When her gaze met Luke’s, a smile tilted her mouth. The same mouth had roused him from a deep sleep in the middle of the night and wrapped around his cock, tongue stud raking him in the most sinful way. Reading his thoughts, she lifted an eyebrow. When she looked at him like she couldn’t get enough of him, his mouth went dry and his palms began to sweat.
“Don’t get any ideas,” she warned, pointing a finger at him.
He smiled and nodded, happy to concede, because they both knew this could be the beginning of something good—really good.
The next day, Elijah showed up at the studio wearing a Tickle Me Elmo T-shirt and a pair of red leather pants. He leaned against the door of her office, watching her with enigmatic eyes, acting like nothing had happened the day before. “What’ve you got for me?”
“Well…” She turned and tried not to show how thrilled she was to see him. After their shouting match at the hotel, she didn’t expect to hear from him again. Heart pounding, she rifled through the drawings on her desk and pulled out the one she’d been working on, the one made especially for him. “It’s a phoenix,” she explained. “Rising from the ashes.”
He traced a fingertip along the outline, deep in contemplation.
She bit her lower lip. “There are musical notes in the feathers. See? And there are demons in the flames at his feet.” He didn’t say anything. “It reminds me of you. Soaring above the flames, rising out of the destruction.”
When he looked up at her, emotion deepened the blue of his eyes. “It’s fucking awesome.” He searched her face. “That’s me. You get me.” The intensity of his gaze squeezed her heart. She had the feeling he was searching for something and trying desperately to find it in her. “Let’s do it.”
Over the next days, they worked in two-hour sessions, taking frequent breaks for Elijah to recover and rest. While she worked, he told her funny stories about the countries he’d visited and the people he’d met. He seemed delighted to have a captive audience, and the little insights provided her with a new perspective of the man behind the persona.
“I’ve never been out of state,” she told him after a particularly interesting story about one of his band mates, a donkey, a lady, and a three-legged goat in Bangkok. “Maybe someday.”
“You can come with me,” he said, eyes serious. “I’m going to New York soon. We could totally rock NYC.”
He reclined in the chair, arms behind his head, and watched her fingers slide over his skin, stretching it taut, adding the ink, then dabbing away the blood. At first she found it hard to concentrate, distracted by the rise and fall of his chest, feeling his muscles twitch and flex beneath her fingers. It would help if he didn’t smell so damn good, like exotic spices and clean air.
“So what color is your hair? For real,” he asked. She’d gathered it into a messy bun on top of her head while she worked. He fingered a loose tendril and tugged on it.
“Stop fidgeting.” She gave him a stern look. “It’s brown. I’m thinking about going back to it.”
“My hair’s blond,” he offered, as if rewarding her confession with his own personal secret. “The label made me change it. Said one blond in the group was enough. And since Tristan is the lead, he got dibs on the color, I guess.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. It’s in the contract. No blond hair. No cosmetic surgery. ‘Any and all changes or alterations to physical appearance must be submitted in writing for approval thirty days in advance of said change or alteration’,” he replied, affecting a snobbish tone.
“That’s a bunch of bullshit,” she said then stopped working to stare at him, mouth open. “Is this going to get you in trouble?”
His laughter shook the chair. “Well, it’s a little late to worry about it now, isn’t it?” He patted her thigh. “I’m a rock star. Tattoos and piercings are part of the package, but the hair? Oh no, don’t fuck with the hair.”
This peek into his life gave her pause. He lived under constant scrutiny, both personal and professional. People judged him on a daily basis without having any idea of the man who lurked behind the celebrity. Even now there were paparazzi waiting in the parking lot, hoping for a glimpse of him, making up stories where there were none and turning his world into a circus.
“I don’t know how you do it,” she said. His eyes had been closed but fluttered open when she spoke.
“I don’t have a choice,” he replied and closed his eyes again. The muscles beneath her hand tensed. “I used to do it for the music, but these days it’s not even about that. Seven Drift is a business, and I’m just the horse pulling the cart.”
