Smash (Trojan Book 3)

by S. M. West

  Not long after, someone steps in front of the hot rays, casting dark shade along my body. Blinking, I stare at shards of shining honey tracing the solid lines of a broad, shadowy figure. The sunbeams fracture, glittering and spiking outward all around him. Gray.

  “Do you want something to drink?” His eyes are on mine, piercing ocean blue, not once straying below my neck to peruse the rest of me. “Henry’s gone for a walk with Pansy and Boy.”

  A little saddened by his refusal or disinterest in my bikini-clad body, I shift uncomfortably. This strange and budding attraction may be one-sided. Am I wishing for something that isn’t there?

  “I’d love a water, please.”

  He pauses, eyes now dipping lower to linger over my breasts, nipples erect and hard at his attention, then down my flat stomach to the scrap of fabric between my thighs.

  He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, gaze smoldering. “Do you need me to put on any sunscreen? I wouldn’t want you to burn.”

  I swallow. Hard. And ignore the impulse to scream yes from the rooftops. “I’m good, thanks.”

  He nods and saunters to the cooler only a few feet away and then he’s back in no time, wordlessly handing me a bottle.

  “Thank you.” I’m unable to stop myself from tracking his casual, assured moves across the deck.

  He leans against the railing, arms crossed over his chest while striking up a conversation with Eva. Like always, my eye is drawn to the curve of his hard bicep and the sleeve of black ink, curling and twisting along his arm.

  The man is a contradiction in so many ways. Quiet—some confuse it with shyness—and compared to the other guys in the band, he often gets overlooked. Yet by all accounts, he doesn’t pine for the attention and prefers to fade into the background, drinking in his surroundings. He’s observant and thoughtful, catching a lot more than others give him credit for.

  A rock star in his own right, at the young age of twenty he scored one of the most coveted gigs in the music industry at the time. Gray, competing against several other wildly talented musicians, landed the part of drummer for Trojan when the original one stepped away from that life to get clean.

  “Hey, guys.” India Holt, the rock world’s newest sensation, dances onto the terrace, twirling her arms in the air.

  A bottle of vodka is in one hand and tequila in the other. The barely twenty-something singer and songwriter demands all eyes on her and deservedly so.

  She’s stunning. Long midnight tresses flow down her back, bangs beautifully framing her deep soulful eyes, and as if that wasn’t enough, her racer-red thong bikini leaves little to the imagination.

  Tiny triangles of fabric just cover the nipples of her generous chest and her firm butt cheeks bounce, cellulite-free, with every one of her whirls and spins. Look out, Beyoncé and Jennifer Lopez, India is in the running for best booty.

  When our gazes meet, I give her the obligatory wave and smile before lying back onto the lounger, pretending to shut my eyes. Thank goodness for sunglasses.

  “Oh my God, Gray.” Like a baby chimpanzee clinging to its mother, her arms and legs wrap around him as she plants kisses on his face. “It’s been too long.”

  The poor guy tries to keep his hands away from her body but eventually grasps her hips to keep them both upright.

  He mentioned SG productions had just signed her on as a client for her latest album. Silas had secured the contract. Bastard.

  She has never hidden her lady boner for Grayson Bennett. Normally, you’d think a lead singer like India would want someone of equal stature, say Silas or even Jared—the most sought-after members of Trojan. But not so for Ms. Holt.

  And I suppose, if you really think about it, Gray makes sense. She isn’t one to share the spotlight, loving the glory for herself. Both Silas and Jared eat that shit up, or at least they used to before settling down.

  Uh-huh. There’d be too much competition.

  And it isn’t as if I don’t understand her attraction to Gray. Unfortunately, I understand all too well. It’s just…until now, it had never bothered me.

  And truth be told, India had only been around once or twice before. Both times, I was either huge and pregnant, or sleep-deprived and breastfeeding. Even if I was interested in Gray at the time, which I wasn’t, I was no threat to her.

  Rather than sulk about the intrusion, I force my eyes shut and try to relax. It’s short-lived and useless. She can’t keep her hands to herself, and while Gray isn’t encouraging, he also hasn’t backed away.

