T-AWorthwhileSin Page 2

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but moved them through the door she’d purposefully placed herself next to. Even though this had been the plan all along, Sin had a split-second of hesitation, then relaxed into his warm strength.

  Sin forced her knees not to wobble and when his hand slid to settle in the small of her back, she nearly moaned with the sensations pulsing through her body. Being so near him was taking everything she had not to lick every inch of him. God, he was devastating.

  The door opened into a tight foyer and elevator. Tate took Sin’s glass and set both on a small table, then pushed the button. “What’s your name, babe?”

  This was her favorite part. Sin turned into him, arched her back, and purred, “Sin.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Sin?” In a heartbeat, his gaze roamed her face, her lips, dipped into her cleavage and his irises dilated. “God, you are, baby. You are.” His mouth claimed hers, and Sin’s fingers slipped up his chest as his tongue slid between her lips. He plundered her mouth like he’d already turned over his soul. Sin moaned and his kiss deepened with a tenderness she’d never experienced. Sin melted into him, and his thigh nudged between hers. His fingers swept into her hair, and he stole her breath.

  The doors swept silently open, but Tate didn’t let either of them come up for air. Again, he moved her like an expert, backing her into the room and not giving up one molecule of her lips. She moaned again and realized she was actually in Tate’s suite. She’d made it!

  His hand kneaded her ass and crushed her tight against his bulging jeans. Sin pulled up before it was too late and this spiraled out of her control. She kissed him softly and he blinked. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  Sin bit her bottom lip, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb just a whisper where she held it. “You have the most fuckab—”

  Sin pressed her index finger against his lips, silencing him. “You are insanely sexy, Tate. Please believe that I want you something fierce. But I want something else, too.” With her other hand, she rummaged around in her small clutch and clenched her thighs to keep from rubbing up against his hard cock like a cat in heat. Her panties were drenched, but she could do this. She just needed to focus and—

  Tate pulled her finger into his mouth, then a second and made love to the webbing between them. Her knees wobbled just as her fingers finally connected, and she yanked her hand from her purse, micro-recorder aloft.

  Through the dousing her panties were taking, she somehow managed to focus for the only second she needed. “Tate . . .” Okay, so that came out as a complete moan and was not even remotely professional.

  She cleared her throat. “Tate—ohmydeargod—stop that and talk to me about your upcoming album.”

  He froze and lifted his head, but kept her fingers in his mouth and doubled his efforts to make her come.

  And it was working. No, she had to focus. Had to stay the course. With agonizing regret, she withdrew her fingers and moved her hand behind her back. Tate blinked and ducked his head to take her lips again. Sin turned her head, and he suckled her earlobe while his warm breath curled through her ear and down her nape. Spirals of desire rolled down her body and pooled between her thighs. He rubbed against her. “No time for talking . . . Sin.”

  The way he said her name melted nearly all of her resolve. She grabbed the last tiny bit and held fast. “I want an interview.”

  He didn’t answer but worked her ear like a benediction.

  “Please.” Sin wasn’t sure what she was begging for, the interview, or more. His hips rotated and pressed harder. Oh God, yes. More.

  No! Wait.

  She moaned and pulled away. His hands strayed to her jaw, and he cradled her face, pulling back just enough to meet her stare. “I don’t do interviews.”

  His lips parted, and his tongue darted out to moisten the center. Beneath his sex-hooded lids, a well-practiced smoldering gaze told her exactly what he did do.

  Soft fingers trailed over the back of Sin’s arm. “Come on, babe. You didn’t ask me up to my room so we could talk. You’re sin, baby. Sin doesn’t talk. Sin fucks.”

  Sin leaned closer until her nipples graze his chest, even though that was doing exactly the opposite of what she was trying to convince him of. “Any girl can fuck you, I want what you never give away. I want your story.”

  He forced a laugh and stepped away, running a hand through his sex-tousled hair. He pinched her nipple and stared at her. “You really are sin.”

