by Ana Novak
“Mel,” a young man greeted her when we walked through the doors. “I’m really glad you came.” He gave her a friendly hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Axel, this is my fiance, Cos Kane,” Mel said, using Van’s stage name, as we always did when introducing new people. “And my best friend, Taylor.”
“Call me Van,” Van said, shaking Axel’s hand. “Mel says you’re an up-and-coming director and film editor.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Axel responded. His smile was wide, his teeth blazing white, his rich chocolate-colored hair falling into his eyes. “But supporting group homes in the city is my passion project, and I was so honored to work with Mel.” He turned to me, holding out his hand.
I shook his hand, forcing a smile and hoping that Mel hadn’t painted me as a desperate divorcee in their previous conversations. “So nice to meet you, Axel.”
“Mel told me you were the Taylor Merrick,” he said. “You wrote my favorite book.”
“Pack of Lies?”
“No, an earlier one. In the Black.”
I was surprised. In the Black was my first novel, and while it had sold respectably, earning me another book deal within a month of its release, it wasn’t one of my more popular works. “That’s my favorite book, too. That I’ve written, I mean.”
“I can understand why.”
His subtle, drawling accent was sexy as hell, and I could see why Mel had pegged him as my type- tall, dark, and handsome, like every other man I’d ever dated. Still, I couldn’t help but feel completely awkward at being set up at a children’s charity event, of all places.
Axel didn’t seem to notice, and thanked us again for coming. “The kids are waiting in the other room,” he said. “There are a few children whose foster families brought them tonight, but most of them live here, in this group home. Some of them are waiting for placement, and it gets tough for them around the holidays. I really appreciate you coming to brighten up their day.”
“No problem,” Van said. He hefted his guitar case in one hand. “I brought my guitar, and Mel said there’s a piano here, too. Taylor and I could play a few songs, if they’re interested.”
“Are you a musician, too?” Axel asked, glancing at me.
I opened my mouth to respond, but Van beat me to it. “She’s better than I am,” he said, draping an arm over my shoulders. “I’m always giving her hell for becoming a writer instead of a rockstar.”
“I’m not nearly as good as he is,” I said uncomfortably. “But yes, I’m a musician, too.”
Axel led us through the matchbox-sized lobby, down a narrow hallway, and into a larger room with chipped white paint on the walls. Several rows of folding chairs were set up on one side of the room in front of a small TV, and a folding table was on the opposite side, covered with a plastic tablecloth and laden with trays of cookies and pitchers of punch. A small electric keyboard was in front of the sliding glass door that led to the next room.
The kids, most of them teens or pre-teens, were clustered around the TV, which was playing the latest Kanesthetix music video. When they turned around, their expressions changed into something beautifully wondrous and ecstatic, and I bit my lip, strangely affected by their excitement. I’d seen people go crazy over my brother and his fiancee before, but I’d never stopped to consider what it would feel like for a child in foster care to get the chance to meet their idols.
Screaming ensued, and about half the kids rushed toward us, with the remaining half hanging back with an adolescent shyness reminiscent of my own. In an unexpectedly merciful blessing, no one seemed to recognize me, so I edged over next to the keyboard and let Mel and Van handle the crowd of excited teenagers.
“Not into signing autographs?” a voice spoke up from beside me, and I jumped. Axel had materialized beside me without making a sound.
“Mel didn’t tell me you were a ninja!" I said, only half-joking.
He shrugged, smiling broadly. “You looked like you could use some company.”
“Oh, no. I’m just enjoying seeing them so excited. Van and Mel always have this effect on people, but it’s really special when they get to interact with kids this way.”
“Maybe you should write some books for teens,” Axel said. “If you were Stephenie Meyer, they’d be all over you.”
“Or J.K. Rowling.”
“Or Suzanne Collins.”
“Somebody has a young adult novel fetish.”
“You caught me,” he replied sheepishly. “I read everything I can get my hands on, and the Hunger Games series was a good one.”
“I’m more of a John Green fan myself. You know, Fault in Our Stars, Turtles All the Way Down.”
“Sick lit,” Axel said with a knowing look. “It’s addictive.”
“Sick lit?” I giggled. “I guess. I just like remembering those first feelings of infatuation. You know, the fluttery feeling in your stomach, the wondering if it’ll work out, the excitement when they call or text. I think that’s the addictive part.”
“Which does not explain the John Green obsession, since they always die at the end.”
“Hey, now. I never said I was obsessed. He’s my favorite young adult author, that’s all. There are lots of other novelists I prefer.”
“Is John Grisham one of those novelists? Because I just read a mini-biography about you online that quotes him as one of your inspirations.”
“Somebody did their research,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
Axel shrugged, not looking the least bit embarrassed, but the glint in his coffee-colored eyes was playful. “I do that with everyone. I Googled your name right after Mel told me that she was friends with a bestselling writer.”
“I’m sure getting a lot of mileage out of that whole ‘bestselling’ label,” I said. “It’s going to be awfully embarrassing if none of my books ever chart again.”
