RockMySenses by Lisa Carlisle Page B

his
fingers. “Your hair is so soft.” Leaning in, he inhaled. “Smells so good.”
Tossing it over my shoulder, he left my neck exposed and ready. Oh so ready.
    I envisioned a teenage Mike playing guitar in a room filled
with rock posters and comic books. “Ah, I can imagine.”
    “I’m imagining something a little more enticing right now.”
His gaze traveled from my eyes to my lips. “Drink?” He moved to a built-in
china cabinet where liquor bottles of different shapes and colors stood.
    “Yes please. I’ll have white wine if you have any.”
    “I do,” he said. “But not here. There’s a bottle in the
fridge. Why don’t you take off your boots and make yourself comfortable in the
living room.”
    Mike walked into the kitchen and I returned to the entry
area where I removed my boots. Having a moment to myself gave me time to
regroup from the agonizing anticipation. My cheeks felt flushed and my panties
had passed the damp marker a long time back. With a shrug, I removed them and
dropped them next to my boots.
    I entered the living room and scanned the area. A large
brown sofa, a leather recliner and a gaming chair sat on a dark-red rug. A
large flat-screen television hung on the wall, a complicated-looking sound
system with speakers perched in each corner. Stacks of CDs and Blu-ray disks
were arranged in rows on the entertainment console. An old-fashioned record
player rested in the corner, appearing out of place. I wondered if it worked or
was just for display. Two electric guitars and one acoustic propped on stands
under a framed black and white photo of the Velvet Cocks. A music stand held
music sheets. If all this wasn’t enough, a bookshelf was stacked with sci/fi
and fantasy books, like Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, and the Game
of Thrones series. Every shelf was covered with tchotchkes of pop culture,
especially Star Wars and Star Trek. A geek’s paradise.
    Mike walked in with two glasses of wine, noticing me in
front of the photo. “Lily took that photo,” he said. “She took a bunch for
promo; that one’s my favorite.”
    I scanned the action shot of the three of them on stage.
Nico held his bass and leaned into the mic, staring straight at the camera. He
wore camouflage shorts and combat boots. John sneered from behind the drum
stand, drum sticks in mid-movement in the air. Mike wore tight leather pants
and a loose fitting white button-down shirt untucked and with only two buttons
fastened, revealing several inches of smooth, tanned flesh. He strummed his
guitar and had his head back, eyes closed, lost in the moment.
    “She’s really talented,” I said.
    He handed me a glass.
    “I saw a tiny black thong out there. Yours, I presume?”
    “I’m hoping you find out soon.” I raised an eyebrow
flirtatiously.
    “Good God, woman, you’re killing me.” He ran his hand over
the stubble on his chin. “We need music.” He picked up one of the four remotes
on the coffee table and lit up the stereo system.
    “Let me guess—one of VC’s albums. Get me all wound up
listening to the hot guitarist who’s right in front of me.”
    He chuckled, a deep rich sound. “If that’s what it takes,
I’ll put it on right away.” He scrolled through artist names on a stereo
display so quickly I couldn’t read them. “How about good old Led Zeppelin?”
    I laughed. “Old school make-out music. I like it.”
    “ Houses of the Holy . Great album.” He pressed some
more buttons and then said, “You’ve got to hear this.”
    We sat on his brown suede sofa and listened to the opening
sounds of The Rain Song . The instruments surrounded us and I reveled in
the sensory experience, temporarily distracted from my overwhelming urge to
climb on top of him. Robert Plant’s voice filled the room and I listened,
mesmerized. It was like being at a live concert. I didn’t just hear the music,
it flowed through me. It was inside me like a living, breathing organism.
    When the song ended, I turned