by Jessa James
She let out a little scream, but covered her mouth with her fingers.
“Girlfriend, I want the scoop.”
I stared at him for one more second, then turned away. Blinking at Vi, I tried to shake off the jolt of awareness that was wrecking me. She eyed me with an eagerness I hadn't seen before. “You really like Nightbird that much? I had you pegged for a Taylor Swift collection.”
“Come on! He's gorgeous. That dark hair. And the way he plays guitar, I have to wonder what he can do with those hands. Can you imagine how dexterous those fingers are?”
Yeah, I could imagine. I could more than imagine.
I made a non-committal sound and she squealed.
“Not here. Not now,” I whispered. I flicked one last look his way, met his heated, dark gaze. “Not ever.”
I was done. Kit Kaswell ruined me once. I wouldn't let him do it again. I pasted on a smile and got on with my life, turned back to the next person waiting patiently in line. I'd seen him. I'd survived.
Picking up my pen from the floor, I returned to my life, a life that did not include him.
Crystal
“Crystal.”
I knew that voice. Heard it in my dreams. Remembered it. Remembered when he'd said it playfully just before he'd kiss me. Remembered when it had been said rough and deep when he came, buried deep inside me.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. Turned.
Put on that fake smile I was so good at these days.
“Kit.”
“Holy shit, Kit Kaswell,” Vi said his name as she moved to stand right beside me, blocking him in between the table and the wall. While he could have moved her out of the way—he was well over a head taller than my pint-sized PR rep—he just gave her the usual charming turn of his lips.
“And you are?” he asked.
“Vivian Lonsdale. My friends call me Vi and you are definitely one of my friends.”
God, she was such a flirt. Definitely someone he'd take into a back room and fuck. If he offered, I had no doubt Vi would give herself to him. She didn't mind being another notch on his bedpost.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He turned to look at me…and not the way he looked at Vi. This dark gaze was penetrating, as if he saw past my shiny new PR exterior to the girl he'd loved and lost. No, not lost, kicked to the damned curb.
“I saw your face on a billboard a few blocks from here.”
God, I'd seen that. I had no idea my nose was so big until it was forty feet tall.
“I'm in lots of press. You didn't have to come see me in person,” I countered.
“Crystal!” Vi scolded. “She's just tired. You'll have to excuse her behavior.”
He shook his head, his dark hair falling over his forehead again. I itched to reach out, brush it back, to feel those silky strands again.
“No, Crystal's right. I didn't have to come see her. I wanted to.” While he spoke to Vi, he kept his eyes pinned on mine. “I've been stalking her online for a while now.”
My heart thumped once, really hard, as a thousand images flooded my mind. Kit, with a hundred fabulous, beautiful women on his arm over the last ten years. And none of them me.
“You guys know each other or something?” she asked. God, she was a troublemaker.
“Or something,” he murmured.
His eyes turned darker and when he ran his thumb across his chin, I couldn't miss the loud rasp. Ten years ago he barely had whiskers and now… now he was the hottest man candy ever.
“I love all your music,” Vi said, clearly trying to fill the void.
“I have a concert tonight.” He looked to Vi. “You should come. It starts at seven. I'll leave two VIP backstage passes at Will Call. They’ll let you backstage at six so you can meet the band. Look around. I’ll give you a personal tour.”
Vi almost screamed. Heads turned at the way she was jumping with unrepressed glee before moving on.
“Yes, God yes. We'll be there, won't we, Crystal?”
Chapter 3
Crystal
I blinked at my friend who was going to kill me with her bare hands if I said no. Turn down backstage passes and a tour by the lead singer of Nightbird? Yeah, I'd be dead all right. I knew she was a big fan. I was one too, but only because I'd given my heart to the lead singer a decade ago, and never got it back.
“I don’t know, Kit.” His name fell from my lips automatically as I fought for air. Why was he here? And why was I listening to a word he said? He’d ripped my heart out and stomped on it when I was eighteen. Was I really going to subject myself to his particular brand of torture?
