Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2)

by Kella Campbell

  “Right. Let’s move along, then. It’s your turn to ask me something.”

  His eyes widened slightly, as if he were unprepared for how easily she let the subject go. Then he narrowed his gaze and leaned forward with a devilish grin. “All right, then. Do you do anal?”

  Well. Was that a serious question, or was he just being dirty to get a reaction from her? “Is it a deal-breaker if I don’t? I’m not morally opposed to it or anything, but that kind of trust and vulnerability…” She looked down at her drink and sloshed it around. “You want the truth? Any time I’ve felt remotely close to the level of respect and safety I’d need to try something like that, I didn’t have the sense that the guy would know how to do it right, so… no.”

  “Not a deal-breaker. But for the record, I do know how to do it right — slow, fingers first, tons of lube. In case you’re curious.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. My turn. Do you give oral?”

  He laughed. “Hey, hey. I didn’t say truth yet. I’d love to go down on you, babe — do you want a demonstration? Because I’m choosing dare this time…” He waggled his tongue at her.

  “Whoa, that’s…” She couldn’t find words. The hot tub water swirled around her like a caress and her skin tingled. He was teasing, but she could tell by the intensity in his eyes that he meant it; all she’d have to do is say yes please or I dare you and he’d have her up on the tiled edge of the tub, underwear off, thighs spread…

  “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

  Nell couldn’t honestly deny it. “Who could listen to a suggestion like that and not think about it?”

  “And… are you considering it?”

  “I don’t move quite that quick. I need a bit of kissing and making out before I let you into my pants, okay?” And even putting that statement out there felt like too much, too fast, but playing games had never been her style. She waited. Would he close the gap between them now?

  He grinned. “Babe, you aren’t wearing pants. And there’s a dare on the table right now — what’re you going to ask me to do?”

  Dare. Right. Her mind spun with possibilities. But she’d just asked for slow, so she could hardly suggest anything too extreme. “The tattoo covering your left side… is it an angel?” She couldn’t see much of it now in the rolling water of the hot tub, but she’d noticed it earlier. Black-inked wings and flowing robes stretched from his belly button around to his back, from his ribs down past his waistband. Dramatic and gorgeous. How far down does it go? She took a breath. “Will you show me all of it?”

  He wasn’t expecting that. And from the look on his face, she’d just asked to see most of what his swim trunks covered, if not everything.

  He glanced down toward his abdomen, under the water. “My guardian angel? She’s crying over all the bad shit I’ve done.” Standing up, he moved into the middle of the hot tub, close enough for Nell to reach out and touch him, if she wanted to. Candlelight and underwater rainbows lit up his wet skin. “You want to see the whole thing?”

  “Yeah.” Nell’s mouth felt dry.

  “Okay, then.” He tugged his swim trunks down a bit, showing more of the angel’s sleeve. “I feel like a stripper.” Another inch. He turned his body so she’d get a better view of his side and hip. There were music notes and a black broken heart blended into the trailing robes, and as he pushed the fabric right down to fully expose one exquisitely formed buttock, she could see the crown and lettering that unmistakably formed the logo for Smidge — the band he was no longer part of. “You like?”

  She licked her lips, overcome with an urge to touch and taste him. She’d seen handsome men before, but there was something about Eamonn Yarrow that undid her. “You’re freaking glorious,” she muttered.

  Pulling his swim trunks back into place, he sank down into the water, but instead of retreating to the far side of the hot tub, he slid onto the bench next to her, his leg touching hers. And he waited.

  “Dare,” she said at last.

  He looked at her, his eyes so loaded with sexual intent that she shivered. “Touch me,” he commanded.

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere you like.” His voice, husky with need, lit her up like phosphorus to a safety match. She started with his chest, laid a hand over his heart underwater and then stroked down across his abs, across the angel tattoo. She brushed his waistband with her fingertips, and paused. “You know you want to,” he said.

  “Do you want me to?”

