he felt it too, because he looks down at the placement of his hand and back up to my face, somewhat taken aback and confused. He guides me over to the fire pit that is surrounded by several oversized, plush pillows and blankets. He gestures for me to take a seat, and as ladylike as I can, I do. Dash joins me, and I feel the heat radiate from his body and blanket mine.

  Another waiter appears with two glasses of port and a dessert tray consisting of several mixed berries and a rich custard drizzled with caramel. I eye the tray, uncertain if I can put another bite in me. Dash notices my hesitation and motions for the waiter to place the tray on a nearby table and then hands us our glasses. I take a sip, and the port is full bodied, rich, and flavorful. Dash has really outdone himself this evening.