Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2)

by Alyson Santos

  “Xander… can we… now?” she pants, grinding harder against me with each word. She groans when I match her movements, tossing her head back to arch further into me. I tuck my hand against her lower back to lock us together.

  “You sure?” I murmur against her ear. “You were content touching yourself, right?”

  “Shut up,” she hisses, shoving her hands into my hair. She pulls my mouth to hers, sucking as if the only air left is in my lungs. I respond with another devastating thrust. “Just a sec,” I say, extricating myself enough to reach for my jeans and a condom. They’re too far away for a swift recovery, and I’m too impatient. Her groan is a mix of pleasure and disappointment when I change course to kiss down her stomach instead. Matching silver lace panties reward my decision. The main course can wait. Silver lace is my new favorite snack.

  “Night stand—” she gasps out when I kiss, then suck, through the thin fabric. I look up, confused, and snort a laugh when I see Matty’s “gift” beside the alarm clock. Thoughtfulness has a limit.

  “I’m not using those. I’ll get mine later.”

  I cut off her protests with my tongue, then get distracted—again—by her hips’ response. The taste of her. The feel of her. The rare delicacy of a feast I’ve been dreaming of for so long.

  “Xander…” She shoves her hands in my hair, also sidetracked now, guiding my movements as I curve my arms around her thighs for better access. I’m obsessed with making her climb, with chasing every buck and roll of her hips.

  Soar, just…

  “Ah!”

  Higher, angel.

  “Right there!”

  Almost.

  “Right there. Don’t stop!”

  Just. Fucking. Fly.

  “Xander!”

  I grin when she finally explodes into flight. There it is. My name. The instinctive choice for her war cry while she soars. I’m a god as I continue to work her body through several violent shudders, wishing this dance could last forever. But a few seconds is all I get before she comes back down to join me in the moment. Breathing hard, spent and… wait. Her face is almost a scowl when I look up. My grin widens.

  “What was that?” she sighs out. “You were supposed to be getting a condom.”

  “Sorry, got distracted.”

  She lifts a brow, her glare turning playful. “I see. So this is how we’re playing it?”

  “What?”

  She wriggles out from under me, and maybe I get distracted again at the sight of a naked siren goddess crawling around my bed. What were we talking about?

  I still don’t remember when she prowls toward me. Her gaze scans my body slowly as I stretch along the length of the bed, watching her. I prop up on my elbow, waiting for her turn with her fantasy. It’s only fair. Her eyes trace my face, my chest, down my abs until they finally land on what must be the bulge in my black boxer-briefs. But then… no. It’s something else that’s changed her expression from open admiration into pure hunger. I tense with anticipation and amusement when she shoves me to my back.

  “This one,” she says, ripping the right side of my underwear a good three inches down. “I want to know everything.”

  Her lips follow the command with a hard kiss on the small tattoo at my hip. My eyes clench shut when the pressure turns into a suck.

  “What do you want to know?” I manage against the tide of her mouth.

  “It looks like a compass,” she murmurs.

  “It is.” I groan when she shifts left, pulling my underwear further. I’m almost fully exposed, and she’s still not satisfied. Her hand joins the offensive, obliterating any chance I have at evasion. My fingers clench the sheets as she owns me.

  “With all points north?”

  I nod, gasping at the new focus of her tongue. But she can’t see my nod and punishes my silence with a stern squeeze and glance up. No more pleasure until you answer, her narrow gaze warns.

  “When you’re falling, every direction is up. There’s only north for me.”

  A thoughtful sadness flickers in her eyes before she returns her attention to the tattoo. She traces it again, with her finger this time, studying the simple design that explains everything. Did my confession satisfy her questions or spark new ones?

  She straightens, determined as she scales my body to rest on top of me. Her bare breasts press into my chest, triggering a wave of warmth that has me tensing and relaxing in a current of need for her. Just her. Always her. I reach up and tuck my fingers into her hair, wondering how I could have earned this moment. Is it real? Is this just another migraine, a drug-induced dream that will result in agony tomorrow?

