by Stacey Lynn
“Good.” I kissed her again and stepped back. Hands on my hips, I kept my eyes glued to her until she moved around me, left the kitchen and disappeared around a corner at the top of the stairs.
Once she was gone, I cleaned myself up in the downstairs bathroom and headed to the music room.
I was playing at the keyboard when she arrived, chords and melody that made no sense and weren’t necessarily a song, but sitting on the bench, keys beneath my hand was almost as calming as having the strings beneath my fingers. Music had been bled into me, my mom a local bar country singer. On my eighth birthday, she handed me my first guitar and sat with me for hours, teaching me how to play basic chords and spin them into music.
She was talented, and never too hurried to listen to me play or teach me something new. She might have quit her bar gig when Sophie was born, choosing instead to only teach music at the high school and be home with us at nights, shuffling us wherever we needed to go, but she had more talent in her fingers and in her soul than I held in mine.
“Come here.” I gestured to the bench and scooted down so Claudia had room to sit next to me.
“You’re not playing from sheet music.”
“Nah.” I shook my head, ran a hand through my hair. She made me so damn nervous. Excited. It was hard to stay still around her. “I don’t play off sheet music.”
“Never?” Two brows arched as she gaped at me. “You just make it up?”
I pressed a basic E chord and messed around for a second, fingers playing nothing but the keys of chords and a pointless rhythm. Her eyes bounced from mine to my hands, to the keys and my bare foot on the pedal beneath. “Mom taught me on the guitar with chords, but I picked up the piano later the same way. Can I trust you not to spill my deep, dark, secret?”
She gave me a look and grinned. “Yeah? What is it?”
“I can’t read music for the life of me.”
“What? But you write your own songs.” Her brow furrowed and she pressed a high C note. The shrill highness contrasted with the deep notes from my left hand. “Don’t you?”
“Most. Not all.” Like some musicians and entertainers, I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed I had songwriters. I did what I could but when albums were due and you were touring thirty-five cities in forty-one days, it didn’t leave a lot of time to create something new. My band and I were too concerned about getting sleep and not losing our voices.
I flattened a scrap of paper I’d wrote on earlier that morning. Later, I’d fix it and adjust the lyrics but for now, it was filled with scratches of words with letters above some of them, showing the chords.
“This is how I write.”
She scowled at it, ran her fingers atop the folding and already bent paper. “It looks like a mess.”
“It is. It won’t be when it’s done.”
“Does it have a title?”
I dropped one hand from the keyboard and slid my hand to her back. I’d touched her frequently in the last couple of weeks but after this morning, it meant more. Every curve of her back, every bump along her spine burned the tips of my fingers until I was at her nape, guiding her toward me.
“Captivated by You,” I whispered the title, still a working one, and the label could scrap it but I’d fight tooth and nail for them not to change a damn thing I had so far, and would until it was perfect. Her eyes widened, pupils dilated as I continued pulling her closer until our lips brushed. “For you.”
“Me?”
I nodded. “You, sweetheart.”
“Wow,” fell from her lips like a breath and her eyes flickered to the paper before returning to mine. I was still holding her close, wanting her exactly where she was because damn it, she just fit.
I pressed my lips against hers again, mumbling an affirmative, but needing to taste her more than I needed to speak. Opening my mouth, I flicked my tongue along her lips and jumped as my phone startled me, ringing on top of the keyboard.
“Ignore it,” I groaned, already knowing it was Anne by the ringtone.
Fucking hell. It was like she knew I was finally getting somewhere. With my music and my girl, thinking I had exactly everything I wanted in my life, right there, in my arms and in front of me, of course that was when Anne would call. Cock-blocker extraordinaire.
The phone stopped, only to start the obnoxious ringtone all over again, a series of alarm bells. I’d chosen the most annoying tone for Anne because while she rocked at her job and I respected her a hundred and twenty percent, she still bugged the crap out of me.