  An involuntary upward thrust of his hips answered that question. “Do you need to ask?” He chuckled, slightly breathless.

  So shaken by the electricity between them that she could barely move, she slid her hand down inside his shorts, prompting another thrust and a gasp from him as the touch became intimate. “Whoa, you weren’t kidding about the size of this rocket.” Her guts clenched and went gooey at the thought of having all that inside her.

  “All the better to please you with,” he said with a shaky grin, his voice ragged. And then he cursed under his breath and laid a hand on her wrist to stop her, gently drawing her hand out of his shorts. “Your touch is heaven. But the first time I come for you, Nella-bella, I want to be with you, in you.” He leaned forward and kissed her, fierce and hungry, his tongue stroking into her mouth with urgent need. Then he pulled away, breathing hard. “I need a moment. You’re wrecking my self-control here — why do I fall apart when you touch me?”

  It shocked her a little, that he’d admit to so much vulnerability. But it was also a gift and a huge turn-on to know how intensely she affected him. “Don’t know. But yeah, I want to ride that explosion when it happens.”

  He found his margarita on the edge of the hot tub and took a drink. The way he bit his lower lip told her that her words hadn’t helped him cool down. Ride that explosion. The air between the two of them was charged with sensuality.

  She took a drink too, waiting for his next move. I need a moment, he’d said. She could see his chest rising and falling as he breathed hard, as though he couldn’t get enough air.

  “Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me something, ask me something, doesn’t matter what.”

  “Okay.” Nell tried to think of something that could serve for conversation. “I think your crying angel tattoo is beautiful. You want to tell me more about it? How come it has a broken heart at the bottom?”

  He looked away from her, the lust in his eyes shifting into something more complex and bittersweet. “And the Smidge logo that you’re too polite to mention? You want to know what happened, don’t you?”

  Crap. That was the wrong question to ask, wasn’t it? “You don’t have to tell me. I’m just making conversation. I really do think your ink is gorgeous.”

  Eamonn sighed. “Thanks.” He knocked back the rest of his drink and gazed out into the dark, toward the rain and the river.

  “You can tell me, if you want to,” Nell said softly. “I’ll listen.” She wanted to touch him, to close the distance between them and erase the trouble from his mind, but some small doubt held her back.

  He was silent for a while, then said, “You know I wasn’t their first bassist, right? Angel and Blade were best friends in school, and Dice was their neighbor down the street. They performed at school dances and did gigs in local bars before they were even legal to drink, I guess, and one of their friends played bass okay, but maybe not up to a pro standard, or maybe he wasn’t hot enough, didn’t fit the look. I don’t know. So, the label persuaded them to drop him, and pushed me on them instead — their hired eye candy.”

  “More than that, surely.”

  “Oh, I’m a competent musician, no doubt about that, but Angel and Blade never really let me in. Even when we were at our worst, high all the time and barely able to keep everything together, they watched out for each other and tried to protect Dice from the worst of it and I was on my own.”

  “But you didn’t leave them?”

  “No.” Something
stark and lonely was etched across his face for a moment and then was gone.

  “So, they dumped you? Kicked you out? Why?”

  He forced a laugh. “Forget it. Let’s just go to bed. A truly epic fuck will help me forget.” He slid toward her, swirls of displaced water eddying around him. She wanted to reach for him, knew it would be epic, needed that release maybe as much as he did. Instead, she slid away, keeping a bit of space between them.

  “Tell me,” she said, aching with regret. “I think I need to know.”

  “Fuck me. You’re not going to let this go, are you, ninja woman?”

  She wished that she could. But she needed to know. “I can’t.”

  “I wanted to feel like I belonged, okay? But as Angel got clean and Blade was working on it, we didn’t even party together anymore. Smiles for the media, efficient rehearsals and performances, that was it. Trying to fill that void with sex worked for a while.” He shrugged. “It felt less like being abandoned after a show if I was busy screwing my brains out. And there were always groupies up for it. That’s their calling, right? Didn’t feel so bad if I was making some girl’s night.”

