Muses and Melodies (Hush Note Book 3)

by Rebecca Yarros

  My chest tightened—swelled—but I couldn’t look away. Her emotional honesty was magnetic, humbling, and turned me on faster than any half-naked groupie in my dressing room ever could.

  “So, don’t you dare stand there and accuse me of wanting to profit off everything you’re going through, when I only care about you surviving this. Don’t you dare think, for one minute, that you love the music more than I do, just because I can’t carry a tune. The only difference between you and me is that you were born with a once-in-a-generation talent to make music, and I was born with the brains to make sure that music gets heard.”

  Damn.

  My gaze dropped to her lips. I wanted to back her against the wall and sink into her mouth to see if all that passion had an outlet. Hell, I wanted to be the outlet. My fingers curled at the idea of sinking them into her hair, and my pulse kicked up a notch like I’d started running again. There was a palpable hum of energy between us.

  This was dangerous.

  Sex was a need I fulfilled. It was an itch to scratch, a thirst to quench, or a way to pass the time while feeling really damned good. It was another source of the oblivion I was always chasing. But the person I was having it with never mattered.

  I’d never wanted someone more than I wanted the act.

  Until now.

  “Do you understand?” she questioned, her eyes bright with purpose. God, they really were gorgeous.

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Now go shower. You’re all sweaty.”

  “You like it.”

  She scoffed and spun on her heels to stride down the hall, not swaying her hips like most women did around me, because she honestly didn’t care if I found her attractive or not.

  Which only served to make her more attractive.

  Shit.

  I headed straight for the shower. We had to get out of this apartment, and not just because I needed to know I could look at booze and not drink it. Sure, that was part of it. I couldn’t be sure of my power to resist until I was tempted, right? The city was too much, and I knew it. We needed to get somewhere far enough from civilization to keep me from fucking up but close enough to build my resiliency.

  Mostly, we had to get somewhere I could find enough space to kill whatever this…chemistry was between us. The close confines of the past two and a half weeks were going straight to my dick, and I didn’t fuck the women on staff. I wasn’t supposed to be fucking anyone right now, according to the rehab protocols. No new dependencies—including people.

  The idea came as I was drying off after my shower.

  It was perfect. More than enough room to get some distance but enough opportunity to ease me back into the real world…if that could be considered the real world. But it was better than hiding up here in the penthouse.

  I made all the arrangements with a single phone call, then packed two suitcases…and one guitar—my first acoustic. Just in case.

  After I carried it all downstairs, I walked out onto the deck to see Zoe pacing back and forth, actively arguing with someone on her phone. Her feet were bare.

  “You can’t rush it, and don’t even start with me about deadlines. You can push it and get shit, or you can wait and get gold. Either way, if you don’t ease up off his neck, you’re going to suffocate him.” She saw me and stilled. “They’re the highest-grossing rock band in the world, and have been for the last two years, Harvey. Trust me, the anticipation of a new album is only going to work in their favor.” She held my gaze as she battled with him.

  Harvey. She was having it out with Harvey because I wouldn’t pick up my phone. She was taking his hits for me. Shit, my chest was tight and heavy again. I didn’t want to like her, and I definitely didn’t want whatever this melty feeling was in the pit of my stomach.

  “Go ahead and call Ben. He’s going to say the same thing. You need to give Nixon some space, or I’m going to accidentally throw his phone in the dishwasher.” She hung up.

  My eyebrows rose. On a smoking-hot scale of one to ten, that was an eleven. Yeah, we had to go. Now. Right now.

  “Pack your shit,” I said.

  Her jaw dropped. “Wait…what?”

  “Pack. Your. Shit.” A corner of my mouth lifted in an irrepressible smile.

  “You’re seriously going to fire me after I just went toe-to-toe with one of the best producers in the world for you?” Her voice pitched to a near shriek, but a gust of wind blew her hair across her face, and she started sputtering.

  “Who said anything about you being fired?”