  “Then we need to ground you, Xander Silva,” she murmurs, penetrating my soul with her stare. “We need to stop you from falling north.”

  She reaches up and traces my cheek, my lips, my chin, studying every detail before settling her gaze back on mine. Her face glows with warmth, with a hope and confidence so strong, I can’t help but believe it.

  “Is that so?”

  She nods, her smile turning radiant. “If you’ve only known North, just wait until you see what’s waiting East and West.”

  CHAPTER 22

  LYDIA

  Sex with Xander isn’t what I imagined. In the heat of denial it was always desperate, rushed, and lacking in the breathtaking beauty of everything he is. It was the thing I couldn’t have so it became less. Now, it’s more. It’s the rain and the rainbow. The tide and the ocean. The stars and the galaxy that contains them, and there is no chance of me ever going back to surviving on fantasy alone.

  I kiss him again, locking my hands in his hair as I rock over him, voraciously working his body into another round. I want him always, in a thousand different ways, and in my greed I somehow insist on having it all at once.

  He follows me through a mixture of laughs and groans, taking and giving with the authority of someone who knows what he wants and how to read me in return. He’s already pulled pleasure from deep inside me that I’d been sure was the stuff of fantasy.

  Can you kiss every part of a person’s body at once? Touch it? No, but I try, and when I fail, I straighten and slide down to the bottom of the mattress to soak in a visual of perfection.

  Xander grins up at me from his back, tucking his arm behind his head to wait while I get my fill. As if that could ever happen. I’d take a picture, but it would never do him justice. Instead, I let my eyes trace the masterpiece I finally get to own in stunning detail. From the top of his dark messy hair, over his gorgeous face, down the breathtaking mix of muscle and art, to the mouthwatering promised land I’ve now tasted, felt, and tasted again until I’m starting to wonder how I’ve survived so long without it.

  The fact that his gaze is doing the same to me? We’re just getting started. I wonder if sex with me is different than he imagined. Because I know he has for weeks now. Over and over, as much as I have.

  Heat is already coiling inside me once more, pooling in my center as I appreciate him. I need it again. To feel that connection. To be the missing piece I couldn’t be all those times we had to accept less.

  I crawl forward, positioning him back inside me and sinking down. He doesn’t even seem surprised. Like this is an inevitable reality for him as well. He still doesn’t speak as I start to move my hips, and I’ve learned to read his silence. I recognize the nuances of his expressions. The difference between pain and grief, pleasure and joy, surprise and wonder. Xander’s face is my compass, guiding my decisions and movements to lead him toward the light I want so badly for him.

  I watch him, deciphering each flinch and inhale like a seasoned explorer. I want him to find paradise. Pleasure. Joy. Surprise. Wonder. It’s become my mission to draw them all into one cataclysmic release, and I realize how much of my own pursuit of those things is tied to helping him find his. The thing is, I know he feels the same. He’s the kind of lover he is a brother, friend, and band leader. He is the details and the passion. The talent and the drive. The rock that holds up the
universe, and right now, he’s fucking mine.

  I lean forward and kiss him with everything I have, everything I am, bursting at a new expression that settles over his face: it’s hope. Tears burn behind my eyes as I stare, completely mesmerized.

  This is the man I saw on stage that first night. The one I’ve been searching for ever since. I did this. Me, the girl who doesn’t take risks and risked everything to find him in the darkness and drag him toward the light. The girl who doesn’t fail, who failed again and again until she learned it’s more about not giving up.

  I have a new direction when I return to our connection. A new intent on steering our bodies toward the place where the music lives. Toward release. Freedom. It was always there for him, always waiting for someone to ground him enough to see it.

  He just had to stop falling.

