“Yeah. And he remembered us. Asked about you. Damn flirt,” he grumbled, making me grin.
“What’d you tell him?” I asked curiously.
He shrugged. “That things had gotten screwed up. But that I hoped maybe one day they’d sort themselves out. Told him you designed the tattoo for me.”
My palm lay flat against his skin, covering the art I’d designed for him. The air around us grew thick with steam.
“I think the water’s ready,” I pointed out.
“I think you’re right.” He stepped back, dropping his hands to the button on his jeans.
“What are you doing?” I croaked.
“Taking my pants off, duh. Do you know how heavy wet denim is?”
He pushed the jeans to his ankles, and any protest I was going to make died a violent death on my lips. With one hand against the wall, he propped himself up so he could step out of the puddle of fabric. Then he removed his socks.
The bulge in his boxers indicated I still had an effect on him. Pride swelled in my heart. He must not have been too disgusted by my scar. My blood zipped along the surface of my skin, heating me from the inside out.
“You going to be able to behave yourself, flutterby?” he asked, breaking me out of my reverie, smirking over catching me staring at his erection.
“Maybe?” I offered noncommittally.
He chuckled and slipped his fingers into the waistband of my leggings. His stare bore into mine, searching. I gave him a quick nod. The thin fabric eased down my legs. Hot, heavy air caressed each inch of skin he revealed.
“No panties?” he groaned.
“Sorry. Mom didn’t bring me any to the hospital. Apparently, the clothes I came in with were ruined.”
His lips moved in a silent prayer. I recognized the move. He was reciting things meant to turn him off. I smirked but decided to take it easy on him. Gripping his hand for support, I stepped into the welcoming spray of the shower. He moved to step in behind me.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I nodded my head at his boxers.
“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “The layer of fabric between us will serve as a reminder that I can’t sink inside you. Yet.”
“Oh.” I sighed. When the water hit him, the black fabric of his underwear clung to him in a way that was going to make this whole experience an exercise in exquisite torture.
“Rest one hand against the wall and the other on my shoulder. If you get dizzy, let me know. We’ll do this quick, so you don’t have to be on your feet too long,” he said, all business.
I did as he instructed. With a touch delicate enough for a newborn, he began to wash my face with the soapy sponge. The look in his eyes said a million things. My heart snatched each unspoken sentiment and locked them away for when I had the luxury of time to analyze them properly.
He made quick work of washing my arms and hands, moving to my breasts. In an act of sheer willpower, he kept his face trained on mine. It was as if he thought looking anywhere other than my eyes would shatter the restraint that was hanging by a thread. His ever-stiffening cock supported that idea. His muscles shifted and bunched beneath my palm as he stooped down to run the loofah lightning fast over my legs. Standing, he held out the springy poofball to me.
“Um, you’re going to have to take care of… down there yourself. I don’t think I have enough strength to take care of that without indulging a little more than your doctor would approve of given your condition. So, please have mercy on me,” he said in a husky tone.
Letting go of the wall, I took the proffered sponge. With my other hand, I tightened my grip on his shoulder and leaned down to swipe the area between my legs. His hands flew to my hips to help hold me steady. Saving us both the misery, I made quick work of cleaning myself, though I longed to linger.
Once I deemed the area sufficiently washed, I rinsed the sponge and handed it back to him. Amazingly, his eyes hadn’t wandered. After squirting new soap in the center of the ball, he nudged my body around, so he could wash my back. The suds brushed over my skin so quickly, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure they actually touched me. He hung the loofah back on the hook.
“Get your hair wet,” he commanded gruffly.
Shutting my eyes against the pounding spray, I took one step forward. My hair was sufficiently drenched by the time he tugged me backwards. My rear collided with his crotch, making us both moan. The wet fabric did little to hide his body’s response to our proximity. He wrapped his arms around my middle, planting them safely between the two areas of my body begging most for his touch. The safe zone still felt plenty erogenous when it was his flesh on mine. My back pressed against his wet torso. His mouth hovered near my ear. My muscles were simultaneously relaxing and tightening.
“Maybe I should’ve let you try to do this on your own. This is hell. Being here with you. Your wet, naked skin pressed against mine. The memory of how you feel around me consuming my thoughts. Yet being unable to touch you, sink into you, love you. It’s killing me.” His teeth nipped my earlobe. “All I can picture is the first time I took you in this shower.”
I turned my head to the side so I could see him. I remembered too. “That was the day we decided to take the leap from friends to lovers.”
“Best decision I ever made.” He kissed along my jaw.
Reaching behind me, my hands clutched the wet cotton of his boxers.
“We’ve got to hurry this along, flutterby. I refuse to disobey the doctor’s orders, and my control is about gone. Be good. Please,” he moaned.
I loosened my fingers and moved my hands back to the wall in front of me for balance.
With the softest of touches, he shampooed and conditioned my hair in record time. Once all the suds were gone, he switched off the water and stepped out of the shower. Dripping on the scatter rug, he grabbed one towel and patted my hair, squeezing the water from it before twisting it up in a tiny turban. He rubbed each bruise and wound with a delicate pressure, wicking the water from my skin without causing more than mild discomfort.
