by Bec Linder
Leah closed her eyes as the familiar music washed over her. Her fingers moved, playing invisible guitar strings. Andrew’s voice lifted, strong and clear, and O’Connor’s deeper voice filled in the low notes. The new bassist was good, both technically proficient and imaginative, spinning off new riffs as the song wound toward the chorus. Leah could feel the bass through her feet, and the powerful thumping of James’s drums.
Live music was euphoria, really. It was a form of worship, and the club was her church, the rafters above filled with mystical darkness, echoing with sound. And everyone around her felt it, too. She could sense it in the way their bodies shifted against her, the ecstatic surge toward the stage, all of them crying out, their hands lifted.
She kept her gaze on O’Connor, and she could tell when he spotted her: his eyes widened, and his face creased in a huge smile. She blew him a kiss. She was bold. She was meant for him. She couldn’t wait.
They played a short set: ten songs, and then the encore: “Wild Open.” Leah knew every word by heart, and she sang along: Hand in hand, I know you’ll come with me. Wild open, baby, set me free. O’Connor was watching her, playing to her, his left hand gliding along the neck of his guitar. Her nervousness had evaporated. She knew him. There was nothing to be worried about.
The show ended. Leah waited for the crush of fans to thin out a little, and then she made her way to the stage door. A huge, menacing security guy folded his arms and glowered at her. “You can’t come back here, miss.”
He was incredibly intimidating, but Leah held her ground. “I’m here to see O’Connor. He told me to tell you that I turn back into a pumpkin at midnight.”
The man sighed and opened the door for her. “O’Connor and his stupid passwords. Okay, go on back. It’s two doors down on the right.”
“Thanks,” Leah said, and slipped inside.
Even without his directions, she would have known where to go. She had played in this club several times with Rung, when they were still a local band with oversized dreams. She went a short way down the hallway and rapped on the door that said DRESSING ROOM in big block letters.
Her heart was pounding again. She was excited, and happy.
O’Connor opened the door so quickly that she knew he had been waiting for her. His face broke into a huge, heartfelt smile. He took one of Leah’s hands in his and squeezed. Then he leaned backward into the room and called, “Okay, see you guys tomorrow!”
Leah heard James say, “What? Where are you going?”
O’Connor didn’t bother answering. He slammed the door behind him, slung an arm around Leah’s shoulders, and said, “What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”
Leah said, “Let’s.”
* * *
They went out the back. Leah was concerned that they would run into some fans waiting around the back entrance for an autograph or a hug, but the lot was surrounded by a high fence, and there was nothing out there but a truck and a few dumpsters.
O’Connor had rented one of the sleek convertibles he was so obsessed with. He led Leah toward it, still holding her hand, and opened the passenger door for her and helped her inside.
“When did you develop manners?” she asked.
“I’ve been practicing,” he said. “James got me a book.”
She laughed. He was probably joking, but she could also see James doing that, so maybe not.
O’Connor slid in behind the steering wheel, but he didn’t turn the key in the ignition. He sat there smiling at Leah, and reached out to touch her cheek. “I’m glad you came.”
Her heart fluttered. “It was a great show.”
“I don’t know why you wanted to be in the pit,” he said. “You could have watched from backstage.”
“It’s better on the floor,” she said. “I like the energy of the crowd. You know how it is.”
“I do,” he said. He leaned across the gear shift between them, his hand sliding into her hair, and kissed her.
The desire she’d been trying to ignore roared to sudden, urgent life. She leaned into his kiss, wanting more, wanting to feel his bare skin against hers. It had been too long. He kissed her deeply, claiming her mouth, but then released her much too quickly, and sat back in his seat.
“Fuck,” he said. He slid one hand between his legs and blatantly adjusted himself in his jeans.
Leah flushed hot. She could see the shape of him through the worn denim, and the memory of him moving inside her was vivid enough to make her sweat. “O’Connor,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, and peeled out of the parking lot.
The hotel wasn’t far. O’Connor rested one hand on Leah’s leg as he drove, and every time he had to take it away to turn a corner or shift gears, he replaced it a little bit higher. Even through her jeans his palm felt hot and huge. Leah ached with wanting. By the time he pulled into the lot behind the hotel and parked, she was ready to drag him into the back seat and hope nobody peeked through the window.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. The answer is no.”
“You’re no fun,” she said. “Getting arrested for public sex would probably just add to your rock star appeal.”
“This car is too small,” he said. “I want better access.”
Okay. That was a valid argument.
They went into the hotel. He held her hand through the parking lot, and the lobby, and into the elevator, and that point of contact built a raging fire in Leah’s belly. O’Connor wouldn’t meet her eyes as they rode the elevator to the top floor, and she understood why: eye contact was too dangerous right now. They would both ignite.
O’Connor’s hotel room was actually a suite, with a sitting area and kitchenette. He dropped her hand once they were inside and said, “As much as I want to ravage you right now, I really need a shower if I ever want you to have sex with me again.”
She laughed. “That bad?”
