1984: Against All Odds (Love in the 80s #5)

by Rebecca Yarros

  Skin against skin, he lowered himself until his weight settled over me, anchoring me to the bed. Then he kissed me, first taking my mouth with masterful strokes of his tongue, then moving down my neck to my collarbone and finally my breasts.

  I lifted my knees so he lay in the cradle of my hips, finally feeling him at my entrance where I desperately wanted him. I rocked my hips against his, but he pulled back with a throaty laugh. “Oh no, not yet.”

  His hand slid between us, and I cried out when he brushed against my sensitive flesh. “Hawke!”

  “God, yes. Just like that,” he said, as he started a rhythm, stroking me, rolling my clit between his fingers and then pressing lightly on it.

  Tension coiled deep in my belly, locking my muscles as they strained, seeking out the pleasure I knew he could give.

  “Sweet, sweet heaven,” he murmured, rising up to kiss me as he thrust first one finger, then two inside me, his tongue plunging at the same rhythm as he made love to me with his hands and his words.

  “I dreamed of this every night. Of you. Dreamed of seeing your eyes widen, then close in pleasure, hearing your moans as I took you, crying out my name when you came.”

  “How. Does it. Compare?” I bit out the words between the thrusts of his fingers, gasping when he rubbed and pressed against the spot just inside me where everything felt triggered.

  “You are better than any dream I could have ever had,” he said. “Watching you come apart is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t wait to do it again and again until you’re limp.”

  I whimpered and he moved his thumb, rubbing my clit as he worked his fingers. That tension became unbearable and just when I thought I might snap in two, I exploded. My orgasm washed over me in waves, expertly orchestrated by Hawke, kicked back for the aftershocks and then mellowed as he brought me down.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw his above me, nearly wild in his want, his restraint thin and frayed. I wiggled my hips until I could feel his erection replace his fingers at my entrance.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You have to be sure.”

  “God, yes. Please,” I begged.

  He nodded once, then ripped the foil packet with his teeth and covered himself in a smooth motion, protecting us both.

  He kissed me, the caress sweet, yet urgent. “Last chance,” he whispered.

  “I need you,” I told him.

  With one powerful thrust, he slid home, and I cried out at the sweet invasion, the full pressure that reignited fires I thought he’d banked.

  “Holy shit. Brie. Yes. It’s…”

  “It’s what?” I asked, a flicker of panic rising at his tone.

  We locked eyes and what I saw there was nothing short of miraculous wonder. “It feels like home. You’re home.”

  “I love you,” I said into his mouth when he kissed me.

  Then he moved, his thrusts measured and sure, his rhythm strong, and we began a song that only we knew the melody to. We arched together, swayed in time, our bodies working together in a beautiful surrender to the other.

  He rocked within me until sweat covered us both, and my limbs tingled with pleasure, each of my movements concentrated on bringing him back into me, deeper, harder. “More,” I asked.

  He delivered.

  His thrusts quickened, became more powerful as he drove into me. Keening little cries escaped my lips as he tightened the need between us, until I wound so tight that I knew the slightest thing could push me over.

  His hand found my clit, and he pressed lightly, whispering, “I love you, Brie. Now come for me, around me. God, I need to feel you.”

  His words sent me flying, colors exploding behind my eyes until all I saw was the green of his eyes as he followed me over the edge, crying out my name and then collapsing.

  We lay there for a few moments, both of our breaths shaky, both moved by something we couldn’t explain.

  “That was…” he tried, but no other words came out.

  “Yeah.” That was all I had.

  “Incredible.”

  “We’re really good at that,” I said when he looked up at me.

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “Wanna see how much better we get on the second time?”

  “I’m pretty sure they heard us in the lobby. Think we can outdo ourselves?”

  His smile was incredibly sexy, but intimate, the layers of him stripped away to reveal the boy I’d always loved within the man I couldn’t get enough of. “Baby, I bet they could hear us back in L.A. if we tried.”

  “You’re on.”

