Summer stared up into his eyes, black as a stormy night. He shifted to lean even closer to her.
She let out a small gasp as her chest heaved up and down. Although almost imperceptible, she sensed his eyes drop down, but she most definitely felt his fight to return them upward.
“I meant to tell you before, you look beautiful.”
Summer’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank you.” Her cheeks burned, and she looked down. “I—I wasn’t sure you liked my top, but it’s my favorite.”
Malcolm placed his finger under her chin and guided her eyes upward. “I think it’s my favorite too.” He smiled his wry rock star smile—the one that probably got him laid again and again…and, heck yes…again…
Summer bit down on her lip in the same spot she had drawn blood. “Ow.” She put her fingers to her lip and rubbed.
Malcolm pulled her fingers away. He replaced them with his own. He rubbed his thumb against Summer’s lip, gently.
“Does it hurt?”
Summer couldn’t speak. She just shook her head no.
Carefully, Malcolm’s forefinger parted her lips, and he dragged his finger into her warm, moistened mouth. “Your mouth…you…are so warm.” He stepped closer to her. “And soft.”
Summer’s eyes darted up toward his. Perspiration dotted her forehead, and she felt her nipples harden. He tugged on her lip gently then let go, allowing his eyes to deliberately drop down to her shirt. He exhaled a deep guttural groan, and Summer felt an intense jolt of pleasurable pain flash through her body she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—explain with any logical medical reasoning. Her body moved toward his, and Malcolm lurched out, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her toward him with such force, she grunted. She pressed against him, and he held her tightly, his black eyes warming.
“I don’t even know your last name…” he whispered.
Summer exhaled, frustrated, feeling the moistness in her jeans, knowing there was no way to maintain their intensity once she spoke.
“Okay.”
He held her at arms’ length. “Okay? Your last name is ‘Okay’?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s okay you don’t know.”
His eyes clouded over, and he let his hands slide down her arms until they were no longer touching. A searing pain socked Summer in her gut. She’d have to tell him, or risk hurting him. She stood up straight, and shimmied around a bit, trying to alleviate the contact from the seam of her jeans. Why did he stop?
“Okay, okay…I’ll tell you. But please try to keep your reaction under control.”
Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “I’ll make no such promise.”
Summer blushed. “You know what I mean…” Her voice was a mere whisper.
“Okay, fine. I will do my best. But why are you anticipating a reaction? What could your name possibly be?” Malcolm twisted his mouth as he spoke. He squinted as he offered possible options. “Summer Smith? Summer Saunders…Summer Day?” His eyes sparkled. “That’s it, isn’t it? Summer Day?”
“Wynters.”
“Excuse me?” The look of entertainment came back to Malcolm’s face.
Summer rolled her eyes again and crossed her arms. “You heard me.”
She turned to walk away, but Malcolm grabbed her hand and held her fast.
“Oh, no. No way. You can’t drop that and then just walk off. Did you just say, ‘Winters’?”
“Yes.”
“As in, Summer Winters…?”
“Yes. But it’s not spelled like you’re thinking. It’s W-Y-N-T-E-R-S.”
“I don’t think that’s any better.” Malcolm laughed.
Summer smiled and pouted, playfully storming away. She made her way around the construction zone and back to the table with Malcolm at her heels. “That is the reason I didn’t want to tell you.” Her voice was high, enjoying the banter.
“How did you go through life with that name…?” Malcolm’s eyes flashed with happiness. “I mean, if I wrote it, people would crucify me. What were your parents thinking?”
Summer froze.
“I mean, do they love you at all?” Malcolm chuckled.
Summer’s feet refused to move, and her arms lay limp at her side.
“Summer?” Malcolm’s smile faded. “Sum?”
The sound of her nickname spoken by Malcolm did her in. She desperately fought the mounting tears.
Malcolm stared at her. “It’s not your name you’re upset about, is it?”
Summer clenched her jaw and shook her head.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was low and modulated.
She nodded, looking at Malcolm, and wanting, for the first time ever, to have someone make it all okay. To have him make it all okay.
Malcolm grew quiet. They stood there for whole minutes. “I’m sorry if I touched on a sore subject. Really.”
Summer stared at him—this man who had everything except the answer she needed. How could he be so closed off? How could he care so little about the pain of another living creature?
He stepped forward then, as if reading her mind, took her hand gently, and leaned over, speaking quietly into her ear. “It’s not that I don’t care.” Those few words found a place deep in Summer’s soul.
Malcolm stood tall, and Summer’s eyes followed him. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “But I’ve got nothing more to give than today.”
Chapter Nine
Summer had a choice. She could leave or stay. But why would she leave? She didn’t believe in love, and she knew he wasn’t here for the long haul. She wasn’t expecting him to become her boyfriend, she was simply momentarily caught up in…him. In his intensity and power. He had the ability to fulfill her every immediate desire, and she went into this with eyes opened. She knew she had only one night with Malcolm Angel, it’s just that their one night was lasting the entire weekend.