The unhappiness in his voice made her chest ache. “Then why don’t you quit or do something else? You’ve got plenty of money. You could do anything you want.”
“Ow.” He winced as she outlined one of the feathers, the needle brushing the thin skin over his ribs. “I’m under contract. I’ll be in the studio recording next month, then out on another three-year tour.” A heavy sigh punctuated this tidbit of information.
“What’s the scar on your wrist?” she asked to change the subject.
His gaze flicked to the red slash circling his wrist. “Oh, that? I had a run-in with a pair of handcuffs and a hermaphrodite in Tokyo.”
She choked on her saliva and had to stop working while he pounded her on the back. “You can’t go telling me things like that while I’m working,” she chastised. “Do you want me to screw this up?”
“Sorry.” His real smiles differed from the fake ones. The corners of his mouth widened and his eyes brightened with an inner light. “I didn’t know she was a hermaphrodite until after she put the handcuffs on.” He shrugged. “Not that it really mattered. I can go either way if necessary. But then she rolled me. Took my wallet and my cellphone. I got one hand out but cut up my wrist pretty badly. Had to wait for housekeeping to show up and unlock me.”
“You’re seriously fucked up,” she said. “You know that, right?”
“You have no idea,” he replied, his face falling.
She looked forward to his sessions more than she wanted to admit. There was nothing she couldn’t say to him, nothing he hadn’t done or heard of in his travels. Knowing he wouldn’t judge her offered a freedom to their relationship she’d never had with anyone else, except Luke.
“I had a girlfriend once,” she told him. “It was the only serious relationship I ever had, really.” One of his eyebrows lifted, encouraging her to go on. “She was super nice, very pretty, and good to me.” Remembering Summer conjured a sweet pang of nostalgia. They’d been good together, but Summer had wanted a relationship. Even at nineteen, Tasha knew she’d never be able to commit. Shaking away the memory, she said, “I prefer guys, though.”
Elijah didn’t move, but she felt him thrum with interest. “I knew it.” A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Does Luke know? I bet he doesn’t.”
Until this point, they’d managed to stay away from the topic of Luke. The mention of his name sent blood and heat rushing into her face. For reasons she couldn’t identify, she didn’t want to share Luke with anyone. Their crazy relationship felt personal, sacred, and fragile. Revealing any part of it might unravel the delicate threads holding them together.
“He knows,” she said after a beat.
Elijah cleared his throat and raised his hand, signaling her to stop for a minute. She turned off the machine, sat back in the chair, and removed her gloves to ease her aching fingers. They’d been listening to Snow Patrol from a playlist he’d made her. She lowered the volume while he took a drink of water.
“Tell me something,” he said, leaning forward in the chair. They’d been sitting close together, her leg against his. When he moved, his knee slid along the inside of her thigh. A rush of adrenalin scurried up her leg. “Tell me a secret about yourself that no one else knows.”
Tension pulsed between them, not unpleasant but insistent. Her lips went dry, and she licked them. His eyes followed the sweep of her tongue. The
gesture spurred her pulse.
“I don’t have any secrets,” she said, laughing him off. She tried to push her stool away from him. The wheels of her chair tangled in his lanky legs. One of his large feet hooked the bottom and held her in place.
“I’m serious. Just one secret. Something interesting.” Knowing eyes studied her. Waiting. Watchful. Intense. He released her chair and pushed it back with a gentle shove. “Tell me a secret, and I’ll tell you one of mine.”
“I don’t have any secrets,” she repeated.
“Sure you do. Everyone does.” His gaze softened. “You can trust me with anything.”
Past experience had taught her refusal was futile. He’d pursue and antagonize her until she caved. Better to play his game than to suffer his relentless interrogation. She swept a glance over his tanned, bare chest, shaved smooth for the tattoo, and the ripple of abdominal muscles. Their eyes met and their gazes held for an interminable minute while she tried to figure out his motives. He reached out and trailed his fingers over the curve of her jaw, ending at her chin. The caress tickled like a feather, soft and teasing. The pad of his thumb swept over her lower lip. Their kiss by the elevator flashed through her memory.
