Insatiable Craving: 2 (Insatiable Nights) Read online

  Insatiable Craving

  Rosalie Stanton

  Insatiable Nights, Book 2

  Ginny finds herself at a trendy nightclub over and over for one reason—Razor, the lead singer of a popular band. While he’s far from her type, a little fantasy can’t hurt anyone. And given her past, lust from afar seems close enough.

  Razor is driven to distraction every night Ginny shows up. Something beyond her alluring looks and haunted eyes calls to him. But the last time he was with a woman, he lost control of his inner wolf and people got hurt. He won’t risk that again.

  Razor and Ginny’s personal misgivings, however, stand no chance against their chemistry. When they’re together, clothes have a way of disappearing. The more time they spend in bed, the more Razor becomes determined to keep Ginny in his life forever. To convince her, he must first bypass the ghosts in her past and come clean of his own.

  Inside Scoop: Contains references to rape and a hero with blood on his hands, as well as a woman learning to trust again, a werewolf learning to accept himself, and a meddlesome witch with a god complex.

  A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Insatiable Craving

  Rosalie Stanton

  Chapter One

  Okay. Fine. So he was hot. What was wrong with that?

  The answer came just as quickly but offered little comfort. Of course there was nothing wrong with finding a man attractive…except it hadn’t happened in a very long time. And though Electric Panther had been Ginny’s nightly haunt for the past few weeks, summoning the courage to admit said attraction felt downright terrifying.

  Ginny ducked her head and quickly averted her gaze from the lead singer’s haunted face. For the past however long, no matter how many pep talks she gave the mirror, no matter how many promises she made to herself not to be one of those girls, every night after she clocked off work at Trixie’s, her feet guided her to the popular nightclub.

  It wasn’t even as if she liked the place. Heck, she hated it. Clubs had never been her thing—not in high school, when all anyone could talk about was scoring a fake ID to sneak into whatever hotspot had just opened up, not in college when her roommate swore it would be the best, maaaan, even after said roommate’s three overdoses, and not now. Ginny hated clubs. She hated the smell, the noise, the nonexistent light, and she hated the people. She hated that she couldn’t see everyone, hated her unease in searching out a drink, hated the shaky, paranoid feeling she was being watched. She hated her own weakness the most—knowing she should go home yet finding herself drawn back again and again.

  Electric Panther was a marriage of every bad club stereotype, if that marriage had been thrown into a blender. The only reason Ginny had ever seen what it looked like on the inside was a need to break from routine—a suggestion planted by her therapist and followed begrudgingly after months of follow-up prompts.

  She’d sworn she’d never come back even before she first opened the door.

  Yet here she was. Back at Electric Panther and again, like so many nights before, without an excuse.

  And why? Why?

  Because of him. Ginny fidgeted, sighed, then caved and finally looked back to the stage. The man himself. The lead singer of Razor’s Edge.

  Yeah, she was pretty sure she had crossed the boundary into certified groupie territory and she didn’t like it. Moreover, she wasn’t sure whether her fascination really bothered her or if she was ruffled only because she felt it should.

  There was one thing Virginia Higgins wasn’t, and that was a groupie. Or a gossip. Or a teeny bopper. Or really any kind of fill-in-the-blank.

  And she typically wasn’t attracted to men who wore eyeliner, doctored fake scars on their face and kept having to blow their annoyingly perfect black hair out of their eyes in order to find the mic. But damn, she couldn’t help herself. Not the way her gut clenched, not how her heart thundered and not the slickness between her thighs, especially when his gaze scanned the crowd and landed on her.

  That last thing seemed to be happening a lot more tonight than other nights. Ginny’s cheeks were aflame. Did he recognize her? She had been here every night for over a month, yes, but the notion that she could have caught anyone’s eye in a sea of screaming fangirls—let alone Razor’s—was completely preposterous.

