Sing to Me (Rock Me Book 3)

by Lee Piper

  Reid’s gaze pins me in place. His silver eyes are unnerving, but it’s the way they almost see through me that makes for a really awkward few seconds. Eventually, I can’t take it anymore, so I busy myself with picking up the last of the cable leads. I look anywhere but at him, grateful for something to do.

  “Drake,” Reid rumbles.

  “Huh?”

  “Quit staring and focus, man. Benji’s here.”

  “Who?”

  Willow groans. “Seriously? We’ve been through this already.”

  I snort. However, not wanting to draw attention to myself, I loop cables over my shoulder and take my time arranging them in a storage box in the wings. I’ll move it to the tour bus later.

  When I return to the stage, it’s to see Drake shrugging. “You know I don’t remember half the shit people say.” He taps the side of his head. “This is reserved for important information only.” Then, as though remembering our earlier conversation, his gaze slides to mine.

  Heat warms my cheeks. Not wanting anyone to see how his loaded expression sets off a pyrotechnic display in my panties, I go about straightening and adjusting equipment. None of it needs it, but I’m desperate for something to do.

  “Oh, really?” The guitarist crosses her arms. “So, you’re saying knowing the name of the sound tech isn’t important?”

  “Not when the issue has been sorted.”

  “Sorted?” She drops her arms to her sides. I pause as nerves tickle my stomach. I really hope Drake’s not going to drop me in it. “What do you mean? Benji’s only just rocked up. Did you call and speak to him already?”

  “Nope.” Drake pops the p. It’s annoying and cute. And annoying that it’s cute. “Better than that.”

  Reid shifts impatiently on his feet. “You gonna tell us or drag this out for another six years, bro?”

  I glance at Drake; he’s watching me. With a quick shake of my head, I beg him not to out me to his friends. I’m not worried about taking the speaker without telling Benji. As far as I’m concerned, I’m offering a free service that could have cost hundreds, possibly thousands of dollars. And I’m in no way ashamed of what I did. In fact, I’m fucking proud of my abilities. I’ve taught myself specialized skills in a field that’s narrowed to half a dozen reputable sound tech companies. But I hate being the center of attention. A lot. It’s part of the reason why the role of roadie suits me so well. I’m in the thick of the music scene without being blinded by the limelight. For someone who doesn’t find socializing easy, and who’s against tenuous friendships based on circumstance alone, it’s the perfect arrangement.

  Drake ignores my silent plea. In fact, a mischievous smirk tugs the corners of his mouth.

  Internally, I groan.

  “Harper fixed it.”

  My glare is huge. His grin is wicked. Keeping my pointed daggers on the mischievous lead singer, I deliberately shift the mic stand an extra foot away from the foldback speaker. Drake throws his head back, laughing.

  “Wait.” Willow holds up one hand, confused. “What’s so funny? Who’s Harper? And how did she fix it? I thought you were the only person who noticed the poor sound?”

  Reid is silent, watching me. I think I like him most of all.

  When Drake gets his deep chuckles under control and I’m no longer ogling slash picturing him dead, he strides toward me. “This is Harper.” Looping a finger through my belt hook, he pulls me to his side.

  It’s not an accident when I elbow him in the ribs.

  “Oomph.” With a wry shake of his head, he rubs where I hit him, grinning. “She noticed the problem with the speaker and fixed it.”

  “Wow.” Willow turns to me, her mouth open. “Really? You can do that?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms.

  Callused fingers skim my bicep in a soothing motion. Part of me wants to push Drake away, get the hell out of a conversation where—once again—it’s insinuated I have no idea what I’m doing because of my lowly status as roadie. But the other part of me is thankful for his support. Not that I’d need it if he kept his damn mouth shut.

  “Of course, she can,” he quips. “Don’t let the resting bitch face fool you; Harper knows her shit when it comes to sound.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Willow’s cheeks flush bright pink. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t do it. I’m sure you can. I mean, you have. It’s just—” She drops her face into her hands. A minute passes and she doesn’t move.