One corner of his mouth twitched. He sat back in his chair, hands on his thighs, relaxed and silent. Sometimes he was transparent as glass and other times his thoughts tangled and twisted like vines around a trellis behind the screen of his eyes. Part of his charm centered on his mercurial personality. She could hardly wait to see where he would lead her next.
“Okay. Fine. Let me think,” she said.
“Yes.” Triumph flashed over his face. “I’m all ears.”
“Well…” She shuffled through the tidbits of her past for anything that might satisfy his curiosity. “When I was in high school, I shoplifted nail polish from the drug store.”
A stick of chewing gum twirled around his fingers, the silver foil winking in the studio lights. He stopped to unwrap it then pushed the stick between his teeth. The muscles in his jaws flexed as he worked the gum.
“Boo,” he said finally. “Is that the best you can do? I’m disappointed.”
“You have to be the most frustrating person I have ever met,” she said, only half in jest.
“Oh, come on.” He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped loosely between his knees. “I know you’ve got something in the vault. Spill it.”
She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “I caught my dad with my mom’s sister. Mom was playing euchre at the church. I was supposed to be at a friend’s house, but I got sick and came home early. I walked in on them doing it on the living room floor.” Thinking about that day turned her stomach. “He promised it would never happen again, that he’d change, and it was all a mistake. He cried and begged and made me promise not to tell Mom.” Tears stung the back of her eyelids. “I kept my promise and I never told. I have to wonder if I should’ve told her. Maybe it would’ve saved her the heartache of the last ten years. She could’ve moved on and started over, and none of this mess would’ve happened.”
Laughter and music bled into the room from the waiting area. She stared at her trembling hands, feeling like an accomplice to her father’s adultery. It was the reason she avoided him. She’d trusted and believed him, and he’d let her down. He dragged her into his lies and broken promises without a second thought. And now she carried his bullshit into all of her relationships.
Strong arms wrapped around her. Elijah pulled her into his embrace and smoothed a hand over her hair. The press of his lips against her forehead eased the tightness in her chest.
“That’s a hell of a secret,” Elijah murmured.
His lips trailed over her temple, down her nose, then brushed the corner of her mouth. The slightest turn of her head would bring their lips together. Her heart picked up a fast rhythm. There was something hypnotic about his touch. His fingers tilted her chin up. He gazed into her eyes, seeing past the Goth makeup and the barrier she kept in place to protect her heart.
“We should get back to work,” she said, pushing him back. What was she doing? He’d managed to worm his way into her life and now he was slipping into her heart, too. Sneaky bastard. “And just so you know. This…” She waved a finger between them. “This isn’t going to happen.”
To her surprise, he said, “I know,” then took his place in the chair again.
When she was done, he surveyed the finished design in the mirror. His eyes met hers in the reflection. The head of the phoenix rested below his collarbone, the colorful wings spreading their tips up to his shoulders, while the tail feathers curled around his ribcage.
“Good.” He touched a tentative finger to the reddened skin. One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Tattoo Girl, I’m going to make you fucking famous.”
Chapter 29
Tasha went home, high on adrenalin from Elijah’s tattoo, to find Luke waiting for her. He sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, video game controller in his hands, an open beer on the coffee table beside him, and the scent of something delicious wafting in the air. The sight of him, black hair curling above his shirt collar and legs stretched over her carpet, sent a delicious thrill through her.
“’Bout time you got here,” he said, eyes glued to the TV. “I got takeout. It’s on the counter.”
White cardboard cartons lined the kitchen island. Gerbera daisies, her favorites, spilled over a cut glass vase. She opened the first carton, took a deep whiff, and smiled. He knew her all too well.
“Are you going to join me?” she asked.
“Die, motherfucker!” he shouted.
“What?” She bit back a laugh and peeked into the room to find him jerking the controller and cursing at the TV.