  Ginny sucked in a deep breath and tucked a wayward lock of her messy brown hair behind her ear. Razor’s long, magnificent fingers made love to the strings of his guitar, the instrument seeming an extension of his body. Ginny wasn’t much of a musician—she’d tried her hand at the viola in high school but had never learned to play anything beyond Mary Had A Little Lamb. She didn’t know how anything synthetic could seem so much a part of a person, to the point Razor seemed less at ease when the instrument wasn’t in his arms. But whatever that power was, Razor certainly possessed it. It and many others.

  And again, as he leaned in to whisper sweet seductions to the microphone, his gaze landed on her and lingered. A sharp breath rocketed through Ginny’s chest and her gut twisted again until it was tied in a nice little knot.

  “Oh God,” Ginny murmured. “Look away, look away.”

  He didn’t. Instead, the faintest hint of a smile curved his lips.

  “Shit.”

  For a few blissful moments, the world seemed to fade away. Ginny fought to swallow the lump that had manifested in her throat, her hips swaying of their own volition to the music belting over the speakers. There was something about that man’s eyes that shook her to the bone. A lost look swirling beneath depths she could never explore. No matter what light she saw him in, shadows molded his face, giving his presence an almost ethereal feel, as though one day he might blend in and disappear.

  Even if she were interested in turning fantasy into reality—which would require a prescription of hefty antianxiety meds she couldn’t afford—she knew broken men were nothing but trouble. That was one lesson Ginny had learned firsthand. And though she had no way of knowing, something screamed Razor was a broken man.

  Though perhaps the entire perception was just one of her many defense mechanisms at work.

  Yet staring at Razor and experiencing the rush of having him stare back, the wall separating her fantasy world from the one she lived in thinned just enough to give her the smallest rush of…something.

  The spell might have lasted forever had someone not tapped on her shoulder. Ginny blinked, somersaulting back to Earth in a daze. She hadn’t even realized she’d taken off.

  The owner of the finger was a blonde woman who looked barely old enough to set foot in the club. She flashed a friendly smile. “Hi!” Even though she shouted, her voice was near inaudible over the girlish screams and the steady thump of the heavy bass. “I’m with Razor.”

  Ginny blinked. “What?” she yelled back. Her gaze shifted to the woman’s mouth.

  “I said I’m with Razor!”

  Oh sheesh. Another good reason not to get hung up on a singer—they were always involved, and the women they attracted were possessive, insecure whine-brats. Ginny really didn’t have time for this. Besides, he’d been looking right back at her. “I wasn’t doing—”

  The blonde’s eyes widened then she threw her head back and laughed. “No,” she shouted, shaking her head in that exaggerated way one might do when teaching children. “Sorry. It’s too loud in here to think. My name’s Aria, and I work for Razor. I actually own the club.”

  “You own Electric Panther?” Ginny had always assumed the club’s owner to be equipped with a penis. Even if that weren’t the case, she certainly wouldn’t have pegged the owner to be a shrimp-sized Barbie who likely got carded by her own b
artender.

  Still, the blonde nodded. “Arianna McClain, owner extraordinaire. That’s me!”

  “And you’re with Razor.”

  The blonde nodded toward the stage. “Work. Not with. I’m out here now, in fact, because he wants your name.”

  At once all the sound—the thumping bass, the screaming groupies, even Razor’s special rocky road voice—evaporated from the room, and Ginny’s heart went from a steady pounding to freaking overkill. “My name?” she repeated. There was no way she’d understood correctly.

  Aria nodded, her mouth twisted into a slightly crazed grin. Or at least it looked crazed under this lighting. “Follow me!” she yelled, then grabbed Ginny’s hand before a protest could push against her lips.

  The next thing she knew, Ginny was weaving through a sweaty horde of drunken coeds, her heart ready to leap out of her throat and do the Charleston on the dance floor. Her brain screamed in what might have been English, but there were too many voices in her head to keep up with the conversation. Logic told her to seize control of her wrist and duck the fuck out of this place before Aria the Teenage Business Owner managed to corner her in a place without clearly marked exits.

