Only Ever You (A Little Like Destiny Book 2)

by Lisa Suzanne

  It’s exactly what I want. It’s right. It’s pure. It’s magic. It’s perfect.

  It’s that moment when I realize I’ve been punishing myself for sleeping with Mark, but it was inevitable. He may not stick around forever, but it’s time for me to stop pretending like this isn’t what I want.

  I wish I would’ve figured this out before Brian left, but I was too consumed with guilt to see the situation clearly. I wish I would’ve broken things off with him. I wish I would’ve stopped fighting myself so I could be happy. But now he’s on his way to a different country.

  “You know,” I say into his chest because he’s holding me so tightly that my face is smashed there, “I used to fantasize that the ultimate rock star bad boy Mark Ashton would one day show up at my house and ring my doorbell.”

  “I told you earlier, rock stars love to make fantasies come true.” He kicks the door shut behind him. “Ever fantasize about the rock star bad boy fucking you in the middle of your entryway?”

  He tips my chin up and his mouth finds mine. He kisses me like a starved man, and I meet his battering tongue with my own.

  His hands are everywhere at once, and again I lose myself in the frenzy of his touch. I’ve fought it, but ultimately it was a demanding, arduous, uphill battle because it was never something I had any chance of really fighting against.

  “Get the bra out of the way,” he says. “But leave on this sexy white top.”

  I reach behind me to unhook my bra. I fling it somewhere into the room, and he pulls my breasts up over the top of my shirt. He pinches my nipples and I groan, and then he nuzzles his face in the valley between my breasts before he moves up to kiss my mouth. His fingers trail down to work me over my shorts, and I’m lost in the feel of him, the pleasure, the heat, the need.

  I reach down and cup his erection over the outside of his jeans. He’s so painfully hard, so ready for me, and I’m ready to give him anything he asks for. Anything. My body screams in agony for him, and just as he slips his fingers down the front of my shorts to give the ache some tiny bit of relief, he freezes. “What was that?”

  “Huh?” I ask stupidly.

  “That noise. Did you hear that?”

  I shake my head, and then I hear keys at the front door. “Oh, shit,” I say. I pull my shirt up over my breasts as Mark jumps away from me.

  The door opens, and Jill comes bounding in with Becker behind her. Becker carries a bag of groceries.

  “Hi guys!” Jill says. She’s bubbly and excited, and I’m horror struck that they’re here interrupting us.

  They both smile at us. My chest is heaving from the exertion of near-sex with this rock god and from the disappointment of another missed opportunity.

  “What are you doing here?” Becker asks Mark.

  Mark looks at me. “Oh, um, I just needed to, uh, drop something off for Reese,” he says. He’s clearly covering something up, and I just hope Becker doesn’t notice.

  He sets the bag of groceries on the counter and looks between the two of us.

  “What are you two up to?” I ask. My voice is higher than normal.

  I notice Becker’s eyes flick down to my chest. I follow his gaze. My nipples are poking against the white cotton of my shirt—the same nipples Mark just tweaked into stiff peaks. I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Making dinner. You wanna eat with us?” Jill says.

  “Sure,” I say, trying to pretend like nothing shady was about to happen in the very spot where I’m standing. I don’t look directly at Mark, but I feel the private look of horror he gives me.

  “Did Brian make it to Germany?” Becker asks, of course bringing up my boyfriend—his best friend—in this awkward moment.

  I nod. “He texted about an hour ago to let me know he’s there.”

  “Good.” Becker looks between Mark and me. He looks like he wants to ask a question, but he refrains.

  And that’s when I spot my bra. It’s a few feet behind Mark on the floor. It’s directly in Becker’s line of vision.

  Oh my God. I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

  This hasn’t even been going on that long, this sneaking around, and I’m already on the verge of getting caught. I can’t do this. I need to be honest with Brian. But how the hell am I supposed to do that when he’s five thousand miles away from me? I can’t break up with him over the phone. I have to have the hard conversation face to face with him. He deserves that much.

  But I’m going to Germany for a week to be with him. Am I supposed to break up with him the second I see him then spend an awkward week in another country with him? Or do I fake happiness for the week and do it when I get back?

  Becker’s gaze follows mine, and his eyes widen when he sees my bra on the floor. He looks from Mark to me. “What’s going on here?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, trying my best to go for a tone of innocence, but it just comes out all high-pitched and squeaky. Guilty.

  “I mean…” he trails off and gestures awkwardly toward my chest. “Why is there a bra on the floor and why are you both panting like you just ran a marathon?” Becker asks.

  I look at Mark, desperate for his eyes to meet mine, but he keeps his gaze focused out the window.

  “That was on the floor when I got here,” he says, maintaining his cool as he looks over at Becker. He’s a much better actor than me. “I just walked in.”

  “I ran from the bedroom, where I was getting dressed, to the door. I must’ve dropped my bra on the way. Oops.”

  Becker looks between the two of us as if he’s gauging whether or not we’re telling the truth. Jill’s eyes are wide as saucers, and I shake my head at her just slightly.

  “We’re making spaghetti with homemade meatballs. My mother’s recipe. You’re both welcome to join us,” Becker says. “It takes a couple hours to put together and cook.”