  I come out of the bathroom after cleaning up to the sound of vaguely familiar music. It’s beautiful, stunning, even, and I pause in the foyer, afraid to interrupt. But Xander is waiting in there, with the guitar his astute brother left for him, and there’s no force on this planet that could keep me away from that. I turn the corner and stop cold.

  He looks over, his gaze colliding with mine as I soak in the manifestation of a long-held image in my head. Xander Silva, perched on the edge of a bed. White sheets scattered around him. Messy hair begging to be touched. A guitar locked in his toned arms. Gorgeous tattoos competing with intense hazel eyes that glisten in the light. This is my dream in the flesh, and more magnificent than my imagination could ever construct.

  I can’t move, can’t speak as I take him in. Is there a reality where this is my normal? Where I could walk into any room and find him rooted in my present?

  “Is that my song?” I ask. It sounds strange to say, arrogant and petty, but his expression won’t allow either.

  “Do you like it?”

  I bite my lip, approaching slowly. Mirages evaporate if you rush them. “It’s beautiful. Almost perfect.”

  “Almost?” He lifts a brow as I lower myself beside him. I still don’t dare to touch him. He’s like some religious icon right now, a museum piece beneath a wall of glass.

  “Sing it in Portuguese?” My heart flutters at the thought. I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted to hear that until it slipped out.

  He smiles, averting his gaze back to the strings. “You won’t understand it.”

  “Of course I will,” I whisper. How could I not?

  The corner of his mouth lifts again as he starts to play. I close my eyes, absorbing every note, every tinny scrape of the pick on the strings and slide of his fingers over the frets. When he starts to sing, I realize sex was only the beginning of our love-making.

  “Eu vim do norte do inferno

  Para encontrar você ao sul do amor

  Você estava voando alto quando eu me aproximei, apenas não perto o suficiente

  Estou aqui enquanto você está longe

  Você pode ouvir meu coração partido?

  Como chego até você, encalhado ao sul do amor?”

  I feel the heat of tears before I know I’m crying, the burn of my chest before I know I’m not breathing. When he finishes, I’m on my feet, moving in front of him, raking my hands into his hair to tilt his gaze to me. He looks up with a smile so beautiful it siphons what’s left in my lungs.

  “Eu te amo, Xander,” I say. I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t have a choice in that moment.

  His smile converts my slip into triumph. “I love you, too, Lydia. Norte do amor.”

  Matty wears a smug smile at lunch the following day. I suppose it’s pretty obvious his scheme worked. Anyone can tell a huge weight has lifted from his brother. I’d like to think I’m less obvious, but I probably look like an 18th century socialite who just got plowed for the first time in her parents’ drawing room. Damn, the things we did against that harpsicord. And the mantel. And in the stuffy chair no one’s allowed to use except the Duchess of Whatever.

  “Sleep well?” Matty asks. Even Elliot and Liam look up at his sly tone.

  Xander rolls his eyes and smacks his brother’s head on the way by. “Bed was a little hard.”

  “Just the bed?” Matty returns, and I almost choke on my bagel.

  Xander cracks a smile as he takes a seat across from me. He doesn’t try to hide the hearts in his eyes when he meets my gaze this time. Even without his hands on me, I feel his touch. I’m counting the days until he’s no longer a client and I can jump him in public. For now, we have Matty to keep us alert.

  My phone rings, and Xander and I react like the freaking President himself is on the other line. Anything to distract the attention from us.

  “You should get that. Probably important,” he says, even though neither of us has a clue. I glance down, and… maybe he’s right.

  “It’s my dad.” I answer the call on my way out of the room. “Hey, Dad. How’s it going?”

  “Lydia! Glad I caught you. Do you have a second?”

  “For you? Always.” I’m only half-joking. Funny how I avoided his calls not so long ago.

  “Okay, I’ll be brief. I got your message about legal, and yeah, we addressed the mom. Let us know if she comes back at you and we’ll take the next step.”