  Yet she didn’t pull away. Instead, she followed the peppy blonde into the ladies’ room. The loud, pulsating beat of the music grew muffled the second a door was between her and the dance floor, and though the walls still shook with the bass’s heavy vibrations, Ginny at once felt her head clear.

  “Sorry,” Aria said, tucking a curl behind her ear. The motion wasn’t exaggerated but the movement briefly diverted Ginny’s attention to a shiny gold and emerald amulet-looking thing nestled between the blonde’s breasts. It looked awkward and clunky—not meshing with the girl’s otherwise sleek and trendy outfit. “I know that was weird, but he made me promise to grab you if you came in again.”

  “He did,” Ginny said. Her buzzing nerves refused to calm. “Are you sure you grabbed the right person?”

  Aria laughed—a pleasant, melodic sound that deserved its own fucking harp chord. From a glance, Ginny could tell the woman was everything Ginny was not. Aria had rich brown eyes—the sort that laughed all on their own—dimples, a pretty smile, a sizable rack and hair so shiny it could star in a damn shampoo commercial. If she was a friend of Razor’s, she had to be the sort who warmed his bed when partners were scarce.

  “He’s noticed you,” the blonde said. “A lot. And he really wants your name so he can call you.”

  “Why?”

  “Presumably to go out. On a date.”

  Ginny blinked. “A date.”

  “Societal courting ritual, often involving food and some kind of mutually agreeable entertainment.” Aria grinned. “The objective is to determine compatibility and likelihood of forming long-lasting romantic attachments.”

  Great. She was funny too.

  “I still don’t see what this has to do with me,” Ginny said. “He couldn’t—”

  “He does.”

  “I’m not his type.”

  “That sounds like the sort of conclusion one arrives at after at least one date.” Aria bounced on her heels. “Look, I’m not asking you to marry the guy. But he likes you. He’s noticed you. And he’ll have my ass if I don’t at least get your name. Name and number’s preferable, but I’ll work with what I get.”

  “Why?”

  Aria studied her for a long moment, then shook her head and chuckled. “You really don’t date much, do you?”

  “At all. I don’t date at all.”

  “Look, if you’re not interested I can tell him that too. But he doesn’t do this often.”

  Ginny couldn’t help herself—she laughed.

  “Really,” Aria said, crossing her arms. “He’s not the sort for booty calls.”

  “Just sending his supermodel friend to pick out random chicks and ask for their numbers?”

  “You really think I look like a supermodel?”

  “Please. Girls like you drive me crazy.” Ginny shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what this is about, but it’s over now. I came here because I like the music, and yeah, Razor’s hot. But I don’t appreciate being dragged from the dance floor and being made the butt of a joke. So if you could kindly leave me alone, I need to catch a train back to reality.”

  The smile had vanished. Aria now looked hurt—the legitimate kind of hurt. The kind of hurt that made Ginny feel as if she’d just kicked a newborn puppy.

  Great. Guilt on top of humiliation. She so needed to get home.

  “I’m sorry,” Aria said. “I-I thought—”

  A deafening crack sliced through the air, and before Ginny could make heads or tails of what she was seeing, the medallion around Aria’s neck flashed green, and not the sort of green resulting from a tacky light-up feature.

  No, the material itself seemed to glow.

  Forget left field. The night had officially blasted off planet Earth. Hell, at this rate, Ginny was careening toward Jupiter.

  I’m losing my mind.

  “No one speaks to my Arianna in such a manner!” a deep, masculine voice bellowed from nowhere in a frightening, literal there was no man in sight kind of way. “No one—”

  “Draken!” Aria hissed, scowling and grasping her amulet.

  Ginny’s heart crashed and before she could blink, gravity had vacated the scene. Something hard pushed at her chest and then the wall was at her back, her stomach dropping before her head cracked against plaster.