If she knew, she’d probably cut off my balls.
“I should get this. It’s Anne,” I said, dropping my hand from Claudia and reaching for my phone by wrapping it around her. As I answered the phone, she settled into me, hand dropping to my thigh.
“You have crappy timing, Anne.”
“And you currently have a shitty life,” she snapped. “Someone’s been digging and they’ve uncovered your first arrest.”
“What the hell?”
“You heard me. TMZ released a report twenty minutes ago about your arrest when you were younger.”
“I was a teenager,” I barked. “That shit was expunged and erased or whatever the hell is supposed to happen when I turned eighteen.”
“Not permanently. You’re going to have to answer for this, Liam. Immediately.”
I gritted my teeth. Claudia, sensing my anger, pushed away from me and I climbed off the bench, tugging on my hair and staring at the tiled floor. Fucking hell. “Do they say why I was arrested?”
Shit, shit, shit. Sophie would have a heart attack if her ordeal were brought forward. I’d paid millions to get her trial and the imprisonment of the men who hurt her buried. They were out of jail now, because asshole college students only got minimum sentences for beating and raping teenage girls because the system was fucked.
But now, so was I.
“Just assault so far.” Anne’s voice softened uncharacteristically. “But you might want to call Sophie because if they’re digging, I don’t doubt it will come up.”
“Who?” I clipped. “Who’s searching?”
“We’re working on it. But you need to get here. I can schedule you off the island tonight.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Liam—”
“First thing tomorrow, Anne. I’ll be on it. But I want one more day here.”
Not that I saw the point. Claudia was across the room, arms crossed protectively over her stomach. She was worrying her bottom lip and watching me like she really was afraid I’d hurt her.
Fuck.
“Fine,” Anne sighed. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll text you details. And prepare Claudia. Between this and her own family drama, shit will hit the fan once you get back.”
“I’m not coming back to New York,” I said, not removing my eyes from Claudia. She’d gone pale as a ghost. “We’re going to Kansas.”
I hung up before Anne could argue. I understood why I needed to get back, but I’d be stopping at home first. Sophie and I needed to talk, and like we’d done so many times before, I already knew what she’d say. She’d beg and plead for me to keep it hidden and while the last thing I wanted to do was throw her back into that hell that took years to climb out of, I’d also always wanted her to tell her story. I wanted her to help others. I wanted her to move beyond it so it didn’t always cling to her. I wanted her to take back her power.
It also, sure as hell would have helped me out when charges were flung in my direction.
“So,” I said, sliding my hands to my hips. “How do you feel about visiting my family?”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
CLAUDIA
“Kansas? Why?”
My pretend, perfect little world was crumbling. The fantasy life I’d pictured for myself in Anguilla was being chipped away and I could practically see the end in sight. It was going to be a disaster. I could feel it, the thick sludge of my past and my life mixed with whatever Liam was about to tell me was about to r
ock all of it so hard it wouldn’t register on a Richter scale.
“Something’s come out. Something you need to know and I need to get home to talk to my family before reporters show up there.”
I was still stuck on the paper, the scribbles I could barely make out, and I was definitely still thinking of the way Liam kissed me as he admitted he’d written a song. For me.
Goodness. I fanned myself and dropped my hand to my side. “What happened? Is it about us?”
“No.” He shook his head and unlocked his phone. “Me and my past coming back to kick me in the ass again. I gotta call my sister.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” He snapped it so harshly I flinched. “Fuck,” he groaned, scrubbing his hand down his face in his typical stressed out move. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an ass. Maybe you should spend some time packing up. I’ll explain everything once I get off the phone with Sophie, okay?”
It wasn’t. Nothing was going to be okay. Whatever had happened between us earlier today had vanished and in its place was a cold, furious man I didn’t know. The bulk of his frame made him intimidating on his own and as he stepped toward me, hand out reaching to settle on my neck like I knew he enjoyed. I flinched.
