As You Were (Rising Star Book 2)

by Lee Piper

  “She has kind eyes,” Gina continues, her gaze pinning me with their intensity. “You will be very happy.” She taps Zeke with her index finger. “Selena’s eyes were hard. You made a mistake with that woman. I told you, didn’t I tell you? She had a cold heart.”

  Zeke’s smile fades. “Yeah.”

  “She was here yesterday. Did your papà mention it?”

  Beside me, Zeke tenses. “No, he didn’t say anything. What did she want?”

  “What do you think?”

  Zeke swears under his breath and rakes a hand through his hair. Gripping the short strands, he levels his mother with a stare. “If she gives you trouble, you call me. Understood?”

  Gina waves him away. “She is nothing I cannot handle.”

  He groans. “Don’t underestimate her, Ma. When she wants something, she’ll go to any length to get it. She’s not someone to be trusted, and I won’t have her dragging you and Papà into this mess. It’s between me and her, no one else.”

  Gina props her hands on her hips as though the idea is ridiculous. “She does not worry me. I could chew her up and spit her out for breakfast.” The mixed metaphor is as gruesome as it is humorous, and something about the ferocity with which she utters it tells me she’s only half joking.

  Gina’s eyes scan the table. “Where is your wine? Have you ordered? Why have you not ordered yet?” She pulls the chairs out, her movements hurried, muttering, “That Vincenzo, always so lazy. He is going to send me to an early grave.”

  Zeke and I take our places once more, and I’m pleased he chooses to remain next to me rather than sit across the table. He’s wearing an amused expression as he watches his mother flutter around him. She straightens the linen, polishes the cutlery, and places the napkins in our laps, all the while grumbling about the inefficiency of her husband and how Zeke needs to eat.

  “Look at you,” she cries, picking imaginary lint off his bicep. “You will waste away to nothing if I don’t feed you.”

  It takes everything I have not to burst out laughing. After all, judging by the ripped muscles molding Zeke’s shirt to his chest, malnourishment isn’t an issue.

  She points to her son. “You will have the cannelloni,” she declares before turning to me. After a quick scan of my body, she nods. “And you will too.”

  I open my mouth to ask if there’s any meat in the dish, but decide against it. Besides, she’s already spun on her heel and is storming toward the kitchen, so it’s pointless.

  Zeke wraps his hand around the back of my neck, his touch possessive. “It’s vegetarian,” he murmurs.

  I gaze into his face. It’s so open, so full of genuine warmth mixed with flashes of heat that I need to shift in my seat to ease the burgeoning ache. “Good to know. Thank you.”

  Just as Zeke drops his mouth to mine, Gina’s distinct voice is heard from across the restaurant. “Vincenzo, get your son and his date some wine. Two glasses of the Chianti Classico. Adesso.”

  Breaking away, I slink down in my chair, embarrassed. Hollering across the restaurant that I’m Zeke’s date isn’t exactly the best way to keep a low profile. I can only hope none of the other patrons paid any attention to the pint-sized woman with the voice of an army sergeant. Sadly, as I glance around the room, there are at least a dozen sets of eyes fixed squarely on me.

  “Oh, crap,” I mutter, facing the window in a bid to escape the stares.

  “No.” Zeke takes my face in his hands, turning me to him. “Don’t turn away from me.”

  “It’s not you I’m turning away from. People are looking,” I whisper.

  “Let them look.”

  “What if one of them takes a photo and sells the story, huh? We’ll make headlines before we’ve eaten.”

  His expression turns predatory. “They can try.”

  “I don’t want to be fodder for the tabloids,” I murmur, pressing trembling fingers to my lips.

  “You won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?” My eyes flit around the restaurant, and sure enough, people are still watching.

  “Trust me.”

  I take in his features, the determined glint in his eyes, the resolute jut of his jaw. I do trust Zeke Danton. I mean, I trust him with my music, and my body, so why not with my personal brand?

  “Okay.” I cup his cheek in the palm of my hand, feeling as though I’m jumping off a precipice with the hope of a safety net below. “I trust you.”

