When it came to the jukebox’s alleged magic,
Gus’s boyfriend was a total skeptic.
But Tom, long gone but
never really gone,
would have laughed right along with her. “That thing’s been
enchanting people since before I bought this place,” he’d say.
“Probably since before I was born. Two more souls caught up in it,
for better or worse.”
Judging from their
bewildered expressions, Gus wasn’t sure if the spell “Heat Wave”
had laid on Solomon and the woman qualified as for better or for worse. But they were definitely
caught up in it, the song like a heat wave crashing over them and
carrying them away.
Chapter Ten
“I can’t believe that song is playing
again,” Meredith groaned.
She’d been stressed out when she’d arrived
at Caleb’s office—and now, instead of decompressing with a glass of
wine, she appeared even more stressed out, thanks to the song
blasting from the jukebox. He tried to calm her down with a joke.
“I remember hearing as a kid that earwigs would enter your head
through your ear and eat their way through your brain. I’m
wondering if ear-worms work the same way.”
She was too busy biting her lip to
smile.
His own smile was forced. What was that crap
Annie had told him, about the jukebox being magic? He didn’t
believe her. He didn’t believe the jukebox had any power over him.
He’d just heard an old Elvis Presley song emerge from the machine
without feeling anything other than bemusement that screaming
teenagers used to go apeshit over a guy with sneering lips and
puffy hair who sang about a pair of shoes.
It was only “Heat Wave” that had an effect
on him. Probably because the weather had been so freaking hot the
past few days.
Screw magic. Screw the song. “Come on,” he
said, tapping the neck of his beer bottle gently against Meredith’s
wine goblet. “Have a drink and let’s brainstorm.”
She obediently took a sip of wine. Caleb got
the impression that she wasn’t always so compliant. But she seemed
dazed, as troubled now as when she’d come to his office. Lowering
her glass, she sighed. “You brainstorm. My brain’s gone missing in
action.”
He tried to come up with
another joke. If he could make her laugh, maybe she’d find her
brain again. But he couldn’t think of anything witty or clever to
say. His brain had gone AWOL, too. My
head's in a haze, he thought as the singers
belted out those very lyrics.
He lifted his beer bottle, tipped it back
against his lips, and took a long drink. The bubbles stung his
throat; the flavors—a mix of sour and bitter—soothed the sting.
This room wasn’t hot. His drink wasn’t hot. Yet he felt inundated
by a heat wave.
Burning with desire.
Damn. He wanted Meredith. He wanted her in
his arms, naked. He wanted her breasts not flashing in a cell-phone
video but filling his hands, swelling against his lips. He wanted
her bottomless as well as topless, her long legs wrapped around
him, his dick buried inside her. He wanted her more than he could
ever recall wanting a woman before.
It made no sense. Sure, she was beautiful.
But not overly sexy. Not flirtatious. There was nothing come-hither
about her. Her brief semi-naked streak across the beach
notwithstanding, she seemed kind of prim. She was the sort of woman
who would untie her bikini top for no other reason than to avoid a
tan line when she wore a bridesmaid’s dress.
But he wanted her. The table separating them
was small enough that he could reach across it and hug her if he
dared, which he didn’t. Small enough that he could lift her out of
her chair and pull her into his lap, and then he could nuzzle her
graceful throat and plunge his fingers into the depths of her lush
blond hair. He could kiss her, stroke her, tongue her, take her…and
acknowledge, when it was over, that she’d been the one who’d taken
him. Did she have any idea of the power she had over him?
Which was crazy. She was
a client . A client
who’d never even batted
Gus’s boyfriend was a total skeptic.
But Tom, long gone but
never really gone,
would have laughed right along with her. “That thing’s been
enchanting people since before I bought this place,” he’d say.
“Probably since before I was born. Two more souls caught up in it,
for better or worse.”
Judging from their
bewildered expressions, Gus wasn’t sure if the spell “Heat Wave”
had laid on Solomon and the woman qualified as for better or for worse. But they were definitely
caught up in it, the song like a heat wave crashing over them and
carrying them away.
Chapter Ten
“I can’t believe that song is playing
again,” Meredith groaned.
She’d been stressed out when she’d arrived
at Caleb’s office—and now, instead of decompressing with a glass of
wine, she appeared even more stressed out, thanks to the song
blasting from the jukebox. He tried to calm her down with a joke.
“I remember hearing as a kid that earwigs would enter your head
through your ear and eat their way through your brain. I’m
wondering if ear-worms work the same way.”
She was too busy biting her lip to
smile.
His own smile was forced. What was that crap
Annie had told him, about the jukebox being magic? He didn’t
believe her. He didn’t believe the jukebox had any power over him.
He’d just heard an old Elvis Presley song emerge from the machine
without feeling anything other than bemusement that screaming
teenagers used to go apeshit over a guy with sneering lips and
puffy hair who sang about a pair of shoes.
It was only “Heat Wave” that had an effect
on him. Probably because the weather had been so freaking hot the
past few days.
Screw magic. Screw the song. “Come on,” he
said, tapping the neck of his beer bottle gently against Meredith’s
wine goblet. “Have a drink and let’s brainstorm.”
She obediently took a sip of wine. Caleb got
the impression that she wasn’t always so compliant. But she seemed
dazed, as troubled now as when she’d come to his office. Lowering
her glass, she sighed. “You brainstorm. My brain’s gone missing in
action.”
He tried to come up with
another joke. If he could make her laugh, maybe she’d find her
brain again. But he couldn’t think of anything witty or clever to
say. His brain had gone AWOL, too. My
head's in a haze, he thought as the singers
belted out those very lyrics.
He lifted his beer bottle, tipped it back
against his lips, and took a long drink. The bubbles stung his
throat; the flavors—a mix of sour and bitter—soothed the sting.
This room wasn’t hot. His drink wasn’t hot. Yet he felt inundated
by a heat wave.
Burning with desire.
Damn. He wanted Meredith. He wanted her in
his arms, naked. He wanted her breasts not flashing in a cell-phone
video but filling his hands, swelling against his lips. He wanted
her bottomless as well as topless, her long legs wrapped around
him, his dick buried inside her. He wanted her more than he could
ever recall wanting a woman before.
It made no sense. Sure, she was beautiful.
But not overly sexy. Not flirtatious. There was nothing come-hither
about her. Her brief semi-naked streak across the beach
notwithstanding, she seemed kind of prim. She was the sort of woman
who would untie her bikini top for no other reason than to avoid a
tan line when she wore a bridesmaid’s dress.
But he wanted her. The table separating them
was small enough that he could reach across it and hug her if he
dared, which he didn’t. Small enough that he could lift her out of
her chair and pull her into his lap, and then he could nuzzle her
graceful throat and plunge his fingers into the depths of her lush
blond hair. He could kiss her, stroke her, tongue her, take her…and
acknowledge, when it was over, that she’d been the one who’d taken
him. Did she have any idea of the power she had over him?
Which was crazy. She was
a client . A client
who’d never even batted
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