“Do you feel better?” she asks quietly from where she stands next to the piano.
I take a couple of steps into the space, not sure if she’s going to throw my ass out or not.
“I’m sorry, short stack. I didn’t mean to make things worse for you—”
She turns to me and gives me a small smile. “I never in a million years thought I’d be one of those girls who enjoyed having a man fight her battles for her, but I have to say, a little part of me jumped up and down cheering when you punched him.”
I walk to her and put a hand along her cheek. “So you’re not pissed?” I’m hopeful.
She shrugs. “I know I should be. It’s one thing for me to give my brothers hell, but family loyalty says I shouldn’t encourage other people to do it.”
I turn to look at the piano, running a finger over the pristine keys, careful not to depress them and make any sound. “You think James would have that same kind of loyalty to you?”
She snorts. “He would, but it would be about him. He’d tell someone not to insult me because he’d consider it an insult to him, to the whole family. I know he doesn’t give a shit about how people treat me, which is why I’m having a hard time giving a shit that you beat the crap out of him.”
I chuckle. “That might be a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “I know if you hadn’t controlled yourself you’d have ruined a lot more than his face. And for that I’m thankful. I don’t like him. I don’t know if I even love him anymore, but I don’t want him hurt in any kind of serious way. He’ll always be my brother, no matter how big an asshole he is.”
“I get that. And I really am sorry, short stack.” I pause, clutching a hunk of my hair as I struggle to say what I want to—what I need to. “I can’t stand the idea of anyone, even your family, doing or saying anything to hurt you. I can’t stand the thought that someone, especially your own damn brother, doesn’t see how incredible you are. James should understand how lucky he is just to breathe the same air as you. You’re like this force of magic that floats through our lives, and we’re so fucking privileged to be able to see you and feel you and watch the things you create.” I shake my head, emotion overwhelming me in a way that scares me intensely. “I don’t think I’ll ever get how someone could know you and not see that.”
Her eyes sparkle as she watches me. “Blaze—”
I grab her hands and hold them in mine, looking at the contrast between her small, slim, pale fingers and my bulky, tanned, calloused ones. When I speak again my voice is hoarse and my breath is choppy. “No, Tully. I know this is counter to what we thought we were doing here, but I can’t pretend anymore. It doesn’t change anything, but I want you to know, before the tour ends next week, that this—that you—are not some casual fling for me. We may not be able to keep seeing each other after this, but you have to know that I’ve fallen for you, short stack. If I ever did try something real, I’d want it to be with you.”
Tully
Blaze Davis just broke me and he doesn’t even know it.
He’s standing here telling me how much he cares and saying we have no future at the same moment. It’s tearing me in two, scattering little bits of my hopes and dreams around the living room of my small apartment. Tossing pieces of me to the wind.
I swallow, trying so hard to maintain control. In the last thirty minutes I’ve been humiliated by my brother, scared for Blaze, angry at both of them, and now this. Stop the world, I want to get off.
I pull my hands away from his and retreat to the kitchen where I busy myself by preparing tea. He stands in the living room and watches me over the bar that separates the two spaces.
“So, I guess my feelings aren’t returned,” he says, something dark bleeding into his voice.
I can’t take it anymore. I’ve tried to be a grown-up, but that’s the final straw. “Stop!” I yell as I spin and face him across the slab of granite. “You don’t get to be pissed now. You don’t get to ride in like a fucking white knight, rescuing me from the evil lord, tell me how important I am to you, then turn right around and say that it’s irrelevant because you’re leaving me anyway. I might be tough, but I’m not a goddamn robot, Blaze. I can’t just turn my emotions off and on like a faucet.”
He walks closer and I point at him with the box of tea bags in my hand. “Don’t. Don’t you dare get any closer. I’m pissed. Really pissed. I’ve been doing just fine with this whole thing—the expiration date, the casual fucking, the friends with benefits gig. But you don’t get to change the rules and expect me just to roll with it. You don’t get to have it both ways. If this is all there’s ever going to be then keep your adoration to yourself because if you don’t you’ll break my fucking heart, Blaze.” My voice cracks on his name and I wish like hell I hadn’t lost control of myself.
He moves so fast then that I barely have time to register he’s around the counter and I’m backed up against the sink, my hands gripping the edge for balance as he looms over me.
He presses against me, chest to knees, and I feel the breath leave my lungs in one long rush.
“No, short stack,” he murmurs, breathing deeply at the same time. “I don’t get to say that shit and then turn around and leave you next week. I’m sorry I even thought it.”
My heart drops to the floor and my eyes burn with the tears that are going to come no matter how much I fight them.
“See, normally I’m not a coward,” he continues, brushing my hair out of my face, “but the last few weeks I’ve suddenly developed this fear, the fear that you’ll tell me to go to hell, and it’s been haunting me night and day. I’ve been dreading the end of this tour so much I’ve about lost my mind. But I’m scared—so scared of what you can do to me that I haven’t had the guts to just say it.” He kisses my jaw, then my cheeks, my eyelids, the corner of my lips, before he rests his forehead against mine, both of us with our eyes closed as if not seeing each other will somehow make this less real, less life-altering.
