Jo:See? Everyone’s having a good time. Except you.
Derek:I’m having a good time.
Jo:Nope. Not buying it. I know what you look like when you’re having a good time. This isn’t it.
She snapped a selfie, an exaggerated scowl curling her lips downward and her eyes squinted nearly shut, and sent it. On the other side of the stage, she thought she heard Derek cover a sudden burst of laughter with a cough, his lips pressed together to smother the smile spreading across his face.
Thumbing through her photos, she selected a selfie she’d snapped for her own social media account earlier in the day. The golden light filtering through the palm trees dappled her skin and t-shirt, the clear blue ocean rippling behind her. She’d reapplied her lip gloss right before taking the photo and her mouth looked especially kissable if she did say so herself. The airbrush filter she’d applied didn’t hurt either, smoothing out the uneven skin tone under her eyes and making her platinum blonde hair seem almost silver. She attached the photo to her next message.
Jo:This is what it looks like when a person ishaving a good time.
Derek:I prefer this photo, actually.
Jo’s breath caught in her chest as an image of herself filled her screen. In it, she was reclining on the queen-size bed in Annie’s room amidst a truly ridiculous number of pillows, her young charge curled into her side. Jo held Annie’s copy ofThe Phoenix Princess,the little girl stabbing a finger at the open page incredulously as Jo tilted her head back, laughing. She recognized the moment from the previous night, right before Derek had returned to take over the bedtime story.
The lighting was all wrong, the bedside lamp casting shadows in strange places, and her thighs, pressed against the bedspread instead of lifted as she would have done on a photoshoot, put her cellulite on full display. Her hair was a mess, and her lipstick had worn off. It would make a horrible social media post, with its inelegant framing and her mouth open too wide mid-laugh.
And yet.
Jo glanced up from her phone to see Derek watching her from the other side of the stage, his gaze intense, as though he were poised to spring into action at any moment, to rush across the stage and—
And what? Hands to ourselves, remember?
But the look on his face didn’t say ‘hands to ourselves.’ That look said ‘remember how it felt when my hands were on your skin?’ And, Lord, didshe ever.
She thumbed through her phone, selecting another photo and sending it before she could think better of it. She watched as he tore his eyes away from her to check the new message, the slight flare of his nostrils, the intense concentration as he dragged his hand over his mouth. It was one of her favorite photos of herself, a boudoir shot Kyla had taken when she was first starting her photography business, all saturated colors and deep shadows. In the photograph Jo knelt with her back to the camera, her face turned, light limning her profile. The wide expanse of her bare back was arched to accentuate the dip of her waist, the light falling perfectly to highlight the firm curves of her ass, the cheap lace thong looking expensive under the dramatic lighting.
She felt the moment their eyes met like a thrumming through her veins, the tumblers of a lock clicking into place the moment before a door opened, clockwork pieces rearranging as cogs and wheels shifted into alignment. His eyes darkened, scanning her from head to toe and back again, washing her with heat, as though her lipstick hadn’t worn off and her hair wasn’t seven kinds of tangled from hours spent on the beach chasing Annie. Something tugged on her sternum, an invisible string urging her to cut through the maze of curtains and rigging at the back of the stage to get to him.
The audience burst into applause as the members of Midnight Storm got to their feet, waving their goodbyes. But Jo couldn’t look away from Derek, the intensity of his stare penetrating the shadowy wings and pinning her in place.
A second later, Annie appeared at her side, Kat trailingbehind her. “Ice cream time?” the little girl asked.
Jo blinked away from Derek. “Sure.”
“I know that look,” Kat teased, waggling a finger at Jo’s face. “Who is he? One of the security guys? Is it Gideon?” She craned her neck around the curtain, scanning the opposite side of the stage. “There’s no one there except Derek.” As though she’d just heard herself, she snapped her eyes to Jo. “You’re not—”
“Going to get ice cream? We sure are,” Jo interjected with false brightness. “Do you want to come?”
“Come with us, Kat! It’s not just any ice cream. It’s ghostice cream,” Annie said.
“I’ve never heard of ghost ice cream,” Kat replied.
Jo barely heard Annie’s response. How could she be expected to focus on ghost ice cream when she could feel Derek’s eyes on her again? Their slow movement raised goosebumps across her shoulders as his footsteps drew closer. Each place his gaze lingered sparked under his attention.
When his hand landed on her lower back, she sucked in a breath, fire licking at her skin beneath his palm. “What’s this about ice cream?” The deep rumble of his voice slid down her spine, molten and liquid.
Kat looked between Derek and Jo, a smile splitting across her face. “Annie and I are going to get some ice cream.”
“And Jo!” Annie added.
“Why don’t we let Jo have the night off?” Kat suggested.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jo said.
“We’ll all go,” Derek said.
“Go where?” Beckett asked as he and the band exited the stage and joined their little gathering, his sudden appearance jostling Jo closer to Derek. Her hip nudged his, and he swept his thumb in a line down her spine, the tenderness of it sizzling through her veins.