When the Storm Breaks (Lost Stars)

by Emery Rose

  The round table on the balcony was set for two, covered with silver lidded dishes. It looked as if she’d ordered everything on the menu. “Were you expecting an army?”

  “I know how much you eat.”

  “I’m not hungry for food.”

  “What are you hungry for?”

  “You.” I dipped my head and kissed the corner of her mouth then tugged her bottom lip between mine and sucked on it.

  “God, I’ve missed you so much. You have no idea.”

  But I did have an idea. I’d missed her so much in the two months we’d been apart that I didn’t know how I’d lived without her for the past thirty-three years. “Why don’t you show me how much you’ve missed me?”

  In long strides, I carried her into the bedroom and tossed her onto the bed. When she hit the mattress, she bounced and grabbed my hands, pulling me down on top of her. Bracing my weight on one forearm, I slid my finger under the thin strap of her silk and black lace camisole. Today it was forest green, my favorite color. “Did you wear this for me?”

  She gave me a coy smile. “Maybe.”

  “Well, as pretty as it is, it’s gotta go.”

  She sat up and I ripped it over her head and tossed it to the floor then pushed her back against the mattress. Hooking my fingers in the sides of her silky shorts, I pulled them down her legs, freeing her of them. I sat back on my heels, taking a moment to drink her in, my gaze roaming over every inch of her bare skin.

  “Are you just going to stare at me all day?” she sassed, her hands reaching for the fly of my jeans. I swatted her hand away.

  “Told you I was hungry.” Kneeling between her legs, I lifted her left foot and planted it on the bed then did the same with the right one and used my forearms to pin her thighs flat to the mattress.

  “You’re hungry. I’m offering you a whole buffet. Eat up.” She motioned with her hand across her naked body.

  “Mmm. So accommodating. Let’s skip to dessert.”

  With my eyes locked on hers, I dipped down and took a small taste. My tongue brushed her clit, and she bucked her hips against my face, letting out a moan that shot straight to my cock. I flattened my tongue and licked her from slit to crack. “Fuck, you taste so sweet,” I murmured.

  She dug her fingers into my shoulders, her thighs shaking as I used my tongue and fingers and mouth to fuck her.

  “Oh my God, Brody,” she panted, her fingers pulling my hair, her body convulsing as I drove my tongue deep inside her walls, her muscles clenching around it.

  “Yes! Fuck. Shit. Holy Mother of God.”

  My body shook with laughter at the words flying out of her mouth. Her thighs clamped around my head and I pried them apart again. With the flat of my tongue, I gave her a few shallow licks to bring her down from the orgasm. Then I kissed the crease in her leg and moved up her body, my hands following my lips over her curves and silky soft skin. Her hip bones. Stomach. Ribs. I cupped her full tits in my hands and guided one rosy nipple into my mouth then sucked on it.

  “It’s too much.” But even as she said it, her hands slid into my hair and she held me against her chest.

  I released her nipple and moved to the other one then up to her mouth, kissing her long and hard so she could taste herself on my tongue. “Too much. But never enough.”

  Her legs wrapped around my waist and she rocked her hips. “Why aren’t you naked yet, Cowboy?”

  Good question. I sat up and pulled off my T-shirt while she unzipped my jeans, her hand wrapping around my dick and squeezing, making it impossibly hard. I pushed her hand away and stood up then stripped off my clothes and settled between her thighs, fucking desperate to be back in my favorite place. Buried deep inside her.

  In one sharp thrust, I drove into her, causing her to cry out. Fuck yeah. Her back arched off the mattress and she met me thrust for thrust while I pounded into her, relentless, my pace punishing. Her nails scored my back as I pulled out then drove into her again. Bringing my hand down to where we were joined, I rubbed her clit.

  I pulled back to watch her face. Lips parted, eyes at half-mast, ink-black hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. “Come for me, Shy. Come all over my cock.” Her muscles clenched around me and I rubbed her clit harder and faster. “That’s it. Clench my cock with that sweet little pussy of yours.”

