I gasp and clench a fist over my heart, then melt a bit at the lopsided grin on his face. Pausing the video, I pull out my earbuds and give Xander a shove.
“You scared the crap out of me,” I hiss.
His smile only widens, and I shove him again. But once my palm collides with the hard muscle of his arm… yeah, every other part of me starts to remember every other part of him. My fingers slide down his skin instead of pulling away. His amusement fades, his eyes reflecting the dim light of my screen in a flash of desire. My pulse reacts, igniting my limbs as I watch him want me. Can he tell how badly I’ve been burning for the past hour, since I immersed myself in the footage of him?
“How’s it going?” he whispers.
“Great.”
“You got what you needed?” He blinks, and I stare at his lips.
“Not entirely.” I wet my own lips.
“It felt good in the moment.”
My hand slips from his wrist to his thigh, bare beneath the edge of his gym shorts.
“You should be asleep,” I say. My fingers explore dense muscle they haven’t experienced yet. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t stop me.
“So should you.”
“I have to work.”
“You seem tense.” His fingers reach around my back to sink into my shoulder. I close my eyes, soaking in his touch as the wild tide returns.
“So do you.”
My hand climbs higher; his curves around my front and moves lower. In my head, I’m crawling onto his lap, facing him as I sink down into perfect alignment. My hands thread into his hair and lock his lips to mine. I see them as they were a second ago, glistening and soft in the strange glow. Then I’m tugging at the hem of his shirt, forcing it over his head and tossing it aside like the useless fabric it should be. I’m gripping his hair again to clear it from his face so I don’t miss a single detail of the beauty that haunts me into an obsession. He’s pulling at my top too, and I let go just enough so it can join his on the floor. Then I’m back to full, determined contact, because no part of him should ever be separated from any part of me. His chest is warm and hard against my soft curves. I feel tiny explosions every place our skin touches. My imaginary hands are now shoving down his back, memorizing those powerful shoulders I’ve watched control drumsticks with breathtaking grace. I taste his neck, his jaw, then back to his lips, wanting it all in one breath. His hand is slipping between my legs, and I moan at the long-awaited promise. My own covers his to follow along and intensify the duet.
“You okay?” his real voice whispers at my ear.
I blink back to the present and stare up into eyes that were closed in ecstasy just a second ago in my head.
“Your breathing changed,” he says.
His real hand isn’t on me anymore. Mine… I pull it awkwardly back to my lap.
“Yeah. Just thinking,” I reply quietly.
“About?”
I meet his gaze again. “Making love to you.”
His jaw tightens, but the look in his eyes is the one I saw in my fantasy.
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Right here. Just like this. Except…” I reach over and finger the edge of his shirt. “This is off, of course.” I brush my fingers along the skin underneath, wondering if I’m scraping that small, delicious tattoo I’ve seen on his hip. I feel his abs tense. My mouth goes dry. “So’s this,” I add, feathering the bottom of my own shirt.
“Right here, huh? With the others just through that door?”
“My imagination has no inhibitions.” I move my finger to his lips, loving the way he breathes out a heavy sigh.
“Your imagination scares the shit out of me.”
“You would know. You’re its star.”
I also love that I can feel the curve of his smile. “Acting’s not my thing.”
“Oh, there’s no acting in my imagination. It’s all very authentic.”
His smile spreads into a grin, and I have to pull away. I’m literally shaking from the effort not to attack him.
After a long silence, his scorching gaze finally drifts from me to the screen. “Can I see what you have so far?”
“It’s not finished.”
“I know. I just love watching your brain work. You’re an artist, you know that?”
I glance over in surprise. “Yeah right,” I scoff. “You’re the artist. I’m just the frame.”
He chuckles, his hand finding the back of my neck as he shifts closer to see my screen. I love how familiar it feels, how my body seems to instinctively settle against his. I’d give anything for this moment to be my normal.
“Well, my art is useless without a good frame so people can enjoy it. Otherwise, it’s just a stack of discarded portraits in some attic.”
“Is that how you see your music?” I ask, looking up at him.
Something hardens in his face. “I’m not sure I ever saw it as anything. It was just survival.”
I shudder and hand him the ear buds.
“Well, it’s art. And it’s extraordinary.”
His hand squeezes my neck gently, and another piece of my heart becomes his.
Once I push play, I slip my arms around his chest and nestle into him. His arm tightens around my shoulders in response. We watch the video like it’s a new composition that belongs to us both. If he’s the canvas and I’m the frame, does it mean that together we’re a masterpiece?
CHAPTER 17
XANDER
My mother must have cashed the check the second the bank opened. While everyone else enjoys their off-day in Dover, I’m staring at numbers in the back of the bus, trying to figure out how to make them work until my next check comes in. I can’t ask Matty for money without an explanation for why his frugal brother is out of cash. I’d die before asking Lydia, the only person who knows why I’m suddenly broke. Maybe I could work street corners on our off-days. New city, new clients. Perfect business plan. I smirk and massage my forehead. Credit card it is.
A shriek disrupts the silence, and I glance up from my laptop in alarm. I’m just rising to investigate when Lydia comes bursting through the door, her face alive with excitement.
