Sing to Me (Rock Me Book 3)

by Lee Piper

  Gritting my teeth, I glare.

  “Wanna know why?”

  Since I’m not going to answer, I glare some more.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He dips his head, and warm lips skim the length of my neck.

  I shiver. Then hate myself for it. Then shiver again. It’s a fucked-up vicious circle I want no part in.

  “I don’t scare easily, princess,” he murmurs against my flushed skin. “You think I don’t know violence? Don’t know pain?” He chuckles. It reverberates off my sensitized flesh, causing me to tremble. Seconds later, sharp teeth nip the juncture where my neck meets my collarbone. I hiss. “I’ve lived in the dark. It was my home for fourteen fucking years.” He licks away the sting. “You’re not the only one who can throw a punch or inflict hurt.” He tsks. “Fuck, you don’t know half of what I’m capable of.”

  Straightening, Drake towers over me. I watch him, taking in every feature on his handsome face. My eyes dart left and right as I try to pull together pieces of the man I know and the one he’s alluding to. Only, I struggle to match them together. There’s always been more to Drake Stone, I know this. From the moment we first met, I could tell he was a complex combination of disparate parts. But I never would have guessed he’s experienced this kind of heavy shit firsthand.

  “You’re gonna have to try a heck of a lot harder if you want me gone.” His statement pierces between my ribs, puncturing any hope I had of remaining immune to him. “I know who you are, even if you can’t see it. And it’s more than you’re showing me now.”

  Ouch.

  “This running away from me bullshit is getting old. It ends now.” His hold on my neck tightens. “You feel me?”

  I nibble my bottom lip, contemplating my next move. My idea to keep Drake at arm’s length isn’t working. Heck, if possible, it’s drawing him even closer. Seems my second plan is even more disastrous than my first, and that’s saying something.

  Unsure what to do, I remain quiet. However, my silence must irritate Drake. With a muttered curse, he tips my head back, lets out a feral growl, and kisses me. It’s deep, hard, possessive. His tongue thrusts inside, stealing my words, sanity, my very existence. It’s okay, I’m on borrowed time as it is.

  I know nothing good will come of this; I’ve essentially given us both an expiration date by letting his mouth claim mine. But I don’t stop. Can’t stop. It’s been two days, and dammit, I’ve missed him.

  With renewed force, I pull Drake closer, grip him tighter, score his skin with my short, chipped nails, marking him as mine. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, but I keep going. My mouth is swollen and bruised, but I don’t pull away. It’s not until silver flecks appear in front of my closed lids and I’m seconds away from passing out that the kiss slows and eventually stops. When we pull away, we’re panting, our lips mere millimeters apart.

  “Wherever you are, that’s where I’m gonna be,” Drake gasps. “Deal with it.”

  I want to. I so, so want to. But The Collector….

  “I’m serious.”

  Gazing into the face of the man who owns my heart, I say nothing.

  Drake yanks my hips forward, grinding his hard cock against my core. Instinctively, my head lolls back and I moan. “That’s fucking right. There’s no getting rid of me now.” With eyes dark and jaw set, he seals our fate with another kiss.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The stage is larger than at the previous venue. There’s even a ramp leading to the wings, which I thank every deity known to humankind for. The venue is in excellent condition, and the acoustics are on point.

  “Nice,” I murmur, spinning in a slow circle. My expert gaze takes in the newly laid flooring, polished overhead rigging, pristine backdrop, and everything in between. “The sound quality for tonight’s show is going to be insane.”

  “Where’d you go earlier?”

  Pausing, I glance over my shoulder. Drake is leaning against the brick wall left of stage. Like his T-shirt and worn jeans, the surface is black. However, it doesn’t capture my attention the way Drake does. With his toned arms crossed and one foot resting behind him, he could be posing for an interview with Sex God Weekly. If there was such a magazine.

  My breath catches.