Summer swallowed hard and smiled. “So, what’s this meal you have planned? I’m famished.”
Malcolm smiled at her then, his eyes eternally grateful.
“Right this way…” He held up his hand and together, they made their way to the small table waiting for them.
“This is incredibly beautiful.” Summer scooted her chair forward as Malcolm slid the chair in for her. She nearly swooned at his gentlemanly behavior. Wasn’t it enough that he was incredibly bad-boy hot? Did he have to draw her in so completely? He sat across from her, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. The ring he wore on his right hand middle finger, a flat silver barrel wrapped around his finger, caught her eye. He just sat, waiting. He looked like the male blackbuck, leading an elaborate courtship with horns held back—and Summer was more than willing to be part of his mating ritual, fully understanding he would soon run off with the next unsuspecting female antelope that caught his fancy. She giggled at the thought of Malcolm with long spiraled horns, thinking it was a fairly accurate zoomorphic description for him.
“What are you giggling about?”
Summer nearly forgot he could hear her giggle. She shook her head. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. This is…” She shook her head.
With that, Malcolm stood and whisked the top off her brunch. Summer stared at her plate.
“We have warm eggplant and olive pâté with pita chips to start, cauliflower with papaya chutney, and a Thai coconut lemongrass curry with jasmine rice. Hope you like it.” His eyes told her he really meant it.
“Like it? Malcolm it’s…it’s…thank you.” She had to look away from him, his presence was almost too much. She risked another glance at him, and her heart rate responded accordingly. “But how did you get all of this ready so quickly?”
He smirked and raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Oh,” Summer covered her mouth with her hand. “I forgot for a moment.” She looked up at him. “It must be amazing to be you.”
Darkness flashed across his eyes. “Amazing is not the word I would use.”
Summer shrugged a
nd picked up her fork. She twirled it. “Well, it’s amazing to be with you, that’s for sure.”
He smiled.
****
“Champagne?” Malcolm held up a bottle to show her, but Summer waved it away.
“No, thank you.” She shook her head. “After last night I think I’m done with champagne for awhile.”
“You had two glasses.”
She leaned forward, gripping the table. “And apparently that was two more than I should have had.”
“Nah.” Malcolm winked at her.
Summer’s eyebrows knitted together in that adorable way they do when she’s serious. He knew what was coming.
“Let me just say, again…” she gripped the table tighter. “I am truly sorry for misjudging you. I—I was wrong.”
“Summer…” he leaned across and took her hand.
Her eyes dashed up to his.
“Just forget it. Really. It was, rather amusing.”
He smirked at her, and she beamed at him.
Warning signals flashed through his head. What the hell was he doing? He released her hand and took a bite of his food. Damn it, everything tasted better than usual. And he knew why. It was thanks to Summer sitting across from him, and frankly, that wasn’t okay.
Although he allowed himself the pleasure of female company—frankly, in his profession he would be dead without the stress release sex offered—he never allowed himself attachment. It was okay for his body to feel good…but his soul…that was something else entirely.
Malcolm would remain a tortured artist until the day he died, and no amount of casual conversation with a gorgeous, bright, blonde woman, who happened to be incredibly good with his dog, would change that. He invited her to brunch only to set the record straight. He chose the deserted location only out of necessity. He ordered an elaborately set table and brunch only because he could. It had nothing to do with pleasing her. Nothing at all.
Malcolm felt the scowl on his face and saw the return of worry etched in her forehead. He wished he could tell her his melancholy had nothing to do with her, but the truth was, it had everything to do with her.
“So what is your deal, Summer Wynters?” Malcolm leaned back, fiddling with his butter knife, studying Summer.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” He sat forward now and felt the reaction in her body even across the table. God she was beautiful. And ripe. And incredibly warm and sexy. He fought to keep his hands to himself—how desperately he wanted to slide them inside her shirt, letting them find their way to her round, soft breasts. He breathed deeply, envisioning her nipples stiff between his strong, experienced fingers, his mouth plastered to hers—her moan filling his very core. He shook his head. “What are you doing here?”
“You asked me.” Summer raised her water glass, toasting.
“Touché. But you know what I mean. Why is Summer Wynters out with Malcolm Angel?”
Summer placed her water glass down and leveled her eyes on Malcolm. “Malcolm. I don’t know any woman in the world who would not want to be sitting here right now.”
He nodded, while disappointment burned a gaping hole in his stomach. What did he think she was going to say? Why was any woman ever with him except for the fact that he was Malcolm Angel? Did he think she had special powers in those amazing green eyes, allowing her to see through the years-old veneer he plastered on his soul? Could he really expect someone to like him for being more than Malcolm Angel, when he’d never allow her to know who that was? And if she did know the real him…No. Not today. Malcolm looked away.
“I mean, can you blame me?”
Malcolm turned back to face her, forcing a tiny smile.
“He is just spectacular.”
