Read Online My Heart's Beat (Hard Love & Dark Rock #2) by Ashley Grace - Free Book Online
Authors: Ashley Grace
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that hadn't taken a blow to the head.
"You better help your friends," I said. "Head trauma is no joke."
And then I turned toward the park exit, and started walking back to the hotel.
As I reached the first intersection, Anne spoke again.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?"
I looked down at her.
"Like what?"
"Like that . You just took out three guys, and one of them was a lot bigger than you."
"Well, all of them were a lot drunker than me, too. Or at least that's what I'd guess by the way they smelled: booze fumes and stripper perfume." I smiled. "And besides, I had some help."
She shook her head. "Seriously, though. That was kind of amazing. You're not some sort of secret agent disguised as a sexy rock star, are you Trace?"
"Actually, call me Bond," I said. "Trace Bond."
She smiled at me, her eyes lighting up with it. It sent a giddy rush of pleasure straight to my head.
"I love it when you smile," I said.
Her lips closed a little, as if she were suddenly shy. But in her eyes, that smile kept shining.
"If you really want to know," I said, "I grew up in a pretty rough neighborhood. When the Belletristes were first starting out, we were more of a screamo band, and we played a lot of punk shows. Some of those shows were pretty macho affairs—a lot of tough-guy jocks coming around, looking to fight. And because we played songs about love, and because I wore eye-liner sometimes, we had to deal with more aggression than most."
"You still wear eyeliner," she said.
"Sometimes," I nodded. "It helps to bring out my eyes."
I fluttered my lashes at her, and she laughed.
"In all honesty, though, we used to get in fights every week, but tonight was the first time I've had to fight in years."
"And not just you," Anne said, sounding thoughtful. "Joey and Micah got into it with Becca's friend Ronnie, too."
"Well, if I recall correctly, the bartender started that. Though I won't deny that Joey does seem to attract more than his fair share of trouble."
She was quiet for a moment, and I glanced down at her again, worried.
To my surprise, she was smiling.
"It's just," she whispered. "This is almost like a movie or something. But if it was a movie, that'd make me the female lead, and I've never seen myself as the leading lady type."
We were just across the street from the hotel now, the lights of the entrance glaring bright. I knew I had to take her in there, to get Bernstein's doctor friend to check her ankle. But for a moment, a sudden, powerful desire came surging up in me.
I didn't want to take her back in there, into the bright lights and the noise and the commotion of the hotel. I wanted to keep her away from that. I wanted her to be alone with me.
"Trace," she said.
I paused on the corner, and looked down at her.
"Yes, Anne?"
She had her palm pressed flat against my chest.
"Your heart," she said. "I can feel it beating. It's really going."
"For you, Anne. It's beating for you."
Her dark eyes were shining in the moonlight, her lips looked soft and sweet. She was absolutely breathtaking, and for a moment there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that I wanted more than to kiss her.
So I did.
Chapter 9
Anne
There was blood on my knees. I didn't even feel it. All I felt was Trace.
I felt his arms, strong and firm, holding me as if I didn't weigh a thing. I felt his chest, broad and muscular and warm against my hand. I felt the powerful thumping of his heart—the rhythm of life itself, pulsing against my palm. I felt the charge of his bare skin against mine where our bodies touched—my arm across his shoulders, his hand gripping my thigh.
I felt his lips against mine, soft but insistent, hungry for the taste of me. I could feel it in his kiss: this man wanted me.
And I wanted him, too.
In that moment—as our mouths moved against each other, speaking our desires without using words—I didn't care about anything else. I didn't
"You better help your friends," I said. "Head trauma is no joke."
And then I turned toward the park exit, and started walking back to the hotel.
As I reached the first intersection, Anne spoke again.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?"
I looked down at her.
"Like what?"
"Like that . You just took out three guys, and one of them was a lot bigger than you."
"Well, all of them were a lot drunker than me, too. Or at least that's what I'd guess by the way they smelled: booze fumes and stripper perfume." I smiled. "And besides, I had some help."
She shook her head. "Seriously, though. That was kind of amazing. You're not some sort of secret agent disguised as a sexy rock star, are you Trace?"
"Actually, call me Bond," I said. "Trace Bond."
She smiled at me, her eyes lighting up with it. It sent a giddy rush of pleasure straight to my head.
"I love it when you smile," I said.
Her lips closed a little, as if she were suddenly shy. But in her eyes, that smile kept shining.
"If you really want to know," I said, "I grew up in a pretty rough neighborhood. When the Belletristes were first starting out, we were more of a screamo band, and we played a lot of punk shows. Some of those shows were pretty macho affairs—a lot of tough-guy jocks coming around, looking to fight. And because we played songs about love, and because I wore eye-liner sometimes, we had to deal with more aggression than most."
"You still wear eyeliner," she said.
"Sometimes," I nodded. "It helps to bring out my eyes."
I fluttered my lashes at her, and she laughed.
"In all honesty, though, we used to get in fights every week, but tonight was the first time I've had to fight in years."
"And not just you," Anne said, sounding thoughtful. "Joey and Micah got into it with Becca's friend Ronnie, too."
"Well, if I recall correctly, the bartender started that. Though I won't deny that Joey does seem to attract more than his fair share of trouble."
She was quiet for a moment, and I glanced down at her again, worried.
To my surprise, she was smiling.
"It's just," she whispered. "This is almost like a movie or something. But if it was a movie, that'd make me the female lead, and I've never seen myself as the leading lady type."
We were just across the street from the hotel now, the lights of the entrance glaring bright. I knew I had to take her in there, to get Bernstein's doctor friend to check her ankle. But for a moment, a sudden, powerful desire came surging up in me.
I didn't want to take her back in there, into the bright lights and the noise and the commotion of the hotel. I wanted to keep her away from that. I wanted her to be alone with me.
"Trace," she said.
I paused on the corner, and looked down at her.
"Yes, Anne?"
She had her palm pressed flat against my chest.
"Your heart," she said. "I can feel it beating. It's really going."
"For you, Anne. It's beating for you."
Her dark eyes were shining in the moonlight, her lips looked soft and sweet. She was absolutely breathtaking, and for a moment there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that I wanted more than to kiss her.
So I did.
Chapter 9
Anne
There was blood on my knees. I didn't even feel it. All I felt was Trace.
I felt his arms, strong and firm, holding me as if I didn't weigh a thing. I felt his chest, broad and muscular and warm against my hand. I felt the powerful thumping of his heart—the rhythm of life itself, pulsing against my palm. I felt the charge of his bare skin against mine where our bodies touched—my arm across his shoulders, his hand gripping my thigh.
I felt his lips against mine, soft but insistent, hungry for the taste of me. I could feel it in his kiss: this man wanted me.
And I wanted him, too.
In that moment—as our mouths moved against each other, speaking our desires without using words—I didn't care about anything else. I didn't
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