  After the kiss to end all kisses, it took a while to get my head into gear. Once it was, I checked the time. Since soundcheck was creeping up on me and I hadn’t unpacked the band’s equipment, let alone set it up, I put our… stalemate on the back burner. I won’t concede that we’re an item, and Drake won’t concede that we aren’t. Sigh. I have a feeling it’s going to take a while to come to some form of agreement.

  Anyway, after racing inside, I took stock of what I’m working with. And holy freaking whoa. This place has brand-new state-of-the-art everything. It’s a sound engineer’s wet dream behind the console. I stood at the desk, marveling at the hundreds of levels and limitless mixing possibilities for what felt like seconds but was more like forty minutes if the time on my phone was anything to go by. If I had a spare couple of hours and a way to bind and gag Benji until after the show, I’d be able to get the purest, crispest sound from the audio equipment. Sadly, a not-so-subtle cough reminded me that my job was elsewhere. So, with a resigned sigh and one last lingering look, I moved to the wings and stepped on stage.

  “Well?”

  Drake’s question brings me back to the present. Tucking some hair behind my ear, I make my way past him and move through the hallway to the rear exit. Since I know he’s behind me, I wait until I’m standing next to the tour bus before asking, “Well, what?”

  “Where’d you go these last two days?”

  I pretend I can’t hear him on account of shoving my entire torso into the undercarriage.

  “Harper.”

  “Ouch!” Straightening, I spin to face him, rubbing my backside. “Did you just spank me?”

  The corner of his lip twitches. “Yep.”

  “The hell? What did you spank me for?”

  He shrugs. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Are you out of your damn mind?” Narrowing my gaze, I glare at him. “Not answering a question doesn’t give you the right to manhandle my ass!”

  “It’s my ass now. I can do whatever I want with it.”

  I shake my head, amazed at his ill-founded logic. “You’re delusional on so many levels. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Nah, that’s your territory, princess.” He taps the side of his head. “This here is fully functional. See?” He taps again. “No echo. Proves it’s in perfect working order. Now, if I did the same to yours….” Sadly, my death glare does nothing but make him chuckle. However, after his mirth subsides, Drake’s expression sobers. “So where’d you go?”

  Staring unseeing over his shoulder, I sigh. As much as I don’t want to relive how my plan died a slow, dismal death, he’s not the kind of guy to let up easily. Figuring it’s like a Band-Aid and I might as well rip it off to get it over with, my eyes meet his once more. “To the US Patent and Trademark Office.”

  He blinks. “Why?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I mumble, reaching into the undercarriage once again. “Didn’t work, anyway.”

  “I’ve got a twitchy hand. Don’t make me use it again.”

  With a snort, I turn to face him. “I’ve got a twitchy fist, so I’d like to see you try.”

  Drake’s grin is lopsided; it’s the kind that’s powerful enough to disintegrate my panties. He crooks a finger through the belt loop of my jeans and pulls me toward him. Dipping his head, he takes my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks. “Fucking love your sass.” His voice is a deep rumble.

  I touch his chest, the heat from his pecs searing my palm.

  Pulling back slightly, Drake levels me with a direct look. “Why’d you go there?”

  “Because I thought that for once in my life, shit might go my way.” Rolling my eyes, I mumble, “Apparently not.”

  Silent, Drake considers me. “You desi
gn something?”

  Pause. “Yeah.”

  Patiently, he waits.

  Stepping out of his hold, I stare at the cloudy sky. It’s been overcast all day; a perfect metaphor for my present mood. However, there’s an orange glow peeking through the blanket of gray as the sun does its best to spread warmth.

  “I’ve been playing around with a new idea for a speaker,” I murmur. “I’m tired of grainy sound being amplified at crazy decibels all the time. It’s crap. So I wanted to figure out how I could make it clearer.”

  “And have you?”

  “I think so.”

  His mouth pops open. “Damn. You’re not just a sexy rack, are you?”

  I cross my arms, blocking any chance of him ogling said rack.

  With a chuckle, Drake scrubs his jawline with his fingers. “Show me; I wanna see.”

  “My rack or design? Either way, no can do. I’ve got to set up the stage for sound check.”