  I was never moving again. I could spend the rest of my life here, tangled up with Brie and die a happy man.

  We’d been good in bed when we were younger, but now it was different. It transcended sex to something spiritual and yet carnal as hell all in one. She was perfection, and I was officially ruined for anyone else ever again.

  I’d never get enough of her.

  I ran my fingers through her hair in the moonlight, counted her breaths as she slept next to me, exhausted and all the more beautiful for it.

  There was a knock at the door and I lifted my head to see the alarm clock.

  2 a.m. Who the hell banged on a door at 2 a.m.?

  I trudged out of bed, pulling on my jeans and zipping them before I opened the door. Oscar leaned up against the frame, his breath rank with alcohol. “I thought you were coming up?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, blinking from the hall light in my eyes and running my hand over my hair. “Got a little distracted.”

  “By your tidbit, I see,” he said with a grin.

  “By Sabrina,” I corrected him. For fuck’s sake, she wasn’t a groupie—she was a star in her own right and on her own merit.

  “Right, Sabrina,” he said. “Look. Come on up. I want to get to know you, and the party is winding down.”

  Every instinct in my body screamed against going. I had Brie naked in my bed for the first time in years, and I was in no hurry to leave. “Maybe tomorrow?” I offered.

  “I’m headed to Chicago tomorrow. Look, if you don’t want to, I won’t hold it against you.”

  Fuck. This guy was a veritable god, and could make or break my career—and the band’s—with a snap of his fingers.

  “Give me a second,” I said, and shut the door.

  “You need to go,” Brie said from the bed, her voice husky from sleep and sex.

  I sat next to her and ran my fingers over the smooth skin of her back, playing along her spine. “I need to stay right here.”

  She smiled. “And I appreciate that. But this is your career, and that’s Oscar-freaking-Oswald out there. Go network. Play nice. Make friends. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  “Promise?” I asked, hating the sick feeling in my stomach.

  “As long as it’s before brunch, you’re in the clear,” she joked. “Now go, have fun. Remember your manners.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, kissing her on the temple. “Dream of me?”

  “Always do,” she replied as she snuggled further into the covers and drifted off.

  I found a shirt and my shoes and headed out to the hallway where I found Oscar leaned up against the wall. “I fucking hate waiting,” he said, his head lolling to the side. “Let’s go.”

  Up in his suite, the party was raging—music blaring, alcohol flowing, girls half-naked with guys doing lines of coke off their stomachs. I found Chad and the guys in the corner, each with a different girl in their lap, and prayed he hadn’t been indulging. The last thing we needed was a strung-out lead singer.

  It was a decadent show of debauchery, and in the back of my mind, I heard Brie’s voice from the night she’d left me. I always told you, I can’t be with a rock star.

  But this was the life, and I could steer away from the girls and the drugs, but she’d always hate this aspect of it, and I’d always live it. There would always be parties, groupies, tabloids speculating, and she’d be in the middle of everything.

&nbs
p; “Have a seat,” Oscar said, patting the sofa next to him. As I did, three women came over in various states of undress.

  “Hi, I’m Tiffany,” a brunette said, sliding up next to me.

  “I’m Hawke,” I said politely, “and I’m taken.”

  She pouted and Oscar laughed, one of the women sucking on his earlobe. “Don’t get too attached. Tidbits don’t last long in our world. Enjoy ‘em, love ‘em, and cut ‘em loose.”

  I gritted my teeth, and reminded myself that I was known for being irreverent and outspoken, not moon-eyed over Sabrina Caroline. “To each his own,” I settled halfway.

  “Not now,” he said to the girl draped over him, and pushed her aside. “Hawke, I know you’re the most talented in your group. After all, like calls to like, right?” He smiled and I inwardly cringed. Cocky asshole.

  “Well, we’re just lucky to still be together and doing pretty well. Not too bad for a little garage band that hid from the principal of a performing arts school.”

  “Not bad at all. Let’s talk about how you plan to take them to the next level,” he said as he poured two shots from the bottle of tequila on the coffee table in front of us.