  I glance from the woman hiding behind her palms to Drake. “She knows we can still see her, right?”

  “Yep.” Unperturbed by the guitarist’s strange behavior, he winks. “Give it a minute, she’s casting a spell.”

  “A spell?”

  “Shh. Just watch.”

  A second later, Willow straightens. Her skin tone is back to normal and her previously flustered appearance is calm. It’s like she morphed into a completely different person—one who doesn’t assume roadies are ignorant fools. I’m all for positive change. Since she’s a close friend of Drake’s, I don’t want to cause a scene. But if she treats me like scum, I’ll have no choice but to stand up for myself. Magic or no magic.

  “See?” Drake’s grin is wide. “The woman is a witch.”

  With a slow exhale, Willow moves over to us. She narrows her eyes at Drake. “I’m not a witch.” Turning to me, she smiles. It’s genuine, reaches her jade eyes and everything. “Mindfulness is a real thing. You should try it.”

  “Um—”

  “How about we start over?” She holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Willow. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I stare down at long, pale fingers complete with chipped, blue nail polish. Drake gives me a not-so-gentle nudge, and after shooting him a look, I face his bandmate. “Ah, sure.” We shake hands. “Hey.”

  “You’re Harper?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re touring with us, aren’t you?”

  “Yep. Roadie.”

  “Ohhh.” She draws out the sound. It’s as though all the secrets of the universe have been revealed to her. “That’s why Drake was carrying Reid’s drums. It all makes sense now.”

  Excitement oozes from the guitarist. “It’ll be so great having another woman on the team. Sometimes there’s so much testosterone, you know?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s beyond suffocating.”

  Without meaning to, I smile. “I know what you mean.”

  Drake’s hold on me tightens. It causes heat to migrate south, and I fight the sudden urge to ease the growing ache between my legs.

  “So you fixed the speaker?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  Dark lashes frame jade irises. Expectant. Waiting.

  Oh, right. It’s my turn to talk. I clear my throat. “I, ah, just need to test it, but I’m pretty sure I sorted the problem.”

  “That’s so awesome!”

  Fresh out of words, I tuck some hair behind my ear and nod. Fuck, I wish I was better at this.

  Willow doesn’t seem fazed by my awkwardness. If anything, it makes her try even harder to carry on the conversation for the both of us. Not gonna lie, I’m grateful.

  “Thank Fortuna Drake found you!” She gestures to the annoyingly affectionate lead singer. His arm is still wrapped around me like it’s perfectly natural for us to stand like this in front of his bandmates. Her gaze drops to his hand on my bicep, then returns to my face. Unspoken questions shimmer in the slight pout of her mouth, but she doesn’t voice them.

  “Drake was heaps annoyed last night,” she explains. “He said the issue with the speaker made it hard for him to sing. So if you’ve fixed it, then we owe you, big time.”

  I nibble my bottom lip, unsure of a reply. The last thing I want is for people to feel indebted to me. It adds strain on conversations and every word then seems forced. How can a person trust anything that’s said when it’s laden with misplaced obligation? No, thank you. Not interested.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I mumble.
/>   “How’d you do it?” Reid asks.

  I look over at him. His head is tipped to the side, watching me.

  “Tell them.” Drake nudges me again.

  “Would you quit manhandling me?”

  “No can do, princess.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I hate that the ridiculous movement makes my lips twitch. If I’m not careful, I might actually smile. “You’re irresistible. My hands have a mind of their own around you.” Then, as though to prove a point, he slowly and oh-so-deliberately glides them along the curve of my hips.

  “Get off me.” I half-heartedly try to wriggle from beneath his hold. Drake won’t let go, and to be honest, I’m not putting up much of a fight. If I thought about it long enough, I’d be really freaking annoyed at myself right now. I’m not this girl. I don’t giggle and flirt and—

  Sweet Lord, I’m flirting.