  “Good,” he rumbles. “Now let’s hurry up and eat. I wanna take you home and own that sweet cunt.”

  “So romantic.” I laugh.

  He skims his lips along my neck, causing me to shiver. “Nothing romantic about me, little siren. And yet here you are.”

  Leaning back, I gaze into the eyes, into the very soul, of the man before me. “And yet here I am,” I reply.

  The food is delicious. I have a hard time suppressing my moans whenever I shovel yet another mouthful past my lips. In my defense, the pasta is freshly made, the napolitana sauce is rich and full of flavor, and the wine…. If nirvana and heaven had a love child that cried tears of salvation, the Chianti Classico would be bottled evidence.

  Zeke watches me eat. Each bite, each lick, each sip of my drink becomes the focus of his complete attention. His pupils dilate to the point where they take up most of his eyes, and knowing I’m the woman who’s the object of his gaze is an aphrodisiac like no other.

  So, yeah, I mess with him.

  I lift the fork to my lips and slowly wrap them around the tines, pretending it’s his cock. The memory of his salty tang, of the thrust of his hips, of his thick length sliding in and out of my mouth, causes a soft moan to escape. “So good,” I breathe, my smile wicked.

  Zeke adjusts himself, cursing under his breath.

  “You okay over there?” I ask, my grin widening.

  “Finish your damn food.”

  “If you insist.” Taking another portion of my meal, I repeat the seductive routine. However, before I can take a bite, Zeke pushes my arm down, causing the cutlery to clatter to the table.

  “You’re done. Let’s go.” He gets to his feet, not bothering to hide the bulge tenting the front of his pants.

  “But the food,” I wail, my gaze darting between his straining cock and the cannelloni. In all honesty, both are mouthwatering, so it’s difficult to choose between them.

  “Fuck the food,” Zeke growls, his strong hand clasping mine. “I’m gonna feast on your body.” He pulls me out of the chair and leads me toward the exit.

  After giving his father a chin dip and one-armed hug, we leave. I, for one, am terrified at the thought of not giving his mother a proper goodbye. After all, Gina appears the type of woman who wouldn’t think kindly of anyone sneaking off without a farewell.

  When I question Zeke about paying on the way to car, he shrugs. “I never pay. Would you charge Drake or Reid if it was your restaurant?”

  “Touché.”

  “And don’t worry about Ma, she’ll be fine.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because she’ll be too busy lording it over the kitchen staff that we’re a couple to notice.”

  I stop. Zeke keeps moving but soon pauses when I remain motionless. He raises his eyebrows in question, glancing at our outstretched arms.

  With our fingers straining to remain in contact, I murmur, “Is that what we are? A couple?”

  The words are soft, a mere whisper. This moment is too important for harsh sounds.

  Zeke steps toward me, his free hand cradling the back of my head. “Is that what you want?”

  “I….” My eyes dart between his. I wish he’d answer his own question, wish he’d make the decision so I won’t have to risk my heart when I do.

  He lowers his chin, rumbling, “Answer me.”

  The answer is simple, and yet so complex. Yes, I want us to be a couple. If tonight has taught me anything, it’s that Zeke is the type of man I can see myself spending the rest of my life with. Sure,
in many ways we’re as opposite as two people can get. However, our core values are the same. Family is everything, trust is earned, music is an escape, and making a name for ourselves while creating it is liberating.

  Not only that, but the protectiveness he showed his mother when he heard Selena had visited was enough to melt my chakras. And it’s lucky my panties didn’t incinerate when he spoke of the close bond he shares with his father. How can a girl refuse a man like that?

  But there’s a niggling voice inside my head. It’s the kind that screams potential disaster, namely for my heart. We have so much standing in the way of our happiness—a record tour, finding a place to live, my mother’s health. So, the question remains, can we make it as a couple?

  I sigh.

  Yet, despite my fear, despite the likelihood of this all going to Hades, I can’t tear myself away. It’s physically impossible to put distance between us when his hands are on me, when he murmurs in my ear, when he elicits dark pleasure.