  Every flirty comment or innuendo from her mouth hits me in the chest like a bag of oranges. Hard and painful, but careful not to leave any bruises.

  Ugh, why am I doing this to myself?

  Twenty minutes later and I’ve had enough. It’s time to leave and get a jump on setting up or maybe even editing some shots from my last shoot. I slip on my sandals and shorts and peer over the railing to spy Pansy and Henry playing fetch with Boy.

  I make quick work of going down to say goodbye to them, hugging and kissing my son and successfully dodging my sister’s quizzical comments about my early departure.

  They follow me back up to the deck where I head straight for the house, hoping to make it inside without being noticed. But no such luck.

  “You’re leaving?” Gray saunters toward me, arching his blond eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I brought a change of clothes, but I want a shower.”

  “Why don’t you have one here? And what about lunch? You have to eat before work.” While not unusual, his tender concern sends my heart free-falling.

  “I’m okay.” My stomach knots, not hungry but uncertain if I should leave earlier than planned or stake my claim.

  Am I ready for that? I’m in limbo, unsure if I want things the way they were yesterday or ready for a new tomorrow.

  Watching India hog the limelight doesn’t appeal to me. And while I wouldn’t say I dislike her, we aren’t friends—and I hate to stereotype but I’m going to. I’ve met too many people like her.

  Underneath her party-girl, ‘I love everybody’ persona, she isn’t nice to those she deems as competition. Working for years in the fashion industry, you quickly adopt a fake, everyone’s my best friend image. But behind closed doors, many wish the demise of anyone even remotely prettier or more successful than they are. Sadly, I used to be one of those people.

  “Okay. We’ll most likely have lunch and then head to your place for Henry’s nap. I might take one too.” His smile is cute and childlike.

  Henry would love napping with Gray. So would I.

  Like a stealth bomber, India sneaks up on us, draping her body over him, boobs pressing into his arm, and leaning in as if we invited her into our conversation.

  “A nap? Sign me up. I would love a nap with you.” Her green eyes fix on him in a naughty, flirty way and I want to gag.

  “Well, you guys have fun.” Not looking at either of them, I hustle to the sliding glass door, pausing to peer at him over my shoulder. “And call me if anything comes up with Henry.”

  Attentive eyes stare at my mouth, lingering as if he’s thinking about kissing me. My tongue licks at my lips imagining the taste of him, the thrust of his tongue and bite of his teeth.

  Would his kiss be soft and sweet like he is with my son? Or hard and demanding like how he beats on the drums?

  7

  Gray

  Demanding a piece of you

  India hangs off my arm and I push away, motioning for Pansy to watch Henry while I follow Daisy inside.

  “Hey, Daze, wait up.”

  She’s out of sight and I jog to the hallway, and my insides are out of whack for fear she’s already gone. But she can’t be.

  Daisy stands with her back to the front door, facing me, and I suck in a breath. Her hair is swept up, tendrils spilling from the messy knot on top of her head. Wisps of vanilla gold frame her sun-flushed face.

  The sight of her sweetheart face, little nose, lush mouth, and her perfect tits in the white
bikini top torment me.

  So much tight, bronze flesh to feast on and I can’t help myself. My hungry gaze trails the tantalizing valley of her breasts down her smooth stomach to her shorts, riding low on her slender waist.

  She’s gorgeous.

  Beautiful perfection.

  When I first met Daisy, it wasn’t her beauty that drew me to her but what she hides beneath. She’s used to people gawking at her, wanting her, wanting to be her. Because of her looks, not for who she is.

  And in those early days of our friendship, she expected me to be like all the others. Blinded by her sun-kissed skin, long hair spun like gold, the dips and curves of perfection.

  But that isn’t what I saw, not what I see at all. She was lost, alone, and pregnant. Motherhood was something she equally revered and feared, and she was on edge.

  She’d snap at everyone, even when people tried to help, convinced she had to do it on her own. Pushed them away. Daisy believed they’d reject her once they got past the outside.

