Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2)

by Kella Campbell

  “What happened to your big talk about going all night?”

  “Oh, I’m good for that, never doubt it, but I might have to explode and reload.”

  “Fair enough. Condom?” Nell took refuge in practicality. Prophylactics had never embarrassed her, and it was easier to think about safety than to let her mind dwell on the beautiful tattooed body and shredding self-control of the man stretched out in front of her.

  “Ah, right.” He twisted to reach the bedside table drawer, giving her a full view of the angelic wingspan wrapped around his ribs. He snagged a foil packet and tossed it through the air to her, then lifted his hips and removed his underwear.

  “Dude,” said Nell. “You’re freaking huge.”

  Eamonn grinned. “I think you can handle it, ninja woman.” But he sounded breathless, and when she placed a hand at the base of his cock, about to put the condom on, his whole body trembled slightly.

  “Put your hands on the headboard,” she told him.

  “Wha—?” But he obeyed, reaching up to grip the metal spindles above his head.

  She looked deep into his eyes and said, “Self-control.”

  “It’s… not usually a problem for me.” His words came slowly, his cocky façade slipping so that she could see how shaken he was by his reaction to her. “You’re like a lightning strike, babe. So electric…”

  I feel it too. “Chemistry’s a good thing,” she said lightly. Maybe sometimes too much of a good thing. It wasn’t comfortable to feel so overwhelmed. “Now, breathe.” His hips jerked as she rolled the condom on, and she placed a steadying hand on his taut abdomen, suppressing a wild desire to lick him all over — they were both too far gone for that. “Keep your hands on that headboard. Here we go.” She swung a leg over and straddled him, reached down to adjust the angle of entry, and eased down onto him.

  Instinct took over. Her whole world shrank down to nothing but the feel of him inside her. So big. So full. So freaking amazing. Her inner muscles clenched, and he groaned, thrusting up to meet her as she rode him, beyond conscious thought.

  She hadn’t expected any magic to happen — figured she’d get hers on the next round — but the blissful friction spiraled into fireworks out of nowhere, flowing over her, blinding and dazzling her. She was barely aware of Eamonn’s shout of delight, only that his arms came up to wrap around her as she collapsed onto him, that his face was buried against her neck with small nips and kisses in the aftermath.

  She rolled off him, sprawling, limp. Beside her, she could feel his small movements as he dealt with the condom. “Bathroom’s just there, if you want to…” he said, his voice slow and sleepy.

  “I will, in a minute… just… so comfortable…”

  His big body was warm and firm against her back, and the sheets were silky and soft and clean. In a minute, she would go freshen up, she told herself. There would be more pleasure, a whole night of fun. Thoroughly relaxed in a way she hadn’t felt for a long time, if ever, she let her eyes drift closed. In a minute…

  She stood in her apartment, holding a cardboard box full of bills and alarm clocks, watching as Tommy and Lila and her landlord carried her possessions away. Jessalyn panhandled in the street outside, an infant car seat beside her, covered with a blanket. Then, in a flash, Nell was banging on the locked door of her dojang, and all the students and instructors inside ignored her because she had no money to pay for tournaments and training.

  Then she woke, shaking and sobbing, to a moment of total disorientation at not being in her own bed — and not alone.

  “Hey, now, it’s all right,” murmured a sleepy male voice in the dark. “Bad dream?”

  Eamonn. His house, his bed.

  She felt the mattress shift as he reached for the bedside lamp, and then it clicked on, with warm golden light that felt momentarily too bright after the darkness. I’m fine, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “You want to tell me about it?” he asked.

  “No.” She curled over on her side, away from him. And she wasn’t going to say anything more, but she found herself muttering, “They’ve taken everything away from me.”

  “Have they?”

  He didn’t ask who they were. His question was infuriating. “You wouldn’t understand,” she snarled, and was horrified to hear that her voice sounded close to tears.

  “Wouldn’t I?” His quiet words were so laced with bitterness and hurt that she uncurled herself, flopping onto her back to look at him in surprise. He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, looking down at her as though she hadn’t a clue. “You lost a job you hated.”

  “Hate’s a waste of energy,” Nell said, even as she vividly remembered reciting I hate my job in her head and biting her lip to not react to yet another inane rule or requirement.

  “Whatever you want to call it, then. You were fired by my ass of an uncle from a job you won’t miss, and you can find something better in a heartbeat.” He paused, as if deciding whether to keep talking. When he did continue, his voice was so low that she almost couldn’t hear the words. “I was kicked out of something I loved, my whole world, and it’s irreplaceable.”