  “I need to get going,” Mark says, jamming his hands in his pockets. The dark wash of his jeans does a decent job of hiding the erection tenting near his zipper, but I can still make out an outline if I look hard enough…which I try not to do since Becker’s still scrutinizing our every move.

  My heart aches as he moves toward the door.

  “You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Jill says. “But we will put you to work.”

  Mark chuckles. “I have no concept of how to do anything in a kitchen.” He glances at me. “Except I’m a scrambled eggs ninja.”

  Jill giggles. “We’ll walk you through it.”

  My eyes meet Mark’s. He’s masking the same longing I feel, but I can still see it there. I nod as if to say it’s okay despite how dangerous it is to have him here with me…especially in front of other people, in front of Brian’s best friend.

  “Let me just go talk to my driver.” He slips out the front door.

  “Beck, can you excuse us for a minute?” Jill asks as she walks over to me.

  “Do what you need to do. I’ll unpack the groceries.”

  Jill takes my elbow and guides me to my bedroom. I stoop to pick up my bra as I act like I’m not filled with shame.

  “What’s going on?” she asks once the door is closed behind us.

  I close my eyes and sigh. “Mark’s in love with me.”

  “Holy shit. Are you serious?”

  I nod.

  She grabs my wrist and shakes me a bit. “Oh my God, Reese. An actual fucking rock star is in love with you. Mark fucking Ashton! What is this life?”

  “Shh,” I warn, glancing at the closed door. “I think I’m still in shock.”

  “I am, too.”

  I lean on my dresser and hold my head in my hands. “What the hell do I do?”

  “We’ve been through this.”

  “Am I just supposed to go to Germany and break up with Brian?”

  “Oh my God.” She lets out a little squeal of excitement and starts bouncing up and down. “Does this mean you want to be with Mark?”

  I nod.

  “Holy shi
tballs, my best friend is dating a rock star. And not just a rock star. THE rock star.” She’s jumping up and down and squealing so loudly that you’d think she is the one starting a relationship with him.

  Her excitement is infectious. I allow myself three seconds of excitement. I start jumping up and down with her.

  I stop suddenly. “But seriously, what about Brian?”

  “Tell him when he gets back.”

  “But I’m supposed to go there.”

  “So? Invent a reason why you can’t.”

  I shake my head. “More lies? I can’t. He doesn’t deserve that.”

  “I know you don’t want to.” She pats my back. “But wrong is wrong. You’ve already crossed that line, and now you’re just protecting him until you have a chance to tell him what’s going on.”

  “Says the woman who was cheated on.”

  She presses her lips together.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. But if she feels that this is the right thing to do after she was betrayed, maybe I need to listen to her.

  “It’s okay. You’re right. But I was cheated on by an asshole who got drunk one night and banged his sister’s friend. What you’re doing is not even close to the same.”

  “How?”

  “For one, you and Brian haven’t made some big commitment.”

  “We’ve spent almost every night together for the past two months.” I rub my forehead. “He asked me to move in with him.”

  “So? You’re not engaged. You’re not even living together. Talking about it isn’t the same thing as doing it.”

  “I love both men, and I don’t want to hurt either of them.”

  She clears her throat. “Coming from the girl who was cheated on, you need to be honest.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “But I can’t do that while he’s out of the country.”

  “So wait for him to get back and do it then.”

  I nod, feeling sudden conviction. “Okay. But please, Jill. Not a word of this to Becker until I have the chance to talk to Brian.”

  “I’ll do my best, but he’s going to have some questions after he caught you two about three seconds from banging on the couch.”

  She gives me a quick hug before we head back to the kitchen.

  *

  Becker and Mark are balls deep when we get back to them. Meatballs, that is. Becker is mashing up the meat while he tells Mark which ingredients to add.

  The boys have dinner under control, so we get started on drinks. Jill wants to make something delicious, and after digging through the pantry, we discover we have all the ingredients for piña coladas. We stay out of the way of the chefs as we get out all the ingredients, and then we set to work.

  By the time dinner’s ready, we’re each two rum drinks in and I’m a little buzzed…and incredibly hot for the rock star sitting at my table.

  It’s nearly impossible to pretend like something isn’t going on between the two of us, but out of respect for the guy I’m dating—if that even still exists—I’m trying my hardest in front of his best friend.

  It feels like a double date as we sit around the table and eat. Mark regales us with stories from Vail’s last tour. He has a story about every city the band visited on their last tour—a flat tire on the tour bus in Dallas, a stolen guitar sometime between sound check and show time in St. Louis, a fight between roadies in Seattle.

  I’ve really only had the chance to talk to him one-on-one. We haven’t spent much time in group settings, but he steals the show. We listen to his stories with rapt attention—even Becker. Mark just has this trait about him where he becomes the center of attention anywhere he goes, not because he puts himself there, but because we do. He commands attention without even trying. He’s fascinating to listen to and has this genuine charisma that pulls in everyone around him.

