“I can do it, Tara. I have my mind on something else. Anyone call you yet about the shooting?” he asked, studying for any change in her reaction. Aside from nervous blinking like she always did whenever the topic came up, Tara showed no signs of hearing the latest.
“Grim just hit me up to say they have the shooter and both of his accomplices in custody.”
She smiled and moved close to hug him. With an arm around him, Quinton kissed her forehead.
“That’s great. So it’s all over? They know why he did it?”
“Knowing you aren’t in any more danger puts my mind at ease while I’m on the other side of the globe.” Quinton took her hand and held it. He kissed it before lowering it to his chest, where he held it in place before speaking. “Yeah. They were after Jamal. He was fucking some dude’s girl and . . .”
He couldn’t finish the rest. Tara’s remorseful face was better than the judging, dissatisfied one he envisioned once she heard the news.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Suddenly wincing, Quinton awkwardly tried to rub his aching shoulder. Without hesitation, Tara took over and began to massage the affected area.
She left his side long enough to get body oil from her room. When she returned, Tara climbed onto the bed and knelt beside him.
“What hurts?” she asked, studying him.
“My shoulder,” he said, trying to rotate it. “Spasms.”
“Can you get your shirt off, okay?’ Tara poured some oil in her palm and rubbed her hands together. Once he removed his shirt, she moved her fingers over the area, applying soft, gentle pressure. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
He closed his eyes, and over time the tension in his expression subsided.
“Thank you.”
Tara smiled at him.
“We’ve had a long night.” He lifted the covers for her to climb in beside him. “Let’s get some sleep so we can wake up early and take Aaron out to see more sites.”
“You’ll be leaving for Japan before we know it.”
Quinton nodded his head.
Tara pulled the covers over her and curled up against him. He wrapped his arm around her, letting her rest her head on his chest, noticing soon after she’d fallen asleep.
Quinton eased back onto the bed, careful not to aggravate his shoulder again, never once releasing her until he, too, fell asleep with Tara’s body molded against his.
* * *
The ringing phone woke him at dawn. In something of a fog, Quinton reluctantly opened his eyes and picked it up.
“Yes,” he answered groggily. Tara was still asleep in his arms, so he lowered his voice. He looked at the display and returned the phone to his ear. “Pam, do you know what time it is?”
Tara stretched and yawned beside him. He cursed under his breath, annoyed that their publicist woke her, too, but Tara’s smile coaxed it all away.
“Mornin’,” she said, moving close to steal a kiss. Their lips held until she broke free of their connection.
In his ear, he heard Pam run off a million questions per minute about the night before, but his dick was paying attention to something else.
“Pam, all we did was peek inside. We were goofing around,” he said. Smiling back at Tara, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “Mornin’, baby. Sleep okay?”
Tara stretched again and sat up, nodding.
Quinton returned to the phone call. “No one got married. The ring was a token of friendship; I told you that already. It’s no one’s fucking business what I give her or what we did after the show,” he said.
Tara pulled away careful to extract herself from his arms. She wiggled those fingers of hers, waving goodbye as she slid to the edge of the bed. He pulled the phone away from his ear long enough to call out to her. “Blue hold up. You can’t leave me like this.” He gestured to the tented sheet courtesy of his erection. “I’ll be off in a minute. Don’t go.”
Tara nodded but left anyway.
Unfazed by his unresponsiveness, Pamela continued her inquisition. “Q, is there anything going on between you two? Why is she waking up with you? Where did you run off to last night? Why did you leave Vegas? I thought she was staying until this afternoon.”
“Pam, you ask too many questions. Listen, I’m going back to bed. Call me after you squash the rumors.” Tossing his phone on the bed, Quinton looked down at his wide-awake erection and the empty spot beside him and groaned.
