Early shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “His mom, dad, and uncle are here, so he’d haveother reasons to stay. Plus, the movie might film the sequel here if it does well.”
The possibility sent an unexpected wave of longing through me that I suppressed. “I can’t think that far ahead. This is just dinner.”
“Whatever happens, happens.” Early rose on his toes to kiss me. “Let’s have some fun and stop overthinking it.” He moved to attend to the stove.
The doorbell chimed at exactly seven o’clock. He gave me a delighted look from where he stood stirring the gravy.
“Right on time,” I muttered, impressed despite myself. After years of Early’s chronic lateness to everything, punctuality scored major points with me.
I opened the door to find Chance looking as if he’d stepped off a magazine cover. His fitted black button-down hugged his lean muscles, and dark jeans emphasized his long legs. His sandy-blond hair falling in his eyes gave me an itch to brush it back.
“Hi,” he said with a warm smile that lit up his face.
Before I could respond, Early darted past me. “You made it!” He pulled Chance into a hug that lingered long enough to make my mouth go dry. “And looking sexy as hell, I might add.”
A faint hint of a blush graced Chance’s cheeks. “I wanted to dress up for such excellent company.”
“Consider me impressed.” Early always knew howto ease tension, even if his methods sometimes frustrated me. “The roast still needs a few more minutes. Duke, why don’t you show Chance around? Especially your vinyl collection. I think he’d love to see it.”
Despite Early’s ulterior motives, I led Chance upstairs. “Fair warning. He calls this room my music cave.” I flipped on the light, illuminating my sanctum.
The room wasn’t huge, but I’d maximized every inch of space. Custom-built shelves lined three walls from floor to ceiling, filled with meticulously organized vinyl records. A turntable sat on a solid oak cabinet that housed my speaker system. The fourth wall featured framed concert posters and rare album art, each piece curated over years of collecting.
Chance’s eyes widened as he took in my pride and joy. “Holy shit, this is incredible!” He moved closer to examine the collection, his fingers hovering over the alphabetized spines. As his gaze traveled along the shelves, he froze. “You have original pressings of Midnight Reverie’s first album?Wow.” His voice held genuine awe.
“You know them?” I asked, surprised anyone else had heard of the obscure jazz band. Most people under forty drew a blank at the mention of their name.
“Are you kidding? Their experimental fusion of jazz and rock basically invented a whole new genre in the seventies.” Chance’s fingers traced the album's spine with the delicate touch of someone whounderstood its value. “This is museum-worthy.” His excitement was infectious, reminding me of the thrill I’d experienced when I’d first discovered the album at a tiny record shop in Portland.
I relaxed as we discussed our favorite tracks and rare B-sides. His genuine enthusiasm and deep knowledge of music history drew me in despite my reservations. He spoke about complex jazz arrangements with the same passion I’d seen him display onstage, proving his talent went far beyond just performing.
Then he froze, pulling out a familiar black sleeve with silver text. “Wait, this is the Japanese special edition of our first EP. There were only five hundred made!” He turned to me with an accusatory grin. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
Heat crept up my neck as I debated how much to reveal about my fanboy past. “I might have been following your career since you debuted.” The words came out gruffer than intended, but Chance’s delighted expression told me he didn’t mind.
“But that was years before you met Dad,” Chance said, eyebrows raised in a perfect imitation of Sir’s signature look.
“I was a Four Princes fan first,” I admitted, running my hand along the shelf of organized records. “But when I heard about Sir’s son starting his own band, I was curious. Then I listened and…” I shrugged, downplaying how much his music had affected me. “You have your own sound, your own style. You’re not riding anyone’s coattails.”
Something vulnerable flickered in Chance’s eyes before he carefully replaced the record. When he turned back, he’d moved close enough I could smell his cologne. The scent reminded me of leather and whiskey, with undertones that spoke of late nights and secret desires.
“You enjoy my music that much?” His voice dropped to that velvet tone that haunted my dreams, the one that made Early writhe beneath me when we played Chance’s songs in bed.
I crossed my arms, drawing myself up to my full height, making sure I towered over him. “Don’t make it mean anything.”
He took a bold step toward me. His sexy smirk had gotten him everything he wanted his whole life, but I refused to be another conquest. Too bad my body had other ideas when his tantalizing cologne invaded my personal space.
“I want to know how much.” His fingertips played with the hem of his shirt.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I warned.
His eyes darkened, his baby blues turning stormy with lust. “Maybe I love dangerous games. Maybe I’ve been thinking about how your hands would feel pinning me down.”
An image hit me hard of Chance spread out beneath me, naked and aroused, finally silencing hissmart mouth with my demanding kiss. My fingers twitched with the urge to grab him, to teach him a lesson about flirting with married men, especially ones who wanted nothing more than to break him apart and put him back together again.
“You should think carefully about your next move.”
Instead of backing down, he stepped closer. I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Or what? You’ll punish me?” He tilted his head, exposing the elegant line of his throat, begging me to mark him with my teeth.