“Come.” God, that one word from his lips made me shiver. I'd heard him say it before, but he hadn't been talking about a concert. Then, I'd been beneath him, his cock deep inside me. Or, he'd had his head between my legs, his mouth directly over my clit.
I shifted, brought my thighs together to ease the ache. God, with just one word he still made me hot. So, yes. I guess I was going to take a ride on the crazy train tonight. If nothing else, I could see what he’d made of himself. Meet the members of his band. I could finally stop wondering about his life. Maybe that would help me let him go.
“We'll be there. Absolutely.” Vi's promise hung between us, thick and heavy with ten years of regret and longing and missing him.
“Look, I have to report in by four. But I'll see you both tonight.” He looked at me a second longer. “It's good to see you, Crys.”
Then he was gone, cutting through the crowd. It seemed he wasn't out of my life after all.
Kit
I hadn’t been this nervous for a show in years. The knots in my gut had nothing to do with the thousands of fans already pouring into the arena. I hadn’t been able to eat a damn thing since I saw her, since she’d called me ‘Kit’ in that sexy fucking voice, since she’d bitten her lip and stared up at me with those fucking baby-blue eyes that ripped through me like claws through paper.
My girl was all grown up now. And she might be hissing and snarling at me, but I saw the way her eyes darkened as she looked at me. It was still there. It. The completely illogical and perfect connection between us. Love at first sight, never stop wanting her, it. Standing in front of her, it hadn’t seemed like it had been ten years since I'd had her beneath me, clawing at my back and whimpering my name. Ten minutes. Ten seconds. Hell.
I could still smell her skin, taste her sweet pussy on my tongue. If I closed my eyes, I would swear I could still feel the delicious hurt of her yanking on my hair, begging me to make her forget everything in the world but us.
“Yo, Kit. Dude, pizza’s getting cold.”
“Thanks, man.” I nodded at Cole, who just shook his head and walked back to the dressing room to kick up his feet, eat some pizza, and watch whatever was on the TV. Our band manager, Tia, showed up with my favorite pre-concert pizza and set up enough food in the green room for a small army. A bottle of whiskey sat next to the pizza boxes on the fold-out table in the back. Unopened. Which was strange.
Normally, Reese Keeland, our drummer, opened it up and we all took a shot to help calm the nerves. Tonight, he was lying on the floor, feet up on the sofa, eyes closed like he was taking a fucking nap. The rest of the band members were draped on the furniture or grabbing a bite. Sebastian had the love of his life—a six string, pearl black, electric guitar—laying across his lap like he was going to make love to it.
I wasn’t in the mood for whiskey, or anything else. It was six-thirty, and she wasn’t here.
“You going to eat, or what?” Tia stepped in front of me and I realized I’d been pacing like a caged animal. I wasn’t even looking forward to the show. The usual adrenaline punch to the gut was gone. Instead of fired up for the performance, I felt empty. Dead on the inside. Like a deserted back alley in a really dark part of the city.
“Not hungry.”
Sebastian strummed a few chords and shook his head at me. “What’s up with you, man? You’ve been weird since last
night.”
Last night. When I saw that damn billboard with Crystal’s face on it as I rode in from the airport. I'd made the driver stop as I got out and stared at the gorgeous face I saw in my dreams. Angel. Since the moment it hit me what a huge fucking mistake I’d made ten years ago. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Tia arched one dark, thin brow. She was five foot-nothing with a spine of solid steel. No one messed with us because no one messed with her. She could curse like a sailor. I’d seen her back down venue owners, bouncers at the seediest bars in the country, and contract lawyers. She was pure fire hidden beneath a hundred pounds of black silk hair and bad attitude. “Good. Then I’ll call the front and tell them to bring back your guests.”
“What?” Reese opened his eyes and looked up at me from where he rested on the floor. “Man, what the fuck? No one backstage, not this time. We’re all tired, man. Who is it?”
“I’m not putting on the pretty boy act tonight. Whoever it is will just have to eat a piece of pizza and chill.” Sebastian returned his attention to his guitar, and whatever new song he was working on in his head.
