HeartStrings

by Savannah Kade

  She was pulled around to see a much better view, so Shay shook her head 'no' as something magnetic drew them together. She heard his soft inhale as his arms pulled her close enough to feel the heat coming off him.

  That same heat flared in his eyes as he pushed the suit jacket off her shoulders and let his hands trace their way up her arms, leaving a trail of feverish goose bumps in their wake. His long artist's fingers found her shoulders, her neck, her face, and only then did he lower his head and press a slow, nearly reverent kiss to her lips.

  She'd been tense, waiting for a change. Sometimes it came, sometimes it didn't. But it didn't come with Craig. In fact, the moment his lips met hers, she sighed out a surrender. It might be a bad idea, but there was something liberating in knowing that they'd each walk away tomorrow morning. She wasn't clinging, hoping, wishing for something that wouldn't be. For the very first time in her life, she was happily playing the cards she was dealt.

  As his lips opened against hers and his tongue moved slowly across hers with a sigh that turned out to be his, Shay decided it was a very good decision indeed.

  His hands caressed her shoulder blades, her back, her sides while his mouth gained entry. Her hair tumbled when her head tipped back, loopy curls brushing the exposed skin at her shoulder blades, tickling her, making her feel heady and wanton. His mouth moved down her neck, up around the shell of her ear, over her shoulder, and it was her turn to sigh.

  All the while his hands roved. So did hers. She pulled the tie from his collar—the tie she had folded, pressed, and stitched—then tossed it onto the floor.

  "Don't stop touching me." The words were his, whispered as his hands left her to undo cuff links.

  Shay obliged and helped, starting with the front of his shirt. She popped button after button, then pushed the cotton slowly down arms that could bench press her, but never seemed to push. She tugged at the tank he had underneath, reaching up high to get it over his head, only achieving that with help.

  Naked now from the waist up, he dove for her, effortlessly lifting her onto the counter in the middle of the suite, one hand finding its way to her calf and slowly climbing, taking the gauzy skirt higher and higher until he hit her hip. He pulled back, leaving his hand there on her hot skin, and watching her as he slowly inched it higher, higher, questioning until he hit the thin lace side of her thong.

  He only growled.

  His hands pressed against her sides, then slid around her back, pulling her in for his mouth once more. She kissed him with everything she had, clutching at bare, strong shoulders, grabbing biceps, feeling the taper of the waist she already knew the perfect measurements of. When his mouth found her ear again, she tipped her head, sucking in air for the heady sensation of his tongue, only to find she got ground-out words instead.

  "How in hell do I get you out of this dress? I can't find . . . I'm two seconds from ripping it and it's a damned piece of art. Tell me."

  Shay laughed. "I hid the zipper."

  "Why the hell would you do that?" He looked completely at a loss, as though she'd made the dress for his consumption and not for her best friend's wedding.

  So she helped him out with a hand and a whisper. "It's a good thing you're here. I don't know how I would get out of it myself." Then she talked him through finding the tiny tab under the row of buttons that he hadn't been able to open.

  His eyes lit up as the back of the dress opened with the soft synthetic hiss of the zipper. In a moment, he'd shimmied the dress down and under her, leaving her in the sunshine yellow strapless bra and matching thong. Hailey had provided the very high-end lingerie she said every girl needed at a wedding.

  By the look on his face, she'd been very right.

  "I am way too dressed for this situation." He was looking her up and down and she would have wondered what he saw, except that he seemed so in awe. The one good bit of advice she'd gotten from her mother had been, "If he doesn't see your flaws, don't you go telling him what they are."

  Shay kept her mouth shut and let a grin do the talking. If Craig Hibbets wanted to show her his tattoos, she was all in.

  His breathing was heavier now, his words gruffer. "Wrap your legs around me?"

  It was truly a question, so she reached out one foot, snagged him and pulled him in until she had her legs locked around his hips and her arms tight around his shoulders. His hands molded her ass as he lifted her and walked them down the hallway.