  He waves the objection away like it’s irrelevant. “I’ll help you with it later. We’ll get it done in no time, don’t stress.” Taking a decided step forward, he dips his chin, blue eyes pinned on me. “Show me your design.”

  Seconds pass as I think it over. I’ve never shown anyone my own work before. I mean, sure, Drake’s seen me tinkering with speakers and making minor adjustments so they perform better, but I haven’t shown him something I’ve actually created. The thought is more daunting than I expected for a couple of reasons. One, I don’t have a patent so the possibility of having my idea stolen is real, and two, I don’t ever put myself out there like this. It’s like I’m about to strip naked and have him judge me. However, Drake’s never given me reason to doubt his intentions or his integrity. And he’s seen me naked already.

  A loud clapping of hands startles me. “Come on, I’m getting old here.”

  With a huff, I turn on my heel, heading for my RV. After unlocking the door, we head inside, and I gesture for Drake to sit on the couch. The same couch we had sex on. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.

  Shaking my head, I lift the mattress of my bed and retrieve a battered sketchbook from beneath it. It’s ancient. Aunt Rose gave it to me as a birthday present years ago. She always encouraged me to draw and create. Said I could do whatever I wanted if believed in the beauty of my dreams. I guess she’s to blame for me wanting a better life.

  With a deep inhale, I place the book on the table and turn the pages. Dozens and dozens of sketches, ranging from abstract squiggles to intricate drawings, gaze back. Finally, I find the one I’m looking for. Nibbling my bottom lip, I turn to face Drake.

  He leans forward, trying to get a closer look. With furrowed brow, he takes in the image. After a moment of quiet, he glances up at me. “You’re gonna have to talk me through this. I don’t speak tech nerd.”

  Hesitantly, I point to different parts of my design, explaining them. “This is a picture of a speaker cut in half with all the internals separated so you can see each part. Most of it is the same as speakers currently on the market, but this part,” my index finger traces a cylinder in the very center, “is where the magic happens.”

  “Yeah?” The corner of Drake’s lips quirk. “I’m loving the sound of this.”

  Emboldened by his encouragement, I continue. “See, the voice coil is suspended inside a ring-shaped magnet. When sound is projected, electricity flows through it, making a magnetic field around the wire. Now, normally, the direction and intensity are controlled by altering the current as it flows through the copper windings. So, the voice coil moves forward or backward when distributing sound.” I trace the motion with my finger.

  “That’s what makes the spider move?”

  “Exactly!” Shifting on my feet, I continue, excitement causing words to spill from my mouth faster and faster until they’re a waterfall of sound. “But what if it could do more? What if, by being either repelled or attracted to the magnet, it shifts even further? Creates larger sound? What if it feeds into a cone that’s wider? Smoother? Has the capacity to distribute the sharpest, cleanest music you’ve ever heard?”

  Drake leans back, his hands dropping into his lap. He considers me. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You’ve made a speaker where the voice coil moves further?”

  “I’ve also changed the shape and depth of the cone.” I shrug. “It needs optimal width and movement based on the input from the voice coil if it’s going to work.”

  “Wow.” He shakes his head, wide eyes taking in my face. I nibble my bottom lip. Even though his stare is full of awe mixed with warmth, it’s still unnerving. “Did you get a patent for it?”

  Gritting my teeth, I shake my head.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Hmm.” It’s the way he says it, like I’m not giving him the full story. News flash: I’m not. It’s too freaking embarrassing. Drake looks pointedly at the design and then me. “You could make a lot of money off this design. You could sell it as is to an audio company or manufacturer. Fuck, you could even put together a prototype and—”

  “I’ve got one.”

  Dark eyebrows raise.

  Glancing away, I stare at the envelope-shaped smear that lingers on the glass window of my RV. “I managed to buy all the parts before Ray—” Catching myself, I clear my throat. “Doesn’t matter. But I’ve got one.”

  Pause. “Does it work?”

  I give him my best, are you seriously asking me that question? look.