  He trailed his fingers through the water around him as though bemused by the colored lights and jet bubbles.

  She reached over and shut off the lights and jets. “Just tell me,” she said.

  “Well, I found Blade alone. He was mucking around with his guitar, maybe writing a song, I don’t know. And I wanted to get my bass and jam with him, craft the song together. But he stopped playing when I walked in, put his guitar in its case like he couldn’t bear for me to be a part of that. So I offered the only thing we’d ever really done together — said let’s go out and get trashed. Just booze, he said, because he was supposed to be getting clean. But I’d only ever felt part of Smidge when we were all high.”

  Nell felt sick. “You knew he was a recovering addict and you encouraged him to relapse?”

  Eamonn was silent for a moment, then he nodded. “It didn’t seem so terrible at the time,” he muttered.

  “Ugh.” She hoisted herself out of the hot tub, shivering a little in the cool air, and grabbed a towel from the bench. “Honestly, Easy,” and she spat his band name out like an insult, “I can’t even — how could you? Don’t come into the bedroom. Sleep on the couch or go find another cabin. I’m done.”

  She wanted to stomp away and slam the door, make a dramatic exit to show how disgusted she was. But she’d lit the candles, and they needed to be extinguished. Her responsibility. In silence, she circled the hot tub, blowing out each one.

  “Nell?” Eamonn said, his voice rising to make it a question. She shot him a this is not a good moment to talk look, one she’d perfected over years of martial arts classes and hundreds of students. His shoulders slumped and all hope faded from his face. Then the last candle was out, and she strode inside, spine straight and chin high, refusing to look back.

  Nell woke to music, haunting piano sounds that morphed from classical lament to grieving fatalistic jazz, accompanied by the rhythm of heavy rain. At first, it felt like part of her disturbed dreams, but gradually she concluded that she was actually hearing the melody coming from somewhere. It didn’t strike her as Eamonn’s kind of thing, but she remembered him saying on the drive up that he had a classical playlist if she’d prefer it. Although what she was hearing didn’t sound like any of the jazz she’d listened to in his truck, she knew she’d slept for some of the drive. Perhaps he’d found a sound system in the cottage and plugged his phone in, or maybe he had a portable speaker. Either way, it made her angry.

  He had a lot of nerve to play music while she was sleeping. At full volume, no less.

  And how dare he listen to — and like — something so beautiful? He’s scum for enabling an addict like that. Cocky, self-entitled scum.

  She had not slept well.

  Unfortunately, she was not the kind of person who could roll over and snooze or go back to sleep, no matter how much or little sleep she’d had. Once awake, Nell was switched on for the day and felt an overwhelming urge to get up. Mornings lounging about in bed weren’t in her nature.

  She launched into her morning workout, doing twice the usual reps at a furious pace, and it failed to soothe her. Usually, the burn of well-worked muscles would induce a pleasant glow of satisfaction, but today she just felt sore and drained. A scalding hot shower didn’t help, either.

  The music cut through everything, and it sounded like grief and loss and an apology. I’m sorry, I did wrong. I’m ashamed, forgive me. I miss them.

  Nell seethed inside. The man was just listening to music; it didn’t mean a thing. I refuse to feel sympathy or find excuses for what he did, she told herself. Why should I care, anyway? He’s nothing but a co-worker at a job I hate. Still, she couldn’t shake the memory of his sexy gasps and shaky self-control as she’d touched him. And she didn’t want to face him.

  Putting this off is cowardly. At least her hoodie had dried overnight — though it didn’t provide much armor, she thought grimly that it did a better job than the previous night’s wet underwear. Summoning a neutral expression to her face, she crossed the bedroom and opened the door, strode into the sitting room like a competitor into a ring.

  The music wasn’t from a playlist, wasn’t recorded at all.

  Eamonn sat at the piano, his whole body moving with the music that flowed from his fingertips. He wore nothing but a pair of jeans. In daylight, the crying angel tattoo wrapped around his left side looked even more tragic than it had in the romantic glow of the night before. Oh, ever-loving hell, he’s spectacular, Nell thought helplessly. How can I stay angry at that?