  The light was off in the room, but the curtains were cracked and he didn't remove a hand from her to close the door. So she could easily see him as he shucked the finely tailored pants. He shouldn't have looked better naked, but he did. He shouldn't have felt more amazing under her fingertips than the superfine cotton of the fabric, but he did.

  He left for a moment, rustling in his luggage. Probably looking for a condom. Shay stared at the ceiling and hoped he grabbed a handful. She was still on vacation tomorrow. So while he flew off home, she could make up on sleep—sleep she fully intended to miss tonight.

  She studied the ceiling for a moment, her hands slowly moving, one at her hip where she was deciding if she should peel the thong or let him. The other hand touched her shoulder, as though she could evoke the feelings he did, but she couldn't.

  "Jesus." He was standing again. In his fist was a clutch of foil packets and he seemed almost unable to move. So she got very brave and climbed to her knees near the edge of the bed. What else was there to do when a hot musician was standing naked in front of you and not seeing your flaws?

  Reaching behind her, Shay flicked the hooks on the bra, then reached to the side and dropped it. Next she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her thong and slowly lowered it. A bare-legged, airy summery wedding dress had been a good impetus to shave like she meant it, and she was glad now.

  The look on his face begged her to continue, but warned her he might break if she did. Heady power that, she thought, but happily played with him.

  When she was naked on her knees on the bed, he reached out blindly setting the fistful of condoms on the bedside table. His hand came back with one still in his fingers and without looking at what he was doing, he ripped it open and sheathed himself. Then he crawled onto the bed, stalking her as she giggled and scooted backward.

  Grabbing her ankle, Craig held her in place until he was far enough up that he could slide his hand all the way to her hip, this time encountering nothing but skin.

  His mouth lowered to her belly, and two sets of lungs gave a sharp intake at the contact. He kissed her everywhere, making her gasp and sometimes giggle. He whispered words she couldn't quite understand and some she couldn't repeat. Magic hands played her like a finely tuned instrument, bringing her alive for the first time in a long time.

  Maybe she'd never been alive like this at all before, because she'd never been able to let it all go. But she let go now and let Craig touch her. She touched him the way she wanted, unconcerned for once if she was doing it right. When he stroked her, then entered her, she let her head fall back with the pure sensation of it. Something between a sigh and a moan escaped her lips, then he caught it with his own just before he devoured her.

  Chapter 3

  Boneless, Shay rolled from the bed, away from the man who managed to seem even just a little larger asleep than he did when he was awake. For a moment, she stared. He'd earned that deep, deep sleep, that was certain.

  Her underwear was on the floor and she stepped into it, bare feet padding out the bedroom door in the barely-there pieces. The dress had fallen across the chair next to the island, and she picked it up. The stain of the saltwater was much more visible in the daylight. Likely it could no longer be hemmed and saved, but she couldn't say she regretted it.

  Feeling the dress, she found the lump of the cell phone in the pocket she'd tucked it into. It had been set to silent during the wedding. Stashed in the hidden spot she'd stitched just for that purpose; she would have felt it vibrate. But she'd never turned it back on, and she hadn't been anywher
e near it for hours.

  Shit. She was a horrible mother.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, she opened them again to see that nothing new had come in. She almost smiled. That was Zoe. She'd tell the boys not to call, and she'd hope Shay had been doing . . . well, exactly what she'd been doing.

  Quickly, Shay checked in. "Morning. How are O and A?"

  "All good. Why are you texting?"

  "You?" She ignored her sister's hint. If only she knew. But she wouldn’t; Shay wouldn't tell.

  "Fine. Why are you up so early?"

  "Habit." Maybe a lie, maybe not.

  "We are awesome. Aunt Zoe is the bestest. Go away. Go back to sleep. Love you, Z."