Malcolm sat forward, studying her out of the corner of his eye. He squinted. “Excuse me?”
“Winston. He is just spectacular. Why else would I be out to brunch with you?” She took a bite of her breakfast, smiling victoriously.
The laugh started in Malcolm’s gut and made its way up and out, surprising him with its ferocity. Summer laughed too, and Malcolm saw tiny crinkles form around her eyes when she did. Somehow, they made her even more beautiful. He stared at her face, barely made up, with the softest touch of blush and mascara. She was more than beautiful. She was stunning. And sharp.
“Thing is,” Malcolm leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You said yes before you met Winston.”
“Touché.” She stopped laughing and looked down at the table.
“So, out with it. What are you up to?”
She looked up at him with eyes that were full of answers, although he knew she’d never share them.
“I have a summer. One summer. For me. And I wanted to do things I’ve never done before. I want,” her words were thick, but she pushed on, “I want to get as far away from me as possible.”
“Why would you wanna do that? You seem pretty great to me.” His head snapped backward, the vulnerability in his voice surprising him.
She swallowed hard and nodded slightly. “Something tells me, Malcolm, you of all people understand needing to escape.”
Malcolm exhaled audibly.
****
Summer loved that they sat close to each other, side by side on the couch of the tour bus. Malcolm leaned down to help Winston up onto their laps, and the medal he wore around his neck hung forward. Summer reached out and grasped it. Malcolm froze, his eyes fixed on the ground before him.
“Saint Francis of Assisi… huh.” Summer smiled. “I’ve seen that silver chain around your neck in pretty much every picture I’ve ever seen of you. I never knew there was a medallion attached to it. I never would have guessed what was on it.”
St. Francis of Assisi—the patron saint of animals. Darn it. This guy was really going to be in for some significant pain. Summer petted Winston’s head, and he wheezed in response. And unfortunately, this pain was going to come sooner rather than later.
Malcolm sat back, stiffly. He crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. He leaned forward. Every ounce of him looked uncomfortable. Something was wrong.
“Oh, I—uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I shouldn’t have seen that.”
“No, no…” Malcolm looked away. “It’s fine.”
Summer turned to Malcolm, sighing. “Obviously, judging from your body language, it’s not fine.”
Malcolm turned to her. “It’s…just…private. I take it off whenever I know my shirt will be off.”
Summer smirked at him. “Didn’t think your shirt was coming off around me, hey?” She nudged him in the shoulder.
He raised his eyebrows. “Given the opportunity, I’d snap that necklace off damn quick.”
Summer giggled, then composed herself. She bit the inside of her cheek. “Malcolm. I want you to know something. I—I liked spending time with you today. But really, it wasn’t about being with Malcolm Angel.”
He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. Summer rolled her shoulders, feeling the disconnect between she and Malcolm.
“All I’m trying to say is, your secret is safe with me. Really. You have a right to your privacy, and I respect that. Please don’t worry I would do something tacky like sell the scoop to some trash magazine. Truth be told, I’ve never read a single one of them, and I wouldn’t harm another living soul for financial gain or fifteen minutes of fame. It’s just not me.”
He tilted his head upward, and for a moment, relief tinged the permanently etched worry on his face. She knew then that he believed her.
They sat elbow to elbow, staring straight ahead. Malcolm reached out and took Summer’s hand, squeezing so tightly, she shed a tear…not from physical pain, but because of the pain she felt for him. She sat, her back plastered to the seat, her free hand wiping her tear, desperately fighting the urge to take him into her arms. Winston looked up at her, his eyes cloudy and mournful…and Summer understood then, her summer of irreverence had just become her summer of empathy.
Chapter Ten
“Friends?” Jeanette stormed across her living room and stood, blocking Summer’s way. “I invested an entire weekend of my life to your cause…to your dire need to be had, and you’re telling me you’re just friends?”
“Well—”
“No.” Jeanette put up her hand, cutting Summer off. She paced to her couch and back to Summer. She opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, then returned to the couch again.
Summer had yet to enter the apartment. She hung by the door, clutching her tote. She slipped off her sandals and rubbed a sore foot.
Jeanette approached again. “You’re telling me you went to a deserted hotel…with Malcolm Angel…and nothing happened?”
“We—”
“And you were with him—alone—on one of his tour buses and still nothing happened?”
“It was a—”
“There are beds on those buses you know.”
“How do you—”
“Never mind how I know, I just do.”
Jeanette slumped down onto the couch as Summer giggled. Summer walked to Jeanette, approaching cautiously.
“Can I speak now?”
“Please.” Jeanette pulled a pillow onto her lap and pouted. “It’s just…he might just be the sexiest man alive. How could you not?”
“He didn’t ask.” Summer plopped down next to Jeanette and pulled another throw pillow onto her lap.
“What?” Jeanette turned to Summer, her eyes wide. She tucked her hair behind her ears.
“I guess he’s not into me.”
Summer of Irreverence: The Rock Star (The New York Artists Series) Page 8