  I swallowed. This guy was a legend. Getting on his good side, with the kind of opportunities he could offer us would be a major win.

  “But first, we drink,” he saluted.

  This wasn’t a good idea. But the benefits way outweighed the costs of an early morning hangover. That’s what I told myself.

  Six shots later, we’d gone from bad idea to terrible.

  I didn’t remember much after ten.

  “Sabrina! I know you’re in there!”

  Mom’s voice hit me like a glass of ice water, and I sat up in bed, wrapping the sheet across my breasts.

  I blinked a couple times, my head swiveling, but there was no Hawke. The clock read eight-thirty a.m.. Where the hell was he?

  I stumbled from the bed, dragging the sheet with me, and opened the door a fraction of an inch. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  “Sabrina! What are you…you’re in his room. Of course you are, and what are you—” she pushed into the room enough to gasp and shut the door quickly. “Get dressed and get out here!”

  “What? Mom, I’m twenty-one, I can sleep with whomever I like.”

  “Now, Sabrina!” she hissed through the door.

  Screw her. Just because she managed me didn’t give her the right—

  “Hey, Sabrina, it’s Brad Scott, can we get a minute?”

  The label was here? Shit.

  I threw on my dress from last night. I was totally going to have to walk-of-shame it past my label exec. That was just peachy.

  A deep breath later, heels in hand, I walked out of the room, refusing to look at either of them. Head held high, I opened my door across the hall and shut it before either one of them could follow me in.

  “Sabrina!” Mom yelled sharply.

  “You can wait,” I said. I found fresh clothes, took off last night’s makeup, brushed my teeth, and ran a brush through my hair. Once I felt human, I met them in the hallway.

  “Brad, what brings you to New York?”

  “What brings you to New York?” Mom fired back.

  Brad cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Let’s find Hawke and then we’ll talk.”

  “He’s in Oscar’s room. Or at least I think he is,” I answered as we entered the elevator.

  Mom swallowed, a flash of fear racing through her eyes before she carefully masked it.

  I reached for her hand. “I know you don’t like the idea of Hawke and I together, but he’s not going to do anything to jeopardize our relationship. You don’t have to be worried for me.”

  “You have no idea,” she whispered.

  The elevator dinged. “Oscar’s suite is this one,” Brad said, pointing across the hall from the elevator.

  He knocked twice.

  Mom wouldn’t meet my eyes, and it quickly became one of the more awkward silences I could remember.

  “So the crowd loved the song,” I said to break the silence as Brad pounded on the door. That escalated quickly.

  “I heard,” Brad said with a tight smile.

  The door swung open, a hung-over brunette wearing a tee shirt that hung off her shoulder, glaring at us. “It’s too early.”

  “It is in L.A.,” Brad answered. “Where’s Hawke?”

  The girl got a huge smile. “He’s over there,” she pointed as we stepped into the suite.

  Holy shit.

  The place was trashed. Bodies slept where they lay, like they’d gotten too tired to possibly go on. The smell of stale beer and pot filled the air, there wasn’t a clean surface to be had anywhere.

  “As usual,” Brad said, picking his way over one of the sleeping people.

  “He does this often?” I asked, following his path.

  “Unfortunately,” he answered.

  Mom was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “He had a really late night,” the girl said behind me as we walked toward the seating area.

  “I bet,” I said, smiling back at her. My face fell, and I vaguely wondered if that ache in my chest was my heart shattering.

  The tee-shirt she wore was Hawke’s.

  I tripped, and my mother caught my arms. “Sabrina?”

  “I’m okay,” I lied, forcing a smile.

  “Wake up,” Brad yelled at one of the beige couches. Well, that arm used to be beige.

  Hawke moaned and sat up slowly, his head appearing by inches over the back of the sofa, his hair tousled. “Fuck. What time is it?”

  “Time for a little reckoning,” Brad said with a stern face. “At least you have pants on, but if you’d maybe get a shirt and meet us downstairs?”