* * *
To Tara’s dismay, the rain continued for most of the day. Typically, she welcomed a quiet evening at home during a rainstorm, but this time it bored her. Rebecca Kincaid had given her Kincaid Music Publishing’s courtside seats for tonight’s Lakers game, but she didn’t feel up to a big crowd. She asked Sydney to take Aaron, and a few of Sydney’s friends tagged along.
Earlier, Tara, Quinton, and Aaron spent the day on a private tour of Universal Studios. Her son’s energy level surpassed hers well into the afternoon. Exhausted, she came home, planning to relax. Now feeling restless, Tara was missing Aaron’s company.
Tara checked out what Quinton was working on in the studio.
Through the pounding rain, Tara ran along the garden trail leading to the guesthouse. She rushed inside and peeled off her saturated nylon jacket and let it drop to the floor. She was taking off her wet sneakers when she heard Quinton approaching. He tossed her a blanket from a nearby sofa and then returned to the control room.
Tara wrapped herself in the throw. She followed him into the warmth of the house where the fireplace was going. “I had a feeling you were out here,” she said sneezing. “What are you doing?”
“Counting your guitars. How many do you have in your collection?”
“Too many for you to be counting,” she answered. Her collection included one that belonged to her mother’s father, and she turned to look at it high up on the shelf. “Seriously, Quin, what are you working on?”
“What else? The ‘How Much’ remix. You didn’t give me much time to play with it.”
Tara sneezed again. “How’s it coming?”
“It’s slow right now. I’m just fiddling around with a few things.”
Tara nodded. “Mind if I listen to what you have?”
Quinton played her a revised track, revealing the skeleton of a newer hit. “Well?”
“I like it. I like it a lot. It sounds good just as it is,” Tara replied.
“Yeah, if you say so. You know what? Your vocals would be nice on this right about now. Feel like doing a few ad-libs while you’re out here?”
Tara immediately took her place in the vocal booth. She put on a set of headphones and sat down on a high stool. Quinton must have sensed that she wouldn’t be able to keep away from the studio because he already set up his favorite microphone and lit a few candles in the booth to capture the quality of vocals he wanted for the song.
“My, oh, my, weren’t we a little sure of ourselves tonight,” she joked, taking in the room’s ambiance. “How did you know I would make it down here?”
“Blue, I know you,” was all he said.
After a few attempts, Quinton stopped her. “I need something different. I want you to seduce me like you do every time you try to coax me into taking my clothes off,” he joked.
“So damn cocky.”
“What did I tell you about using that word. Now try it again.”
She sang along, making up lyrics as she did, but soon the music stopped.
“Blue, I’m coming in there,” he said after hearing her repeatedly giving his lines the wrong delivery. He walked through the soundproof door and flipped on the light switch. Quinton grabbed a stool and dragged it toward Tara. “This cannot be the same woman who had men fainting at her concert over this particular song.”
Tara laughed because what he said was true. The erotic innuendos suggested by Tara and her dancers during their performance created quite a stir on tour.
Looking intently into her eyes, he said, “Are you feeling up to this rig
ht now?”
Laughing, she said, “Yes, sir, I do,” noting Quinton’s serious demeanor, which always changed whenever he was in producer mode.
“Okay then, sweetheart, can we please try this again?” Quinton asked, going to a light switch and flipping it off. The low lighting from the control room crept in through the glass divider. The candles were now glowing even brighter. “Maybe this break will help you a little bit. Okay, Blue, relax, close your eyes, and give it to me.”
Tara started to laugh uncontrollably.
“Blue, I’m serious . . . C’mon.”
“Quinton, you are so funny when you’re like this.” She cleared her throat and forced a straight face. “Okay, okay, let me try again.”
Starting over, Tara began singing to the instrumental playing in her headphones. She stood up and stopped listening to herself sing to give her the freedom to throw herself into the lyrics. When Tara performed the original version on stage, the tempting routine was fit for a bedroom or alongside a pole, as she and her dancers would dance for a lucky man in the audience. Now the remix needed to be almost illicit, pushing the envelope on sexuality, something she didn’t always do intentionally.