  She hadn’t seen whatever pushed her, but it didn’t matter the next second. Her senses melted, Aria and the funky green medallion the last things she saw before the world faded to nothing.

  * * * * *

  Of all the women Aria could have approached, why in the world did it have to be her? The woman whose mere presence stirred something in his chest that both growled for recognition and terrified him out of his skin at the same time? Whose face haunted his dreams, whose scent he could pick out with ease even in a large, sweaty crowd.

  His siren. His mystery girl.

  She’d driven him crazy for weeks, and Razor had no idea why. There was no reason—no earthly justification as to why she should call to him as potently as she did. She was cute but he’d seen cuter. She was also skinny where he liked women skinny and full in other places, but in his world, girls with her looks were a dime a dozen. She didn’t have a supermodel face or body—she looked real. Round eyes, full cheeks, generous breasts, a kissable mouth…

  Razor’s wolf hadn’t been tempted like this since Natalie, and even then, there was no comparison.

  That scared him out of his wits.

  At present, the pretty stranger was also unconscious and stretched across the sofa in his office.

  This fact currently topped the lengthy list of things making him uncomfortable.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the thought,” Razor said, swallowing hard and doing his damndest not to choke on his words. “But I typically prefer them awake.”

  Aria scrunched her face up like a kid who had tasted something sour. “It wasn’t my fault,” she said, her right hand clutching the ornate emerald medallion that hung around her neck. “Draken’s spidey senses went off at the wrong time and he came to my rescue.”

  Razor appraised his friend with a long look, one of his eyebrows arching. “Your rescue.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded at the sleeping brunette. “From her.”

  “I didn’t say he was right. Heck, Raz, when is Draken ever right?”

  “He’s sure batting oh and nothing right now.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “Which brings me back to our guest.” Razor crossed his arms. “What’s the story?”

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Aside from the animal under his skin growling to stake its claim, Aria had the same look on her face she wore right after telling him she’d cursed him to eat nothing but bean sprouts for a week. By the end of that particular sentence, he’d wanted to tear h
er pretty little throat out. And she was quite fortunate he’d restrained himself. Wolves weren’t known for their patience.

  Something Razor had learned the hard way.

  “Don’t be mad, but…” Aria looked down, suddenly fascinated with her fingers.

  “Nothing good has ever followed those four words.”

  “I kinda-sorta-maybe told her that you were kinda-sorta-maybe interested. In her. Maybe.”

  Razor grumbled. “Aria—”

  “And you are! I’ve seen you eyeballing her every time she comes in.”

  “How many times do we have to go over this?”

  She huffed and waved a hand. “Seriously, what’s the freakin’ harm here?”

  “You can’t seriously be asking me that.”

  “And yet, here I am. Serious.”

  “How many times do I have to say it?” Razor grunted and pushed away from the sofa into a long stride across the floorboards. Apparently he hadn’t been clear enough the first few thousand times—not that he could begrudge the girl. In the end, he knew she had only his best interest at heart, but she went about a damned sure annoying way of showing it.

  “It’s not natural,” Aria whined. “You’ve been a total ass all year. Why not blow off some steam? Why not meet a girl and blow off some steam?”

  “Because I don’t blow off steam with people. I blow off steam on stage.”

  She snickered and planted her hands on her hips. “Yeah. How’s that been working out for you?”

  “Just fine until you start shoving goddamned groupies at my dick!”

  “I didn’t shove her anywhere, asshole! I… Gently nudged. Implications were made.” Her eyes narrowed and she pointed an accusatory finger at him. “And don’t pretend like you haven’t noticed her. I watch you. I watch you watch her! Every time she comes in, she’s all you look at. I chose her for a reason.”

  “Sacrificial lamb?”

  “Dammit, Razor, it is not healthy for you to keep all this shit bottled inside.”

  “I don’t recall there being any health benefits to ripping a girl into tiny pieces, do you?”