Moxie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 3)

by C. M. Stunich

  “Do you think public sex is as illegal here as it is in the States?” Lilith asks me, and I raise my eyebrows.

  “Mm, probably,” I say as she takes a step back and leans against the stone wall, pulling me close with two fistfuls of my shirt clutched in her hands. Her mouth slides against mine, sweet as strawberry ice cream, the rose scent of her perfume filling the small space around us. “Fuck, ask me again if I care.”

  “Michael's going to be pissed …” she murmurs randomly and I pause, giving her a look. “I told him no at the beach for reasons of legality.”

  “Ah,” I say, putting a hand on the wall beside her head and trying to catch my breath. “Are you telling me no, too?” I smile when I ask, putting our foreheads together.

  “Copeland, I love you,” Lilith says instead, sagging a little against the wall like she's just hefted a huge weight off her shoulders. “Shit, I've been wanting to say that for days.”

  “I've been wishing you'd say it for days,” I whisper back, kissing her again, teasing her tongue with long, powerful strokes of my own. When her hands reach down and start unbuttoning my jeans, I know we're in trouble.

  “Is the boy next door supposed to do things like this?” she asks, flushing slightly, freeing me from my pants. I look at her for a second, but only for a second. We don't have a lot of time to gaze into each other's eyes at this particular moment.

  “No, but that doesn't mean we don't like it,” I whisper.

  I capture Lilith's mouth at the same moment I reach under her thighs, lifting her up and pressing her against the wall. She helps me out a little by wrapping her legs around my body, reaching a hand down to shove her panties aside.

  It happens so quick, her hand guiding me to that slick heat, her breath hitching as I thrust forward. And then our bodies are joined and we're just fucking each other against that wall.

  I lean in and put my lips to Lily's throat, listening to her pulse thunder beneath her skin. Her hands wrap my neck and hold me close as I move inside of her, soaked in that wet heat, desperate to get as close to her as I can. We're all wrapped up in each other in that moment, tangled, twisted.

  My hands stay curved beneath Lilith's thighs as I lift my head, looking at her and realizing in that split second that that fantasy I've been entertaining for so long, about having a girl as my own, taking care of her the way I couldn't take care of Cara … it's not so much a fantasy anymore.

  “Lilith,” I whisper, riding her body hard and fast against the wall, not at all like the nice guy that I'm supposed to be. My pelvis rocks against hers just right, rubbing her clit with my body, teasing her G-spot with the end of my cock. I know how to move, how to make love to a woman, but do I know how to tell one that I love her? I study the flickering of Lilith's lids, the way her mouth parts gently on the end of a long shuddering gasp, and I ride her straight into an orgasm, watching the pleasure play across her face like a performance.

  When she came, it was like bells were chiming in heaven, announcing the arrival of a new angel at the same moment guitars were roaring in hell, elated at the idea of a new sinner. Seraphic but sinful. That was his girl in the throes of passion, both extremes coming together for a final clash.

  The book lingo is nice, but shit, it gets obliterated when she squeezes around me, holds me tight, hugs me with a warm silken caress. Our moans sound silly and muffled as we bury our faces in each other's necks, lips kissing the sweat from throats, bodies arching with those last few thrusts.

  My breath is a panting distorted mess as I lean back slightly and put my mouth right up against Lilith's ear, making her shiver.

  “I am in love with you, Lily,” I say finally, and I wonder why the fuck I didn't just say it sooner.

  After Copeland and I commit an illegal act in the Coffee Yard alley, we head back to our hotel and watch all three of my sister's favorite movies. I'm about ninety percent sure that Paxton and Michael hate them all, but it doesn't matter. They snuggle up on that bed with me and the three guys who actually seem to appreciate artistic cinema, and they eat ice cream and act like good sports.

  The next day is basically a throw away day on our trip. I manage to get the guys to go out once to eat at a tea room (basically just a really British name for a café) that's around the corner, but otherwise we sleep and fuck our way through the rest of it.

  Muse … does not touch Paxton again.

  And the ring stays on my finger.