“Those fucking stage lights were about 10,000 degrees,” he said, and stripped his shirt off. The view was enticing enough that Leah missed the next few words he said. “—if you want.”
“What?” Leah said, and replayed the conversation in her head. He had asked if she wanted to join him in the shower. “Yes. Absolutely.”
They stumbled into the bathroom, kissing and laughing, groping each other haphazardly. O’Connor was right that he was pretty sweaty, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Leah sort of liked the way he smelled, all rugged and manly. She skimmed her hands across his shoulders and chest, enjoying the feel of his taut muscles.
“Let’s get you naked,” he said, and casually stripped her, somehow managing to unhook her bra one-handed while his other hand was halfway down the back of her jeans. He was showing off. Leah couldn’t even unhook her own bra with one hand. She was going to call him out on it, but then his mouth was on her breasts and she didn’t care anymore.
He turned on the shower and backed her under the warm water. The shower stall was a huge, tiled enclosure with one of those rainfall fixtures attached to the ceiling, and it did feel like rain falling over Leah’s body as they stood twined beneath the spray. They were alone in the world, just the two of them and the rain.
O’Connor groaned her name, his hands on her lower back, on her ass, his mouth moving down her neck in sloppy kisses. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, feeling the water beat down on her upturned face. Her body tingled. She didn’t want to wait. She should have jumped him in the car.
He seized two handfuls of her wet hair and tugged, not very hard. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I missed you,” he said.
Her heart overflowed. She blinked the water from her eyes. “It’s only been two months.”
“It seemed like a fucking eternity,” he said. “I shouldn’t have let you get on that plane. I should have had you come back to Chicago with me.”
She twined her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “But it’s all worked out okay, don’t you think? I would have gotten bored being
your house-girlfriend.”
“Sweet Leah,” he said. “I know you would have. You like keeping busy.” He gazed down at her, eyes dark, expression serious. Leah’s heart beat a little faster. “It’s part of why I love you.”
*Oh.* Her stomach flipped. Somewhere behind her, a choir of angels materialized and started singing. Was this what it felt like?
It must be. Nausea, terror, reckless joy: love.
“That’s a big word,” she said.
He groaned. “Don’t torment me, Leah. Come on.”
She grinned. “Okay. I love you.”
“Thank the baby Jesus,” he said, and pulled her against him once more.
The ostensible reason for the shower was to clean O’Connor off, but he spent far more time standing at Leah’s back and slowly and luxuriously soaping every inch of her body. She leaned back against him while his hands lingered on her breasts and then slid down between her legs. His soap-slick fingers stroked at her, and she moaned her pleasure.
Finally he released her, and it was her turn to wash him: his long arms, his strong thighs, and his thick, hard cock. It leapt in her hand, and Leah grinned, delighted that she could make him respond in that way. She teased him with light, gentle touches, until he groaned and crushed her against him.
She responded eagerly, taking him in hand, trying to guide him between her legs, but he laughed and pulled away.
“Not here. Shower sex is a head injury waiting to happen.”
“You sound like Rushani,” she said.
“Fighting words,” he said. He shut off the water and scooped Leah into his arms, and carried her into the bedroom while she shrieked with laughter and dripped all over the carpet. “There,” he said, sounding satisfied, and deposited her on top of the neatly made bed.
It was against Leah’s religion to ruin a bedspread, so she wriggled beneath the sheets and pulled the covers up to her chin, smiling innocently at O’Connor.
“You look very sweet,” he said. “Cozy. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your name.”
Leah threw off the covers, exposing her damp body to his gaze. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He lay on top of her, his weight pressing her down into the mattress, and kissed her for a long time. She lost track of everything but the feeling of his mouth against hers. She knew she wanted more than this—wanted him *in* her, wanted to feel all of him—but his kisses were so distracting that she forgot to protest.
“Ready?” he asked her at long last, and she nodded and lifted her hips so that he could enter her.
After all of the build-up, and the months of waiting, neither of them had the patience to go slow. The irregular stutter of O’Connor’s hips told Leah how eager he was, and she felt just the same, just as raw-edged and greedy. Their lips brushed together, open and panting, both of them too caught up in pleasure to maintain a kiss.
Leah spread her legs wide and arched her back, wanting him, wanting to take all of him. And he gave her what she wanted, hard and fast, his hips grinding against hers. “Leah, Leah,” he said. She scratched her nails down his back. She was too hot. She was sweating; she was overcome. She arched against him again. Her muscles tightened. He moved faster. She arched, clenched, and came apart beneath him, crying out.
“Leah,” he said again, and followed her over the edge.
CHAPTER TWENTY
O’Connor needed another shower, which led to more sex, which led to a third shower, and after that they were hungry. “I want Chinese food,” Leah said. “No. Ethiopian. Can we get Ethiopian?”
He lay on the bed and watched her stand in front of the mirror, completely naked, and comb her hair. Christ, she was a sight. Beautiful, sexy, and completely relaxed. She probably had no idea what her rear view was doing to him. “We can get whatever you want.”
She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. “Careful. I might take advantage.”