  Tate crossed the room to the kitchen, yanked a water bottle from the fridge, and took a long pull. Heaven knew how many women he fielded up and down that elevator on any given night. One after the other after the other, she guessed. His bicep flexed and strained against his T-shirt and Sin’s mouth went dry. She licked her lips and tore her gaze away, taking in everything she could about the room so she could add it to the article—the article for the interview he would give her.

  He turned, grabbed a handful of shirt, and tugged it over his head. Chest muscles gleamed beneath the kitchen fluorescents. Tribal tattoos swept up both sides of his abs and curled beneath his pecs. Her palms itched with the need to touch them. Touch all of him.

  “Then will you let me fuck you?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sin licked her lips and she tried to swallow. He was so much more than anything she’d imagined. But he was also the interview that was going to catapult her career out of the gutter trash tabloids and into Rolling Stone. She needed that far more than she needed what he had in his pants. Besides, the last thing she needed was for him to tell anyone that she was the kind of journalist who’d do anything for an interview. Even though that had been true at one time or another in her climb up the ladder.

  “Interview first.” No point in closing a door.

  He finished the bottle and tossed it into the sink where it pinballed off each side then rolled across the bottom a few times. “Mind if I change while we talk?”

  Sin’s thighs trembled. No way was she going to keep her composure if he took off anymore clothes. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. He was doing his best to keep her off-kilter . . . and it was working. She took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down her sides. “Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

  He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and slid his jeans to the floor, then stepped out of the pile and walked across the suite. Sin watched him, blinking herself out of her stupor. She couldn’t believe he’d just done that, but she wasn’t about to waste another minute and let him get any more of an advantage. Throwing her shoulders back, she followed his naked ass—like a dog tailing a meaty steak—right into the bathroom. Marble and glass from top to bottom, the bathroom was nearly as stunning as the man standing in the middle of it. Sin consumed it all like a buffet, storing details for later. Right now, she had eyes for only the heavenly inches of naked glory making her insides throb and her nipples ache. Tate eased the heavy glass door open and leaned inside, making his muscles jump and bunch. Sin wanted to lick every single indention and bulge. He twisted the knob and steam billowed around his narrow ankles and tight calves.

  The inside of his marble shower was big enough to hold the entire band and half the groupies downstairs.

  If she didn’t get this interview started, she was going to forget why she was here. He paused just outside the spray. “The water’s fine. Sure you don’t want to do the interview after?” His voice dripped sex and rumbled in a sultry echo through the room. Every syllable vibrated up the inside of her thighs and stroked her long and slow. Tate left the door open, either by way of invitation or taunt. Her stomach clenched and a jolt of electricity pinged lower.

  Sin set her purse by the door and stepped deeper into the bathroom, tape recorder clutched firmly in her fist. Steam flowed from the open door of the shower into the room, making her skirt cling. “Not today.”

  He chuckled and stepped beneath the spray. Water rivulets glazed his shoulders and darkened his tattoos. He tipped his head back and ran his fingers thro
ugh his hair, turning the blond streaks to a dark cap of silk.

  Sin cleared her throat. If she waited one more second, she was going to step right into that open door, clothes and all. Now or never. She pressed her thumb into the record button and stepped to the doorway, staying just outside the reach of the mist. “Have you always wanted to be a singer?”

  His eyes opened, and he drew his fingers down his face, scraping the sheet of water off his cheeks. He grinned and reached for the bar of soap, rolling it quickly between his palms until suds squeezed out from between his fingers. “Come on, Sin. That’s the best question you could come up with? Hit me with something original.” His eyes never left hers as he cupped each side of his chest and smeared suds across his entire torso and down his abs.

  Her fingers trembled, and she wanted to draw patterns in the coating of white bubbles, trace every inch of his sculpted chest. She drew her gaze upward and inhaled the spicy fragrance of his soap. “Alright. I thought I’d ease into it.”