  It's the first thing I see when I open my eyes in fucking Paris, France. Yeah, me, Lilith Tempest Goode, the girl from upstate New York is sleeping naked between sumptuous white sheets in a fancy hotel with views of the Eiffel Tower.

  I rub my thumb against the antique piece of jewelry and stare at the multifaceted surface of the grey diamond. I wonder how much this thing is worth?

  “Are you coming to the show tonight?” Michael asks, sitting down in a chair across from me. His head partially obscures my view of the Eiffel Tower outside the balcony doors, but I try not to hold it against him. I yawn as I sit up, my eyes watering with tired tears that I wipe away with the back of my hand. I feel like I should by all rights be rested after spending all day in the hotel yesterday, but …between the sex, and late night/early morning plane ride where I sketched Paxton's sleeping face, I'm still exhausted.

  “Of course,” I say as I hear Paxton speaking in fluent, unbroken French behind me. When I glance over my shoulder, I see that he's on the phone, probably ordering room service or something. I look back at Mikey's face. He doesn't seem nearly as turned on by listening to Pax ramble in another language as I am. “How many languages does he speak anyway?” I whisper although I'm not really sure why I'm whispering at all.

  “How the fuck should I know?” Michael asks with two raised brows, but he softens his words by smiling at me, reaching out to tangle his fingers in my necklaces. He leans down and pulls me forward at the same time, until we're close enough for a kiss.

  “Four, I think,” Ransom says, putting an arm around my waist and pressing his scarred naked body right up against the back of mine, making me shiver. “I mean, four other than English. French, German, Italian, and then something … random. I don't know, Chinese? Mandarin, maybe?”

  “You're fucking kidding me?” I ask, looking back at Ran's naked face, the warm brown color of his eyes making me feel all warm and gooey inside. “He's … the British accented lead singer of a popular rock band, covered in tattoos, obscenely wealthy, distantly royal and he speaks five total languages?”

  “He's also a dick,” Ransom says, shrugging his shoulders as I lean back into the pillows and start laughing. Maybe it wasn't the wine that made me go crazy at the dinner party? Maybe I'm just losing my mind?

  Maybe I'm just finally starting to win this war against my grief? It's not like a battle, to be fought and conquered and won outright, more like a scale. When good things happen, I place them on one side of the scale, weighted against the pain of loss in my heart. Eventually, the two sides will even out. Eventually, the positive side will weigh more.

  “You forgot one thing,” Paxton says as he hangs up the phone. “Je ne suis plus riche.”

  “And that means what?” I ask, pretending like I don't find him speaking other languages sexy as fuck.

  “It means I'm not rich anymore,” he says, getting on the bed on his knees and leaning over Ransom so he can stare at my face. “I've been disowned, remember?”

  “We're still loaded,” Muse says, stepping in from the balcony with a cup of tea in his hands and a smile on his face. “Don't be greedy. Just because you don't have the GNP of a small country available to spend doesn't mean you're not wealthy.” He sips his tea, a baggy white and black striped sweater hanging off his shoulders. I can see one nipple peeking enticingly above the knitted fabric.

  Cope comes in behind him and we share a secretive little smile.

  I did it.

  I told all my boys how I felt.

  And I've got three out of five to respond to me i
n turn.

  It's not a fucking checklist, Lilith, I tell myself, but I can't help wanting to mark off those last two fucking boxes.

  “So, you like that yellow bungalow?” Michael asks, leaning back in his chair, shirtless and wearing sweats. The look he gives me is like … hot sex over ice cream. I know that doesn't make any sense; that's just how he's staring at me right now. Smug. Rude. Undeniably attractive. “I emailed the realtor Pax and I used to find our place from the plane last night and set up an appointment. I have a few friends going to check it out for us.”

  “Can't we just wait until we get back?” I ask, sitting up and clutching the sheets to my breasts as Pax flops back on Ransom's other side.

  “We can, but places go quick. Like, two weeks to a month quick. Sometimes less,” Muse says and I get the sense we're about to hear some trivia. “Prices are up over ten percent from last year.”