“They reposted!” she cries, shoving her phone at me. “Oh my god! Limelight just reposted your cover!”
I take the phone, my heart pounding as I study the surreal image of our name beside Limelight’s. “Sick cover of ‘Jonas’ from Falling Back North. One of our new faves. These dudes kill it with that samba groove.”
I’m shaking, my hand barely holding onto the phone as my brain struggles to process what it’s seeing. My adrenaline can’t, and soon I’m dropping back to the couch to regroup.
“Xander?”
I shake my head, still speechless. When I look up, Lydia’s smile has become tender, her eyes tracing me.
“I wish you could see your face right now,” she says. “If you weren’t suffocating my phone, I’d take a picture.”
My shock morphs into a grin as I glance back down at the screen. “One of their new faves.”
“Yep.”
“Us,” I say, looking back up at her.
She smiles, nodding with a warm expression. I blink and draw in a deep breath. I want to give her phone back, but I can’t seem to let go of this dream. I’m terrified that if I stop holding onto it, it will disappear.
“This can’t be real.”
“It’s real. Two-hundred-and-forty-thousand streams so far,” she says.
I almost choke, my gaze snapping back to hers.
She nods with a smug smile. “You’re going to hit a million by the end of this week, no question.” She laughs at my reaction “Look it up if you don’t believe me.”
I finally manage to return her phone.
“I already messaged my father and Marlon with the news and to set up a meeting. Dad and I talked about you when I saw him a few days ago, and I laid the groundwork. I want to formally present our case on why you should have creative control of your studio projects. It’s not too la
te to rework ‘Valentine’ before it drops.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “You actually think we have a shot at that?”
“A shot? With the ammo we’ve got, we have more than a shot.”
My pulse races, making me dizzy with excitement. One of my idols just reposted our cover and said they loved it—huge—but the prospect of getting my music back dwarfs anything else in my pool of dreams. We just captured one unicorn. How could we possibly grab two?
“When would this meeting happen?”
She shrugs. “Haven’t heard back yet, but we’ll make sure it does.”
I rub a hand over my face, still trying to process this. “Thank you, Lydia. Just…” None of it would have happened without her. I’m afraid my face is a little too puppy-dog awe-struck, especially when her eyes meet mine with old questions we agreed not to ask anymore.
“Of course. It’s my job,” she says softly.
We both know that’s not really what she’s saying. In the loaded silence, her gaze broadcasts the same truth I’m guarding.
“Have you messaged the others?” I ask carefully.
“Not yet. I’ll do that now. Then I’ll manage our response to Limelight’s shout-out. Who knows, maybe we can even open a dialogue.”
I nod, not wanting her to leave. She doesn’t want to. This is exactly why we’ve spent our morning working on opposite ends of the bus.
Her gaze lingers from the doorway, drifting from my eyes to my lips. Mine answers with a flash of the kiss in my head. Matty and the others are out somewhere. Maybe… I push away the traitorous thought and force my attention back to my laptop. I swear I can hear Lydia’s sigh before she disappears back to the front of the bus. I drag in a deep breath as I close my spreadsheet and open the file for my new song. Her song.
Maybe it’s dangerous to work on an anthem while the muse is mere feet away, but I need something to control the fire inside me. Better abstract poetry than the literal feel of her skin and taste of her lips. My fingers caress my guitar instead, flowing through the progression in pursuit of something else. With each chord change, my left hand presses into the neck of a guitar that’s become her arm. My right strums the brush of my fingers over her stomach. My lips form around words in the hum of a kiss. This song isn’t just about her; it’s my surrogate for a reality I can’t have.
I close my eyes, allowing the melody to flow in and out of my body like a panted breath. I see her there, as she was last night in the glow of her laptop screen. Close enough to touch, yet still out of reach. I see her from a minute ago, beaming at her role in making my dream come true. Not as a client, but as a friend who needed me to have something to hold onto.
I’m not even sure what language I’m singing in as I get swept up in the music. English and Portuguese blend in cord and chord, a desperate siren song designed to stave off a burn that’s becoming unbearable.
“My imagination has no inhibitions,” she’d warned me last night.
Does mine? Maybe this is what happens when even your fantasies get locked away in that mental prison. When you pay the cost of survival with every one of your dreams.
The door slides open, drawing me back to earth, and I freeze at Lydia’s expression.
“What is that?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
My hand clamps down on the strings; my other grips the pick.
“‘South of Love.’”
“It’s new?”
I nod.
Her lower lip trembles. Her grip tightens on the doorframe.
“How new?”
I almost don’t hear the words as I meet her gaze. “Yesterday.”
Her eyes fill, and I know I should lie but I can’t. I can’t tell her she’s not the reason my soul is clawing at my chest to reach her.
“Xander…”
She’s by my side before I can protest. I’m terrified that I don’t think I would have. She pulls the guitar from my grip, sliding it onto the stand beside us. Then she’s the instrument in my arms. She’s the smooth wood and taut strings. She’s the melody. The lyrics. The harmonic ring of notes forming a perfect chord. For right now, she’s not out of reach, but immersing herself into my void. Proving with one kiss that everything I want exists, even if I’m not supposed to have it. If only I were strong enough to say no.
