Song for Me (Rock Me Book 4)

by Lee Piper

  How can he relive this night after night? The lyrics are so raw. It must be agony repeating them. Blinking, I glance away. It’s only then I realize I’m clasping the material of my T-shirt. My hand is a tight fist, the tense ball positioned over my heart. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m subconsciously trying to protect myself against his music. And it’s odd, because as much as it hurts to listen, I desperately want to hear more.

  Reid’s drums thump, yet my heart thumps louder. Every lick of Willow’s guitar is a lick of agony. Drake’s mouth expelling demons is my exorcism, and it hurts so fucking bad. My heart hammers against my hand, stronger and more powerful, until I fear it’s going to burst free. It’s only a song, I chastise. Just a freaking song. You’ve heard it before, and you’ll hear it again. Chill the fuck out.

  I force my hand to relax. Absentmindedly, I flatten the creases in my shirt as my gaze takes in Drake on stage.

  Bloody hell. Now my headspace is under control, I’m lucid enough to see what’s in front of me. He’s so freaking beautiful. How can a man who carries that much pain be so damn breathtaking?

  Herein lies the issue: Drake’s music is the equivalent of a knife gouging an already seeping wound. And yet, the man is my crack cocaine.

  I scan every inch of his body. His dark hair is a sweaty, unruly mess. However, rather than make him appear like the victim of a greasy downpour, he looks like he’s stepped out of an infinity pool at a health resort. Perspiration coats his bare chest and beads trickle over ripped abs, coating his muscular torso until it has a glistening shine. I can almost taste the salt on my tongue as my gaze slips further, coming to rest on low-slung jeans. Yeah, that belt isn’t doing a damn thing. It might as well be tied to a bedpost. Better yet, mine. If only my bed had posts and he’d let me tie him up. Something tells me Drake wouldn’t be on the receiving end of that idea. It’s more likely I’d be the one restrained. Funnily enough, I don’t hate the thought. I shake my head. Focus.

  That’s right, I was ogling the fuck out of Drake.

  Well, at least his combat boots are serving their purpose. Kind of. I mean they’re on his feet, but are half-undone. The worn leather around his ankles curls downward. I swear, his shoes are swooning. And the toes are scuffed beyond recognition, willing sacrifices for their hotter-than-hellfire master.

  It’s official. Drake Stone looks like he’s rolled out of bed after a marathon fuck-session and then sauntered on stage. No wonder the audience is unaffected by his lyrics. They’re too busy contemplating what sex position will get them off quickest. Hell, I’ll bet my prototype this is the longest form of foreplay they’ve ever had. Fuck knows I need a release.

  The remainder of the gig passes in a haze of arousal-wrapped irritation. Needless to say, when the band finishes their set, I unpack the stage and store the equipment in record time. Drake’s earlier threat about needing to be ready for him plays on repeat in my mind, forcing my limbs faster as I hurriedly finish my work.

  “Harper? Everything okay?” Willow calls as I bustle past her in the hallway. The floor tom in my arms might as well be a flower petal. I can barely feel its weight, let alone be hampered by it.

  “Yep. All good.”

  “You sure?” Her voice floats behind me. “You seem a bit… crazed. Anything I can do to help? We’ve got a media thing in five, but I can rock up late.”

  “Nope. You do what you’ve gotta do,” I call over my shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  “Want me to ask Drake—”

  “I’m fine, Wil. Honest.”

  I picture her eyebrows scrunched in consternation as she tries to figure out what’s going on. She’s probably putting it down to my run-in with Ray earlier. If I psychoanalyzed my manic behavior, I’d have no doubt it is, in part, a reaction to it. However, I can’t lay all the blame on wanting to escape rubbish family. Nope. The truth is: I want Drake. I want him despite his songs hurting me, despite his actions confusing me, despite his darkness scaring me. I want everything that makes up this complex, paradoxical man.

  Of course, I can’t exactly come out and say it to his bandmate. Especially from the other end of the hallway as I dodge past backstage crew, security, and press. I might be screwed, but I’m not stupid.

