Page 84 of The Beat Match

The kid grabbed Annie’s hand. “Get moving. I don’t wanna lose my job.”

Falcon’s music pulsed hypnotically, a provocative beat that swelled into a shriek of synthesized keyboards. She wanted to stop and dance. Close her eyes and get lost in the funky rhythm. The club was hot and steamy. On fire. Bodies pulsed wildly, arms in the air, shoulders popping. The same people who’d been seized by emotion during the video intro were euphoric now, as she and Wes had planned. Grip them by their hearts, then set them free. Leave them feeling high. Changed. She and Wes had made people feel.

She followed the kid to a door at the side of the stage. VIP access. Another bouncer let them in, then she was being led down a corridor, up dark stairs, into the stage wings. And the view? The crowd was insane from this perspective. Both floors seemed to bounce, the whole club jumping to the intoxicating beats. Lights exploded from the massive disco ball, white lasers cutting through the sweltry air.

She felt Wes’s attention before she looked at him. A sixth sense. Her Wes radar. The second they locked eyes, static sparked along her skin. Even without his mask, he looked feral. A bird of prey intent upon her, those chiseled features slashed into a sculpture, noble and savage.

She wanted to jump on him, maul him. Kiss the straining veins along his strong neck, bite his earlobe, mark every inch of him because every inch of him was hers. God, she’d missed him so much. But he was in the middle of a massive show, the entire club plugged into his socket.

She wouldn’t jump his bones here, but she could do this.

She faced him fully and tugged on the hem of her yellow shirt, making it easier to read. “I never stopped loving you,” she yelled over the music. “I don’t think I ever could.”

Giddy with anticipation this afternoon, while waiting to get Sarah’s files, she’d had the cotton printed with: I Love the Falcon. She expected Wes to step away from his equipment now. Give her a brief kiss. Or stay playing while sending her a hungry snarl of possession.

Instead of doing any of those things, he lowered the mixer’s volume and faced the crowd. “When you love someone,” he said into his microphone, clear and rough. “You never let that person go.”

The volume flared back to life. The crowd cheered. Her heart inflated to three times its size as his long legs ate up the distance between them and he hauled her into his arms, twirling her on stage and kissing her breathless. In front of everyone. Hungry. Deep.

Not a G-rated kiss.

She whimpered into his mouth. “I didn’t want to break up with you. It was the worst thing, but crazy stuff was happening. Things you need to know.”

His face sobered, the chaotic club fading slightly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine now. I just love you so much.”

His eyes darkened. Another depraved kiss later, he sucked on her neck and bit her ear the way she’d wanted to bite his. “I fucking love you, Squirrel. And I’ll never let you break up with me again. You’ll have to chain me down if you think I’ll ever let you go. Now get over here and make music with me. We’ll talk later.”

He tugged her toward the mixers, no mask to hide behind, his intentions clear. She felt like a supernova, uncontained happiness and energy exploding through her pores. They played together, alternated like they’d practiced, one of them controlling the volume while the other manipulated the beats. Louder bass. Softer drums. Adding back tracks and merging layers as the songs built into breathtaking peaks. They were in sync with each other. The crowd was in sync with them. She never wanted it to end. But it did. Gloriously.

Images had been drifting across the monitors since the powerful introduction. Wondrous colors and shapes, nature preening its natural beauty. They killed the videos. The lights dimmed as they took the music down low. They stooped themselves and motioned for the masses to do the same. The entire room crouched. They were one creature. One organ thumping together. One crush of humanity that, for this one night, would believe their voices could be heard.

Those three words from earlier flashed on the monitors, one at a time.

Your. Voice. Matters.

A growing chant. The words flashed faster. The music built, the lights, the energy. Dynamism exploded through every set of smiling eyes.

“Don’t forget this feeling,” Wes called into his microphone, fist pumped into the air. “Take the cards from the bouncers when you leave. Make your voice count.”

The answering outcry was deafening, wolf whistles and shouts coming from all directions. Weston didn’t stick around to bask in his glory. One hand locked around Annie’s wrist, he dragged her off stage into a private dressing room.

He spun around and pinned her against the closed door. “I’m so sorry. I should have fought for you. For us. I was an idiot.”

“You should have, but I understand why you didn’t.” She breathed in his sincerity, their tumultuous history, all the regret filling his declaration, and tossed him a playful smile. “Back massages go a long way when earning forgiveness. As do foot massages.”

Amusement softened his stern features. “Am I that screwed?”

“Never hurts to go the extra mile.”

“I plan to massage all of you, slowly, with undying devotion.”

She blinked up at him, dazed from the show and his sultry promise, unable to reply or make another joke. His temples were sweaty, his hair askew from the non-stop dancing. Utterly scrumptious. She grabbed his hips and yanked all his raw male energy against her. “I missed you so much.”

“I was lost without you.” He kissed her roughly as they tugged at each other, demanding hands pushing at damp clothes, gasps escaping between filthy kisses. “I love you,” he whispered as they slowed down. “Always.” His next kiss was soft, gentle and reverent, the thick sweep of his tongue making her moan.

He pulled her to the room’s black leather couch, cuddled her close. She nosed his damp neck. “I’m sorry I broke up with you. It was the last thing I wanted to do.”