Breaking Mercy: A MUSE & MUSIC NOVELLA by J. R. ROGUE

Author:J. R. ROGUE [ROGUE, J. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

THE NIGHT WILL ONLY KNOW

GRAYSON

We slip past caution tape, Mercy leading the way. She has my hand in hers, and my heart is going to beat out of my chest.

When we make it through the long plywood corridor, I smile, dropping her hand.

Before us is the stage at the end of the street. The fold-up chairs are in place, and Mercy stands at the end of a divide in the seating. Turning, she walks backward in her heels toward the stage. “What do you think?”

I haven’t seen her this excited since we met. The warm Nashville air chokes me, but it’s not the weather making me sweat. I take off my coat, laying it on a chair, then pull my loose tie from my neck, laying it there too before I walk toward the stage and Mercy. “It’s amazing. Are we allowed to be here?”

Mercy turns, her hips swaying in her little dress. “You’re with me, and I can go wherever I want.” She walks around the back of the stage as we reach it, unlocking the gate standing between us and the steps leading up.

I follow, rolling up my sleeves. “This is amazing. I can’t believe I get to play up there.”

When I step onto the stage, Mercy is at the edge, her hand reaching for the mic. She angles it toward me. “See how it feels.”

I smile, her jealousy over Elle lingering. Jealousy? Protectiveness? I can’t tell. I grab the mic, my fingers brushing Mercy’s before she pulls away.

“Sing for me?” she asks, stepping back.

My eyes flitter over the swell of her breasts, the sweat on her collar bone.

“Sure,” I reply, taking the mic. We both know it isn’t hooked up, but I play the part.

Mercy slowly lowers herself to the stage in her little dress, and I get a tiny glimpse of her ass in the process. Fuck. Her long legs stretch out ahead of her when she finally becomes comfortable.

This feels intimate, not part of the process.

I unhook the mic, searching for words. I have songs memorized. Everything from the greats, contemporary artists too. But I don’t sing a song she knows. Instead, I sing lyrics to a song I plan to send to Chace—a chorus that needs work, but in its raw form, captures the crush I have on the beautiful woman staring at me right now.

I’m going to ruin my chances for a record deal so I can kiss her. It hits me with startling urgency.

The words fall out easily; my walk around the stage is a lesson in self-control.

I don’t take my eyes off Mercy, and the rhythm of her breathing is magnetic. Eventually, I go to my knees, the heat around us too much. I repeat the chorus, reaching for the buttons of my shirt as I work out the words. When I look up at Mercy again, she’s crawling to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, hiding my smile behind the useless mic.

She reaches me, hands landing on my knees. “Helping you with your shirt.

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