  So when Willow calls out something else I can’t hear, I wave her away and rush to finish up. It’s not long before all the equipment is locked in the undercarriage of the tour bus and I make my way to my RV. After a quick glance at the night sky, I spy Hercules, smile, then duck inside my van.

  Moments later, I’m undressed and standing beneath the warm spray of my shower. I lather rose-scented bath gel and rub it into my flushed skin. Bubbles form, then slip from beneath my fingers as they’re rinsed away by the water. I wash my hair, shave, and mock myself for giving a shit about any of it. After all, Drake fucked me when I was sweaty and tired. He’s seen me when I was broken and bruised. He’s been by my side during some of the most painful experiences of my life, and yet here I am, shaving unwanted hair like it matters.

  With a wry smile, I shut off the water, step out of the microscopic shower, and towel myself dry. Then I wrap the shabby material posing as linen around me and move into the living area.

  “Hey.”

  His deep baritone makes me falter. I blink. I take in the sheer size of him in my cramped, ramshackle van, and a breath catches in my throat. I cough, trying to clear my airway, but it takes a few tries before anything happens. “Ah, hi.” My eyes dart left then right. The door is closed behind him and the windows are shut. The tattered curtains are doing their level best to block what they can of the music venue’s neon flashing lights, but in reality, they’re not doing a damn thing. It’s brighter than midday in here.

  I take a quick breath. “How’d you get in here?”

  Because obviously, that’s the issue here. Not the fact I’m half-naked and horny. Not that he promised me filthy times. Nope, my subconscious overrules logic and demands I ask a question that doesn’t mean shit.

  Cue eye roll.

  “Picked the lock. You need better security.”

  “You can pick locks?”

  Drake shrugs.

  “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?”

  He grins. A ball of need sparks in my lower stomach. But then his smile falls away. “Anyone could have gotten in here.”

  “We have security, remember?” I flick damp hair out of my eyes. “Besides, I can handle myself.”

  “That so?” It’s the way he says it, like I’ve laid down a challenge he’s itching to overcome.

  I swallow. “Yep.”

  Drake’s heated stare begins at my bare feet. It glides up my now smooth calves, knees, and thighs, flaring when it takes in how damn short the scrappy towel is. His jaw tightens. I bite my bottom lip.

  Drake continues his perusal. His stare caresses the curve of my hips, skims the outside of my breasts, lingers on the length of my neck, and comes to rest on my face. “Take off the towel.”

  My pussy clenches. Need pulses from my center, throbbing to the beat of his words. However, as much as I want to do exactly as he says, a small part of me won’t give in so easily. If Drake wants me, he needs to earn it.

  Straightening my shoulders, I quirk an eyebrow. “Make me.”

  A slow grin spreads across his face. The corner of his lips quirks higher on one side than the other. The overall effect is of a man pleased with my defiance. “Thought you’d never ask.” He takes a predatory step in my direction. However, before he can get any closer, his phone rings. Drake pauses, glances at the screen, pauses again. His brows furrow, eyes flicking between me and his cell.

  “What?” I ask. “Who is it?”

  But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he accepts the call. “Yeah?”

  A low voice rumbles on the other end of the line.

  “Right.”

  More rumbling.

  Growing annoyed at the conversation that’s getting in the way of us getting naked, I shift my weight.


  Amusement lights Drake’s eyes as he watches my impatient movements. “When?”

  More murmuring I can’t decipher.

  Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms and huff.

  “Okay.” Drake’s eyes are positively laughing. “She’s right here, I’ll put her on.” Then, holding the phone out, he gestures for me to take it. “It’s for you.”

  “Huh?” Pretty sure my eyebrows have leaped from my head.

  “I said,” he repeats, his low voice deliberate and patronizing as fuck, “it’s for you.”

  With narrowed gaze, I snatch it from him. Then, intrigued, raise it to my ear. “Who is this?”

  “Zeke.”

  Adrenaline kicks my pulse into overdrive. Blood pumps through my veins at lightning speed, making it hard to hear. “Zeke?” Pulling the phone away, I glance at the time on the screen. “Why are you calling at one thirty in the morning?”

  “This is important. Couldn’t wait.”