  “Hard, baby. Give it to me hard.” His soapy hand lowered and he cupped himself, still half-stiff like when he’d stripped in the kitchen. Sin forgot what she was going to ask while he soaped and stroked himself. Desire pooled low in her belly and she nearly mimicked his movements with her own hand. She wobbled on her heels, then gripped the edge of the shower door. If he wanted it hard, she was going to give it to him hard—because it might be the only thing that would keep her from giving in. “When your dad left, how did that change your trajectory as a musician?”

  His hand stilled, and he lifted a leg onto the marble bench. “That’s a good girl.” His fingers slid over his knee and down his calf, slowly and deliberately touching every inch with soap. “Just remember how hard you gave it when I give it back.”

  Water cut tracks through the soap and it swirled in the water across the floor, but Sin held fast to her position beyond the warm steam. Tendrils of hair stuck to the back of her neck. He worked the other leg, then turned into the water. His ass muscles clenched, and Sin bit her lip. She wanted to fill her hands with his firm cheeks, press her thighs against his and lick the water off his skin.

  He was insanely good at the art of distraction, but Sin waited for his answer, content to look her fill while he shifted beneath the spray and rinsed off. He squirted shampoo in his palm and rubbed his hands together, blue eyes intent on her face. When he lifted them to his hair, the span of his chest made her catch her breath. He grinned and lathered his hair in slow circles, then closed his eyes while the soaking spray washed the bubbles down the length of his body.

  Stunning. Every inch.

  Two could play at this game. Somewhere between the elevator and the bathroom she’d forgotten about that strong, confident woman she’d been downstairs. One cock and she was a whimpering puddle. Her journalism professor would be ashamed. Tate didn’t have anything she’d never seen before, and even though it was brilliantly put together, there would be more than a few opportunities in her lifetime to see naked perfection again. No need to sacrifice her career just yet.

  Sin backed away from the steam until the counter pressed into her hip. She eased onto the counter. Tate watched every step, every movement, then came to the shower door, settled both hands on either side, and stared. She crossed her legs slowly, a small smile on her lips. Tate’s lids shuttered to a lustful, half-hidden look, and he licked his lips. Sin controlled the bubbly giggle and cupped her kneecap with her fingers and leaned forward, feeling her cleavage press closer and higher. His warm gaze slid over her, from top to bottom, pausing at her toes before climbing back up her naked legs.

  “You’re something else.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be answering the question?”

  Water rained off his chest and onto the marble floor, mimicking the tripping of Sin’s pulse. She could drink from that river and never get enough. His muscles bowed and glistened as the overhead lights reflected off the running water, making him look part machine, part man. Every bit of him made her want to cry out and hit her knees. She squeezed her fingers tighter until they bit into her kneecap.

  “I guess that means you’re not joining me?” He twisted the knob, silencing the rush of water.

  “Interview first.” She inhaled the wet air that smelled like man and minty soap. Her fingers shook and tingles raced over her skin, puckering her nipples and making her toes curl. If she licked him, Sin wondered if he’d taste like mint too.

  Tate stepped out of the giant shower, pulled a white towel off the rack, and slung it around his hips, then rubbed another through his hair. The dark blond spikes shot out in every direction, and she wanted to know what they felt like against her breasts. Sin squirmed on the counter.

  “So you want to know about my dad, huh?”

  “I want to know everything about you.” She rested her back against the mirror and set the tape recorder on the counter by her hip. “If you’ll tell me.”

  He ran the towel across his chest and tossed it on a small bench beside the low makeup section of the counter.

  This was some hotel room. And even though the details hadn’t been lost on Sin, she was struggling to focus on anything other than the barely covered man stalking toward her. The tattoos rippled with each step like living armor. When had he gotten them? What did they represent? She stashed those questions for the back half of her interview. First, she wanted the meat.

  Oh, my. And the meat.