  Granted, I’m not fluttering my eyelashes or skimming teasing fingers along my cleavage or anything. But the fact his hands are on me and I haven’t punched him in the ball sac is huge. Really huge.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  I blame his touch; it’s crack cocaine. The moment his skin caresses mine, rationality deserts me and nothing but foolishness remains. He steals common sense and replaces it with insanity. Because that’s what this is—madness. Especially since hurt is inevitable. I mean, it’s going to happen sooner or later. Especially since I refuse to form attachments and Drake doesn’t want a girl like me. There’s no way this is going to end well.

  The scary part? I don’t care. In this moment, pressed against his hard form, I’m happy. I like when Drake Stone touches me. I like the wall of heat at my side. I like his branding embrace.

  I like all of it.

  Except the fall.

  “It’s pointless, trying to escape,” a low voice rumbles low in my ear. “Never gonna happen.”

  “You don’t want me, remember?”

  “I want you more than I fucking should.”

  Tipping my chin, I gaze at him. His jaw is tight, and his pulse hammers below it. With every inhale his chest brushes against mine and I use it for strength, to get the words out that sure as shit aren’t easy to say. “Guess that makes two of us, then.”

  I’m drawn tight against his body. With a barely contained whimper, we mold together like two halves of a broken whole.

  The earth shifts beneath my feet. Not a lot, but enough to alter my center of gravity. It’s like I’ve had too much to drink, and my balance is shot to pieces. Drake is the only reason I’m standing upright.

  What am I going to do? I can’t fall for a man like him. I can’t fall, period. I need to sort out my mess with The Collector, I need to get Uncle Ray sober, I need to focus on turning my dreams into a reality. Then, and only then, can I think about handing my heart over to someone.

  “Um, guys?”

  I swallow.

  Drake’s eyes darken as they watch my parted mouth.

  “Guys.”

  My teeth nibble my bottom lip.

  He brushes his knuckles along my cheekbone; my eyelids flicker closed. I hate that I’m so responsive to his gentle caress; it goes against everything I tell myself.

  “Guys!”

  Startled, we turn to Willow.

  “What?” Drake barks.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?” Distracted, his purposeful fingers drop to skim the length of my spine. Like a fool, I let him. When they reach my lower back, they swirl in lazy circles, forcing my shirt to lift slightly with each rotation. Goose bumps pebble my skin, and tremors shimmy below the surface. I want to get away. Heck, I even shift backward at one point, but Drake flattens his hand, forcing me against his side once more.

  “That.” The guitarist indicates the lack of space between us. “Did you know each other before the tour or something?”

  “Nope.” Drake’s hand dips precariously close to my ass.

  Part of me wants to shift so it slips lower. The other part wants to smack me upside the head.

  “Are you sure? You seem very… close.”

  Again, I try to pry myself from Drake’s hold. Again, he won’t let me. Again, I give up sooner than I should and stay nestled in his arms.

  “What can I say?” When he faces me, there are so many contrasting emotions it’s hard to determine one from the other. “She gets me.”

  I still.

  “Don’t you, princess?”

  My heart falters. For a brief moment, I swear, it stops altogether. Then, it swells to twice its normal size before kicking into overdrive and beating at three times its normal rate. If I’m not careful, it’s going to explode.

  “Got a killer ass too.”

  Scowling, I punch him with my good hand. With a deep chuckle, Drake dips his hand to the curve of my backside. Warmth emanates from his palm, and long fingers cup my cheek. Heck, his thumb even slips into my crack and freaking stays there.

  I. Don’t. Move.

  I’m so screwed.

  Chapter Nine

  Reid clears his throat. “Never answered my question.”

  To say I’m thankful for Reid’s interruption is the biggest understatement in the history of the universe. I’m guessing he did it so he doesn’t have to witness his bandmate fondle a roadie in front of him. Fair enough. I’d be feeling the same way if I was in his situation. PDA is fine so long as you’re not forced to watch it.

  “How’d you fix the speaker?”

  “Yeah.” Willow’s nod is enthusiastic. It appears she’s equally keen to change the topic of conversation. “I’d love to hear how you did it, Harper.”