  I swallow my response. No way I’m touching that landmine without Xander and Matty on board. “Okay. And the rest of what we discussed?”

  “Right. I also looked into their portfolio and everything you sent me. Damn, Lydia. They’re phenomenal. Innovative, fresh, tons of potential. I agree with you; the single is a weak representation.”

  My heart starts pounding in my chest. “You do?”

  “Yes. I had a listen to the next one. ‘Valentine,’ I think? Not much better. Not nearly what you presented from their shows, so look. I sent a directive giving them creative control over the studio version of ‘Valentine,’ and we’ll see how it does. Sound good?”

  I’m shaking as I process his words.

  “Lydia?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. I’m… thank you. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Are you kidding? I should be thanking you. We signed a diamond and polished it back into a rock. I’m already forming a task force to look at our other artists and make sure we’re not leaving more gems on the table. So tell your boys we’ll be getting them back into the studio to re-work the single. If it does well, we’ll talk about the rest of the album. And Lydia…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I saw the report on what you’ve done with this band. The numbers are staggering. In just a few weeks, you took an artist that couldn’t sell out a club and got them into the same conversation as Limelight. Incredible.”

  I swallow, blinking away emotion at the praise. “Thanks, Dad. I’m happy with their progress as well.”

  “Progress. Exactly. You’re not even done, are you?”

  “I’m never done.”

  “That’s my girl.” I hear the smile in his voice and beam right back. “Know what I said at the senior staff meeting yesterday?”

  “Careful, the coffee’s hot?”

  He laughs. “No, but I should have. My C.O.O. burned his lips and stalled the meeting while we waited for ice cubes.”

  “Are you serious?” I snort out.

  “Wish I wasn’t. Anyway, no. I showed them the numbers on what you did with Falling Back North and said we need to do everything we can to make sure The Ross Agency and Lydia Carmichael are on our side. I don’t ever want to be facing you in a PR war.”

  My grin actually hurts as it stretches my cheeks. “Play your cards right and you won’t have to.”

  I force a somber expression as I re-enter catering and glance around for a quick survey of who’s in the room. Only the four band members remain, so the timing is perfect for my announcement.

  I pull in a deep breath, enjoying the looks of concern that shadow their faces as they watch me.

  “As you may have heard, that was Stocker Carmichael, the C.E.O. of White Flame Records. I�
��ve been in contact with him over the last week regarding your situation, particularly in reference to creative control over your music. I’m so sorry, guys.” I look down, biting my lip. Do I appear appropriately apologetic? I must by the stricken looks on their faces. I never thought of myself as evil, but right now, yeah, I’m winning some bonus points with Lucifer.

  Xander especially looks crushed, and now I’m starting to feel bad. I pace forward until I’m standing directly in front of him. He looks up, his eyes softening with understanding. Gosh, he’s pretty much a perfect human being. He’s not only ready for the blow; he’s ready to comfort me for having to deliver it.

  “I’m sorry because you all worked so hard on the ‘Valentine’ single, and now you’re going to have to go back to the studio and re-work it.”

  I study Xander’s face, tracing the roadmap from disappointment, to confusion, to comprehension. I hate that I can’t kiss him when he finally arrives at astonished delight.

  “Wait. Do you mean…?”

  My grin slips out as I nod. “I mean, they want you to remake ‘Valentine’ your way, same as the shows, and see how it does in the market. If it does well…” I shrug, finally allowing my gaze to incorporate the others into the conversation. “Well, you have an album that will need some work also.”

  “Oh my god!” Xander cries, jumping up from his seat. He rushes around the table, catching me in his arms. I laugh as he swings me from side to side.

  The other guys are ecstatic as well, but it’s Xander’s joy I absorb as mine. His eyes shine when they rest on me. “Thank you, Lydia,” he says, lowering me back to my feet. He doesn’t let go, and I tense with contrary fears. Fear that he’ll kiss me in front of the others. Fear that he won’t.