“Nixon, you’re killing me.”
I lifted my head as my hand slid from her knee to her bare thigh. “You’re so damned soft.” It wasn’t like I didn’t know she had a killer body—I’d been around her twenty-four seven for the last month, but she didn’t exactly share that body with the same frequency I did.
Used to.
It wasn’t just the fulfillment of a fantasy to touch her. It was a privilege—one I knew she’d end at any second, because Zoe wasn’t the one who lost control in this relationship. That was my role.
Our eyes locked and held as I moved up her thigh. One sign from her that this was too far, and I’d back off, but she swept her tongue over her lower lip and nodded.
I slipped under her skirt, which had bunched just a few inches shy of the juncture of her thighs, and still she held my gaze, nothing but desire in those green depths. Fuck me, she was wearing lace here too.
My girl had a thing for matching underwear.
I nearly flinched at my own thoughts—Zoe wasn’t my anything, but then I felt just how wet she was for me, and I decided she might not be mine, but I was sure as hell hers in this moment.
“Zoe,” I groaned, running my fingers beneath the fabric of her— Holy shit, that was a thong? No wonder her ass looked seamless in this skirt.
She rested her forehead against mine, then moaned my name softly when I skimmed my fingertips over her clit.
I wanted to hear her scream it.
But we were on an airplane with three crew members just beyond a wall so thin it may as well have been a curtain.
Every muscle in my body locked. What the hell was I doing? I’d wanted to show her what the need crawling beneath my skin felt like and gone for the easiest example, and now I had us so worked up I was a zip and fabric shuffle away from being inside her.
You’re using her.
Just like she was a random hookup backstage or on the tour bus, when she was so much more.
“Nix?” Her brow knit in concern. “You okay?”
God, she was worried about me.
“You deserve better than this,” I ground out.
“How about you let me decide what I deserve.” She kissed me, swirling her tongue around mine. It took all of two seconds for me to respond and assume control of the kiss, but then she swayed, moving against my fingers, and I lost it.
“Zoe—”
“Please,” she whispered. “I’m on fire.”
Hell yeah, she was. She was so hot and liquid against my fingers I knew I’d slide home in a single thrust, but I wasn’t going there. I’d cut off my own dick before I used her like that, no matter how badly I wanted her. I wasn’t even sure want was the right word anymore. She’d become a need, like air, or water, or music.
But I could ease her.
“Come here.” I cupped the back of her neck and brought her mouth to mine as I circled her clit with my fingers.
I swallowed every moan, every sigh, every gasp as I built her pleasure higher and higher, and when her hips writhed over mine, I strummed her clit fast and light until her thighs locked, then trembled. She was so close I could almost taste it in her kiss.
I deepened the pressure and pushed her right over the edge, capturing every sound from her mouth with mine as she rode out her orgasm.
It would have been so easy to kick her into a second—she was that responsive—but I eased her down instead, ignoring the demands of my impatient body.
When she lifted her head, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide, her breaths ragged—just like mine. I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my life, never wanted one more than I wanted her in that moment.
“Nixon,” she whispered, her hands trailing down my chest.
Oh God. My control was whisper-thin and disintegrating with every inch she traveled. I felt that touch in every cell in my body.
Not here. Not like this.
I captured her wrists, then flipped us so her back was against the couch, pinning her hands above her head. Instead of demanding to be freed, she gripped my hips with her thighs and lifted her mouth to mine.
I lunged backward, barely managing to stay on my feet. Then I practically ran to the back of the jet and flung myself into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. The counter was solid under my palms as I balanced my weight, my chest heaving as I recited every single reason I couldn’t go back out there.
She was on staff.
She had her own valid issues about what would happen if we did this and it got out.
We’d already agreed not to do the very thing we’d already done.
She deserved better than to be fucked on what was pretty much an aerial tour bus.
She deserved better than me, period.
I refused to use her like I had the innumerable women who’d come before.
“Nixon?” she asked through the door.
Just the sound of her voice was enough to send a shot of longing down my spine. Get a fucking grip.
“Yep.” I lifted my head and saw someone I barely recognized—not just in the healthier lines of my face but in the stark fear that lingered in my eyes.
Zoe Shannon scared the shit out of me.
“Were you thinking about coming out?”
My fingers gripped the counter so hard my knuckles turned white under the ink that marked them. The door was all that separated me from the heaven of her body, from treating her like one of those girls outside my dressing room.
“Nope.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The fact I was actually hiding in the bathroom from the sexiest woman on the planet only made me grit my teeth even harder.
“Now is when you choose to grow a conscience?” I muttered at the guy in the mirror. The timing was shitty, but nevertheless, here we were.
I stayed in that bathroom until the captain requested we take our seats for landing. Then I found myself wishing the toilet had a damned seat belt. But it didn’t, so I left the safety of the locked door and took the first available seat, which wasn’t anywhere near the couch where Zoe sat strapped in, staring at me in complete confusion.
I kept my eyes forward and promised myself that’s where they’d stay in regard to Zoe. No more flirting. No more stolen kisses. Definitely no more touching. All that soft skin needed to stay over there, out of my reach, for her own good.
