it.
How could he be attracted to Chelsea Stone?
He didnât approve of her.
Not of the way she dressed. Nor her attitude. Nor her life-style, and especially not of her relationship with Tucker Gable. Why, the two of them practically made love onstage when they performed together at rock concerts. They were incendiary in front of a crowd, almost setting the audience on fire.
No. Chelsea Stone was not the woman for him.
He liked the sort of girls heâd grown up around. Women who wore gloves, white onesânot black net. Women who spoke softlyânot in a voice more gravelly than his own. Women who knew how to behave themselvesânot women who⦠who challenged him?
Was that true?
No. Chelsea Stone wasnât right for him, but it wasnât because she challenged him. It was because she was involved with Tucker Gable. It was dangerous to let this infatuation he felt for her develop.
Still, she and Tucker werenât married. Didnât that make her fair game romantically? Maybe. But pursuing Chelsea was doomed to end badly.
He told his reflection that he was only taking her out dancing to celebrate her birthday. That it had nothing to do with the way she kissed. That spending time with her was the only way to get himself unblocked.
Then, once he was able to write again, heâd give her the song she wanted. Write her out of his life.
Satisfied heâd reached a sensible decision, Dakota peeled the bits of tissue off his face and finished getting dressed.
He was opening a bottle of champagne when Chelsea came downstairs to join him. It was clear that white gloves had never entered her mind.
âDonât you have something to wear that isnât see-through?â he demanded, observing the sheer black blouse that laced up the front with a black satin ribbon. She wore a frilly black bra under it, but somehow it made the outfit even more indecent.
âWhy, I donât have anything to hide,â she answered, as she slid a silver-studded black belt through the loops of her tight, button-fly jeans.
To keep himself from staring, Dakota poured her a glass of champagne and handed it to her.
âArenât you going to make a birthday toast?â She eyed his empty glass.
âOf course.â He poured champagne into his glass, then turned to face her and tried not to look at the crests of her breasts swelling over the black lace bra. The sheer black fabric of the blouse only made them more inviting.
âTo, ahâ¦â
âDonât tell me your block extends to toasts, as well. Come on, the bubbles will all disappear if you donât come up with something soon.â
âAhâ¦â
âYou said that already.â
âTo making better decisions,â he blurted out. He lifted his glass and tossed down its contents.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â she asked, after sipping her champagne.
âWhatever you want it to. You could choose better music, better men⦠a better blouse.â
âWill you chill about the blouse. Thereâs nothing wrong with it. Tucker likes it,â she added defiantly.
âOh, well. You should have told me. If Tucker likes it, then by all meansââ
âCould we just go?â Chelsea set her champagne glass on the table with a toss of her long dark curls.
âOf course.â Heâd made her angry again. What was wrong with him? His mother would be appalled at his lack of manners around a lady. But then, Chelsea Stone wasnât a lady, he was reminded, as he followed her to the car, watching the sway of her hips. Jeans did the same thing for her long legs as short skirts. Wasnât there something she didnât look good in? he wondered, as he held the door for her to slide into the soft bucket seat.
The scent of her perfume drifted up to tease him when he bent to close the car door. He wondered just when it had been that heâd become suicidal. Had it been six months
How could he be attracted to Chelsea Stone?
He didnât approve of her.
Not of the way she dressed. Nor her attitude. Nor her life-style, and especially not of her relationship with Tucker Gable. Why, the two of them practically made love onstage when they performed together at rock concerts. They were incendiary in front of a crowd, almost setting the audience on fire.
No. Chelsea Stone was not the woman for him.
He liked the sort of girls heâd grown up around. Women who wore gloves, white onesânot black net. Women who spoke softlyânot in a voice more gravelly than his own. Women who knew how to behave themselvesânot women who⦠who challenged him?
Was that true?
No. Chelsea Stone wasnât right for him, but it wasnât because she challenged him. It was because she was involved with Tucker Gable. It was dangerous to let this infatuation he felt for her develop.
Still, she and Tucker werenât married. Didnât that make her fair game romantically? Maybe. But pursuing Chelsea was doomed to end badly.
He told his reflection that he was only taking her out dancing to celebrate her birthday. That it had nothing to do with the way she kissed. That spending time with her was the only way to get himself unblocked.
Then, once he was able to write again, heâd give her the song she wanted. Write her out of his life.
Satisfied heâd reached a sensible decision, Dakota peeled the bits of tissue off his face and finished getting dressed.
He was opening a bottle of champagne when Chelsea came downstairs to join him. It was clear that white gloves had never entered her mind.
âDonât you have something to wear that isnât see-through?â he demanded, observing the sheer black blouse that laced up the front with a black satin ribbon. She wore a frilly black bra under it, but somehow it made the outfit even more indecent.
âWhy, I donât have anything to hide,â she answered, as she slid a silver-studded black belt through the loops of her tight, button-fly jeans.
To keep himself from staring, Dakota poured her a glass of champagne and handed it to her.
âArenât you going to make a birthday toast?â She eyed his empty glass.
âOf course.â He poured champagne into his glass, then turned to face her and tried not to look at the crests of her breasts swelling over the black lace bra. The sheer black fabric of the blouse only made them more inviting.
âTo, ahâ¦â
âDonât tell me your block extends to toasts, as well. Come on, the bubbles will all disappear if you donât come up with something soon.â
âAhâ¦â
âYou said that already.â
âTo making better decisions,â he blurted out. He lifted his glass and tossed down its contents.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â she asked, after sipping her champagne.
âWhatever you want it to. You could choose better music, better men⦠a better blouse.â
âWill you chill about the blouse. Thereâs nothing wrong with it. Tucker likes it,â she added defiantly.
âOh, well. You should have told me. If Tucker likes it, then by all meansââ
âCould we just go?â Chelsea set her champagne glass on the table with a toss of her long dark curls.
âOf course.â Heâd made her angry again. What was wrong with him? His mother would be appalled at his lack of manners around a lady. But then, Chelsea Stone wasnât a lady, he was reminded, as he followed her to the car, watching the sway of her hips. Jeans did the same thing for her long legs as short skirts. Wasnât there something she didnât look good in? he wondered, as he held the door for her to slide into the soft bucket seat.
The scent of her perfume drifted up to tease him when he bent to close the car door. He wondered just when it had been that heâd become suicidal. Had it been six months
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