  Shay shimmied into the dress, contorting her ribs and arms to get the zipper even partway up. It had never occurred to her that she'd be sliding back into it in a stranger's room the next morning. She managed to get it closed enough so the dress wouldn't fall off on the way to the elevator, then she picked up the sandals she hadn't even worn up here and slid her feet in. She was going to make the walk with the least fanfare possible.

  She grabbed the leather bound notebook with the embossed hotel stationery. It had taken a minute to find it because she'd been looking for a small tear-off pad like the ones she found in the places she'd stayed before. This one had a fountain pen in a leather loop in the middle.

  At least her script was pretty.

  Thank you so much. Hope you have a good flight today. — Shay

  * * *

  As she propped the note upright and open on the counter, she had a brief flash of what she'd done there last night. Just the memory left her hot, and she hoped it would for what might be several years to come. Then she slipped out, letting the door quietly click behind her before she walked down the hall with her head high.

  The elevators were tucked around a corner and there were enough that no one had to walk too far. She wound up in the same one as last night, but no bobby pins littered the floor as a reminder. Her hand went to her hair where the curls still lingered, though now they were a bit mussed.

  Two floors up, she reached into the little pocket with her phone, and found no room key.

  Crap.

  Pulling her phone out of the way, she reached in again—empty. Had it stuck to the phone? Nope. No room key.

  Shay stared at the door as though she could will it to open. Then she took stock. She was locked out of her room and the room where the key probably was. Craig was likely still asleep. She could knock, but she didn't know if he would wake up. And was that any more or less embarrassing than showing up at the front desk with no ID and a partially-zipped bridesmaid's gown?

  She felt her shoulders sag.

  "Need this?" The voice was velvet and closer than she'd expected. She gasped a little at his nearness, at the jeans and t-shirt and bare feet that made her look incredibly overdressed for the hallway.

  Craig offered her the room key and a half grin.

  "Thank you." She reached out. While he let her grasp it, he didn't let go quite yet.

  "Don't fly out. Stay another day with me."

  She thought her heart stopped right then. "Tonight?"

  "Yes." He still held onto the card key, and so did she—like a dolt.

  "You know that kind of violates the idea of a one-night stand." It was a question really.

  He nodded and grinned a little. "So let's go for a fling. I can stay until Tuesday morning."

  She was already booked until Tuesday at noon, when the shuttle would pick her up. Shay had been looking forward to blessed alone time. She never got any at home. Well, not much that was worry-free. She scrunched up her lips. "I was going to spend the day on the beach, reading."

  A dream in her world.

  He let go of the key, and he looked . . . disappointed.

  As he turned to go, she asked a question. "How did you find me?" She imagined him calling the front desk and pulling strings. Or stalking her up the stairs. Some men didn't like to be left, they liked to do the leaving.

  "You said you were two floors up." He nodded softly. "Have a good day reading." And he walked away.

  She called after him. "I'm looking forward to it. So . . . you could pick me up, here, around six?"

  The way his face lit up told her she'd made the right decision.

  Tuesday morning came way too fast. Shay was at war with herself.

  She missed her babies. And she wanted to stay here, with the soft beds and the hard man.

  She promised herself she'd get out quick if she felt uneasy or threatened at any time, but she never had. She'd felt desired, interesting, even though she hadn't talked much about any details. Not her boys, not her home, not anything that was personal. He knew she had a sister that she checked in with, but he didn't even know Zoe's name.

  She learned a little about the band, and never divulged that she’d compiled info sheets on all of them long before the wedding. She wore clothes Hailey had bought her for the wedding, things she could never afford for herself. She went to the spa the second afternoon and emerged feeling like a noodle—and like a princess.

  Craig fed her. Danced with her. Swam with her in the warm waves and found a hidden cove they were pretty certain everyone knew about. Then they made love there anyway because it was Monday and the hotel was nearly empty.