Right. I could do that for her.
If I could give up drinking, then keeping my hands off Zoe Shannon would be a breeze.
Oh, who was I kidding? I was completely fucked.
10
ZOE
Nixon had been in asshole mode for an entire week. He was snippy, cold, and gave one-word answers every time I asked a question. I wasn’t stupid—I knew what had happened between us on the plane was the reason. I had my own issues about it, but I wasn’t taking them out on him.
He also wasn’t sleeping, which I knew because the tea packet I left out next to the honey on the counter every night was always used and disposed of by the time I woke up. He wrote every morning, and by the afternoon, his mood was even worse than the day before, which made our afternoon hikes anything but fun.
His writing notebooks were full of chord progressions, tablature, and even a few scattered piano bars here and there, but there was nothing solid. It was like he’d written sections of thirty different songs, without completing a single one of them.
I’d never really seen his writing process, so I wasn’t sure if that was normal for him or not, and I wasn’t about to call Jonas or Quinn and ask, so I left him to it. When I wasn’t with Nixon, I was online, scouring the internet for a band I could bet my career on.
Today, I’d fallen down a YouTube hole and stumbled onto a new band that—as luck would have it—looked to be based out of Seattle, which would be convenient if Nixon ever saw fit to take us home, or hell, if he’d just send me at this point since he could barely stand to be in the same room as me.
Besides, it couldn’t be that hard to find someone
else to keep him on the straight and narrow when he was doing a fine job of it all by himself.
Go figure, I’d finally let myself erase the lines between us completely, thrown caution to the wind, and he’d thrown up a wall big enough to be seen from space. It didn’t take a mathematician to put one and one together and see that Nixon hadn’t liked something about what had happened between us on that plane.
“Are you ready?”
I startled, then fumbled for my water bottle as I knocked it off my desk. Thank God the cap was on. “I didn’t realize it was already five,” I muttered.
“It is.” He leaned against my doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.
I hated that he looked so damned good. Hated that all he had to do was enter a room and my temperature rose. Hated that he’d flipped the switch back on to my sex drive only to make it perfectly clear I was no longer something he wanted. Hated the fact that I appeared to be the only woman on the planet who turned him off by getting turned on.
Mostly, I hated the way he’d completely frozen me out. I’d given in on that plane, thrown my better judgment out the door without a parachute, and this was the result? Even worse, there was nothing I could do about it. He left the room every time I tried to talk to him, and it wasn’t like I could just say, “screw this,” and leave. I was stuck with Nixon, no matter how badly I wanted him, or how big of a jerkface he was being.
This was my own personal crucible, and my pain tolerance was maxing out.
His eyes narrowed slightly on my computer screen, and I slammed it shut. “Do you want to drive?”
“Sure.” He turned and left.
“Good talk,” I muttered, taking an extra second to run a brush through my hair and locate my shoes. By the time I grabbed my coat and made it to the garage, he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
It took exactly nine minutes to get to my parents’ house, all of which were silent, with the exception of Nixon’s playlist streaming through the speakers. Guy had a thing for moody music. Pretty sure his Spotify-recommended playlists were titled Break My Heart, Another Rainy Monday, and Down in the Dumps.
He pulled into the driveway next to Jeremiah’s truck and killed the engine.
“You seriously don’t have to come if you don’t want,” I offered for the hundredth time.
He had the nerve to look taken aback. “I like your family.”
“Right.” It was just me he didn’t like, which would make Sunday dinner all the more fun. I steadied my temper with three measured breaths, mentally listed every sweet thing he’d done for me, then followed Nixon up the porch steps. We’d have it out at home, not at Mom and Dad’s house.
“We’re here!” I didn’t bother knocking as we walked into my parents’ house.
“Oh good!” Mom called out from the kitchen.
We hung our coats on the rack and headed that way. Mom met us both with hugs, which Nixon handled with so much ease I almost smiled.
“Dad has Levi and Ashley Sandguard in the yard,” Mom told us as she fussed over the flowers Nixon had brought her.
It was official—I’d somehow broken him, taking him from a sex-crazed, arrogant rock star with a smirk that could melt the very panties off any girl, to a moody, brooding—fine, he was still a rock star—who wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole but brought flowers to my mother.
“Who is Ashley Sandguard?” Nixon asked, sliding onto one of the barstools.
“Next-door neighbor’s little girl,” Mom answered. “Her mom had to rush Carrie—that’s Ashley’s little sister—to the emergency room for a pretty nasty cut. Don’t worry, everything is fine, she just needs a few stitches.”
“So, set an extra place for dinner?” I asked, already crossing the kitchen.
“Already done.” Mom waved me off. “And I told your father we’re ordering pizza. I hope that’s okay with you two?”
“Fine by me,” Nixon answered. “Anything you need help with?”
Who the hell was this guy?
“Not at all. But I wouldn’t mind hearing how the San Francisco trip went since my daughter’s only details included the words fine and okay.” She took the stool next to Nixon’s.