  “Oh my God.” Her chest was heaving, our bodies slick with sweat in all the places where our skin touched. I pinched her clit and she cried out. Her legs, wrapped around my back, shook as I drove into her one more time, buried to the hilt, so deep I wanted to live there forever. I came on a roar that didn’t sound human, and she milked an orgasm out of me that seemed like it would never end.

  With a shudder, I collapsed on top of her and buried my face in the crook of her neck.

  “God, I missed you,” she said. “My big boy’s got nothing on you.”

  I growled and bit her earlobe. She laughed and I rolled us both over so she was on top of me and not bearing the brunt of my weight. She pushed herself up on one elbow and peered down at my face then brushed my hair off my forehead with her fingertips. I grabbed her fingers and guided them to my mouth, sucking on them.

  “Still hungry?” she teased.

  “When I’m with you? Always. I can never get my fill.”

  I was lounging on the bed, arms tucked behind my head, watching her get ready for our day out. Since I’d arrived two hours ago, we’d fucked twice and had taken a shower together in the marble bathroom as big as my bedroom. “I’d be happy to spend the day here. In bed.”

  “It’s your first time in London. I want to show you the sights.”

  She was insistent on playing tour guide. But most likely that would mean I wouldn’t have her to myself. Shiloh Leroux didn’t just walk out the front door of the hotel and wander the streets. That had been impressed upon me earlier when I’d met her manager, Marcus. He’d stopped by when we were eating our breakfast on the balcony and had given me the distinct impression that he was less than thrilled I was here, taking up Shiloh’s precious time. Within two seconds of meeting her slick manager in his designer clothes, I’d concluded that I wasn’t a big fan of his either. He was a cog in the wheel of a big money machine, and Shiloh was the jewel in his crown. He couldn’t afford to lose her.

  “You’ve already given me a full tour.” I pulled her into my lap and kissed the side of her neck. “And it was even better than memory served. I don’t need to see anything outside this hotel room.”

  “We have until three o’clock,” she said, ignoring my words as she scrolled through her phone, checking out all the hot London tourist spots. None of which I had any intention of dragging her to. The sun was shining, it was summertime in London, and all those tourist spots would be mobbed. “How about the Tower of London? Or the London Dungeon? Ooh… Camden Market is fun. We could do a Thames River cruise. Or we could—”

  I took the phone out of her hand and tossed it aside. “How about we take a walk?” I figured it would be more lowkey and easier for her to remain anonymous. Although how I’d ever thought that was possible was fucking beyond me. My hand coasted up her thigh and under the hem of her short cotton dress. It was white with colorful embroidery around the collar and the three-quarter length sleeves. She was so fucking perfect, her suntanned legs draped over my lap and her lips so lush and pink.

  When my hand ventured further up, dragging the material of her dress with it and landed between her legs, she shoved it aside. “Don’t start or we’ll be stuck in this room all day.”

  “I can think of worse things than being stuck in a room with you.”

  She jumped off the bed and offered me her hand with a smile. “Let’s go for a walk, Cowboy.”

  She put on a straw fedora and sunglasses and away we went, breezing right past the security guys in the hallway and into the elevator that miraculously opened the moment I pressed the down button. As soon as the doors closed, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her lips, my hands roaming down her back a
nd cupping her ass as her arms looped around my neck, our lips locked until the doors slid open. Then we cruised right through the swanky hotel lobby and out the front door, hand in hand.

  Shiloh had a big smile on her face, like a kid on Christmas morning. She loved London. Loved cities. Loved the people and black cabs and the red double decker buses, she told me.

  We cruised past Harrod’s and checked out the window displays as we passed them. Designer dresses and shoes that probably cost more than my truck. And it struck me that Shiloh could afford to buy anything in that window. And everything in all the other fancy stores we passed as we walked down Sloane Street. A shiny red Ferrari cruised past and Shiloh said, “Sugar Daddy anyone?”