  Meeting his gaze, I wet my lips. “Yes, it’s what I want.”

  Zeke blinks, but other than that, remains immobile. We’re both silent as the words linger between us, a cloud of smoke dancing in the darkness.

  Shaking himself from his stupor, Zeke growls and bridges the gap. Hips press against my stomach, strong hands wrap around my waist, and a muscular body aligns with mine. We fit.

  “Good,” he mutters, lowering his mouth to my neck. “’Cause that’s what we are.”

  Warm lips ghost my skin, causing goose bumps to erupt and a shiver to reverberate its way down my spine. Without warning, sharp teeth clamp down on the tender spot where my neck meets my shoulder. It’s going to leave a mark.

  He takes my bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on it and tugging gently. I can’t pull away. His touch short-circuits my willpower until all that is left is animalistic need.

  I gasp at the primal contact, the sharp sting sending a bolt of need straight to my core. My hands grip his shoulders, my nails trying to score his skin through the cotton of his shirt. When at last he releases my mouth, the skin is tender, swollen, and indented from where he clamped down on me. I run my tongue across the abused flesh, watching as Zeke’s hungry gaze tracks the movement.

  “Take me back to your place,” I whisper.

  Zeke stares at me, his eyes so dark they’re almost black. “Done.”

  Click. A flash of light.

  His head shoots to the left.

  Click. Flash. Click. Flash.

  “Motherfucker.” He tugs on my hand, almost dragging me to his car. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What was that noise?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  When I trip on the pavement, Zeke catches me before I fall. “You all right?”

  “I’m good.”

  His steps slow considerably after that, but if the colorful language rolling off his tongue is anything to go by, I’d say he’s pissed.

  The drive to Malibu is strained. Zeke’s jaw is tight, his grip on the wheel so fierce, the whites of his knuckles show. I’m pretty sure he breaks at least six traffic laws, but we’re driving so fast, and the scenery whizzes past so quickly, it’s impossible to be certain.

  We don’t speak. Not a word passes our lips as we make the journey home in record time. If it weren’t for Zeke’s palm on my thigh, his touch firm, almost punishing, I’d be lost.

  Before I know it, Zeke parks in his garage and turns off the ignition. He doesn’t move. He’s tense, and the muscles of his forearms strain against the stitching of his shirt. I watch as he releases a pent-up breath, staring straight ahead. When he mutters something I can’t decipher, I decide it’s time to say something.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  We wait for couple more minutes—me concerned, Zeke stoic, and my body so taut it’s about to cramp. Without warning, Zeke wrenches himself from the car. He slams the door shut before storming to my side and yanking mine open. With his hand branding the back of my neck, we make our way to the elevator, our shoes echoing on the concrete floor.

  His apartment is dark. The illumination coming from the kitchen appliances at the other end of the hallway is our only source of light. They cast a blue hue over everything, somehow deepening the blacks and intensifying the grays. Strangely, it creates an intimate atmosphere.

  Without turning on the lights, we make our way to the kitchen. Zeke releases me, growling, “Want a drink?” before taking a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf. He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he pours a triple shot into a tumbler and downs it in one go. My eyes widen when he goes to do it again.

  “Zeke, stop.” Moving to where he stands at the island bench, I cover his glass with my hand. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “I have no idea.”

  When he tries to walk past me, I step in front of him, blocking his path.

  “Hey.” My words are soft, a mirror to my touch when I cradle his face in my palms. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  His nostrils flare. I’d bet my guitar that his fists are clenched by his sides.

  “You okay?”

  Melted caramel. Zeke’s gaze is so penetrating, so powerful, it’s a sucker punch to the gut. I forget to breathe.

  Closing his eyes, he leans forward, his forehead resting against mine. “I’m scaring you.”

  “You’re not scaring me.”

  “Don’t wanna scare you.”

  “I’m just confused, that’s all. What’s going on?”