  She swiped her hair to the side, revealing a pair of narrowed eyes.

  “I’m over Seattle. I’m leaving, and you have to follow me wherever I go, right? Or things don’t work out with whatever deal you have with Ben.” Oh, this was fun.

  “Right,” she said slowly as her eyes narrowed.

  “Good. Then get packed, Zoe Shannon, because you’re taking me home.” I grinned as I walked back into the apartment. “Not only that, but I’ve managed to make all the arrangements without you, and it only took eight minutes.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “The car will be here in half an hour to take us to the airport.”

  “We’re going to Tacoma?” she called out as she came after me, her feet soft on the floor.

  “Tacoma?” I turned back so abruptly she almost ran into me, but I caught her shoulders. They were small but strong, just like the rest of her. “We’re not going to my hometown. We’re going to yours.”

  Her face drained of color.

  4

  ZOE

  He wasn’t kidding. The entire flight and even part of the drive in from Gunnison, Colorado, I thought he’d start laughing that I fell for his horrid joke and demand to go back to Seattle.

  But no, he was serious. It was now a little after five p.m., and we’d just passed the sign that read Legacy, Colorado, Alt. 9,689 ft. We were as proud of our altitude as we were of the mountains that made it possible. I took a deep breath and savored the slight burn in my lungs that came from the lack of oxygen. God, I’d missed home.

  “You’re going to have to tell me where to turn,” he said from behind the wheel of the rental car—a black Range Rover that had magically been waiting at the airport. It was the first time I’d ever seen him drive himself…well, anywhere.

  “I thought you said you booked a house?” Pure sugar saturated my tone.

  “I know where we’re staying. It’s called the McClaren Ranch.”

  My eyes widened. The McClaren Ranch was one of the only estates that hadn’t burned when a wildfire decimated our little town ten years ago. The place had to be a hundred years old, and it was huge.

  “Well, are you going to say anything?” He glanced over at me.

  I quickly jerked my gaze away. “Watch where you’re going or you’ll fall off the mountain.”

  “There are buildings on both sides of the street.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Whatever. And you don’t have to turn to get to the McClaren place. You go straight up—”

  “We’re stopping at your parents.” He braked for the only red light in town.

  My stomach lurched.

  “We’re what?” This wasn’t happening. This was all a really bad dream I’d wake up from, right? We’d still be in Seattle, and I would not be faced with introducing Nixon-freaking-Winters to my mother.

  “I already called ahead, and they’re at home.” He grinned. “Told them I was delivering a package, but if you’re not going to help, then I’ll find it myself.” He picked up his phone, flipped through his texts, and plugged something into the GPS.

  Good God, the man was actually excited. “When did you have time to call my parents? How did you even get the number?”

  He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Called Ben when you stopped into the bathroom at the airport. He gave me the number. I called your parents. It takes you a ridiculously long time to pee.” The light turned green, and he drove on.

  “You can’t…” I sputtered a
s we passed The Chatterbox, my favorite diner, and came up on Sweet Cheeks, my favorite bakery. Everything here was my favorite. It was my home, and he was invading it with his…rock-starness.

  “I can’t what? This should be the turn, right?” He glanced at the GPS.

  “You can’t just barge into my private life without so much as asking!” Especially when certain ex-parts of my private life had very much mocked my career ambitions.

  “That’s fucking hilarious.” He laughed, his shoulders shaking under his black T-shirt. The muscles of his forearms rippled beneath all that ink as he straightened the wheel. “You moved into my house without asking me. Isn’t that my private life?”

  He slowed, then stopped, allowing Mrs. Henderson to cross the road with her corgi.

  “It’s not the same,” I hissed, fighting the urge to slump in my seat. The minute she spotted me, everyone within ten miles would know I was home. At least she favored the Christian station, so she wouldn’t know I wasn’t the hottest news in town—Nixon was.