  I laughed. The dude behind the wheel had a combover and had to be at least fifty. The woman next to him appeared to be in her twenties. An unlikely couple. Which was exactly what I thought when I caught our reflection in the Tiffany's window. Shiloh looked like she belonged here. Even though her clothes were casual, and she was wearing ankle boots with a little dress that was deceptively simple, I wasn’t fooled. They were designer items. As was the leather fringed handbag over her shoulder.

  We were waiting at the crosswalk for the light to change when it happened. The fuck? I stared at a passing bus. Unlike the other red ones, this one was painted white and the billboard on the side of it featured Shiloh’s face advertising the “Wrecked and Damaged” Tour. Her fucking face stared back at me from a bus in London.

  She tugged on my arm to get my attention. My gaze swung from the bus to the girl next to me. A hat and sunglasses did nothing to disguise her, but I guess she felt safer with them on when she was out in public. Less exposed. But even if she wasn’t famous, she gave off the aura of someone who was special. Someone who would make you do a double-take.

  “We can cross now.”

  We crossed the street and walked in silence. She told me this was Sloane Square which meant jack shit to me. I glanced at the red brick facades around a small leafy square, the traffic circling it, the sun shining and the sky so blue but all I could see was her face on that billboard. I could feel her watching me, her hand still clasped in mine and she gave it a squeeze, trying to get my attention.

  “Don’t let it freak you out. I’m still just me. Your Shiloh.”

  My Shiloh. Was that what she was? Mine? “I’m not freaked out,” I scoffed. It was a lie, but she didn’t call me out on it.

  She smiled. “Good. I don’t want this to change anything. I don’t want anything to get in the way of us being us, okay?” She chewed on her bottom lip, the worry setting in.

  I tugged on her hand and pulled her aside to let people pass then leaned down and kissed her. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not so easily scared off.”

  “You’re made of tougher stuff.”

  “You know it, baby.”

  I looped my arm around her shoulder, and we continued wandering the streets of London. Past fancy boutiques and little shops that sold handmade chocolates, designer shoes, hats so fanciful I couldn’t imagine where the fuck anyone would wear them.

  She guided us down streets in Belgravia with big wedding cake houses from another century that looked like they came with a butler and staff. Then we walked down a cobblestone alley that she said was the Mews. “This is where the horses lived. Behind the big house.” She gestured with her hand, playing tour guide.

  The houses were small, painted in pastels, with hanging flower baskets outside their doors. Earlier, I’d glanced at a real estate agent’s window and fuck me, even these tiny houses cost millions.

  “I can’t imagine any horse being happy to live in a house. Where’s the pasture? Where’s the open spaces?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “They were obviously city horses.”

  I checked my phone for the time. “We’d better head back.”

  She nodded and we made our way back to the hotel, down a different cobblestoned alley, another Mews.

  From what little I’d seen, London was a beautiful city and unlike New York, the cab drivers weren’t maniacs and didn’t lay on their horns every five minutes. But never in a million years could I live in a place like this. To me, it still felt claustrophobic. Even though they had Hyde Park on their doorstep and green squares fenced in behind wrought iron, the air wasn’t sweet and fresh, and everyone lived right on top of each other.

  When we got back to the main street near the hotel, we were ambushed by three girls carrying shopping bags. One blonde and two brunettes.

  “I’m sorry but would it be okay if we took a photo with you?” the spokesperson of the group asked in her polite British accent. The girls looked to be in their late teens or early twenties, wearing skimpy dresses and sunglasses. They were young and pretty and Ridge would have been having a field day.

  Shiloh flashed them a smile, but it wasn’t the same one she used with me. It was bigger and brighter, and I wouldn’t call it fake, exactly, but it was more wary. “Of course.”

  I stood back while Shiloh posed for photos with the girls.

  “’Damage’ changed my life,” the blonde said. “I had this wanker for a boyfriend, yeah? And after I heard your song, I found the strength to break up with him. Best decision ever.”

  “He was a tosser,” one of the brunettes said.