  He finishes his tea, acting like he doesn't notice Paxton watching him. He's been nothing but normal—even during the group sex in the hotel—but I think we all know something's off.

  I wonder when he'll decide to tell me what it is.

  Muse swings his hazel eyes over to me and smiles, but all he does is pause next to a small side table and pour himself some more to drink.

  Even with this beautiful hotel room surrounding him, the real life fucking Eiffel Tower visible through the open windows on his left, there's this sense of melancholy around Derek Micah Muser that I wish I had the magic to break.

  Ah, Paris.

  The City of Love.

  And there's, like, nothing worse than being the wet blanket that smothers all of that romance and turns the bright flame of love to ash for five other people trying to get their tourist on.

  Obviously, I'm exaggerating, but I feel like I spend most of the day practicing the smile that's balanced carefully on my lips. If I let it slip, it'll fall all the way down that deep dark hole gaping open beneath my feet and disappear forever.

  I do my best to enjoy our brief little outing, but damn, I know I'm dragging. Fuck, they all know I'm dragging. It's no secret to anyone. At least I manage to make it to the little bar at the top of Eiffel Tower. Champagne is served in cheesy overpriced souvenir flutes, but the view … the view is nice. Most especially, the look on Lilith's face as she takes in the view is nice. I watch her, trying to shore up my resolve. I really need to just get this shit out and move on.

  And I should not have had sex with Paxton. Nope. I wasn't ready for that.

  It wasn't that I didn't like it. I mean, for a while the sex was actually pretty damn good … but the memories were too strong. They took over me and made me feel like that trapped, tortured little kid again. So now I've managed to screw that up, too. Paxton is weirded out by me, and I'm pretty sure Ransom is sort of pissed off. I can't decide if that's just because I had sex with pax or because of the way I flipped out after.

  After the tower, we ended up on a two hour boat cruise on the river Seine, passing landmarks like Notre Dame Cathedral, the Conciergerie, and the Musée d’Orsay—all things Lilith wanted to see up close and personal but that we didn't have time for.

  Even wallowing in my own shit like I am, I make a promise to myself that one day, I'll bring her back here and we'll see everything. I want to see the whole world with this girl by my side.

  “I really wish we'd had time to visit the Louvre,” Lilith says when we get back to the hotel after the show.

  Since Amsterdam, our next stop on the tour, is just over an hour away by plane, we get to spend the night looking at the lights of the Eiffel Tower from our hotel room window. How magical is that? If I can't talk to Lilith here, then when am I gonna talk to her? I don't want to carry this baggage all the way back to Seattle with me. No fucking way.

  “Haven't you had enough of fucking museums?” Pax jokes as he strips out of his sweaty clothes, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment.

  I purse my lips and glance away, stepping outside onto the balcony and folding my arms over the metal railing, watching the twinkling lights of the tower flicker for a few moments. Every hour on the hour from sunset until one or so in the morning, it lights up like this, dances like a gathering of little fairies, wings sparkling as they waltz on the wrought iron lattice of the tower.

  I smell like sweat, and I'm in seriously desperate need of a shower, but I force myself to stand there on that spot and take several deep breaths until I'm calm enough to turn around and pause next to Lilith, reaching inside the pocket of my sweatshirt and pulling out a little Eiffel Tower charm I picked up today.

  “For your bracelet,” I tell her and watch her face sparkle like the lights outside. She's prettier, though. I'd much rather stare at that face for the rest of the night, watch her mouth curve into a smile, her eyes twinkle with mischief. “Hey, I know we talked about going to a restaurant, but would it be okay if you and I hung out here for a while and talked?”

  “Thank fucking God,” Michael murmurs under his breath, his hair wet from the shower, already wearing a fresh set of clothes. “You want Paxton here, too?”

  Pax pauses, halfway through switching out one white dress shirt for another. Ransom's right beside him, also watching me. Cope, at least, has the decency to pretend he's not listening.

  “I want to apologize,” I tell him, but he just shrugs like he doesn't give a fuck. I know he does. “It wasn't you; you know that, right?”