  Beauty was a weapon she wielded to entice and also shut people out because she expected them to get tired of the simpering Barbie doll and be woefully disappointed in what they found deep down.

  What a waste of time.

  What a mistake.

  She’s kind, caring—a loving person. A little insecure but who isn’t, even with the way she looks.

  And even now, as I drink in her stunning body—the silky skin, the long, toned legs, and her luscious breasts—her physical beauty is made more alluring because of who she is.

  That’s what I see and what I crave.

  Her mind, and heart, and body.

  “Is something wrong?” She bites her lower lip, and it’s tough to remember why I chased after her.

  We stare at each other, and I could easily dive into her brilliant blue eyes, lose myself all day in her sweet, feminine splendor.

  “Ah, yeah. I mean, no, nothing’s wrong.” Stepping closer, I take her hand, interlacing our fingers like we’ve done so many times before. “You want to go to dinner one night soon?”

  Her lips part but nothing comes out, and her eyes slowly round as what I asked sinks in. “Um, you mean like a date?” Her words are barely a whisper, and she tries to pull from my hold. Uh-uh, she isn’t going anywhere.

  “Forget I said that.” She’s tripping over her words. “Of course it isn’t, it’s dinner.”

  “Hey.” I tug her by the hand toward me, and her cute awkwardness is like an electric current jolting my already buzzing nerves. “Date. Dinner. You call it whatever you want. I just want to spend some time together.”

  Her brow furrows, and the little lines at the bridge of her nose appear. Something about this unsettles her. I’m not happy with that, and the drive to calm things down kicks into high gear.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve had dinner.” My fingers squeeze around hers and I shrug, playing down the invite.

  What the hell am I doing? I want this to be a date.

  “I’d love dinner.” She nods, her expression more relaxed.

  “Cool. I know we’re busy but let me know when.” I lean in and kiss her cheek.

  “Okay.” Her eyes bore into mine, and I see it as it happens. How she struggles to slide from this new, maybe a little scary, and definitely exciting place we’ve dipped our toes into, back to us.

  Daisy straightens her spine and sharpens her focus. “Please make sure Henry gets his nap. It’s important. He’s a wreck without one and so am I.”

  She’s serious. No tip-up at the side of her mouth or sparkle to her eye. She’s grabbing the reins of how things usually are between us. Friends.

  I open my mouth to respond but she keeps going. “I mean a nap. Alone.”

  “Ah, yeah.” I scratch at the back of my neck, hanging my head remorsefully at the memory of breaking her rule about sleeping with Henry.

  I could defend myself, my actions. I was afraid of being kicked to the curb…of losing them, my family, if Daisy found some other guy. Sleeping in Henry’s bed was my most basic way of not being left out, of clinging onto the thing I cherished the most.

  Nah, I couldn’t tell her all that. Not now.

  She purses her lips, studying me when I finally get the balls to face her. “Bye, Gray.”

  “Bye, Daze.” Grudgingly, I let go of her hand and walk away, mentally kicking myself for screwing that up.

  Maybe I should just tell her how I feel. She probably thinks it’s dinner like any of the other times we’ve eaten together. I’m an idiot.

  I’m going to have to be more direct. This dinner will be a date.

  Once outside, Daisy still on my mind, I amble down to the beach where Henry’s sitting on the sandy beach floor. Eva and Jared are with him, and India bounds from the shoreline to stop at my side.

  “I miss you. Want to swim?” She grabs at my arm.

  “I need to get him changed and ready for lunch.” I glance down to the sand where Henry plays while Jared watches our exchange with keen interest.

  “Okay.” She’s cheery and light, shadowing me like a second skin.

  “Give me some space.” I keep my voice flat, needing her to take a hint.

  “Sure. I can help.” She goes for the toddler who is happily amassing clumps of sand into his small hands, only to lift them above his head and uncurl his fingers like the claws of the cranes in a junkyard.

  The gritty blinding-agent disperses into the air. Jared slides an arm around Eva and turns her away while Henry squints and grins in triumphant glory. I swiftly sidestep her, bending and ducking my head from the sand floating in the air.