Unable to resist, his eyes followed the path of the towel. When he got to my hip, he said, “I see you got new ink too.”
“Yeah. From a place here in town. Once my disease went into remission, I wanted a symbol to remind me that I’d been given a second chance,” I explained as his finger scraped along the butterfly’s outline, making me shiver.
“Let’s get you back to bed and wrapped up,” he said gruffly.
I didn’t bother to correct his assumption that I was cold rather than incredibly turned on. After snatching a dry towel off the counter, he wound it tightly around my body and lifted me from the tub. Disregarding his dripping form, he carried me to my bed and deposited me on it. With a jerk, he pulled my blankets up over my body, cocooning me in warmth.
He planted a quick kiss on my mouth. Burying his nose in my neck, he inhaled deeply. “Now you smell like you.”
“Huh? You mean instead of the hospital?” I asked.
“No, since I came back, you smelled different. Like flowers or something. Not you.” He chewed on his lip.
“Oh. Beckett got me a lavender-scented perfume this past Christmas. I was running out of the bottle of Happily Ever After you sent me, so I switched.” Guilt wrapped itself around my heart for the hurt I caused him by just changing fragrances.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll be back,” he said, standing up.
Without waiting for an answer, he dashed back to the bathroom and shut the door behind himself. The soft sound of cascading water filtered through the wooden door. I frowned as a series of grunts overpowered the shower. A low groan from the bathroom made my core clench and my thighs rub together seeking friction. I knew that sound.
How was I going to resist throwing myself at him the next few days? It had been so long since I’d truly felt complete.
The water shut off. I took deep breaths, trying to slow my heart rate before he came back out. The bathroom door opened, and my own version of hell
walked out. His hair was damp and messy from the shower. His chest was bare, a few droplets of water creating tiny rivers over the peaks and valleys of his torso. His jeans hung low on his hips. Very low. The button was undone, revealing a patch of hair.
I smirked at him, making a deep flush creep across his skin.
“Sorry about that. I had to… um… take care of that… so I could get blood flow back to my brain,” he said with a shrug.
“What about my blood flow?” I pouted as he walked over to the side of the bed.
He kissed my forehead. “Patience is a virtue,” he parroted the words adults had always told us over the years.
“Fine. But do I have to be patient for food?” I asked petulantly.
“Nah. I’ll go fix us some food.” As he left the room, he began to whistle “Patience”, making me laugh.
♪ Patience by Guns ‘n Roses
The beep of the microwave being programmed made my mouth water in anticipation. Dawson walked back in my room and headed to my dresser. “Thought you might want to get dressed before we eat. Sweatshirt and leggings OK?” he asked as he opened my drawers.
“Perfect.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and waited for him to bring me my clothes. Dropping to one knee, he slipped my feet through the holes of a lacey pair of panties. Without removing my towel, he dragged the fabric up my legs. “Arms up,” he requested.
When I complied, he slipped my old art school sweatshirt over my head, being careful not to jar me. Once he’d tugged it to my waist, his fingers snaked beneath the fabric to free me from the towel. Then as if possessed by The Flash, he got my leggings on, covering up any bits of skin that might tempt his resolve.
“Thanks. Aren’t you… um… uncomfortable in those?” I nodded towards his jeans. “You know without boxers on?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly bring a bag with me. It’s down in the car. I didn’t think to grab it. I can get Joe to bring it up later.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Help me over to the closet,” I said as I shuffled a few steps forward.
Dawson helped me into the closet. I pointed to the bottom drawer inside a stack of built in drawers. “Check in there.”
He opened it and pulled out a stack of clothes—T-shirts, sweatshirts, sweatpants, shorts, socks, even a pair of jeans.
“You left some things here a few times. And your stuff wound up in my suitcase sometimes when I visited,” I said, lifting one shoulder.
“And you kept them?” he asked astounded.
“I couldn’t throw out pieces of you,” I admitted.
Chapter 16
Dawson
My phone dinged on the nightstand.
“Five more minutes,” Izzy mumbled as she snuggled even deeper into my embrace. “I’m not ready to get up yet.”
I didn’t want to start the day yet either. Taking care of Izzy the past two days had been glorious. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but I’d delayed my return to LA for as long as I could. I was supposed to fly back today, though my heart would be staying here.
♪ Never Say Goodbye by Bon Jovi
Her head rested on my chest. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You stay here. I’ll see what the message is about. Then I’ll be back.”
After easing from beneath her, I couldn’t help but watch her sleep. She’d totally taken over my pillow once I was out of the bed. Her pink sleep shirt had ridden up a tad, revealing a sliver of tempting flesh between the hem and waistband of her shorts. I tugged the blanket up and tucked it around her. I snatched my phone from beside the bed and adjusted my morning wood in my sleep pants as I strode to the living room.
Once I flopped down on the couch, I checked the message, fully expecting it to be from Joe giving me the nitty gritty of the security detail I’d be leaving Izzy with when I left. I was surprised to see the message was from Rayne.
Rayne: Call me ASAP
I dialed immediately. “What’s up?” I asked as soon as the call connected.