The recording light was on. She knew Quinton could edit and rearrange everything later.
He remained behind her. With her back against his chest, letting his music loop, he coaxed her through the performance.
His hand reached around her waist, and he rested it just above her diaphragm, coaching her breathing with the faintest of pressure. The other hand moved to her stomach beneath her shirt. His lips brushed against the nape of her neck.
“That’s it, baby. Seduce me,” he encouraged her. She felt her body relax with each line she delivered as she leaned back into him. Quinton wrapped his arms around her, and once again, he encouraged her to breathe.
“Slow it down,” he whispered into the ear she didn’t have covered with headphones letting the flutter of his breath tickle her earlobe. He took a nip at it before flicking a tongue against the lobe, causing her to giggle.
“Baby, you’re messing me up.”
“Blue, you’re the one having a brother all types of fucked up.”
His soft lips reclaimed the spot on the back of her neck he favored during the session. He brushed her hair aside and nibbled on her sending sensual ripples through her body. “Sorry, Blue, I can’t help myself.”
Breathless, Tara fought to remember the words to her song, no longer able to ad lib along.
“Want me to stop?” she asked, breathing heavier between words.
“No.”
And she didn’t, coaxing him into exploring more of her while she sang whatever came to mind with the warmth of his mouth gently touching her skin. Tara reached for his leg, gripping his thigh as her body fell back completely into his, and he held onto her while she made up lyrics of longing. Quinton’s long fingers moved across her stomach under the dampness of her shirt to tweak her tight, aching nipple, and his other hand lowered the zipper of her jeans so he could slip it beneath her waistband and into her panties.
Tara pulled away briefly and released a series of short sneezes. Quinton lifted the damp shirt over her head, leaving her partially exposed before him.
“We need to get you out of these wet clothes,” Quinton murmured in the dark. He dropped to one knee and made a trail of kisses toward her navel as he continued to undress her. “So beautiful,” he whispered in the dark.
She lifted her bottom from the stool to help him as he proceeded to remove her jeans, pulling them slowly down her legs, taking her socks with the wet clothing. He stood up and returned to her face, his kisses causing her head to fall back. Her gentle moaning and the arch of her back thrusting her breasts toward him encouraged Quinton to continue exploring her body.
“I-I-I need you inside me,” Tara panted, gripping the sides of the stool and moving against his hand as he fingered her.
Quinton moved to lift her to standing, took the headphones from off her head, and tossed them aside. He turned her to face him before capturing her lips with his.
His intense, forceful kiss possessed her, and when he moved to grab her lip between his teeth, she cried out from the sweet torture.
“Where inside you?” he growled against her mouth.
“You know,” Tara panted. He licked her along the crevice of her mouth before slipping his tongue back inside it again.
The pounding of rain and accompanying thunder continued unabated. Tara looked to the ceiling, expecting it to cave at any moment.
“Ignore it. Tell. Me. Where,” he ordered, sucking on a breast before turning his head to tend to the other. “Where do you need me?”
“Inside me.” She took his hand and touched herself with it. “Here.”
“Where’s here?”
Breathlessly she whispered, “My pussy.”
“Your pussy?” he questioned, easing back away from the anatomy in question and away from her. Taking his hand from within her slick folds. “Last night, you said I could have it.”
Feeling his void, she watched him lick his finger, sucking it clean of her taste. Tara gripped his arms to pull him back. “It is, baby. It’s all yours.”
Quinton watched her with penetrating eyes further pronouncing every ounce of his swagger. She’d never seen him so primal, this possessive, so into her. She glanced at the erection between them, and he leaned in, pressing her body against the wall behind her. With his face achingly close, he looked into her eyes and slid his hand back to the spot that craved his touch. “You like that?” Flicking his finger when she nodded her head, he teased and probed before demanding once more. “Then say it. Tell me where you want me.”