Her hands slip under my shirt, shoving it up my chest until it’s bunched at my neck. She guides it over my head. Her gaze lands on me as I slip my arms from the sleeves, filtered through strands of hair that hang in my eyes. She pushes them back before leaning in for a kiss that will break us.
There’s no going back when our mouths meet. Her tongue searches for my soul that’s climbing, fighting to get to her. Her hands squeeze into my pecs, pressing down my chest and wrapping around my back to bring us closer together. I want to feel her skin on mine. Taste the clouds I’ve touched. My fingers scrunch the hem of her sweater to tug it up her back and over her head. Her desperate breaths are more poetic than any lyric I could ever compose. Her soft moans as I drag my lips over her skin more beautiful than a melody. I slide my hand up the inside of her thigh, loving the way she arches into my touch. She fits her palm over the back of my hand, molding me to her. Demanding. Instructing my touch with an urgency that has us careening toward the edge.
It’s breathtaking.
It’s criminal.
I pull back in alarm. What the hell am I doing?! Right in the open. On the bus. Seconds after Matty and I glimpsed a star we’ve been chasing our entire lives.
“I can’t do this,” I rasp out.
Her face falls, all the heat of the previous moment concentrating in her eyes. “Just this once, Xander. One time and—”
“And what? We won’t want it again? And again? And again until we’re caught, and then what?”
I gently push at her shoulders, forcing her away. Pain. That’s what I’m leaving on that couch as I scoop my shirt off the floor.
“You want me too. I know you do. You’ve wanted me since the second we met at the Sizzle Party.”
I shake my head. Petty, but I’m not sure what else to say. She’s not wrong; she just doesn’t understand the question. “That’s not the point.”
“No, because you won’t let it be! You never let yourself have anything. You’ve made yourself a statue, Alexandre Silva. Why can’t you see that?”
“You think I don’t?” I fire back.
“You can’t live like that!”
“It’s the only way I could live. How the hell else was I supposed to survive?”
Her gaze is hot, almost bitter as she pulls her top back on as well. “So is that it, then? You go through the rest of your life as an empty block of stone?”
“That’s not fair,” I snap.
“You’re right. It’s not. Because let me ask you this: Do you think that’s what Matty wants? To spend his life being sheltered and worshipped while you give up living?”
I narrow my gaze at her. “I don’t worship him.”
“Really? You’ve sacrificed your health for him. Your hopes. Love. Literally every penny you have until all you are is a shell that’s one straw away from shattering. How do you think he’d feel if he knew the true cost of his comfort?”
I can’t answer her. I can’t even look at her as I press my forehead against the wall trying to collect a full breath.
“How do you think he’d feel if he knew you’ve given your entire existence to him, then you lie to him so he doesn’t even know?”
I’m cold. I just need her to stop.
“You love him with everything you are, Xander,” she says, softer. “But love should heal, not destroy.”
I startle at the sound in the doorway. Twisting toward it, I stagger at Matty’s expression.
“Fuck. Matty—”
“What’s she talking about?” he barks, his gaze slicing between us. Lydia’s cheeks turn deathly pale. My throat closes around any possible response.
“Your health, your hopes, love, every pe
nny. What’s she talking about, Lex?” His brows knit in a raging fury. My breathing shallows; a cold sweat breaks over my body.
“Nothing, Matty. Just—”
“No! Stop fucking lying to me! What’s she talking about? What have you given up?”
When we still don’t respond, he storms forward and grabs my laptop.
“Hey!” I call out, instinct driving me back into action. I reach for the computer, but he steps away, his expression collapsing as he reads through the lyrics.
“Is this about her?” he asks, turning back.
Emotion lodges in my stomach. A pain so deep I can’t breathe.
“Is it?”
My mouth opens to respond. Nothing comes out.
“How long have you felt like this?” He shoots his gaze toward Lydia when I shake my head. “How long?”
“Since the night of the Sizzle Party,” she answers for me. I glare at her, but the terror on her face has steeled into something strong and irrevocable. “We met at the bar that night but didn’t know who the other was until later. He pushed me away the second he learned who I was. Because of you.”
Matty looks stricken. Every emotion I’ve been trying to shelter him from rains down on his face at once.
“You should also know that your mother has been blackmailing him. Harassing him. Threatening him. He’s spent every penny he has to keep her from doing the same to you.”
Oh god. I stagger into the wall, shaking as Matty absorbs the blow.
His haunted eyes turn on me, widening with a betrayal so deep it cuts through time. We’re boys again, staring at each other with an entirely new version of the past.
“Matty…”
He shakes his head, tears gathering in his eyes.
“Matty, please.”
He holds up his hand and shoves the laptop back on the table. He’s already stomping toward the exit before I can get my feet to move.
I stare back at Lydia in horror.
“Xander, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just… he had to know! He had to!”
I can’t deal with that betrayal right now. I have my own to handle.
Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2) Page 14