“I want you, Tully,” he whispers. “I want you next week and the week after that and the week after that. I want you in my bed, in my days, in my nights. I want you.”
A small sound escapes me, something between a sob and a gasp of relief.
“Hey.” He kisses me gently again, his hands digging into the back of my hair. “I should have said something earlier. I should have told you what I’ve been feeling. I should have had the fucking guts to say, ‘Tully let’s please find a way to stay together after this tour is over’.”
That does it, the dam breaks, and I throw myself against him, my eyes leaking, my lips seeking, my body molding itself to him. He wraps his arms around my waist like an iron band, and lifts me against him. I can feel how hard he is, and I moan at the evidence of what I do to him, because he does the exact same thing to me, and I need that reassurance that it’s not one-sided.
In moments hands are grasping, clothes are flying and our pants and groans are filling the room. When he’s got me stripped to my bra and underwear and I’ve gotten his shirt off, he spins us around. “Bed,” he growls.
I mumble, “This way,” against his lips as I walk backwards toward my tiny bedroom. When we reach the darkened room he backs me up against the mattress and then gives a little shove. I tumble onto my back but before I have a chance to recover the breath I’ve lost he’s on me—his hands skate over my skin, his eyes rake over my curves.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice is raspy with want and it makes the ache inside of me grow, pulses of electricity sparking along my legs and arms.
My mind is close to shutting down completely, but the tiny bit of self-preservation I have left rears its inconvenient head.
“How?” I gasp.
“However you want it, baby. My mouth, my cock, me pounding you, you riding me. Hell, maybe we ought to try this new yoga thing I was reading about in Maxim, what do you think?” He pulls the straps of my bra down and shifts the cups aside at the same time, watchin
g my chest reverently.
I squirm, trying to get some distance so I can talk to him without all his weight on that perfect spot between my legs.
“No.” I smack his chest and he raises an eyebrow at me, a smile tipping up one side of his lips. “How will we work this once the tour’s over?”
He sighs heavily and drops his head to my chest. “Jesus, I’m obviously not doing this right if you can think about that right now.”
I look up at the ceiling instead of at him, trying to help my common sense take charge of this situation.
“It’s going to be so complicated, Blaze—”
“Shh,” he whispers as his lips graze my throat, landing on my lips softly. “I know that, but we’re going to figure it out. We’re smart, we’ve got plenty of money. People with a lot less make the distance thing work all the time. But we can’t solve it all right now. It’s late, we’ve both had a long day and an even longer night. Let’s make each other feel better and worry about the details in the morning.”
He shifts, pressing his cock against my core, and I sigh. It’s so easy to do this with him. Let him play my body like he does his guitar. Let the feelings wash away everything else. He’s right, we can’t solve it all tonight. We’ve admitted how we feel and he’s told me he wants to work on it, it’s enough. It needs to be enough.
I put my arms around his neck and pull his face down to mine. “Make me come,” I mumur against his lips. He chuckles and then sets to work fulfilling my every command.
I’m having a fabulous dream about playing onstage with Blaze. I can’t tell who else is there with us, but Blaze is playing like a dream, watching me the entire time. He’s smiling, so carefree. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so happy, and it’s contagious. I laugh as my fingers fly across the keys, and the crowd roars. “Tully, baby,” he says, sending chills racing over my skin. “I need you.” Even though he’s standing next to me I can feel him between my legs, his cock slicking over my sensitive clit. “Short stack,” his voice whispers in my ear as his lips caress my shoulder.
I open my eyes and realize that it’s not a dream. Blaze is spooning me, just like he was when we fell asleep last night. And his cock is between my legs, not in me, but sliding over me, making every nerve ending in my body jolt awake.
“Hey,” I mutter as I start to roll toward him.
“Don’t move,” he rasps, nudging his big knee between my thighs as he lines up and pushes into me.
“Fuuuck,” he hisses as he slides home.
“Mmm, I’m not going to be able to walk onstage tonight.”
He slides almost all the way out, painfully slow, then back in, just as slowly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you a litter and Dez and the guys can carry you in like Cleopatra.”
I choke out a laugh as he continues torturing me with his slow advance and withdrawl. He wraps his hand over my breast and rolls my nipple between his fingers as he pumps in and out. I tilt my hips, shifting to get the perfect angle. In moments I’m crying out as I come, his arms around me, and his lips against my skin. As the remains of the orgasm sift away, he rolls me and lifts me by my waist at the same time. On my knees now, I’m partway on his lap as he holds my breasts with one hand and my waist with the other, directing me to ride him. I slide up and down his shaft, over and over, faster and faster as he grunts and tells me how beautiful I am.
When I think my quads might give out, he moves his hand down to my core, pressing a finger against the most sensitive spot on my body. I explode, stars dancing in front of my eyes, muscles clenching, back arching. He’s right behind me—in every way—and his fingers dig into my hips as he pours himself into me, body tense, sweat glazing his skin.
An hour later we’ve both showered and are eating the eggs and bacon I managed to scrounge up in the kitchen downstairs. Savvy’s cook hasn’t come in yet, so I was able to make off with a few necessities.