  I’d been gone eight years, and my only accomplishments were getting my ideas rejected by Ben and fetching his coffee. Eighteen-year-old me would have been horrified. According to past-me, I was supposed to be scouting bands and cutting deals for the next big thing. Instead, I was Nixon Winters’ live-in nanny. Disillusionment didn’t begin to describe the soul-sucking grunt work that was the music industry, and I’d come into it with a college degree and a recommendation from one of Ben’s closest friends, who’d happened to be my professor.

  “Do they have a spa here or anything? Because you seriously need to unwind.” He crept up Mulberry Avenue at a very respectable twenty-five miles per hour. At least I didn’t have to worry about him terrorizing the general public with his driving skills.

  “We have a hair salon that doubles as a mani-pedi place, but if you want a spa, you came to the wrong town. I’m sure we could tip her extra if you need a little waxing. Have to say, I kind of like the idea of you writhing in a little post-rip pain.”

  “And people think I’m a sadist. Sheesh.” He turned onto Honeysuckle Lane, and my heart leaped. How long had it been since I’d been home? Christmas?

  Admit it, you can’t wait to see them.

  “It’s the white house with the green shutters,” I said, pointing down the block.

  Nixon pulled the SUV into the driveway, killed the engine, and peered up at my parents’ house. It wasn’t a four-million-dollar penthouse, but the three-bedroom craftsman was…everything. It was home.

  “You grew up here?” he asked, his brow puckering as we got out of the car, then stood on the sidewalk that led to the front porch.

  “Yep.” I loved this place and everyone in it.

  “But…it looks new. Everything around here looks new, actually.” He glanced down the street.

  “We had a fire about a decade ago.” My heart clenched, just like it did every time I thought about it. “It took out the whole town. Mom and Dad rebuilt from the foundation up with the same floor plan. It’s kind of creepy because it’s the same…but it’s not, which is awesome at the same time. My parents…” God, how did I explain my parents to Nixon?

  He studied me quietly. “Look, I’m not a complete dick, and I know there’s a line here. So, if you don’t want to go inside, or if you want me to wait in the car while you do, I understand.”

  I blinked, but there was no teasing glint in his eyes. The guy was serious. And even if I was terrified of what this impromptu visit might do to my little town, I really, really wanted to see my family.

  “You wanted to come, so now you’re stuck. Let’s go.” I walked up the front steps, then paused. Was I really about to introduce Nixon to my mother and father?

  He looked good. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said he’d put on some healthy weight. His T-shirt was plain, so nothing to worry about there, and it wasn’t like I could do anything about the sleeves of ink going up his arms. I wouldn’t even if I could. They were part of what made him…him. When I got to his face, I found him watching me.

  “Relax. Moms like me. I’m very popular in the forty to sixty demographic.” He winked.

  I ignored what that wink did to my stomach, rolled my eyes, then opened the screen door and knocked on the solid wood one. Giving my parents a heart attack by walking in wasn’t on this afternoon’s agenda. My heart pounded during the half minute or so it took for the door to open.

  “Oh my god!” Mom’s jaw dropped, and her arms opened.

  “Hey, Mom!” I was immediately engulfed in her hug. She squeezed with the perfect amount of pressure and smelled like home.

  “Thomas, Zoe’s here!” she called as she yanked me back to arm’s length for inspection. “You look wonderful!” Her mouth pursed in concern. “Have you been eating enough? It looks like you’ve lost a little weight.”

  “I’m fine,” I assured her as I looked back over my shoulder for Nixon.

  “Mom, this is Nixon. Nixon, this is my mom, Alice Shannon.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Shannon.” He gave her the public smile.

  “Well, get on over here!” Mom stepped out onto the porch and hugged Nixon, pinning his arms against his sides.

  His eyes flew wide and locked with mine. I flat-out laughed.

  “This is just…wonderful!” Mom stepped back and gave Nixon the same inspection. “Well, aren’t you handsome?” Mom looked back over her shoulder at me and raised her eyebrows.

  “No, Mom—” I started.