  “I know.” The blonde sighed. “But I loved that tosser.”

  “Someone better will come along,” Shiloh said with a smile. “Someone who treats you right and appreciates you for exactly who you are.” She aimed her smile at me and squeezed my arm, making it clear the words were intended for me. My first thought was, how the fuck had I gotten so lucky? My second thought was nobody had ever thought of me as someone better. But I wanted to be that guy in her life, the one who put her first and never took her for granted.

  Shiloh was special, I’d known that from the start, and not because she was Shiloh Leroux. She was tough and resilient with a vulnerability that made me want to protect her from the big bad world. No matter how many times life knocked her down, she got right back up again and proved how strong she was. I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but now that I’d found her, I wasn’t going to let her go.

  Chapter Thirty

  Brody

  “What the hell?” I stared at the paparazzi across the street. They were waiting outside the Mandarin Oriental and one guess who they were waiting for.

  “Dammit. Who tipped them off?” she muttered. “I need to call James.”

  I took the phone out of her hand. “You don’t need him. You’ve got me.” I looked across the street at the assholes, my hands clenched into fists.

  “Brody…” She looked up at me from beneath the brim of her hat.

  “What?”

  She took a deep breath and released it. “Okay, listen… we should have talked about this before. This is my world. You showed me yours and now I’m showing you mine. And you have to trust that I know what I’m talking about. You have to keep a cool head, okay? Ignore anything they say, tune it out, and keep walking.”

  How was this her fucking life?

  As if she’d read my mind, she said, “You have to take the bad with the good, remember?”

  I nodded once. I remembered. Didn’t mean I had to like it.

  “Let’s go.” I grabbed her hand, and we strode across the street. No use putting it off. Wouldn’t make them go away.

  “Remember what I said. Promise me…”

  I squeezed her hand. “I promise.” She ducked her head and we kept walking, ignoring the questions being thrown at us and the flashes of the cameras going off all around us. They were pushy fuckers and if she hadn’t made me promise to keep my mouth shut, I would have been tempted to tell them all to fuck off. But I didn’t want to cause her any trouble.

  “How do you feel about Acadian Storm’s newest member? Is it true that you and Ari Bell were sleeping together on your last tour?”

  “What’s your name, mate? Are you her new bodyguard?”

&nb
sp; “Hey Shiloh. Over here. Are you and Dean trying to reconcile?”

  My arm around her tightened like a steel band. When we finally made it inside, I grabbed her hand and we hurried to the elevator. It was only when the elevator doors closed, and we were safely inside that I took a deep breath.

  “Are you okay?” I looked down at her upturned face.

  “I’m fine. You can loosen your hold now.” I loosened my grip on her hand, but I didn’t let go. “Everything is fine. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  But nothing about what had just happened felt okay. They were fucking vultures, preying on her, trying to get stories and photos. I had no idea how she lived like this but for the past five years, this had been her life. Her private life wasn’t even her own.

  “You get used to it. You can’t let it get to you. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve been accused of.” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

  I’d fallen for a girl whose life was delved into for public consumption. A girl who lived in the spotlight. Who posed for photos with her fans and stopped to sign autographs. I’d fallen for a girl whose face was plastered on fucking billboards. Few things were sacred when you lived in the public eye. And that was what she’d been trying to protect Hayley from. The public scrutiny. The media. The gossips and news hounds all vying for a piece of juicy news that would sell their magazines and tabloids.

  Guarding your privacy was a luxury Shiloh didn’t have. For me, it was a necessity. I had too many skeletons rattling around in my closet. Too many things I never wanted anyone to know about me.

  “If you want to be with me,” she said when I swiped the keycard and opened the door for her. “You’ll have to find a way to block it out. Please don’t let this scare you away.”

  I heard the worry in her tone. When we got inside the room, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close, feeling like she needed my reassurance and protection. “It doesn’t scare me away. But I hate that they feel like they have a right to hound you like that. It’s fucked up.”