  “Nah, it’s cool.” I scoop him into my arms. “You ready for some lunch, little man?”

  “I’m hungry.” He shoves a sand covered finger into his mouth and puckers his lips.

  Yuck. As anticipated, India’s on my heels, across the beach and up the stairs onto Silas’s deck. I grimace and share a quick, knowing look with Jared—yeah, she’s going to be hard to shake.

  Clearly, she isn’t giving up or leaving me alone, and I relent, frustrated at her and the damp sand Henry’s so affably rubbing into the scruff along my jawline.

  “Can you grab that, please?” I drop my chin to the beach bag that’s peeking out from under a chair.

  Quick to oblige yet not one to take the cue—or maybe she’s intent on getting her own way—India follows me into the house. Fortunately, Pansy asks her for help, and I’m finally alone to wash the sand off Henry.

  We eat lunch on the deck under the large umbrella protecting us from the relentless rays. Once done, Henry sits near my feet, half under the table, playing with the dog while India dominates the conversation.

  “That was amazing. Thanks, Pansy and Si.” She folds her napkin and smiles at our hosts. “Hey, Gray, I know you’re busy with SG Productions, but I wanted to ask you a favor.” She pauses, making sure she has the attention of everyone at the table.

  It works. All talking ceases, eyes on the two of us. “Would you play the drums on my upcoming album?”

  “What?” I place my fork on the plate, turning to my left to face her.

  “Yeah. Sarah bailed on me yesterday, some bullshit—”

  “Language,” I grit out, pointing beneath us to the child.

  “Oopsie, sorry.” She giggles as her hand loosely covers her mouth for a nanosecond. “Anyway, I’m down a drummer, and you’re the best there is. As you know, we start recording next week and I’d love to have you. With you on drums, you’ll make the album even more epic.”

  “Um.” I’m torn with what to say. “I-ah…”

  The chance to play would be awesome, and the songs for her new album are great, but I’m part owner of a business. Juggling both responsibilities is doable, but that doesn’t take into account my commitment to Henry and Daisy. Not to mention, it wouldn’t leave time for much else.

  “That’s an awesome idea.” Silas’s carefree smile fixes on his face, and it’s plain to see he already knew about
India’s little drummer dilemma.

  He may have even known she had plans to ask me. So much for loyalty. A heads-up would have been nice. The two of us still have things to hash out, like the recording studio garbage, and this crap doesn’t help.

  The churning sensation in my stomach, causing my lunch to revolt, leaves me anxious and annoyed. Silas would love nothing better than to keep me busy with India’s record so he could run SG without me.

  “Gray, you’d be great.” Pansy stands to grab the plates and smiles encouragingly at me.

  I’ve never expressed my desire to play again to Pansy, but Daisy has likely told her. It would explain why I’m getting a strong do it vibe from everyone at the table. Well, except Eva, who’s studying me with her knowing glances and sage silence.

  “You should do it.” Jared lightly bumps shoulders with me, sitting on my other side, and he dips his voice lower. “This way it’s short-term and you get to play. It’s the best of both worlds.”

  Like Eli and Silas, I’ve shared with Jared the urge I sometimes get. The loud and incessant calling to make music and play again. Without having to say much else, we’re all on the same page.

  The four of us have had jam sessions, few and far between and even more so now that Eli’s on the other side of the country. And while it’s great, it doesn’t compare to performing live or recording an album.

  “So, you’ll do it.” India should be asking a question, but it comes out like a declaration, and her hand wraps around my forearm as she leans in to plant a kiss on my cheek.

  Pansy and I share a loaded stare, my unease mirrored in her gaze. She’s the first to turn away, taking the plates inside with Eva at her back.

  “I don’t know.” I rake a hand through my wind-swept hair. “I’d have to think about it. There’s SG and—”

  “Hey, don’t worry about that.” Silas waves away my responsibility to our company like it’s nothing. “I’ve got that covered.”

  I huff and bite back the disparaging I bet you do ready to jump from my mouth. My frustration at Silas’s lack of regard for my role in the company won’t help the situation, and Henry’s here. If things get heated, I don’t want him anywhere near that.