Blaze scoops up a forkful of scrambled eggs and holds them in front of me. I wrap my lips around them as slowly as possible, holding his gaze the entire time. He groans. “Baby, you keep doing that to your food and I’m going to have to take you back to bed.”
“Can’t,” I chirp as I hop up from my seat and wink at him. “I’ve got the first soundcheck spot today so I need to get to the venue.”
He sighs. “Yeah, real life awaits.”
Real life. The thing that’s going to separate Blaze and I whether we like it or not. He must notice my face fall, because before I can make it from the kitchen to the living room, he’s there, standing in front of me, a finger under my chin as he looks into my eyes.
“Hey.”
I swallow and look up at him, willing myself not to get emotional over this. If it’s meant to work out it will. If not, I’ll live. Right?
“You’re worrying about after the tour.” It’s not a question. Only a few weeks together and he already knows me so much better than any other man ever has.
“Short stack.” He pulls me against him and I lay my head on his chest, breathing in the clean scent of him.
“I tell you what. The first thing I’m going to do is get our rehearsal schedule rearranged so that we have everything grouped instead of spread out all over the calendar. That way I can get a week or two at a time to come up here and focus completely on you. Then we can compare tour schedules and see when we’re near enough to visit.”
He kisses my temple and I listen to the steady beat of his heart.
“It’s going to mean some time on planes, but we can do this. And I can get us one of those charter jet shares so that we can use it instead of commercial flights when we’re pressed for time.”
I pull back, looking at his face, astonished that he’s apparently thought about this.
“You’ve been making plans,” I say, eyes narrowed.
He scratches his head and gives me a wry smile. “It’s possible that I’ve been fantasizing about how we could manage it for the last couple of weeks.”
Something inside of me does a cartwheel and sprays glitter all over my heart.
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” I kiss him gently on the cheek.
He snorts. “Yeah, I’m fucking whipped. Just do me a favor and don’t tell the guys—yours or mine—I don’t want to have to bust any more noses to retain my man card.”
I laugh and he rolls his eyes as he grabs my hand and his wallet before leading us out the door to start another day in rock and roll.
Blaze
It’s four sixteen p.m. the day of our concert in Portland when the call comes. I see the number on the caller ID and my mind automatically registers the time as if I know it’s the exact minute when everything in my life will change forever.
“Yeah,” I answer as I walk through the hallway of the hotel on my way to my room. I’ve been at promo events all day and I’ve got two hours to grab some dinner and change before I have to be at the amphitheater for the performance.
“I’ve got them,” the voice on the other end tells me. Something inside of me knots up and I’m not sure it’ll ever loosen again. My heart races as I tell him to continue.
“There are staff at a hospital in California who were there when Walsh Clark’s wife was brought in for a nervous breakdown three years ago. One of them recorded part of a conversation she had with her sister about sleeping with Joss Jamison.”
“Wait—” I swallow the nausea that’s working its way up my throat. “Tammy slept with Joss? And then told Mel about it?”
“Sure did. Apparently the whole band found out when Tammy had that hospital stay. Clark went off the rails and hightailed it to Texas, Mike Owens disappeared for several weeks until he showed up in Texas too. The bass player went to Hawaii, and Jamison landed in Denver with his old man.”
“Wait, three years ago?”
“Yeah. August.”
Shit. When the band broke up. I remember it. No one could ever figure out what had happened and when they all got back together everyone forgot th
at they’d ever been apart during that year.
“The band broke up,” I say as much to myself as to the P.I. on the other end of the call.
“Yes,” he confirms. “And I’ve got a video of the press conference Jamison called to announce it. He said at the time the whole thing was his fault. That, coupled with the recording of the sisters talking about what happened, and the reports from the people in that town in Texas about Clark falling off the wagon when he and his wife were estranged—it’s plenty to do the damage you’ve asked for.”
Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck. I scrub my jaw, feeling hot, then cold in rapid succession. This is what I wanted. This is my ace in the hole. The ticket to discrediting Lush with the Super Bowl committee. It’s almost incestuous—Joss sleeping with two sisters, screwing his best friend’s lifelong sweetheart. Not the stuff family-friendly bands are made of. This changes the playing field. Lush’s dirty laundry gives us the advantage.
I hold very still for a moment, listening to the thumping rhythm of my heart. It’s like a clock ticking down the seconds until a bomb explodes. Because that’s what this will be—a bomb in the middle of our two bands. An explosion of epic proportions. And I won’t fool myself into believing it won’t be destructive.
But does it have to destroy what I have with Tully? No. She trusts me, I’ve proven how committed I am to her. She’d never guess that I had anything to do with this. That’s the key. As long as I’m not tied to it I can get away with it. I’ll be sympathetic, which won’t be that hard, because I’ve discovered they’re not really bad guys. I’ll support her through it, I’ll give her everything and anything she needs. And Lush will bounce back. They always do. She’ll be so busy with new albums and tours the Super Bowl will become a distant memory within weeks. If I keep my focus, I can make it through this and win it all—the Super Bowl, the girl, all of it.
A Lush Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel Page 22