Rayne’s face filled the screen. She looked like she’d been out. But all the makeup did little to hide the worry on her features.
“There was another letter in the mail yesterday. I was out at a party, so I didn’t actually look at it until just a few minutes ago when I got home,” she explained.
“OK. Tell me about the note.” Dread curdled in my belly.
“It seems that it was actually mailed last week. From South Carolina. For some reason, it was delayed reaching you. Anyway, the last two puzzle pieces were in it,” her voice sounded odd.
I wasn’t ready to know what the completed picture looked like. Brooks had carried the pieces from my dressing room back with him when the other guys flew back home the day after our show.
“Read me the note first,” I said, stalling.
Rayne cleared her throat and read:
Dear Dawson,
I’m a very loving and forgiving person. We can move past the whole Izzy thing. I dealt with it all those years ago and was the bigger person. I knew you needed to get her out of your system. I can forgive her too. I know how irresistible you are. But she needs to know you’re mine.
NOT hers. I’ll let her know, so you don’t have to worry about hurting her feelings.
Love,
Me
My heart raced with the implications of the words.
“So, we should’ve had this warning that Izzy was in danger before anything happened to her,” I whispered.
“Based on the postmark, yes,” Rayne confirmed.
I punched the couch cushion. “Damn it. Had we known, I wouldn’t have let her come to the concert. And I’d have made her take the bodyguard.”
“I’m sorry, Dawson. I know how worried you are.”
“Are you at my place?” I asked.
“Yeah. When I realized the pieces completed the puzzle, I came straight here and texted you when I arrived.”
“Show me,” I demanded.
The phone shifted, and my kitchen table came into view. There on the poster board was a completed image. And though I imagined it would be like this, I still wasn’t prepared to actually see it.
Me and Izzy. Embracing and kissing passionately in front of the Eiffel Tower. Izzy’s face was marked out with a black X.
Instantly, I got to my feet. The edges of my vision went fuzzy. My skin heated. So much rage built up inside of me, and I had no outlet for it. There was nothing satisfying to punch. I couldn’t roar in rage. I couldn’t play angry music. I couldn’t even pace properly because of all the easels scattered about.
“Dawson,” Rayne’s voice filtered through the angry haze, “are you OK?”
“No. Text Joe a screenshot of the letter and the completed puzzle. I have to calm down. I can’t let Izzy see me like this. We only have few hours left together before I have to leave.” I forced my breaths in and out slowly.
“OK. See you soon,” she said.
The call disconnected. Immediately, I dialed Joe, pacing a short stretch of open space.
“Yo, D. It’s a little early for you to be up, isn’t it?” Joe’s chipper tone filled my ear.
“Yeah. Rayne called. She just picked up my mail. Seems there was a delay in a letter arriving. She’s texting the image to you and the completed puzzle. I need you to make sure that Deke has a couple other people stay here with him to watch over Izzy. I have a bad feeling. I’m not willing to take any more chances with her safety.”
“Are you going to tell her about the security?” Joe asked.
Sinking to the couch, I cradled my head in my hand. “I’ll tell her about Deke and give her his info in case she needs him. Let’s just keep quiet about the other two. I don’t want to worry her more. She’s already so stressed about finishing up her pieces for the show.”
Being unable to stand in front of an easel for hours on end the past couple of days had really messed with her head. Yesterday she painted while locked away in the spare bedroom for a few long stret
ches.
“You got it. We can introduce her to Deke this evening before we leave,” Joe offered.
I hated the verbal reminder that my time with Izzy was winding down.
“Later, man,” I said as I hung up.
As I was contemplating slipping out to pick us up some breakfast, Izzy wandered into the living room. When she stood in front of me, all the rage dissipated and was replaced by a love so intense that I couldn’t contain it all. I stared at her in awe. She was so beautiful with her messy bed hair and sleepy face.
“What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were going to sleep some more,” I said as I took one of her hands in mine and tugged her to me.
She settled across my lap. “I couldn’t sleep without you next to me.” Her head burrowed in the crook of my neck as she made herself at home.
“Sorry for waking you,” I mumbled against her head.
“It’s OK. The only reason I didn’t want to get up yet was because I wasn’t ready for this day to start. I’m not ready for another goodbye,” her voice trembled on the last word.
My arms tightened around her. “Me neither, baby. Me neither.”
♪ Piece of Your Heart by Mayday Parade
And with this nutjob stalker on the loose, our goodbye might be longer than either of us would like.
“I know. I just feel…”
“Feel what, flutterby?” I asked, nerves making my voice tremble.
“I don’t know exactly. Unsettled, I guess.” She shrugged.
“Want to talk it out?” It was what we always did in the past when one of us was struggling to make sense of something.
“Part of it is because my exhibit focal piece is still incomplete. It’s like bits of me are in flux or something.” Her fingers moved over my tattoo as she spoke.
“I get that. It’s how I feel when I’m trying to finish a song and the lyrics or melody just won’t come together.” It was a feeling I’d lived with a lot the past couple of years—except for when I was high. “So, what’s the other thing leaving you unsettled?” My guts churned in anticipation of how she would answer.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 65