Facing the Music (Rosewood 1)

“Who’s doing this? You or me?”

Blake acquiesced and released her hand. He crossed his arms behind his head, giving himself an excellent vantage point for overseeing her activities. “You are, ma’am.”

“That’s right. Now are you going to keep critiquing everything I do, or do I need to put something in your mouth to shut you up?”

A wicked grin crossed Blake’s face as he looked at her. “May I offer a suggestion?”

“I have several ideas of my own,” she said. “However, I’d like to take care of a few things first, if you don’t mind.”

He had the good sense not to answer this time. Probably because Ivy had her fingers wrapped around him. She leaned down and tipped the length of him toward her mouth. Blake’s head dropped to the floor with a thud and a groan as she made contact. Her tongue bathed his smooth skin, her lips tightening around his length. She could see Blake’s hands balled at his sides now, his eyes tightly shut as he fought to keep control. She pushed him near to his breaking point, then pulled away to give him time to catch his breath.

Ivy sat up, reaching for a condom and sliding it down the length of him. She eased her shirt over her head. Her bra followed. Blake’s appreciative gaze on her every move encouraged her to savor each moment. She stood up to slip out of her shorts and panties, kicking them aside. She should feel so exposed standing there like that, but she didn’t. Not with the blatant expression of desire on Blake’s face.

She crouched down, straddling him. His warm hands caressed her hips as she leaned forward, then eased back to guide him inside her. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as the penetrating sensation coursed through her veins. With a gentle rock of her hips, she started moving. Blake’s fingertips pressed into her flesh, guiding her speed even as he bit into his lip. He flexed and tensed beneath her, providing the solid base she needed to make every motion count.

It didn’t take long for both of them to near the edge. Blake reached for her, pulling her down to kiss her deeply before she buried her face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him, and moved into her from below.

Ivy’s heart swelled at being so close to him. She could feel his pulse racing against her lips as they pressed to his throat. She could feel every muscle in him tense with every thrust. When her release hit her, he held her even tighter, whispering soft words of encouragement into her ear until her body stilled and his own orgasm rushed in.

They lay together like that for a long time. Their heartbeats slowed along with their breathing. Eventually, Ivy rolled to his side and curled against him. As hard as the floor might have seemed, there was no way either of them would move from that spot. The moment was absolutely perfect, and they wanted it to stay that way.

Preparations for Saturday night’s concert started early. Thursday morning, the stage was being set up under the goalpost of the football field. By the time Blake’s first-period gym class ended, the high school was crawling with roadies. When his last class was finished and he was heading for his truck, he saw that the property had been completely transformed into a stadium perfect for a concert by the famous Ivy Hudson.

What he didn’t expect was to find that sketchy reporter Nash Russell leaning against his truck. He was holding a manila envelope in his hands and twitching nervously.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Blake said. “For those prom pictures alone, I oughta throttle you.”

Nash held up his hands in surrender. “Before you start pounding me, I’m here with a peace offering.”

Blake frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “What could you possibly offer me aside from some time as a human punching bag?”

“Hear me out. I have some pictures I thought you might be interested in.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve got pictures you’re not interested in blasting all over the Web?”

Nash smiled. “This isn’t really my thing, but it might be yours.” He opened the envelope and let a few color photographs slip into his hands. He handed one to Blake and waited for his reaction.

Blake looked down at the photograph. It took him a minute to figure out what he was looking at, but when he realized what Nash had caught on film, he was stunned. It was a photograph of Lydia at the parade. The shot was focused on Ivy on her horse, but it was easy to see that Lydia was holding something in her hand.

“I didn’t like the way that day went down,” he said. “Spooking that horse wasn’t cool. Someone could’ve gotten hurt. And if Ivy had been that person, I would’ve lost my meal ticket. I can always find another starlet to chase, but Ivy’s grown on me.” Nash handed over a second photograph.

This picture clearly showed Lydia throwing something into the street. Blake had been certain before, but now he had the proof he needed. Maybe. He didn’t know what this Nash guy really wanted. Money? Access to Ivy? Insider information? “These are some nice pictures,” he said, noncommittally. He wasn’t going to act too interested or the price would likely go up. “If I was interested in having copies of my own, what would we be talking about here?”

Nash shrugged. “Normally, I would ask for a couple of bills. But in this case, I’m more interested in a little revenge.”

Blake’s brow went up. “Revenge on whom?”

“Lydia Whittaker. She screwed me out of some money and it pissed me off. I don’t like the broads that think they’re better than everyone else. I wanna take her down a peg.”

“So were you trying to sell her the pictures or were you blackmailing her?”

Nash shuffled around. “Details. Point is, I’ve decided to give them to you in the hopes you can put them to . . . good use.”

“For free?”

“Essentially, although I could use your help if you’re willi

ng.”