“I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I know.” He could. He had the power to destroy me and it had nothing to do with his bulk or his power. The pain Liam dished out would be an arrow shot straight to my soul.
“I really gotta handle this. Can you give me awhile to get my head on straight?”
“Sure,” I whispered. He left the room and was barely out of the doorway when his voice filtered back to where I still stood.
“Sophie? Yeah…TMZ…shit. You already read it? What does it say?”
His voice disappeared, but the mention of TMZ didn’t. If he was making headlines, I needed to know what they said.
I left the studio room, unable to find him but figuring he was in his room. I went to the kitchen and grabbed my phone. My steps faltered as I turned to head to outside.
It wasn’t that long ago when I’d stood in this spot, touching him. Wanting him. I’d do it all over again, except more if ever given the chance again. Not because he was Liam Allistor.
But because he was a man with a damn good heart, protective of his sister and his family with whatever was flying around. That alone made him the best man I ever knew. No one else would have stopped what they were doing for any woman in my family, especially me.
I took a seat on a patio chair, tucking my summer dress skirt under my thighs so it didn’t blow up and expose me in the breeze and typed in TMZ’s website.
And there, on the front page, was a photo of Liam’s arrest he mentioned on the phone.
Four men.
Arrested.
Assault.
Community Service.
He’d gotten off with a slap on the wrist and a handful of hours serving the public when he was sixteen.
Why? How did he have that pull when he was just a kid?
And what in the heck did it have to do with his sister?
I wouldn’t get answers from a gossip column so I moved on, checked the news, national and Savannah local because it was habit and because I was curious. With no mention of anyone I knew, I moved to my messages.
I deleted all three without bothering to listen when I recognized the Savannah area code. It was either an old friend who had turned on me and needed more gossip fuel for her popularity race or Harrison. I had nothing to say to any of them.
Tossing my phone on the chair, I pushed to my feet and headed down to the beach. I’d walked this stretch every day, sometimes twice when Liam was at my side. We held hands, swung them in the air like the carefree children we weren’t and I never was, and we’d spent hours talking about our families. Our lives. How he was discovered in a rundown bar in East Hollywood because the person who was supposed to be there didn’t show. He’d stepped out behind the bar where he’d been slinging drinks and played a few tunes. He’d lived in L.A. for years already by that point, but that night was his.
Anne Marker walked in. Approached him. Signed him. The rest was history.
It wasn’t anything I couldn’t find and hadn’t read online, but hearing his own words, seeing the way he’d blush when I teased him about his fame. Or how his grip would always tighten to the point of pain when he talked about Sophie and his demon spawn of a nephew.
All those tiny little gestures were mine, given freely by a man I hadn’t had yet but was desperately beginning to crave with every ounce of my being.
––––––––––
He never came for me. Through lunch and all afternoon. I tried not to let it bother me. After returning from the beach, I looked for him only to hear murmured voices behind his locked bedroom door so I left him to it. I checked several times throughout the afternoon, and every time I went to his room and lifted his door to knock, his shushed voice drifted toward me.
I walked away every time.
When he was ready to talk, I was ready to listen.
But after I packed and ate dinner alone, coming down to the kitchen to a mess of plates telling me he’d eaten in the time it took me to pack, I figured he was avoiding me.
And I didn’t like it. I had given him his space, I’d done what he asked by packing and giving him time, but if he was taking me into a storm, I had every right to at least arm myself with an umbrella to dodge the bullets.
Walking to his bedroom, I stayed quiet, ears perked and listened for the sound of his voice but when it didn’t happen, I knocked on his door.
Footsteps sounded and then the door opened.
Liam was there. Towel around his waist, water trailed down the center of his chest before separating and falling over ridges on his stomach.
“Hey,” I said, staring at a string of musical notes on the side of his ribs.
I can’t read music for shit. Mom taught me to play by chords. Then by ear.
He’d said that to me…and inked something he couldn’t read on his side.