  Then he became aware of her presence, and his hands froze over the keyboard as he turned his head to look at her in apprehension.

  “But you’re a bass player,” she said, breaking the silence in the stupidest way possible.

  That prompted a bark of bitter laughter from him. “I started with piano,” he explained. “Played since before I can remember. Then guitar and bass once I could hold them properly, I guess. I’m not a good drummer, but I can fill the role if needed. Flute and saxophone too, and weirdly enough, harp — one of Mom’s groupie friends taught me that one, hanging out on someone’s tour bus on the road.”

  She blinked at him. All that? “Why?” she asked, then frowned at him. “Also, could you put a shirt on?”

  “Sorry. You were pretty clear that you didn’t want me in the bedroom last night, and all my stuff was in there. It’s lucky I hung these jeans over a chair out here to dry.” He pushed the piano bench back and stood up, glancing over to where his damp swim trunks now graced the back of one of the kitchenette chairs.

  If he’d had nothing else to put on… He’s definitely going commando under those jeans, then. Nell shook her head at that irrelevant conclusion. She did not need to be thinking about the equipment he was packing behind his button fly, or how thick and firm he’d felt in her hand the night before. “I should have thought to toss your bag out here. I was…” Angry. Disappointed. Frustrated. But she refused to apologize.

  “Yeah. I’ll get my shirt.” He headed for the bedroom but stopped in the doorway and looked back at her, with a wry half-smile and a resigned look in his eyes. “I know this has sunk any chance I had with you, and I won’t push it.” He nodded as if to emphasize that he meant it before disappearing through the door. She heard rummaging-in-bag noises and then the sound of the bathroom door closing.

  No more of his flirting, no more being coaxed to spend a night with him, no more hearing him call her Nella-bella — or any of his other words for her. No more of his eyes on her, hungry and admiring.

  He’s a lost cause, she told herself. But now that he was walking away, she didn’t want to give him up.

  “I have some rules,” Nell said, as Eamonn came back into the main area of the cottage, slicking back hair damp from the shower. She saw that he’d put on his other jeans — and presumably
underwear — and his hoodie as well as a shirt.

  “You have what, now?” he asked, cocking his head at her.

  “Rules. For if you…” She paused, steeling herself with a deep breath. It wasn’t easy to back down, or to expose her own complicated feelings on the matter. “If you wanted to salvage that shipwrecked chance, you know?” Well, that got his attention. He froze, his eyes widening, and she could feel the heat rising in her face as he stared at her. She forced herself to shrug like it didn’t mean much.

  “Fuck me. Nell, are you saying—”

  “I don’t know what I’m saying,” she admitted. “Just… maybe sometimes things aren’t as clear-cut and binary as I’d like them to be. Good and bad, right and wrong… I don’t believe in excuses, but I want to think there’s a way forward from this, if you’re serious about making amends for what you did.”

  He sighed. “You have no idea.”

  She crossed her arms and fixed him with a hard look. “You’re going to have to apologize, you know.”

  “A hundred times, yes. Babe, I am more sorry than you can—”

  “No. To him, your addict friend. He’s the one you hurt.”

  Eamonn scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. “I can’t. Angel kicked me out, right? Told me not to call or write, told me I wouldn’t be welcome again. I wasn’t even given a chance to say goodbye to anyone, especially not Blade. So, no, I don’t think I’ll be apologizing.”

  Nell shook her head at the hard look on his face. Putting up walls. Time to change the subject, for now. “Look, we need to eat something,” she said. “Let’s find some food, and you can tell me how you ended up playing, what, seven instruments?”

  That made him smile. “We’ve got all we need right here. Will strawberry crêpes do? There was a stack of crêpes in François’s fridge. They just need microwaving. And strawberries in syrup — I got two containers out of the freezer but only used one for the margaritas last night — and a can of whipped cream.”