“Not possible. You’re a household name now.”
“Hardly.” Van was heading toward us, so I smiled and held out my arm, accepting his side-hug as he introduced me to the kids.
“This is my friend Taylor,” Van said. “She’s an amazing singer, but she decided to waste her talent writing books instead.”
“Hey!” I protested.
“It’s a good thing she’s a bestselling author, or I’d have to be angry about it,” Van said with a wink. It was the cheesiest line ever and the thousandth mention of NYT since I’d arrived in New York, but the teen girls who were watching him were literally sighing with adoration.
Keeping his arm around my shoulders. Van leaned forward and mock-whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “Actually, if we get down on our knees and beg, Taylor might even agree to sing with me. What do you guys think?”
A chorus of pleas rang out, and I held up my hands. “No need to beg. I’m happy to sing.”
“And play the piano,” Van prompted.
“And play the piano.” Wiggling out from under Van’s arm, I sat down at the keyboard and flexed my fingers. “What are we singing?” I said to Van, and grinned, silently challenging him to come up with something he knew we could both play.
He knew exactly what I was doing, and set down his guitar case. “What can you handle? I know you’re out of practice.”
“Oooohhhhh,” came the collective groan from the kids, and one of them added, “Burn!”
I smirked at Van and put my fingers on the keys, pausing for only a moment before playing the first half of the complicated intro to one of Kanesthetix’s earlier songs, Scorched by Her Touch. It had originally been written for guitar, but I’d played it often enough on piano while we had been tweaking the lyrics.
Van joined in, strumming along until the first verse began. When he started singing, every eye in the room was on him, and it was easy to understand why. His voice was the sweetest kind of raspy, smooth but unyielding, like velvet over steel or whiskey on the rocks. I joined him for the chorus, adding harmony to the haunting lyrics.
Are you ready for the firestorm
The love you scorched into my soul has me coming back for more
I’m on fire from within
My mind is melted by your memory
Down to my twisted, crumbling heart
Since you woke me up inside you’ve been keeping me alive
I’m on fire from within
And I’m burning down
I’d never been comfortable performing in front of other people, but Van and I had done it before, and tonight we had that same instant connection, the easy camaraderie that had helped our relationship overcome the distance that had separated us for most of our lives.
“That was amazing,” Axel told me later, when I’d bowed out and Van was singing a final encore to his adoring fans. “You’re brilliant, beautiful, and insanely talented. Where have you been all my life?”
I didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “Anybody can sound good singing with Van,” I said finally. “And we’ve been doing it for a long time. We used to sing to each other on Skype cross-country when we were kids."
“When you were kids?” Axel sounded surprised.
That was a whole can of worms I didn’t want to open right then. “It’s a long story,” I said, and waved when Van thanked me for accompanying him. He was making his usual closing statements, telling the kids about his music-based charity organization, Worthy Cos, and inviting them down for a jam session. I’d heard the same speech a dozen times before, but Van always seemed to tailor it to perfectly fit his audience.
We said our goodbyes and headed out. The air outside was bitterly cold, at least for my west coast preferences, so I wasn’t wasting any time when it came to jumping in Van’s heated limousine. Just as I was opening the door, though, Mel said, “Axel, don’t you live in Williamsburg, too?”
No. “No,” I mouthed, turning to face her with a scowl.
“I’m renting an AirBnB just a couple of blocks east of here. Remember we talked about it? I’m just around the corner from where Taylor is living now,” Axel said, completely oblivious. “There’s my Lyft.”
“No,” I hissed at Mel.
“Why don’t you and Taylor share a ride over?” Mel asked, deliberately ignoring me. “That way Van and I wouldn’t have to double back.”
“It’s four blocks,” I whispered through gritted teeth.
“Sure,” Axel said. “Come on, Taylor. I’ll drop you off.”
“You’re dead,” I muttered to Mel, and forced a smile as I walked away from the limousine and toward Axel’s Toyota Sienna. “I hope it has heat,” I said to Axel as I climbed inside. “It’s so cold out here!”
“Welcome to New York,” he said grandly, and sat down beside me.
“A lot of people have been saying that to me lately,” I said. “And a few other things. It’s starting to feel like deja vu.”
“What other things?”
“In California no one really cared about my book making the New York Times bestseller list, but everyone and their mother mentions it here.”
“Do you really mind?”
“No. I mean, I guess not. I’m proud of it, but it feels…I don’t know, I guess it feels arrogant? To have everyone constantly talking about it.”
“You’re just not used to praise for your work,” Axel observed. “Mel said as much.”
“Geez, how much have you and Mel talked about me?”
“Quite a bit,” he admitted, laughing. “But I think that was mostly because she was hoping to set us up.”
“Oh. I’m…I’m not…”
Axel shook his head, cutting me off. “I’m not either right now. Don’t worry. I’m only here temporarily, and then I’m headed home to Texas. I had to be here to document the state of group homes and foster care in the city, but it’s my YouTube channel, Palafox Gaming, that pays the bills.”