  Holding up his hands, Drake grins. “Okay, okay. It works. No need to incinerate me with your flame-throwing eyes.” He runs long fingers through his hair. “Can I see it?”

  “No, I’m still making some final adjustments. Fine-tuning the sound quality.” After checking the time on my phone, I shove it back in my pocket. “Besides, I need to get to work.”

  Drake watches me as I close the scrapbook and return it to the least original hiding spot in the history of forever. “You need a safe.”

  “You need to get your ass off my couch.”

  Chuckling, he follows me outside. Once I’ve locked the door, we head to the tour bus. I decide to get Reid’s drum kit set up first since it takes longest. Grabbing his snare case and hardware, I begin the first of many rounds to the stage.

  “Sucks balls you couldn’t get a patent,” Drake muses, striding beside me. His biceps give his T-shirt the mother of all workouts as he holds the bass drum aloft.

  “Yep.”

  “That’s a lot of cash you’re missing out on.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Could’ve been enough to—

  Stopping, I face Drake. “I said, don’t remind me.”

  He shrugs. “Just sayin’.”

  “And I’m ‘just sayin’,’ can you not? Look, I know I didn’t get the patent. I know I screwed up. I know I’m drowning in the biggest pile of shit imaginable.” Pausing, I grit my teeth, determined not to cry. “The one legitimate option I thought I had is now moot. I get it, okay?” To my horror, tears well. Choking back a sob, I blink, glancing away. “I fucking get it.”

  “Jesus.” Drake carefully places Reid’s bass drum on the ground. After placing what I’ve got in my hands at my feet, he wraps me in his arms. “Don’t cry. It’s not worth your tears.”

  Sniffing, I burrow into his warmth, wishing I could stay where I am and forget the rest of the world exists.

  A large hand rubs slow circles on my back. “We’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.”

  Glancing up at him, I shake my head. “No. I’m going to sort this out. We’ve been through this already.”

  “You’re right, we have.” He wipes away a rogue tear as it trickles down my cheek. “And it’s like you’ve got selective hearing or some shit.” I narrow my gaze, and he grins. “It’s you and me, remember? We’re in this together whether you sass me or not, give me the bitch routine or not, leave for days on fucking end or not.”

  “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
<
br />   “Not a chance.” Drake bends his knees until he’s level with me. “Listen to me carefully. What we have is worth fighting for. You hear me?”

  I sniff.

  “We’re like one of life’s rules. Like gravity.”

  “Gravity isn’t a rule. It’s one of Newton’s universal laws.”

  There’s a glimmer in his eyes. “Christ, woman. You’re the whole damn package.” Tipping his head to one side, Drake considers me. Then, as though he’s about to speak, he opens his mouth. Only, he closes it again without uttering a word. Strange.

  Wanting out of a situation that’s suddenly layered with thoughts and feelings I can’t put my finger on, I extricate myself from his hold. I gesture to the building behind us. “Come on. Let’s get the equipment set up.”

  We spend the next hour and a half unpacking instruments, hardware, and connecting the cable leads to their corresponding ports. Drake is quiet throughout it all. He doesn’t even notice when I deliberately place the mic stand four feet away from the feedback speaker. A few days ago, he almost had a coronary when my measurements were spot-on. So yeah, I’m confused.

  When I glance over at him, it’s to notice a permanent crease between his eyebrows. His lips are drawn into a straight line too, which doesn’t bode well.

  I don’t like it. I don’t like anything other than his mischievous expression partially obscured by a hint of darkness. It’s what I’m used to; what I know. This taciturn version of Drake is a stranger to me.

  As I tune Willow’s guitar, I consider what could be the cause of his reticence. Maybe he’s reconsidering his choice in women? Can’t say I blame him. I mean, I’ve got so much baggage I’m surprised I haven’t been labeled a hoarder and issued an intervention. And yet, the thought of Drake taking back what he said about us causes dagger-like pains in my side.

  I’m so lost in thought that when I finally place the Fender back on the guitar rack, it’s to notice the stage is empty. Completely freaking empty. “Drake?”