  “Oh. Well, what is it?”

  “I’ve set up a meeting with Global Sound.”

  “Okay.” I drag out the word. “And why are you telling me this?”

  He mutters under his breath. I don’t catch all of it, but the expletives are pretty freaking clear.

  “I’ve set up a meeting for you with Global Sound.”

  …

  …

  Then, “What?!”

  Zeke curses.

  I mumble, “Sorry,” around the hand I’ve clamped over my mouth.

  In front of me, Drake chuckles. Narrowing my gaze, I flip him the bird, then focus back on the conversation.

  “You done?” Zeke asks, probably wanting to know if I’m planning on bursting his other eardrum.

  After internally willing myself to chill the fuck out, I nod. “Yep. All good. Proceed.”

  After a short pause, Zeke continues. “The meeting is tomorrow at four. Oasis Building, level five, Silicon Valley. Ask for Mikhail Kuznetsov. And whatever you do, don’t be late. The guy’s doing this as a personal favor to me. Don’t fuck it up.”

  “Oasis something. Somewhere in a valley. A name I can’t remember. Be late and fuck it up. Right. Got it.”

  Zeke swears. Louder, this time.

  I chuckle, the unexpected sensation doing wonders for the tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders. “I’m messing with you, Zeke. I remember what you said.”

  “Right.”

  Nibbling my bottom lip, I turn from Drake, not wanting him to see the vulnerability I’m probably showing in my expression. “Look, I haven’t forgotten, but I’m gonna clarify what you’ve told me because I swear, I’ve fallen asleep and this is all a dream.” Clenching my eyes shut, I drop my voice to a soft murmur. “You’ve set up a meeting for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “At Global Sound.”

  “Yes.”

  “As in, the number-one speaker manufacturing company in the world. Since, like, ever.”

  “Christ.” Zeke groans. “You’re not going to start crying or some shit, are you? Because if you do, I’m hanging up.”

  “No, no. No tears. Promise. I’m not a waterworks kinda girl.”

  Drake snorts. I throw a glare over my shoulder at him.

  “So, four o’clock tomorrow in Silicon Valley?”

  “A driver will pick you up before two. Don’t want to be late.”

  “A what? No, I’m fine. I don’t need—”

  “I said, they’ll be there. You’re gonna get your prototype, put your ass in that car, and blow Mikhail’s motherfucking mind. Understand?”

  I pause. “Hang on.” Turning on my heel, I face Drake. “Why would you set up a meeting when you haven’t seen my speaker? Hell, you haven’t even seen the design. You’ve only got Drake’s word that it exists. I could be screwing you both over. I mean, I wouldn’t, but I could. You know?”

  Zeke is silent. Probably waiting for me to connect the freaking dots. In front of me, Drake crosses his arms, waiting.

  And then it hits me. “You’ve sent through my design, haven’t you?” I ask Drake, my grip on the phone intensifying. “You broke in here, took a photo, and sent it to Zeke.”

  He tips his head to the side as though waiting for more.

  My mouth drops open as another realization dawns. “Holy shit. You took photos of the prototype too.” It’s lucky my hand doesn’t shatter the cell. My fingers have the small device in a death grip, my short fingernails scratching the smooth surface as I slowly lower it from my face. “What gives you the right—”

  Drake yanks the phone from my hand, mutters a quick, “Talk later,” to Zeke, then hangs up. He throws the device in the direction of the couch, not bothering to see where it lands. Burying his hand in my damp hair, he yanks. “I have every right.”

  My neck hurts in the most delicious way. The skin beneath his fist prickles, sending sparks of awareness shooting to my core. “No, you don’t,” I gasp, trying to get my body under control. Now is the time for talking, dammit. Not getting my freak on. “When did you do it? We’ve been together for most of…. Oh.”

  He nods, blue eyes piercing mine.

  “You said you needed to get some air.”

  “I did.”

  “But you didn’t? Not really.”

  “I needed air, all right. Was gonna fucking kill Ray if I didn’t get out of there.”

  “So, while you were outside, you what? Helped yourself to the information you needed and then passed it on to Zeke?”