  How do I even respond to that? She took a breath. “But you—”

  “Yes, I could find another band needing a bassist — or guitarist or keyboards — or start my own. Yes, I could easily get work as a session musician. But it wouldn’t be them; it wouldn’t be Smidge.” He clearly hadn’t meant to say so much, and fell silent.

  She didn’t think he’d accept a hug, and she wasn’t the hugging kind anyway, but she laid a hand on his shoulder to offer some kind of comfort, suppressing a surge of sensual awareness at the skin-to-skin reminder that they were both naked under the covers. We have all night. “I bet they miss your talent. You couldn’t be easy to replace.”

  He grimaced. “Depends. Maybe they wanted something new. Bass drives the whole sound of the band, deep down, so if you want to make a change…”

  “Well, you’re right about one thing; I’m out of a crap job with unethical people. And I didn’t mean to compare that to… I’m just afraid of losing my apartment before I can find something new, and… I don’t know how I’ll pay for my training. But those are small things.”

  “You teach martial arts, don’t you? Surely they pay you?”

  She snorted. “Most of what I make from that goes to my own training fees and gear and tournaments. It’s not a cheap sport.” Even as she spoke, she realized that what she spent on her classes and competitions each month might seem like pocket change to him. Different worlds. And all at once, she’d had enough of this awkward conversation, half small talk and half deep feelings. She slid out of the bed, deliberately not looking for anything to cover herself. I’m no Barbie doll, but I earned these muscles. And he’s seen all I’ve got, anyway. “Be right back.” She could feel his eyes on her as she crossed the room.

  Just as she was closing the door to the bathroom, she heard him say, “Spare toothbrushes are in the bottom right drawer. Help yourself. And there are clean towels in the cabinet.”

  Well. She pulled open the bottom right drawer and found a handful of brightly-colored toothbrushes sealed in plastic sleeves, each one saying HAPPY SMILES WITH DR. BETRAN and a phone number, which gave her an inward chuckle of approval. He acts like such a rock star, but he trots off to the dentist for his checkup on the regular. It felt good to be able to clean her teeth properly — much better than rubbing toothpaste on with a fingertip. And because he’d mentioned clean towels, she decided to take a two-minute shower, even though it was the middle of the night.

  She’d barely stepped into the hot spray when she heard a knock, and Eamonn called through the door, “You want company in that shower, babe? ’Cause I could use a wash too.”

  “Shower sex is always a disaster,” Nell called back, but her body was already responding, eager for his company, sensitized for more than shower water.

  “Not if you do i
t right,” he said, his voice loaded with promise.

  “Oh, come in, then.”

  Nell woke to an unfamiliar ringtone, then Eamonn’s voice answering his phone.

  He lay behind her, big spoon to her little spoon, his warmth and scent enveloping her, one arm snuggled around her waist with his hand resting just under her breasts. And morning wood. Oh, very much so. She blinked, impressed despite herself. If she was counting right, he’d managed three more rounds after the first one, and she’d seen stars at least five times — maybe six, if the last time counted as two rather than one extended bout of ecstasy, peaking and ebbing and peaking again. Surely he’s not ready for more…

  “I’m fine,” he was saying on the phone. “No, I’m at home.” He paused, listening — she could hear the faint sound of a voice talking on the other end of the line. “Yes, I did have to, Mom! … No, I couldn’t. I know you love Uncle Tommy, but he was being a tool.”

  Nell smiled to herself, trying to imagine the other side of the conversation. Eamonn sounded affectionate, even if slightly exasperated. Evidently, his mother had heard something about the events of the previous day from her brother. Tommy. A complex jumble of feelings bubbled up inside Nell at the reminder of her lost job and the string of decisions and events that had led to it.

  “Yeah, she’s here,” Eamonn said. Me? That got Nell’s full attention. “Oh, you don’t need to do that— … No, really, Mom, don’t come over.” She flipped over to stare at him in horror, hoping he was kidding or something. “Mom! She doesn’t even drink coffee!” he said into the phone, but she could see the laughter dancing in his eyes and knew he’d already lost the argument. “Sure, but see if they have coconut milk. I don’t know if she can’t drink dairy or just likes coconut milk better, but—” His mother evidently interrupted him, saying something that made him smile and redden a bit. “Whatever,” he muttered, and then, “I love you too, Mom.”