  “Ah, the whole it's not me, it's you bit?” he drawls, buttoning up his shirt and grabbing a dark purple tie from his suitcase.

  “It wasn't fair of me to ask you to do that when I wasn't sure if I was ready.” I sigh and lean my head back to look up at the ceiling for a moment. I drop my chin and cross my arms over my chest. “I think I might be bisexual, but … I don't know. I liked what we did, but I'm still struggling with nightmares from what happened to me as a kid.”

  I turn my attention to Ransom, fully aware of Lilith's gaze, her emerald eyes wet with sympathy. Poor girl. She's got a little bit of it, too, that same empathy that consumes me.

  “And I'm sorry to you, too,” I tell him although he stares at me like he has no clue what I'm talking about. “I know you and Pax wanted to take things further. I felt like I interrupted that, and I want to apologize.” I make myself grin, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. “You know, for popping your boyfriend's anal sex cherry.”

  “The only cherry that got popped was yours,” Pax says, lifting his chin and looking over at me with that cold grey gaze of his. The familiarity of it actually makes me feel better. That's the Paxton we all know and love right there. “I did what I always do: gave a good shagging.”

  “Well, still,” I say as Ransom sighs and pushes his hood off his hair.

  “You don't owe me any sort of apology,” Ran says, but I can tell that he appreciates the effort. Maybe he really was jealous?

  I look over at Lilith and make myself the first real smile I've had in days.

  “I …” My breath hitches and I find it suddenly just so goddamn hard to breathe. I've never had a serious relationship before; the rest of the guys have. Maybe they know how to handle these wild rushes of emotion that surge me whenever I look at her? “I thought if I had sex with Paxton then maybe I could reclaim those … feelings for myself.” I try to turn it into a joke with a crooked smile. “Also, I thought it wouldn't hurt to be close to him if he somehow managed to inherit his parents bazillion dollar fortune.”

  “Hah,” Pax says as shrugs into another suit jacket and fastens on a pair of cuff links. “Glad to know it meant that much to you.”

  Lil smiles at me, but it's a sad smile. She's feeling everything I'm feeling right along with me. I think of those hummingbirds she painted coming out of my guitar. She's got me all figured out, even if she doesn't know it.

  “Pax, could you order us some room service before you go? I could really use a pot of tea.”

  “Most of the staff speaks English, you know,” he says, but he picks up the phone anyway an
d lets Lilith point out a host of items to order.

  We wait for them all to leave, and then I turn off the lights in the room, starting with the bathroom switch and then darkening the lamps on either side of the bed.

  “Come sit with me?” I ask, taking Lilith's handing and leading her to the small bistro table on the patio, the wrought iron surface meant to mimic the beauty of the tower. We sit there in silence until our room service order arrives. I can never remember who I'm supposed to tip or not tip so I just hand the delivery guy some euros and sign the bill, waiting for him to open the champagne that I know neither of us ordered. Pax, you son of a bitch, I think as the man pours two glasses and then excuses himself.

  I hand one to Lilith and take the other for myself.

  “Remind me to thank Paxton,” I say as I down the bubbly liquid in two sips and pour myself some more. I find that it actually settles my nerves, blurs the edges of my anxiety enough that this feels manageable. I can do this; I can tell the girl I'm in love with my darkest secret, my worst nightmare. “I didn't know I needed this until I had it.”

  Lilith plays with the Eiffel Tower charm on her bracelet before glancing up at the real one, a glass of champagne in one hand, her red hair draped dramatically over one pale shoulder. I saw her doing a lot of sketching at the show tonight; I'm glad we could be that sort of inspiration for her.

  “Do you like him, too? Or any of the other boys for that matter?” she asks, genuinely curious.

  I stare at the soft muted lights of the city, so gentle and innocent from here, as innocuous as the stars above us. I'm sure there are horrible things going on out there, amongst all that humanity, but at least for now I can pretend everything is hunky-dory, can't I?

  “I don't know,” I tell her honestly. “It's hard to say. I've known them all for so long, and I've got so many goddamn issues that I can't say for sure …”