  He untucked his towel and slid it sideways on his hip, then slipped the corner back beneath the white fluff, but not before giving her another glimpse of the glory that waited for her if she’d just shove her damn tape recorder back in her purse and get to the fucking.

  No! She swallowed and stiffened her back. It didn’t matter that The Tate McQueen wanted her. She wanted . . . needed this interview.

  “How about tit for tat?”

  Sin inhaled as he lifted his hand and trailed his index finger along her thigh, gently caressing the curve from her knee upward to the hem of her skirt where it had ridden up and revealed a long length of leg.

  Her eyes were glued to the temptation of his fingers, so long, so dexterous. She’d watch every single YouTube video of his fingering—knew exactly how he could maneuver them, how well he could keep a tempo, how extensive his stamina. All guitarists were good; he would be legendary.

  And she’d be his first interview.

  But not if she let him get what he wanted first.

  She yanked her attention off his wandering finger and captured those blue eyes. “What do you propose?”

  Sin gasped as his hand flattened and spanned the distance of her outer thigh, pressing into her soft flesh. Her sex clenched, and she bit her lip. No matter where that hand went, she had to stay strong. No matter what he proposed, she had to remember why she was here.

  His fingers pressed high into the tight fabric, then swept low in a soft arc. “For each question I answer, you have to answer one.”

  “That’s it?”

  A chuckle made his chest muscles quiver. “Not enough? Alright, you also have to take off a piece of clothing. We’ll make it a game of Strip Interview.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  No way could she keep her hands off him if they were both naked. She was having a hard enough time as it was. Against her leg, his cock hardened, and he pressed it against her. His lids dropped, and he cupped her knee with his other hand.

  Sin clenched her fingers tighter. If he got her knees apart, she was probably a goner. “I’ll play, but on one condition.”

  His hand rolled over hers and up her other thigh, caressing the dark cleavage where she was squeezing her thighs together. “Anything.”

  “No touching.”

  He traced the far side of her skirt, finger barely slipping beneath the fabric. The warm hand buried beneath her skirt gripped tighter, nearly sending a surge of wetness into her hot panties. No one affected her quite like Tate. He was so manly—and yet his artistic side was what appealed to her soul more than a
nything. She’d caught his very first gig a thousand years ago when they’d both been starting out . . . no way he even remembered that . . . but she’d known from that first moment that he was due for stardom.

  And now the star had his hands full of her ass, and she desperately wanted to reciprocate. Tate’s finger worked back toward her knee, pressing into the space between her thighs and asking her to part them, but she stayed firm.

  Like the thickness pressing against her that she wanted to rub against like an attention-starved cat.

  “You’re too hot for me to be able to pull that off.”

  A warmth crept up Sin’s neck. He said that to everyone, but the line was so well-rehearsed it sounded genuine. She didn’t get a lot of guys calling her hot, even though she knew she was. Sometimes it was nice to hear it aloud from someone other than her reflection.

  He bent over and kissed the top of her knee. “I can try. That’s the best I can do.”

  She fisted her hands to keep them out of the wet spikes just inches away. The “no touching” was as much for her as it was for him. If she got her hands on him, there was no way she’d want to stop.

  “Can we at least go sit in the living room?” His tongue darted out to lick the curve of her thigh. “Mmm. Nevermind, let’s stay right here where you’re at the perfect height for a late night snack.”

  Sin’s laugh sounded strained, and she eased herself off the counter. “Living room.”

  He pretended to look defeated, and Sin pretended not to be charmed. She followed him into the other room, wishing he was wearing more than a flimsy towel. “How about some wine?”

  Sin settled into the corner of the couch and paused her tape recorder. “Please.” She couldn’t stop watching his graceful movements. Every step was a ballet of movement. It was the one thing he’d never lost since that first night, this ability to move with the harmony of either the constant music in his head or the symphony of the earth. She’d seen it a few times in musicians and it fascinated her. They never seemed to be able to turn their musicality off, and she admired their willingness to devote their entire lives to something that seemed to consume their entire soul.