  He’s quiet for a long moment as the rhythmic crash of waves outside acts as our soundtrack. Eventually Zeke grips my waist, his fingers bruising. “If I don’t calm the fuck down, I’m gonna break you, little siren.”

  His admission is my undoing. My fingers delve into his short hair. Soft strands tickle my skin, the sensation so out of place in the gravity of this moment. “You won’t break me,” I murmur, needing him to know I speak the truth. “I can handle it. I can handle you.”

  Opening his eyes, he considers me, wary.

  “Give me your storm, Zeke. All of it. Don’t tame the chaos. Don’t suppress who you are.”

  A flash of vulnerability crosses his features, then disappears. But I saw it. For a split second, Zeke Danton opened up to me. And he cares. The knowledge makes me want to cradle his heart in my hands and never let go.

  “You might not like it,” he grumbles.

  “How about I decide what I do and don’t like, huh?”

  “If it gets too much, you need to tell me to stop. Understand? Say the word and I’ll back the fuck off.”

  Brushing my lips against his, I murmur, “I won’t need to. But sure, if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you to stop.”

  He’s still unconvinced.

  Sighing, I rake my fingernails through his hair.

  His grip on me intensifies.

  “Let go,” I whisper.

  Inhale.

  “Let go with me.”

  Lips brush.

  “Let’s revel in the chaos together.”

  Exhale.

  “I need you, Zeke.”

  Crash.

  With a tortured growl, he descends. Like a hurricane, Zeke’s mouth claims mine, ripping the air from my lungs. Fierce hands grapple with my hair, my dress, my equilibrium, his lack of restraint awakening something long buried.

  I throw myself at him in response, wrapping my legs around his waist. My arms form a vise-like grip as they grasp his neck, yanking him closer. Zeke races through the living room—somehow unscathed—our collective groans filling the space as we maul each other with our mouths.

  My back is slammed against floor-to-ceiling windows, the glass panes vibrating with the ferocity of the movement. The frigid cold sends shockwaves through my body, and I gasp.

  “What have you done?” Zeke growls, attacking my neck with his teeth, nip
ping, biting, sucking away the sting. “What the fuck have you done to me?” His grip on my ass intensifies, the contact brutal, raw.

  I love it.

  Bring on the pain, bring on the fury, bring on anything that proves this moment is real.

  I tear at Zeke’s shirt, needing it gone. The cotton barrier mocks my desperate attempts, making me even more frantic. Zeke lets out a low chuckle as buttons ping, fabric rips, and at last I’m rewarded with smooth skin. However, his laughter only serves to heighten my arousal, so I score his flesh with my nails.

  He hisses.

  I smirk.

  Hips are thrust against my core. “You like it rough, little girl?”

  Head thrown back, I moan to the ceiling.

  He rolls his hips again. “When I ask a question, you answer. Got it?”

  Tilting my pelvis, I grind against him. Zeke grunts, and heat pools between my thighs. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” I breathe.

  “Love that word passing your lips.”

  “Love your cock passing them more.”

  “Jesus fuck.”

  My laugh is sultry, almost unrecognizable. After licking a path along his jawline, I take his earlobe between my teeth and tug.

  “Christ, siren.” He takes a handful of hair and yanks me away, his expression fierce. “Remember how I said I’d take my time with you? That I’d savor every inch of your body?”

  “Yeah,” I pant.

  “I lied.” With a jerk of his wrist, soaked panties are torn from me. “I’m gonna fuck you against this window. First with my tongue, and then with my cock. It’s gonna be hard, rough, the best you’ve ever had. And I really fuckin’ hope a cruise liner sails past so everyone can see that I own your sweet cunt.”

  Dead.

  He’s killing me with words.

  “Hands above your head,” Zeke growls as his powerful arms lift me from his waist into the air. Deltoids ripple with the movement, but I don’t have long to admire the way they shift and bulge because soon my open thighs are draped over his shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” I screech, fumbling against the window so I don’t lose my balance and fall.

  Zeke nips my inner thigh. “What the fuck did I tell you? Hands. Above. Your. Head.”