“Whatever. I’m not moving.” Reese closed his eyes and resumed his Zen meditation pose. I didn’t care. Nothing they said mattered.
“When did they get here?”
Tia checked her phone. “About ten minutes ago.”
Ten minutes? She'd been here that long and I hadn't known?
“I put them on storage in the owner’s office. Wasn’t sure what was going on because someone didn’t tell me.”
“Sorry.” Okay, yeah, that someone was me, but I didn’t care. She was here. I looked down at Tia. “I need a favor. A huge, owe you for the rest of my life, favor.”
She rolled her dark eyes, but was already grinning. If there was one thing in the world Tia loved, it was being needed. “What?”
I grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her with me into the hallway, and away from the band and their prying eyes. They were like a bunch of gossiping old ladies when they wanted to be. “Two women, right?”
“Yes.”
“One tall, gorgeous blonde and a redhead not much bigger than you?”
Tia nodded. “Yes.” I hurried toward the back office where she’d stashed Crystal but Tia dug her heels in and brought me to a full stop. “Kit, what the hell is going on? Who are they? And why are they back here?”
“The redhead’s name is Vi. She’s a publicist for a major New York publishing company. The blond with her is Crystal Kerry.”
Tia’s eyes went wide and I knew I had her. “The writer?”
“Yes.” I started walking again, eager to see Crystal. “I need you to take Vi around, give her a tour, introduce her to the band.”
Her grin became more than a little suspicious. “And what will you be doing?”
“Begging forgiveness from the only woman I ever loved. Like ever.”
Tia stopped moving again. “Crystal? Your Crystal? From high school?”
For fuck’s sake. Were there no secrets around here? “How do you know about Crystal?”
Tia laughed. “You used to drink a lot, Kit. And when you get drunk, you like to talk about her. For hours.”
Jesus. “Shut up. Just be my wingman, all right?”
Tia shrugged. “Sure. But you owe me one.”
We opened the door and there she was, Vi’s presence beside her like a shield. The office was really like a green room. An old couch, a few chairs, one of those makeup stations with a mirror and round lightbulbs all around it.
Tia rushed in and took charge like a battle hardened general and Vi was only too happy to be escorted out of the room before Crystal had a chance to blink, let alone protest that we were alone.
“Crys.”
Shit, she looked good. In a pair of skinny jeans, her legs looked a mile long. Her hips had widened, a reminder that I'd hurt a girl, but before me now was a woman. She wore a pale pink top, soft and flowy, with cutouts at the shoulders. It was flirty, not too sexy. But she could have worn a sack and I'd have found her hot. Because clothes didn't matter. I knew what was underneath.
“Kit.” The door latched behind me and I didn’t bother to turn around. I would thank Tia later.
I took two steps closer and thanked my lucky stars that Crystal didn’t back away. But then, that wasn’t her style. Backing off had never been her style.
“What are you doing? What am I doing here?” The last was said with a hint of laughter. But at least she wasn’t screaming, or throwing shit at me like she had before. Not that I hadn’t deserved it that night. That, and more.
I closed the distance and lifted my hand to her cheek. “Fixing what I broke.”
“There’s no fixing this.”
I ran my thumb over her bottom lip and breathed her in, lavender and cherry lip gloss. Fuck. She still wore it. The sweet scent filled my head and I knew exactly how her lips would taste, how soft they’d be. How hot that innocent looking mouth was when it closed around my cock. Her eyes fluttered shut and I knew I had her, at least for a moment.
Like a magnet, she drew me in and I lowered my head until our lips met in a tender, tentative exploration. I didn’t want to scare her away. I didn’t want her to run. I needed her.
Mine. Mine. Mine. She’d been mine since she was sixteen. I wrapped my arms around her and crushed her to me, all pretense of gentleness gone. How could I hold back when the most perfect thing was before me? No one compared. Ever. Her soft moan settled deep in my bones and my cock hardened instantly. I knew that sound. God, I’d missed that fucking sound.