I felt a huge rush of relief. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. I mean, not that you’re leaving, just that-”
“Don’t worry, I get it,” he said with an easy smile. “But seriously, if you ever need me to open a jar or anything, just call. I really do live just down the block. At least for another month or so.” He held out his hand for my phone, and I handed it to him and watched while he entered his phone number.
The van pulled up to the curb outside my apartment, and Axel opened the door. “It was awesome to meet you, Taylor,” he said, giving me a brief hug.
“You too,” I said, and turned to walk into my apartment building, sending him a quick text so he’d have my number, too. Despite the awkward dinner with my father earlier, the evening had ended well. Mel had been right- I just needed to get out more.
Chapter 11
I came to groggily, unsure what had awoken me. As the dark room around me came into focus, I heard it- an incessant pounding.
“What the hell is that?” I muttered, sitting up in bed. It took me a moment longer to realize that it was someone banging on my front door. I looked at my alarm clock. It was almost two AM. I’d already been asleep for three hours.
I stumbled out of bed, forgetting all about my robe as I padded out into the living room. I flicked on a light and looked out the peephole.
It was Shane, and even with the limited view through the peephole, I could see his agitation. He had one hand braced against the door frame, and he was staring at the floor, his jaw set determinedly.
I slid the chain off the door and unlatched the deadbolt. “What the fuck?” I said, opening the door. “It’s two in the-”
I was cut off when he crushed his mouth to mine. His hands went around my waist, picking me up and carrying me back into the living room as he kicked the door shut behind him.
I tore my mouth from his and put a hand on his chest, pushing until he put me down on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You weren’t answering my texts,” he said, as if that somehow gave him a good excuse for waking me up in the middle of the night and barging into my home. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Dave was texting me, so I turned my phone off. Are you insane?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice rough, and he kissed me again.
His hands were firm around my waist, his fingers splayed down toward my hips, and I wondered hazily why he wasn’t touching me anywhere else before abruptly realizing that he was waiting for permission. It was almost comical, really, to think he would push his way into my apartment but still stop short of manhandling me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I should be upset with him, not just for waking me up in the middle of the night but also for acting so possessive when he had no right to be here. But instead, my body was reacting in all the ways that it shouldn’t. Something about the hunger and desperation in his kiss made me want to throw him down on the bed and show him exactly what he’d been missing.
“Bedroom,” I said in between kisses. “Now.”
I took a step backwards, my hands already at the waistband of his jeans. I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and started shoving them down his hips. He helped as much as he could, but eventually we had to break apart so he could take them off. While he was kicking off his jeans, I helpfully pulled my shirt over my head, and when he came back to me, his mouth immediately moved to my breasts, sucking and teasing until my nipples had hardened into sensitive peaks.
We were both naked by the time we reached the bed, and I shoved him backwards, forcing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him.
“I have an idea,” I said, and dropped my head to kiss a trail up his chest.
He groaned, his hand coming up to brush my shoulder. “What?”
I straddled his hips and leaned over, purposely grinding against his erection as I reached to open the drawer in my nightstand.
“Fuck, Taylor,” he ground out, and his hands tightened on my hips.
“You want to try something new?” I asked. I straightened up, dangling a pair of handcuffs from two fingers.
S
hane stilled beneath me. There was a brief pause. “You want me to handcuff you?” he asked, and the surprise was evident in his tone.
“I want you to let me handcuff you,” I said, and the thought of him panting beneath me, straining against his restraints, triggered a surge of heat between my legs.
He hadn’t responded though, and I could already sense his reluctance. I rotated my hips, letting his naked hardness glide against my wet folds, tearing a groan from his lips. I leaned down, sliding my hands down his arms to his wrists and slowly moving his hands up above his head. “Come on, baby,” I whispered. “Don’t you want me?”
That broke him. “Fuck, yeah,” he said, and his voice was hoarse with desire. “I’ll let you do anything you want, Taylor, if you’ll let me come inside that sweet pussy.”
The filthiness of his words was a huge turn-on, and I kissed him savagely, my hands tightening on his, the cold metal of the handcuffs unyielding between my fingers and his wrist.
My mouth moved over his, his tongue sweeping against mine and making me dizzy. It took all my willpower to pull away and sit up, his cock still pushing insistently against me as he thrust his hips beneath me.
I held out the handcuffs, my eyes searching his face in the semi-darkness. He raised one hand, and I snapped the cuff around his wrist. Slowly I leaned forward, pulling up his other hand, and looped the empty cuff around the wrought iron design of my headboard.
“Ready?” I asked, feeling my first brief moment of hesitation.
“Ready,” he said, and the confidence in his voice reassured me. I clamped the other cuff around his opposite wrist, securing it.
I sat up then, reveling in the feeling of the powerful, gorgeous man beneath me, completely at my mercy. I kissed him again. On some level I missed the feeling of his hands on my skin, but his voluntary helplessness was piquing my arousal by the moment. He was moving his hips, touching me the only way he could, and I could tell that he was turned on by this, too.