Wicked Beat (Sinners on Tour 4)

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her mouth dropped open. Her body arched back in abandon.

He followed her this time, spasms of pleasure gripping him so hard, so deep, that his vision blurred and he had to cling to the comforter with both hands to keep himself grounded.

She collapsed on top of him, breathing hard. He eventually found the strength to lift his hand and cradle her head against his chest.

“Wow,” she gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me getting a tattoo was so f**king sexy?”

“It usually isn’t.” And now that her full weight was on him, the only thing registering in his new tattoo was stinging pain, like that of a bad sunburn. He carefully shifted her onto the bed beside him and then cuddled against her back. Their names were pressed against each other. Even though it was mildly uncomfortable, he liked the reminder that no matter where she happened to be, her name would always be a part of him, and his would be a part of her.

Chapter 31

The next morning Rebekah woke alone. Her clothes were in a pile on the floor beside the bed. Apparently, Eric had retrieved them from the garage. She applied more salve to her tattoo before slipping into her clothes and going in search of the man who consumed her thoughts, her heart, her body, her soul.

She didn’t find him with his musical instruments or in the kitchen or in front of the TV. He wasn’t on the porch swing or in the garage. Neither was his car. He’d deserted her without letting her know where he was going. And because her car was still at the restaurant where she’d met him the night before, she was pretty much trapped. The Camaro wasn’t even close to running yet.

She returned to the kitchen and found a pot of coffee waiting. Under a clean mug, she found a note.

I’ll be back soon. Make yourself at home. Eric

She still didn’t know where he’d gone, but she was feeling a little less abandoned. At least he’d thought to leave her a note and make her coffee. She gulped a mug of black java and started thinking of all the things she wanted to do for his birthday. She was determined to make it the most special day of his life. Bored and more than a little lonely, she eventually went to the garage to tinker with the Camaro. The sooner she got it running, the sooner she could drive it. She was quite a mess by the time Eric returned a couple hours later. He climbed out of the car with a huge smile.

“You’ve got grease all over your face,” he told her, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

She had her hand deep in the engine compartment, tightening a bolt. He eased her T-shirt up and kissed her lower back inches above her new tattoo. “How does it feel?”

“A little sore. But not bad. Yours?”

“It’s a constant reminder of you.”

She grinned and stood upright to kiss the cleft in his chin. “Then it’s perfect. So where have you been all morning?”

He reached into his vest and retrieved a thick piece of paper from the inside of his vest. “I had this printed up,” he said and showed her a short music score. It only had two lines of music. One line was labeled as his and the other as hers.

“Is that from our tattoos?” she asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go play it together.”

She lifted her greasy hands. “I’m a mess.”

“It’ll wash.” He peeked into the open engine compartment. “Any hope for the Camaro?”

She smiled, bouncing on her heels with excitement. “Yeah. I think it should start now. I switched the plugs, the distributer, and the carburetor. You should have seen the muck in the old one. I think a squirrel died in it or something.”

He laughed and opened the creaky driver’s side door for her. She climbed behind the wheel. Anticipation killing her, Rebekah pumped the gas pedal twice and turned the key. Though it started, the engine was a bit hesitant from sitting idle so long. Once it got going, it ran strong and loud, with a few knocks and pings beneath the rumble, but it probably just needed to run. Rebekah gunned the gas pedal, and the car emitted a satisfying vroom.

“I can’t believe you got it started,” Eric yelled over the roar of the engine.

She beamed at him. “Hop in, we’ll take it for a spin.”

“And then you’ll play our song with me?”

“Of course. I can’t wait.”

Eric hit the button to open the garage door as he made his way around to the passenger side. Once he climbed into the car beside her, she backed out of the garage and turned around to take the long, winding drive.

The power of the engine was exhilarating, especially on the loose gravel.

“Yeah!” Eric shouted as Rebekah hit the gas, and the car fishtailed before gripping the road again.

At the end of the driveway, Rebekah spun onto the blacktop and pushed the car faster. She shifted into third, and the engine whirred in neutral before catching with a harsh shudder. “Transmission needs some work,” she said.

She turned her head to find him staring at her.

“What?”

He just smiled and shook his head slightly. She turned the car around at the end of someone’s driveway and headed back home. She’d just entered their driveway when there was a loud squeal followed by a snap. “I think that was the fan belt.” She stopped the car, and it died.

“I guess she’s not quite ready for street racing yet,” Eric said.

“Not yet. But soon!” They left the car in the driveway and walked hand in hand to the house. He kissed her knuckles when they entered the kitchen. “Wash up, and meet me at the piano,” he said.

“Don’t I get a good morning kiss?”

“It’s almost noon.”

“So I’ll take a lunchtime kiss too.”

He kissed her. Twice. Neither kiss long or deep enough as far as she was concerned, but she could tell he was anxious to play their short duet, and she was anxious to hear it.

She scrubbed as much oil and grime from her hands as she could with lava soap and examined her nails with a grimace. She really could use a manicure, but she’d just end up breaking them off while working on the car anyway. She wondered if Eric regretted falling for a less-than-feminine woman.

She found him sitting at the piano bench in the family room, staring at the piece of music as if he were trying to set it on fire with his eyes. She slid onto the right half of the bench beside him.

He shifted closer so that her body was against his from calf to shoulder and slid his right arm around her lower back. He placed the fingers of her right hand on the proper keys and showed her the sequence of the notes. There were less than thirty notes in the little piece of music, but it moved her so profoundly she could scarcely breathe. She knew it was weird, but it sounded like her. Like who she was on the inside. If she had been a song, this joyous, hopeful little melody would be it. She couldn’t believe he could capture it so perfectly in a few notes.