“Do you want to come in or keep staring at me?”
“Yes,” I whispered, smiling. Heaven help me, but he was so beautiful. His frame and width and strength in the palm of his hands should have intimidated me. All I saw was how gentle his finger had been against me this morning. I fought a delicious trill of excitement that bubbled at my center.
“She’s got jokes.” My grin widened and he reached for my wrist, pulling me to him and shutting the door behind me. “I’ve been an ass today. How pissed are you?”
“Are you apologizing?”
“I would if you stopped staring at me like I was a piece of meat.”
“But you’re so pretty…”
He’d stolen my filter. The fact I was blaming him for me losing my self-control proved how muddled he made me.
Beneath his towel, he was already growing a bulge. Unable to hide it because he was large, as I’d learned that morning, I didn’t truly think he was complaining.
I kept staring. I wanted answers and the apology was nice, but crap on a cracker, I really liked his body. I lifted my hand and trailed a water drop down his chest until it disappeared beneath the towel at his waist.
His hand gripped mine, stopping mine. “Pretty? That’s like calling a guy nice.”
I lifted my gaze. “I like nice guys.” Despite the grin on his face, his eyes were red, like he’d either been rubbing them all day or heaven forbid, crying. I couldn’t picture it. But there wasn’t amusement in his face even if he was hard and teasing me. “How are you?”
“Fucking tired. And I still have to pack.”
Right. My purpose for bugging him.
“Can you tell me what’s going to happen? Or where we’re going? Or why?”
“You haven’t searched online yet?”
“Yeah.” My fingers played with the hem of my shirt at the admission. It hadn’t been wrong. Obviously something was going on, but the extent it w
as my business was uncertain. “I saw the TMZ article.”
“Fucking vultures,” he groaned and stepped back, waving me in and gesturing toward the balcony. “Go have a seat outside and gimme a minute to put clothes on. I’ll meet you out there.”
And miss the view of him dropping his towel and letting me see everything? He must have been distracted if he wasn’t even goading me into watching him. A tiny twitch of his lips told me my hesitation and thoughts were being broadcasted like a neon billboard in Times Square.
I scurried out to the balcony like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar and waited for him in a chair, lounging back, and letting the salty air ripple over my skin for perhaps the last time. The sun was still setting and neon oranges and pinks lit up the sky. Bright palms rustled in the wind and the taste of salt landed on my lips.
I wasn’t ready to leave. I wasn’t prepared to be thrown into the limelight next to Liam with whatever disaster was occurring stateside.
I’d been hiding for more than one reason but as soon as photos of me surfaced, I’d have a lot more to answer to than just my father or relationship with Liam.
Harrison would find me and insist on having me explain why I not only took off from him without an explanation, but why I’d run…two weeks before our wedding.
Shit.
“I brought you some water.”
Liam’s sudden presence made me jump. “Oh. Hey.”
“Scare you?” He gave me a strange look, handed me bottled water, and slid into another lounge chair.
“No. I was just thinking.”
Feet propped up on the end, knees bent; he’d only taken enough time to throw on a pair of shorts instead of the towel. My view of his body was the same and I couldn’t stop comparing it to the one man I should have been staring at, the man I should have married.
But how do you get married after you find your life was a lie? How do you give yourself to someone when your reputation was disgraced, and you learned you had to spend forever with a man who was no better than the rest of them?
Where Harrison was long and lean, hours spent playing tennis and golfing his own form of workouts, he was always polished. Like a plastic Ken Doll. His aspirations had been to follow in my father’s footsteps and while he promised me that my father and family’s ruination wouldn’t change anything between us, that he didn’t care, I couldn’t trust him. In the wake of the news of Alton Fitzgerald’s dealings, and my own father’s scandals, Harrison hadn’t only remained polished and perfect as he posed for cameras, taking the opportunity to be our family spokesman and then mine, he’d never once seem surprised by any of it.