“Sorry. Not you.” He shut off the game, climbed gracefully to his feet, and rolled his head on his shoulders. His eyes found hers, their depths sparkling and anxious. Two quick strides brought him across the room to meet her. “I missed you,” he said as he wrapped an arm around her waist and dropped a kiss on top of her head. His gaze narrowed. “Wait a second. You changed your hair.”
She raised an eyebrow and watched him survey her from head to toe. “Well?”
“I love it,” he said and touched her hair with a tentative finger. She pulled the clip at her nape and let the length of it tumble over her shoulders and down to her waist. “I can’t believe it. Is this your real hair color?”
“Yeah,” she blushed under his approval. “I finished Elijah’s tattoo today and went to celebrate at the salon.”
“How did it turn out?” he asked, a slight shadow crossing his face. Before she answered, it disappeared and the light returned to his eyes.
“Fantastic,” she answered and pulled her phone out to show him a picture. He studied it for a long moment then pulled her back into his arms for a strong hug. He had the best hugs in the world. With her eyes closed, she buried her nose in his neck and savored his strength.
“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re destined for big things, baby.”
He didn’t ask about Elijah, and she didn’t offer to tell him. The four walls of her apartment offered a refuge for the two of them, protected from everyone and everything on the outside. Inviting Elijah into their private space seemed to violate an unspoken agreement.
After dinner, they watched a movie from the sofa. Nestled in Luke’s embrace with the steady thud of his heart beneath her ear, it was easy to forget they weren’t a couple. Neither of them spoke. The strength of his arms soothed her. The heat of his body and the scent of his cologne were comforting. His fingers stroked through her hair over and over. Exhaustion weighted her eyelids and pulled her into sleep.
Sometime after midnight, she awoke in her bed, still fully dressed. Luke nestled against her side, dressed only in his boxer briefs. He stirred when she went to the bathroom but didn’t wake up. She stripped out of her clothes and into a T-shirt before sliding back into bed. Curling on her side, she studied his fa
ce. Thick black lashes fanned over his cheeks. They fluttered when she traced a fingertip over the curve of his lips. One corner of his mouth lifted in an unconscious smile. He was in her bed. Having him with her like this made her want him more. All the time. Every day.
The sheets tangled through his legs, leaving his hips and washboard stomach exposed. Unable to resist temptation, she slid her hand over his chest and through the smattering of hair over his pecs. He moaned, shifted closer, and flung an arm over her hip. With her fingertips, she followed the line of hair from his navel and into his briefs. The smooth skin of his erection met her hand. She stroked up and down lightly, feeling him lengthen and harden. When she tugged on him, his eyes snapped open.
He didn’t say anything, just pulled her into him and nuzzled her ear. The rhythm of his breathing altered with the speed of her hand. Another groan and a thrust of his hips urged her to continue. With her free hand, she drew the briefs over his buttocks. His mouth met hers in a slow, wet kiss. She found a condom and rolled it onto him.
The mattress creaked when he shifted his weight onto her, parting her legs with his knee. She opened for him. He slipped into her, pushing inside with one long, slow slide, and settled into an easy rhythm. Bracing on his elbows, he gazed down at her through heavy-lidded eyes. She sighed in pleasure and cupped his cheek in her palm.
“You feel good,” he whispered. “I missed you today.”
The cadence of her heart stuttered and steadied. “I missed you too.”
With his heat and hardness inside her, it was easy to forget this was a tentative arrangement. The steady push of his hips caused tension to coil deep within her. He filled and consumed her, his angular face and broad shoulders above her. The scent of his cologne and their sex filled the air. His hands seemed to be everywhere on her body, breasts, hips, and thighs. The taste of peppermint lingered in his kisses.
“Oh God, Tash.” He buried his face in her neck, sucking on the tender flesh below her ear, while his lower body twisted and surged, building the pressure into pleasure. His body tensed in her grip. He was close to the edge. She was closer.
Impulsive Page 15