  Hawke looked down, like he was surprised to be shirtless. “Whoa, yeah.”

  I crossed the distance between us as calmly as possible, took out the key from the pocket of my jeans and put it on the back of the couch. “In case you need to find clothes that aren’t already being worn.”

  His eyes flew to mine, wide and bloodshot. “Nothing happened, Brie. I swear to God, nothing happened.” His eyes fell away and darted back and forth. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen.”

  “Well, let me know when you’re sure,” I said, proud that my voice wasn’t shaking like my knees. “We’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  “Well, good morning,” Oscar called out, lounged against the side of his bedroom doorframe wearing nothing but a Waldorf robe.

  How trite.

  Mom tensed next to me, and her fingers clamped down on my upper arm.

  “Oscar, it’s good to see you,” Brad said, dodging another sleeping groupie.

  “Brad, man, what are you doing here?” Oscar smiled and hugged Brad in what looked to be a rather one-sided embrace.

  “I just needed to see Sabrina and Hawke for a minute. Nothing to worry about.”

  I heard Hawke move behind me, and every muscle in my body locked for a second. Couldn’t we just leave? I needed space to think, to assess, to debate killing him…or at least maiming.

  “Can we get out of here?” I asked Mom.

  “Absolutely,” she said, leading me to the door.

  “Oh, come on, now Little Tidbit, don’t you want to stick around?” Oscar asked.

  Mom froze. “What did you call her?”

  “Don’t,” I said softly. Messing with Oscar could destroy all the good we’d done for the release last night.

  “Little Tidbit,” he said with a grin. He tilted his head, examining Mom. “Don’t be offended, it just means she’s—”

  “I’m well aware of what that means to you.”

  Oh, crap. Her voice had dropped to snuck-out-after-church levels.

  “Well, darling…wait….” His gaze narrowed. “Lenore?”

  Mom’s chin rose. “Yes.”

  “Well, fuck me.” His eyes widened.

  The look that passed between the two of them made me feel like an
interloper, like we all were. “Mom?”

  Oscar’s eyes snapped toward mine. “She’s your daughter? Well, no wonder you don’t like me calling her a Tidbit.”

  “I don’t like you calling her that because she’s your daughter, you stupid ass,” Mom snapped. “I never had another child, she’s it.”

  The entire room stilled, more than a few sets of eyes flying to me. Staring at me. Waiting for me to react.

  I waited for the crushing blow, the pain to take hold of my heart and squeeze, but nothing came. I was curiously empty, feeling like I’d just completed a puzzle, but I’d never really cared about that side of the picture.

  “Sabrina?” Mom asked tentatively, apology written in every line of her features.

  Oscar looked dumbfounded, his eyes wider than the dinner plates in the china behind him.

  “Well, I guess that explains my bad taste in men,” I muttered. “Mom—Lenore—can we please leave? I think I’m at my limit for idiotic rock stars.”

  “Me too, baby,” she said, taking my hand and leading me to the door.

  “I always figured my father was someone in the industry,” I admitted as Mom put a cup of coffee in front of me.

  She sat next to me at the long conference table and sighed. “I fell for the smile, and the sweet things he’d say. I broke my one rule—never date a client.”

  “And he left you?”

  She nodded. “He moved on less than a month later while I was taking care of another act. Blamed it on me, of course, since I wasn’t there to see to his needs.” She shrugged. “I was already pregnant with you when he fired me as his manager, and the rest of the groups weren’t far behind. I didn’t want you with strangers, and the industry isn’t exactly friendly to women, let alone unwed mothers. I’d only been accepted because of your grandfather, anyway.”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed gently. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You are phenomenal, and I have no regrets.”

  “Did you ever tell him about me?” I asked, needing that single question answered.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Right before you were born. I figured he had a right to know, but I didn’t want him around you. I’d seen what that life was like—the drugs, the sex, the alcohol, the instability. I’d grown up around it and there was no chance I was going to do that to you. He bought that house and told me to contact his accountant if we ever needed money.”