Nixon’s gaze flashed to mine, and I turned away before I did something uncontrollable, like blush or throw every can in the recycling bin at his stupid, perfect head.
“I thought I heard you pull in,” Naomi said as she came in the side door, rubbing her hands. “Jeremiah and Dad—”
“I need you for a second.” I grabbed her hand and tugged her into the laundry room, shutting the door behind us.
“You need me to do laundry?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
“What? No. But now that you say it…” I grabbed the basket Mom always kept of household wash, threw it in, and started the machine, then nodded when the sound of rushing water filled the room. Hopefully it would give us another layer of privacy. “I need to ask you something.”
“Go for it.”
“I…uh…hmmm.” Now that I had her here, the question seemed, well, stupid.
“Zoe, I work in the world’s smallest health clinic, and we’ve been friends since we were five. Whatever you need to ask, trust me, I’ve been asked worse.” She leaned back against the washer.
“I somehow doubt that.” This was a level beyond embarrassing.
“Does it burn when you pee?”
“What? No!” I shot her a what-the-hell look, and she shrugged.
“See? Already not the worst.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
She arched a brow. “Have I ever not kept one of our secrets?”
“Even from Jeremiah?”
“As long as you’re not asking me to break my wedding vows, I think we’re in the clear. What’s up?”
I glanced at the closed door, then took a deep breath. “Hypothetically, is it possible to be so bad at sex…well, not even sex, it didn’t get that far. Let me rephrase.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Is it possible to be so bad at foreplay that your…partner,” I enunciated that word to keep from saying Nixon’s name on accident, “runs away and locks himself in a bathroom until the pilot orders him into a seat because the plane is getting ready to—”
“Nixon did what?” Her mouth dropped open a good two inches.
“I didn’t say it was Nixon,” I whispered in a hiss.
“Yeah, okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Because you spend so much time flying around with other people.”
I glared at her.
She cringed. “Sorry, you were saying something about the plane?”
“It landed. And…the partner…hasn’t spoken more than four consecutive words to me since then, and it’s been a week.” I hopped up onto the dryer.
“He seriously ran off and hid in the bathroom?” she questioned.
“It would almost be funny if it hadn’t happened to me.” I nodded.
She bit back a smile. “Oh, it’s—”
My eyes narrowed.
“Not funny in the least,” she managed to finish with a straight face.
“Seriously, Naomi. I’m probably violating about a dozen NDA’s just asking you.” I ran my hands over my face.
“Well, since it’s not Nixon, then that’s impossible, right? What might the name of this hypothetical partner be?”
Mom’s North Face jacket stared me in the face. “North,” I answered.
“Okay, then. Was there any pain involved in this foreplay session with…North?” She turned toward me, her nurse face firmly in place.
“No. I mean, not on my end, and he wasn’t exactly complaining either. It’s not like I’m a virgin. I’m well aware of what an erection feels like, and trust me—he had one.” My face heated at the memory.
“Did anything…weird happen?”
“Unless you’d call having the fastest orgasm of my life weird, then no.” My stomach twisted. “Maybe that freaked him out?”
She scoffed. “Trust me,
no guy is going to run out because he gets a woman off too fast. Had it been the other way around, that’s another story.”
My shoulders dipped. “I don’t know. He’s the one who started it, and then—” I froze.
“Then?” she prompted, but there was concern in her eyes, not a need for entertainment.
“Maybe I pushed him too far,” I admitted. “We’d just had this giant discussion on why we shouldn’t be doing anything, and then I decided to risk it without letting him in on that choice. Maybe he didn’t really want what ended up happening, and he sure as hell didn’t want anything else. Or maybe he realized I’m just not what he’s used to. Maybe something’s wrong with me.”
“Look, Zoe. I’ve seen the way…North looks at you. I would find it really hard to believe that he wasn’t interested.”
“Well, he sure got uninterested very quickly.”
“And locked himself in the bathroom.”
“Yep.”
“And won’t talk to you.”
“Nope.”
“Which makes living with him exactly how awkward? On a scale of one to ten.” She lifted a corner of her mouth.
“About a billion,” I admitted. “And we’re supposed to leave in two days for the next show. I don’t know. Maybe he’s used to girls who…you know…take care of him first.”
Now I was the one getting a what-the-hell look. “No. Any guy who expects to come first doesn’t get to come at all. Those are the rules.”
“I think I missed the handbook.”
“You were busy taking on the world.” She grasped my hands in hers. “I could be wrong, but I’d bet a million bucks that this isn’t about you, Zo. It’s about him.”
“He has about a million references that argue otherwise,” I muttered. “The only times I’ve ever heard…North turn a woman down were because he picked someone prettier out of the lineup. I have four years of experience to back that up.” I shook my head. “I did something wrong on that plane, and now he doesn’t want anything to do with me. It’s that simple.”
“Honey, that man is sitting in your mom’s kitchen right now. If he didn’t want anything to do with you, he would have hauled you back to Seattle and gone on his merry way.” She lifted her eyebrows at me, like she was waiting for me to see her point.
Muses and Melodies (Hush Note Book 3) Page 13