  He’s sitting across the table from me. I want him beside me. I want his hand resting on my thigh. I want his heat warming my side. I want our elbows to bump as we reach for our plates at the same time. I want the silent communication with just our eyes and I want to memorize every nuance of his face so I know exactly what he’s thinking. I want to go home with him to the home we share, to wake up next to him, to brush my teeth next to him in the morning.

  I want a relationship, and I want it with him. It might not be normal, but what exactly is normal, anyway?

  Dinner’s over all too soon. After the boys clean up the dishes and Jill and I polish off the last of the piña coladas, Mark gives me a longing gaze from behind Becker’s shoulder.

  “I should get going,” he says reluctantly.

  I divert my eyes to the floor so Becker can’t see my disappointment.

  “It’s been fun, man,” Becker says, turning around to hit Mark in the arm the way boys do. It could be the rum talking, but I’m pretty sure Becker’s oblivious to the ache I feel for Mark and everything Mark feels for me. I hope he’s so unobservant that he didn’t notice anything.

  Mark heads to the door, and I’m trying to come up with any excuse as to why I need a minute alone with him. I come up short.

  “Thanks for dinner,” he says to no one in particular. He opens the door, and I’m still across the room, my legs planted in place because if I move even a centimeter from this place, I’ll rush into his arms and then Becker will know the truth.

  “Bye,” I say with a little wave, and he presses his lips into a thin smile at me before he disappears out the door.

  I glance over at Becker and Jill as the door shuts behind him. Her arms are around his waist and he’s holding her tightly against his chest.

  “Welp, I’m exhausted,” Jill says. “We’re off to bed.”

  I wink at them both and smile. “Have a good night.”

  They leave and I head over to the couch. I’m not tired. My mind is buzzing and a persistent ache pulls at my core as it competes with the heartache in my chest.

  My phone jingles with a new text.

  Mark: I’m sitting in the car outside. Can you invent some reason to come out here?

  I grin at my phone like a complete idiot, grab my keys and purse, and head out the front door.

  eleven

  “Sal, go.”

  The car starts moving, and Mark rolls up the window dividing us from his driver. He was parked a few houses down, but the black Yukon was unmistakably his.

  The second the divider is in place, Mark settles back into the plush leather of the custom seat. He rests his hand on my thigh—a few inches higher than the first time we were in the back of this car together. I hug his arm against my chest just like that first time.

  “What are we doing?” he asks.

  I lift a shoulder. “You told me to come out, so I did.”

  “I couldn’t leave without kissing you one more time.” He turns his head and brushes his lips across my temple.

  His words hit their mark and affect my entire being. I tip my head back, and his lips find mine. He always takes his time with me. It’s always intense and passionate, but it’s a slow and sensual kind of passionate. His mouth doesn’t open, yet I sense his hunger.

  He pulls back, and his eyes are on mine. “I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want to do.”

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” I say, avoiding his name.

  “I know. I don’t, either. But this is different, Reese. What happened with Kendra was a mistake. It was all part of a game. This isn’t.”

  “Promise me it isn’t.” My voice holds a desperation I hadn’t expected. “Promise me it’s more.”

  He nods with conviction. “I promise.”

  I study him. I realize he has schooled himself to hide his emotions, and I could just be seeing what I want to see, but I believe him. I trust him.

  He’s given me no reason not to.

  It’s been too hard being with him all evening and not allowing myself to feel his closeness, to bask in his touch. I can’t wait a second longer.

  His mouth covers mine and he kisses me the rest
of the ride back to the Mandarin Oriental. We’re alone when we get back to his place. The only person we might’ve run into is Jason, but he must be working. I briefly wonder why Brian is the one who got called out to Germany and not one of the others. I wish he was here now so I could tell him it’s over.

  Mark’s fingers cling loosely to mine as we walk through his condo. I stare out the windows at Planet Hollywood and beyond that at the replica of Paris. Lights twinkle and billboards loudly sing advertisements with the latest entertainment. Sin City. A place to gamble and drink and forget. To everyone else in the world, this is a vacation spot. What happens here stays here.

  To me, though, this is home.

  What happens here affects the rest of my life.

  “I’ll be so fucking glad when everyone moves out,” he says quietly, and then he closes his bedroom door behind us as I wander over toward the windows.

  “Where are the other guys in the band?”

  “LA. We have a gig tomorrow.”

  I’m looking out the windows, not at him, but I hear rustling behind me. I glance beside me at his reflection across the room in the glass. His shirt and shoes are off, and he’s going to work on his belt.

  “I want you to come with me.”

  I spin around. “What?”

  “Come with me to LA.” He slides his belt through the loops and sets it on top of his dresser. “I’ll introduce you to the guys. You can hang with the wives backstage while we play and then we can spend the night at my house.”

  “You have a house there?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “Where else?”

  “Where else do I have a house?”

  I nod.

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I hardly know you.”

  He stalks across the room toward me, but instead of taking me in his arms, he stands beside me. We both look out the window. “Chicago and New York. A place right on the beach in Brazil. I have an agent showing me places just outside London next time I’m overseas.”

  “Why do you own so many places?”

  “What good does money do sitting in the bank? My dad’s an investment banker. He told me real estate is a great place to invest. Besides, I like to sleep in my own bed when I travel. The more places I own, the more beds I have to sleep in.”