  “Did I hear you say something about— Zoe!” Dad exclaimed, barreling through the door and sweeping me into another hug. “Oh, Zoe.” He sighed and rocked me slightly, resting his chin on my head. Dad had the kind of hugs that simultaneously made me feel protected and invincible.

  This right here was worth it. No matter what Nixon saw while he was here, or who he managed to scandalize, this moment was worth it.

  “How long are you here for?” he asked, pulling back and glancing between Nixon and me.

  “Uh…I’m not sure, actually. Dad, this is Nixon. Nixon, this is my dad, Thomas Shannon.” I repeated the introduction.

  Dad’s perceptive gaze narrowed on me slightly, but his smile was warm as he shook Nixon’s hand. “Well, come on in.”

  I tried to see my house through Nixon’s eyes. It was modest and clean, with a thick wooden bannister up the stairs at the entrance and dark hardwood floors. The furniture was traditional and the clutter scarce. The only pictures on the wall were the family photos Mom had either taken since the fire or had backed up online. Except that gem of me in the third grade with two missing teeth and unruly hair. That one had been in a fire safe with the rest of the school pictures, and hence survived.

  Man, I wish that one had burned.

  “You were a cute kid,” Nixon noted as we passed it.

  “Shut up,” I muttered, leading him into the kitchen.

  During the rebuild, Mom and Dad had made the kitchen open-concept, and the massive island that separated it from the living room was currently covered in dinner preparation.

  “Jeremiah should be here any minute. You’ll stay for dinner,” Mom said. It was not a question. “We have more than enough.”

  “Of course,” I responded, then motioned for Nixon to take a stool at the island.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” He sat, then shifted his hand from the counter to his lap and back again.

  A corner of my mouth lifted. I’d never seen him in a situation where he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of his footing.

  Mom softened. “You just sit there and prepare to answer about fourteen million questions. Zoe, get the potato peeler.”

  “On it.” Second drawer down and there it was.

  The kitchen door opened and shut, bringing in the crisp fall breeze. Jeremiah’s eyes bugged out when he saw me.

  “Zoe!” He crossed the kitchen with my nephew in his arms, and I got double-hugged. “Levi, do you know who this is?”

  “Aunt Zoe!
” the three-year-old responded with a toothy grin.

  “That’s right!” I clapped. “Hi, Levi!” God, I’d missed his chubby cheeks.

  “Guess those weekly FaceTime calls are paying off.” Jeremiah smiled down at me.

  “Nice beard.” It was the same shade of red as our hair.

  “Naomi likes it.” He shrugged. “She’s running late, but she’s going to freak when she sees you.” He let me go, then froze as he looked over my shoulder toward the island.

  “Jeremiah, this is—”

  “Holy shit, you’re Nixon Winters!”

  And so it begins.

  “Holy shit!” Levi exclaimed, clapping his little hands.

  “Levi!” Mom chided.

  “Nixon!” I accused.

  “I didn’t even say it!” Nixon countered, putting his hands up.

  “Bad influence,” I muttered, then introduced Nixon to Jeremiah. My older brother had that starstruck look for all of thirty seconds before he let Levi down to go play in the living room.

  “Okay, no offense, Zoe, but what the hell are you wearing?” Jeremiah asked.

  “It’s a dress. This is a work trip, and I’m working.” I shot a look at Nixon, wondering if he’d put him up to it.

  Nixon grinned and folded his arms across his chest. How was this even my life right now?

  “She looks lovely.” Mom glared at Jeremiah. “But, Zoe, you must be uncomfortable, and I wouldn’t want you to get anything on it.”

  “I’ve been trying to get her out of it all day,” Nixon agreed.

  Every head snapped toward him, and my mouth fell open.

  He read the temperature of the room in a heartbeat and grimaced. “Not that way. I swear. We are strictly professional.”

  Dad cleared his throat and stood across the island from Nixon.

  “Well, that’s nice. Zoe, why don’t you run up to your room and change? You still have an entire dresser of clothes here,” Mom suggested.