“I hope you do,” he said. Her smile was devastating. He understood all of that old love poetry now, all of that bullshit about summer days and ten thousand ships. He was no poet, and never would be, but Leah made him regret that he couldn’t put words to the exact feeling in his chest when she looked at him with her eyelids lowered.
Leah said she knew a good place that delivered, and she called them to put in an order. O’Connor lay on the bed and thought about his life. Two months ago he had thought the universe was ending. But now Andrew was doing better, and they were even talking about going on tour in Asia that winter like they had scheduled. They were back in the studio, working on their next album. They had a new bassist who was a fantastic musician and a pretty cool person.
And he had Leah, now. For the night, and—he hoped—forever. He would just have to do his best to keep her.
She got off the phone and climbed into bed with him, still naked, and curled up against his chest. “They said forty-five minutes.”
“Then I’ll put some pants on in forty minutes,” he said. Her damp hair clung to his skin. He stroked one hand down her side. “Tell me about this band you’re starting.”
All he knew about it was a brief text message she had sent him a few days earlier. He felt her inhale, her chest expanding against him. “You make it sound more definite than it actually is. I’m still just thinking about it.”
“But you’re going to,” he said. “Right? You aren’t going to be happy booking other people’s bands forever.”
“Probably not,” she agreed. “We’ll see. I’ve been talking to a few people.”
“So you’ll be in L.A. then,” he said. “For the foreseeable future.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And you’ll be everywhere else.”
He saw where this conversation was going: it would end with her telling him they had no future, that long-distance never worked, and that they should make a clean break before somebody got hurt. It was too late for that. “We’ll make it work,” he said fiercely.
“Sure,” she said, surprising him. “I think so.”
“It won’t be very fair to you,” he said, and then wondered why he was arguing against himself. Well, because he loved her, and he didn’t want her agreeing to an arrangement that would make her miserable. “I’ll be away all the time.”
She laughed. “O’Connor, come on. I am probably the best-equipped person in the world for having a relationship with a rock star. I know exactly what I’m up against. I know what touring is like. I know that sometimes you’ll be too tired to talk to me, or too busy. I know you’ll have to cancel plans, and that your schedule might change at the last minute. That’s okay. I don’t need you to be the center of my universe.”
“What if I want to be the center of your universe?” he asked.
“Tough shit,” she said, and grinned at him. “Come on. You wouldn’t want that. It’s romantic in, like, Romeo and Juliet, but real people don’t operate like that. I have friends and family here in L.A. You don’t have to be everything to me. I’ll do my thing, and you’ll do yours, and we’ll see each other as much as we can.”
“That’s not what I want,” he said. “I want you all the time, I want you with me—”
“I know,” she said. “And I want that too, but it’s not possible. I’m not going to follow you around on tour, and you’re certainly not going to quit the band and move here. So we’ll do what we can, and we’ll make it work.”
He sighed, still not happy with the scenario she was outlining. He wanted her to follow him around on tour. He wanted to see her every morning of his life, with her messy hair and the way she squinted a little before her first cup of coffee. But he couldn’t ask her to give up on her own dreams. And he loved her in part because she had dreams, because she wouldn’t be content following him. “I guess so,” he said begrudgingly.
“How long are you in L.A.?” she asked.
“Four more days,” he said. “We’re doing some recording tomorrow, and meeting with some people at the label the day after.”
“So we’l
l hang out some while you’re here,” she said. “And then what?”
“Well,” he said, and thought about it. They were working the album, but since he did most of the writing, he didn’t really need to be in Chicago. He could work from anywhere, and send demos to the others for feedback. They had canceled the European leg of their tour that was supposed to start that month, and so he wouldn’t be on the road at all until February at the earliest. “I don’t really have anywhere I need to be for a while.”
She smiled and stretched, long and languid. “What do you think about renting an apartment in L.A. for a month or two?”
“That,” he said, “is the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”
* * *
He woke slowly, from a vague, pleasant dream that vanished as soon as he tried to recall it. He rolled over, eyes still closed, and bumped into a warm body in the bed beside him.
He remembered now. Leah was here.
He reached down, still muzzy with sleep, and squeezed the bare curve of her ass. Leah, at long last.
She made a grumbly noise and turned toward him, her head lifting from the pillow. “Whazzat?”
He grinned and kissed the back of her neck. They had never woken up together before. “Rise and shine. It’s after 10.”
“Sounds early to me,” she said, and yawned hugely, her jaw cracking. “Some reason you need to be up?”
“I’m supposed to have breakfast with the others at 11, and be in the studio by noon,” he said.
“Sounds like we can spend a little more time in bed,” she said, and arched against him invitingly.
O’Connor wasn’t the kind of fool who would turn her down.
He was a little late for breakfast.
Leah went with him, after some persuading—“Aren’t James and Andrew going to be mad?” she asked, and O’Connor had to explain that they both already knew. They walked into the dining room holding hands, Leah trailing a bit behind him, suddenly shy for no reason. O’Connor spotted James and Andrew sitting in a corner with Nathan and made his way toward them, and watched with evil delight as James and Andrew realized who he had with him.