Have Mercy: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance by Shelley Ann Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

teenage girl.
    “Don’t apologize,” he said.
    God, he just wanted to know everything about her. What she liked, what she hated. How she’d become who she was. It had to be dangerous, this wanting, because it felt like he stood at the edge of a giant yawning canyon and he wanted it to swallow him up.
    Tom was startled by the touch of her fingertips on his forearm. She traced the line of his tattoo with her fingernail gently, so very gently, that he had to close his eyes for a minute.
    “When did you get this?” she asked softly.
    He couldn’t tell her all of his history. It would be like popping a boil onto someone—disgusting and rude and wrong. And then she would realize that she was too good for him, and he’d be stuck watching her from a distance, like the fans in her audience.
    Tom closed his fingers over hers, just for a moment. “I just told you about smoking. It’s your turn. We’ll trade. Question for question.” His voice sounded hoarse and unfamiliar, and her fingers felt small and delicate beneath his.
    Emme pulled her fingers away. “Okay.”
    There were a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but the one he blurted out made him sound like a lovesick puppy. “I’ve heard you sing. I’ve seen you write songs that … blow me away, to be honest. And you’ve organized this tour like some kind of military assault. So my question is … is there anything you’re bad at?”
Ugh. Way to be cool
.
    Emme laughed as though startled. “Thank you,” she said. “Though I’m not so sure about that ‘military assault’ thing …”
    “It’s a compliment.”
    “I’ll take your word for it.” She rolled her eyes, but Tom thought it was at herself and not at him. “Yeah, there’s plenty I’m bad at. U.S. history. I can’t remember who the Founding Fathers were or what they founded.” She grinned, and Tom found himself smiling in response. “Working at a real job. I was a receptionist for a while, but I hate talking to people on the phone, so sometimes I just wouldn’t answer it.”
    “Kind of a job requirement.”
    “Yeah, I got fired from that one. Let’s see … waiting tables. I once dropped an entire tray of gin and tonics on an eight-top. Luckily it was like their fifth round, so they didn’t really notice.” She ticked off the failures on her red-nailed fingers. “I took violin lessons for a while as a kid, but my mom made me quit because when I practiced it sounded like a dying moose. I can’t dance. And I’m hopeless at being sexy. Guys always seem to think of me as their baby sister.”
    The thought of Emme as less than confident in anything felt like a punch to the solar plexus. That last statement was the one that floored him, but Tom ticked off her list in order. “I’m surprised you never tried to play the violin again. I bet if you picked it up now you’d learn fast.”
Who tells a kid their practice sounds like a dying moose?
He held up his own fingers in response. “Let me refute a few of these for you. One: anyone so drunk they don’t notice a gin and tonic being dumped on them obviously doesn’t need any more gin and tonics. I’m a bar owner, remember, so I’m the expert at this. We’ll chalk that one up to a service to society, not a failure.”
    He held up a second finger. “Two: dancing is all about your partner and his lead. You’ve got to have a strong lead,
especially
if you’re a strong woman who normally leads. If your lead is good enough, you’ll dance well. I think we can safely say that you’re not a bad dancer, you’ve just been dancing with guys who don’t know what they’re doing.” The thought of holding Emme in his arms, directing her body with his—it was appealing, to be sure. So appealing that he readjusted his jeans unobtrusively and felt his face heat.
    “As for number three … bad at being sexy.” He looked down at her, at the little downy hairs on the back of her neck that he wanted to kiss, the dip in and curl