  Tuesday morning found her in her own room, alone. She packed her old suitcase full of new clothes. She had a hanging bag with the probably ruined gown inside. And she put on her own cheap t-shirt and jeans that she'd bought secondhand for the flight home. She wore her hair in a ponytail along with the wonderful sunglasses Hailey had decided they both needed.

  Then Craig showed up at her door one last time as she was doing an idiot check. She couldn't afford to leave anything behind.

  "Just wanted to say goodbye. And thank you. I had a wonderful time."

  "Me too." She grinned and bounced on her toes.

  One last kiss turned long and sweet. Then he turned and pulled his own suitcase behind him as he headed to the elevator.

  He had a tour to go perform. She knew that now. And she had life to return to. It was time to head home.

  Chapter 4

  The bus rolled into Nashville, a sight Craig had seen many times before. For some reason, this time it felt different.

  He looked out the window into the dark night as they approached the city. I-40 came in on the west side of town, passing more and more exits with businesses, houses, and even schools. The city didn't really start anywhere, it just slowly picked up steam as you drove in. He couldn't see much by the street lights, but then he never could.

  It was an unintended Wilder tradition to arrive home in the early morning hours. When they'd started, JD had a five-year-old who needed him, so they came straight back after the last show whenever they could. No one complained, though part of what JD was coming home to was his neighbor, Kelsey. Though Craig didn’t like people interfering in general, Kelsey had redeemed herself early on by helping the band get their start. So no one begrudged her much of anything.

  That had been two years ago. Since then, JD married Kelsey, and their combined brood plus the new one equaled four. Craig wondered if JD's announcement about a new baby had anything to do with his own odd mood.

  JD and Kelsey were expecting kid number five. Just the thought of five kids made Craig shudder, but it made JD glow. The lead guitarist was the most stable of them, while TJ and Craig were known for partying and occasional bouts of musician's depression, JD only merely got grumpy sometimes. He was normally upbeat. Add in the positive pregnancy test and the man glowed like he was the one carrying the baby.

  Alex and Bridget now had little Olivia. She was cute as a button, just a naturally sweet child, though her mother doted a bit too much. If Craig had to hear one more time just how perfect the toddler was, he might toss his lunch. But lately, there was something about the other two that drew him.

  He didn't want what they had, he was not cut out for babies and wiv
es and "Hi honey! I'm home!" but he wanted to be as happy as they were.

  TJ was maybe a little too happy. The two of them had run the tour going out late each night, drinking and partying. A good car rental, a local bar, maybe a local girl . . . that was the way they usually did it. But lately, Craig had been letting TJ leave before he did. Then he'd catch a cab or a ride back to the bus and sleep in his own bed alone.

  He thought it was just a standard mood swing. Craig was known for the occasional bout of paranoia. He'd grown up in southern California, then hit L.A. for a while before getting his shit together and leaving for Nashville. To say he'd done things he wasn't proud of was to undercut it severely. Each time a Wilder song climbed higher on the charts, each time the venue got bigger or they traveled farther west, he got more afraid that someone would recognize him.

  There were a thousand Craigs out there. He didn't think anyone in L.A. had ever known his last name. He only hoped the bleached hair, the broader shoulders, and the change in his personal style were enough to keep anyone from recognizing him and linking him back to the boy he'd once been. Then Wilder would play the westernmost venue, or they'd do a few big shows, and no one would call him out. And he'd feel fine again.

  Sometimes everything was just wrong. Sometimes he wondered why he was on a tour bus doing what he loved. Sometimes he was alone in the crowd, in the band, or at the bar, despite all the people around him. In those cases—not the paranoia, but the bona fide depression—he'd write a song or two and then feel better. Did he feel better because he got it out of his system that way? Or because when he wrote something like that he invariably got told what an amazing songwriter he truly was? Or was it just the way his moods swung? He had no idea.

  This time he'd written his melancholy song. He'd been told how awesome it was. The band had added it to their set list. TJ had sold it and the crowds had gone wild. The fans had screamed.