  Switching his attention to his bandmates, Drake grins. “Just wait till you hear what she did. It’s hot as fuck.” Possessive fingers grip my ass and squeeze. They fucking squeeze like they have a right to claim me. And if I’m honest, after the initial shock and my knee-jerk reaction of wanting to knee him in the groin, there’s a startling truth I’m beginning to realize.

  They belong there.

  Somehow, someway, Drake Stone’s hands are meant to be on me. Even worse, a fundamental part of me wants them to remain where they are. Indefinitely. A flicker of hope whispers a silent prayer that he’s the man brave enough to take my broken pieces, hold them up to the light, and call the jagged edges beautiful.

  What a time for an epiphany. Something tells me that midway through a stilted conversation with people I barely know isn’t when it’s meant to happen. Surely a cloudless night sky with a smattering of stars would be a better setting? Hell, anyplace where it isn’t the four of us. I’m staring into the eyes of a drummer, for Christ’s sake, while thinking about his bandmate. People aren’t mean to have life-altering flashes of insight without even looking at the person responsible.

  What a joke. I’m pretty sure it’s on me.

  “Go on,” Drake urges me.

  Blinking, I internally shake my head. Come on, Har. Get it together. Speak the words, and whatever you do, don’t let anyone see the chaos behind them.

  Taking my time, I gather my thoughts. When at last I feel as though I can formulate complete sentences, I face Drake. However, staring at him is dangerous. It’s like gazing at a partial eclipse. So, I decide on a method I know will get me out of this situation—deflection.

  “You want me to tell them?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All of it?” I raise an eyebrow.

  Confusion mars his brow. “Yeah. Why not?”

  “Even the part about the….” Slowly, my fingers creep up his ripped torso like a spider.

  Drake’s eyes widen as recognition dawns. I’m fairly certain memories of him screaming like a three-year-old boy with cooties, jumping to his feet, and desperately searching the rug for nonexistent arachnids, fill his mind.

  Releasing his hold, he holds up his hands in surrender. “Now, no need to get hasty. Time’s precious for musicians on tour, so let’s keep on topic. We don’t want to waste time; it’d be a crime to do that.”
He gives me a warning look, one I have no intention of heeding. “A crime, princess. You want that on your conscience?”

  Watching him backpedal is hilarious. “I’ve had worse.” Tension eases as laughter tickles my insides.

  Crossing his arms, he glares.

  “What in Hera’s name are you two talking about?” Willow plants her hands on her hips. Turning to Reid, she raises an eyebrow. “They’ve known each other for one day and already have in-jokes. You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Scratching his chin, Reid considers us. “Yep.”

  Drake looks to his friends. “What? What does it mean?”

  With a wry shake of her head, Willow murmurs, “You’ll find out soon enough.” And to make her declaration even more confusing, a self-satisfied smile stretches across her porcelain features.

  Drake glances from his friend to me and shrugs. “Chicks are weird.” Since I’m still riding high from my distraction method, I don’t worry about her cryptic remark or his. However, when Willow and Reid share a knowing look, uncertainty slithers its way into my subconscious. It’s like an unwanted guest, bringing with it a reminder of everything wrong with this situation. He’s not the man for you. You’re not the woman for him. It’s all going to fall apart. Protect yourself; no one else will.

  The longer everyone remains silent, the stranger and more stilted the group dynamics become. The quiet is strained, layered. It’s swirling with half-truths and unspoken thoughts that buffet me from all sides. The confusion is stifling and reaffirms why I prefer to keep to myself. People are complex, too complex for a girl like me. They bring with them secrets and subtle nuances I have no hope of deciphering. I need to get out of here.

  Stepping backward, I point over my shoulder and gesture to where I’m hoping the exit is. “I’m gonna… you know. Leave.”

  “Leave? Why?” Drake’s expression is incredulous.

  My shrug is noncommittal.

  “But you haven’t told them about the speaker yet.”