He lowered his heated gaze and cupped her breast in his hand. He squeezed it before latching onto it, urgently sucking before moving to the other nipple that craved his attention, turning her entire body into liquid.
“I need you . . . inside me.” Her words came out as barely a whisper.
But he heard her, and in one swift motion, Quinton lifted her from the ground, and Tara wrapped her legs around his waist. His strong, thick, powerful erection stood ready demanding entry, and she waited eagerly for him to fill her with it.
“And?” he asked, pressing its head against her mound. His hands were cupping her ass and squeezing its cheeks, spreading her waiting for her to utter the magic words.
“It’s yours. My pussy is all yours.”
“Damn straight,” he muttered. The thunder outside clapped loudly as Quinton pushed himself deep inside her, and while the rain pounded against the roof, together, they worked feverishly at creating a cleansing, soul-shaking rhythm of their own.
Chapter 13
Eugene Solomon greeted her and ushered her into a waiting vehicle early Monday morning. After the car pulled into traffic leading them toward Manhattan and away from the airport, Eugene handed Tara the latest revised copy of her recording contract.
Her return to the east coast felt bittersweet, and the goodbyes she just exchanged with Aaron still fresh on her mind. It also disappointed her son that their time in California had ended. He was also missing his new friend Q, who promised to stay in touch with Aaron via email. After meeting Marcus at the hangar in Philadelphia, her plane continued to New York for her meeting with Spin this morning.
“They budged a little on the points, which I explained to you over the telephone last week,” the lawyer informed her. “However, you aren’t making it easy. Why haven’t you turned your project in?”
Tara did not immediately reply, as she was flipping through the contract. She wanted to see if anything stood out that she could ask him about before her meeting at Spin Records that morning. She turned to Eugene and said, “It’s not ready.”
“When you wrapped up the tour, you gave me the impression that it was. Spin is behind schedule now, and I’m finding it harder and harder to come up with excuses why they don’t have it. You know, you’re coming dangerously close to a breach of contra
ct. Getting control of your masters requires you to give them something to soothe their wishes, too.”
“Don’t worry, they already agreed to the changes, and they’ll be crazy not to give me my masters back at this stage,” Tara said, trying to ease the lawyer’s concerns. “I’ll handle Spin. Q and I are just tweaking a few things; I promise it will be ready soon.”
“Good,” he replied. “I’ve also fielded a few calls from management firms who want to represent you. I told them I would run it by you.”
“No, no, and no,” she answered. “I like things the way they are. Sydney and I are doing a great job. Plus, we have you and Pamela; we don’t need any more people in the mix. Please tell them all, no.”
“Understood. Now, what about this? You want me to help you revise your will?” When Tara nodded, he asked, “Anything I should know about?”
“I want to make sure it’s the way it should be. And I have some minor changes to make. I’ll send you those soon.”
“As you wish. The good news is Spin is extremely pleased with the ‘How Much’ remix Q did for you,” the lawyer said, looking out the window and seeing the Manhattan building home to Spin Records. “We’re here. Let’s try to get this meeting over with as soon as possible. There’s something about Luca Ferrio that makes my skin crawl.”
* * *
“I knew we’d find some resolution,” Tara said in the hallway across from one of Spin’s conference rooms. At the meeting, they set a new release date for her long-awaited project. Once she, Sydney, and Eugene were inside the elevator, she added just for the three of them, “I think that went well.”
“Tara, do you actually believe that?” Eugene asked. “I guarantee you that by the time I get to the office, there will be a dozen messages asking me to beg you to move the date up again. You know how these record company meetings go. They say one thing inside when the artist is there, and it’s something different an hour later.”
But Tara was unbothered. In her mind, the business of her career was complete for the moment, and now she could return to personal matters in Philadelphia. Tara wanted to see her son and tell him the truth. She stepped off the elevator with a new outlook, and without looking back at her lawyer, she said, “Some things are just worth the wait. In the meantime, I look forward to your report that contract negotiation is just as productive.”
I Can Love You Page 17