  “Sure did. Your asshole uncle fucked you over for the last time. I wasn’t going to let him hold you back anymore. So, I broke into your van, took pics of the design and the prototype, and sent them on to Zeke.” He drops his head until his lips whisper across mine. “You needed a fucking breakthrough, so I gave you one.”

  Ice pours through my veins at his admission. Sharp snaps of cold freeze my insides. As much as I understand why he acted the way he did, I’m beyond pissed that, once again, he acted on my behalf without consulting me first. “I’m not a victim, Drake. You’re deluded if you think I’m some helpless damsel in need of a knight. In fact, the knights of this world need to watch the hell out, because I’m capable of epic badassery with a sword.”

  He blinks. Eyelashes the color of ink flutter closed before flicking open again. The eyes behind them grow stormy. “You reckon I don’t know what you’re capable of?”

  After disentangling myself from his hold, I spit, “No, I don’t. You’re so caught up in fighting my battles for me, you don’t know half of what I can do.”

  His gaze narrows and the storm in his eyes turns into a tempest.

  Whatever.

  Throwing my arms out to the side, I continue. “Don’t you get it? I designed the speaker. I built the prototype. I’m responsible for my success. Me. No one else. I’m not a victim. I can make my own decisions and don’t need to you swoop in and rescue me. I don’t need to fuck men in return for special favors.”

  The pulse at the base of his jaw tics.

  “Because that’s what you’re insinuating whenever you go behind my back.”

  His hands clench into fists. In one stride, Drake looms over me. His massive body dwarfs mine. Maybe it’s the fury rolling off his shoulders or the rage emanating from his stance that makes me feel impossibly small.

  Fragile.

  Pathetic.

  I’ve always hated pity. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned over the years, it’s that I won’t break. There have been plenty of times when I thought I would. I worried the glue holding my brittle pieces together would surely snap and I’d crumble into unrecognizable slivers of my former self. Only, I didn’t. Not once. Not when my uncle abandoned me. Not when The Collector threatened me. And not when Drake underestimated me.

  “Admit that I’m right,” I breathe, trying every method at my disposal to remain unaffected by his close proximity.

  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Drake growls.

  He moves to grip my neck, b
ut I swat him away. “You don’t get to touch me.” Straightening my spine, I lift my chin, leveling him with a direct stare. “When are you going to learn? This isn’t about you. It’s not about what you can do for me; it’s what I can do for myself.” I pause, letting my declaration flare between us like the neon lights from outside. “Wanna know something?” I don’t wait for a response, too insistent on getting my point across. “I’m capable of achieving more than anyone thinks. You included.”

  His chest, so close to mine, rises and falls on a series of shallow breaths. The accusation on his face is too much. The tightness in the corners of his eyes dares me to reconsider my harsh words. It’s as though he reckons I’m the one who’s behaving wrongfully. Which is beyond ridiculous when he’s continuously misjudging me.

  “Okay, look,” I concede. “I can admit that I’m in a shitty situation. And, yes, I need to find a lot of cash, stat. But I’m not waiting for a hero to save me. There will be no galloping off into the sunset on the back of some dude’s white horse.” Pause. “I’m going to save myself.”

  After rolling my lips over my teeth, I glance away. “I appreciate you getting me in touch with Zeke. It was,” my breath is shaky, “really freaking sweet of you.” Meeting his gaze, I narrow mine, pinning him in place. “But I draw the line when you go behind my back to do what I can do for myself.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did. You assumed I wouldn’t have the balls to get in touch with Zeke.”

  He growls, raking tense fingers through unruly hair.

  “I was going to call him. Granted, today was a fucking disaster from beginning to end, so it wouldn’t have been until tomorrow, but I would have done it.”

  Drake doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, blue eyes boring into mine. They bury themselves so far beneath my skin it’s impossible to separate him from me. But I need to. Until Drake realizes I’m not a victim of circumstance, he’s always going to undermine me. And he might not realize he’s doing it. Hell, his intentions are probably worthy of a Nobel Prize. Still, until he sees what I’m capable of, he’s going to hold me back.