Chapter 4
Kit
She wrapped her arms around my waist as I lost myself in her taste, in the soft, wet slide of her tongue against mine. I fucked her with my mouth, exploring and tasting her, thrusting as I wanted to do with my cock. Her arms blocked me from gaining access to the rest of her body, but I rubbed her back, explored the curve of her hip. Grabbed her ass.
She had a great fucking ass. Full and round and soft, perfect for…all kinds of things.
I walked us backward until her back hit the wall and she tore her lips from mine with a gasp. Fine. I’d let her breathe, but I couldn’t stop. Now that she was in my arms, it was like my entire being was starving for more. My cock pressed into her and there was no way she could miss it.
I nibbled her chin and jaw, nudged her head to the side so I could kiss and suck and lick my way down her neck. She lifted her arms to my head, buried her fingers in my hair just like she used to. “Kit.”
Breathless. Hot. She said my name, but it wasn’t a question, more like an I-missed-you sigh.
With her arms up, I had full access to the rest of her and I took advantage, sliding one hand inside the back of her pants to cup her bare ass—fuck, she was wearing a thong—and the other up under her shirt to cup her breast, to knead and tug on her nipple the way I knew she liked. Her head dropped back, banging against the wall and she arched her back, pressed into my hands.
“Kit. What are we doing?” She shuddered as I bit down on her collarbone lightly and slipped my hand inside her bra. She was so fucking soft, everywhere. Even better than I remembered.
I couldn’t give her an answer, not right now. If I told her the truth, told her what I wanted, she’d tell me to go fuck myself.
I wanted her. I wanted a home, and three or four blue-eyed babies and a couple of furry, annoying cats that would sit in her lap and hiss at me whenever I told them to get lost. The last few years on the road had been hard, and lonely. When I left her, I had nothing. My parents disowned me just as they'd warned and I’d gone to New York, found the guys, started the band. I’d lived on whiskey and peanut butter for two years, drunk more than I was sober. The ache inside me that was uniquely hers never quite assuaged by booze or drugs or women. It dulled over the years, but it had never gone away. Not until this moment.
Kissing her again, I kept her mouth too busy to ask questions. The familiar taste of her cherry lip-gloss drove me out of my mind
and I realized there was no going back. Not this time.
I’d gone to California after the band hit it big, when I had enough money to offer her something other than an apartment I shared with three other assholes and life in the back of a van. I’d thought maybe I’d made a mistake. Maybe, once she graduated from Stanford, I could fit her into my life without wrecking hers.
And that was when I’d seen the cock-sucking surfer boy and the giant diamond on her fucking finger. She’d married that asshole six weeks later and that had been it. I’d been drowning ever since. Lost, like a ship at sea with no oars and no sail. I’d written music, lots of music, and drowned myself in women to mask the thoughts of my Crystal giving herself to someone else. We’d played concerts all over the world. I didn’t need my family money any more, and my father had finally relented and let me come home for a visit, once I wasn’t a complete failure. My brothers had my back all these years, sending me money when I was broke, keeping me off the streets. Ivy League schools hadn't made them assholes, thank fuck. My family had fallen in line, and I’d still felt empty.
Nothing got Crystal out of my head. And a year ago, I’d just stopped. No more booze. No drugs. No women. I worked. I ate. I slept. The whole band had shifted this last year. It was like we all reached critical mass and just grew the fuck up overnight.
When I saw Crystal giving that TV interview, something inside me had shifted. And when I noticed the three-carat diamond was no longer on her finger, I had become obsessed. Obsessed with what she'd made of herself. Obsessed with seeing her. Talking to her. Touching her.
Getting her back, in my life, in my arms, in my bed.
Rock hard, I squeezed her ass and lifted her off her feet, shoving her back into the wall hard enough to make the framed photos shake and rattle in place. Her soft moan drove me on and I shifted, pushed the hard ridge of my cock to the vee between her legs, rubbed up and down as I plundered her mouth.
Not one single thing had felt this good, not in ten fucking years.