  He ended the call and put his phone down, grinning rather ruefully at Nell.

  His mother was coming over, apparently. This shouldn’t be happening, she wanted to tell him. I agreed to a night of amazing sex, and I got it, but I have no desire to meet your mother. It was bad enough that she knew his uncle. Couldn’t you have just told her no? Still, there was something sweet about the way he’d spoken on the phone, something about his face as he told his mom he loved her — she couldn’t be angry at him for that. “Coconut milk tastes better in tea,” she said, because she couldn’t find words for anything else, torn between an impulse to escape before his mother arrived and a ridiculously sentimental pleasure that he kept her minor preferences in mind.

  He nodded, as though he’d heard what she hadn’t said. “My mother doesn’t hear no very well. It’s a groupie thing. The serious ones do whatever it takes to get where they want to be.”

  “Okay, well, I don’t think I need to meet her.” Nell whipped out of the bed and gathered up her clothes, bolting into the bathroom to get dressed. Only after she’d locked the door and stepped into her underpants did she realize that she hadn’t managed to pick up her bra with the rest of her things. Crap. She cracked the door open. “Eamonn? Could you possibly pass me—”

  “This?” Standing in the middle of the bedroom, still completely and beautifully bare, he held up her black sports bra, twitching it lazily back and forth. “You don’t need it. Go without.”

  Her hand slipped off the doorknob, letting the door swing open. “You’ve got to be kidding. Please? I need to get dressed and get out of here.”

  “Just put your shirt on.” He gave her a panty-melting smile, one that said last night wasn’t enough and he’d like to have her up against the wall right this minute. “Go braless.”

  Nell shook her head, refusing to be swayed. “All I have is my work blouse — thin flipping rayon. I am not walking around with my headlights on to give you a thrill.”

  Eamonn laughed. “I could lend you a t-shirt?”

  She took a step toward him. “Don’t make me come and get my bra.”

  “That could be fun—” he began, then broke off at the dirty look she gave him. “Whoa, okay. It’s all yours.” He tossed it to her, and she caught it without breaking eye contact.

  “You should have to do pushups for giving me that kind of sass,” she muttered. “And put some underwear on, already.”

  He cocked one eyebrow at her, but took a clean pair of boxer briefs from a drawer and put them on. “I’ll do pushups for you,” he said with a grin. “Or we could do them together. Morning workout?”

  So tempting, but… “No time. I need to be gone already.” She finished buttoning her blouse and looked around for her socks.

  “Running away?” he asked, his back to her as he rummaged through a dresser drawer, choosing a t-shirt.

  She froze. “No.” Yes.

  “Stay for breakfast. Mom’s bringing doughnuts.” His voice was slightly muffled as he pulled the t-shirt over his head.

  “Seriously?” Doughnuts aren’t breakfast. I don’t want to meet your mother. It’s not about running away.

  “I never joke about doughnuts.” He turned to face her; she read the words emblazoned across his chest and burst out laughing.

  “Eye candy?”

  “What can I say? This shirt is awesome.” He smoothed it over his torso, giving a flirty and deliberate impression of self-pleasure.

  But she wouldn’t be distracted. “I don’t like being railroaded into having breakfast with anyone, especially…” Your mother, when I’ve just had spectacular sex with you all night. Who’s also Tommy Baxter’s sister, when he fired me yesterday, and I’m still all kinds of bitter about it.

  Eamonn nodded. “I can see that. This… wasn’t planned. I guess Uncle Tommy got in Mom’s ear about something, and now she wants to meet you. I’ll call you a car if you want to be gone when she gets here, but — Nella-bella, I’m not ready for you to leave.” He picked up his phone from the bedside table and looked at her, eyebrows raised, waiting.

  She couldn’t tell him to make the call. Somehow, by giving her the choice instead of resisting and insisting, he’d made it impossible for her to go. “I don’t run away,” she said — it had nothing to do with him wanting more of her company or the warm feeling his admission had given her.

  “Speaking of mothers,” he said, “I should have asked before: is there anyone you want to call? Family, I mean? You can use my phone.”

  Nell shook her head. “My mother lives in Australia with my stepfather now. It won’t even be dawn there yet, and I don’t know her current number by heart anyway.”

  “You got a father?”

  She thought of her dad, smiling in his crisp uniform, on his way off to save the world again. Chin up, Nells. You can take whatever the world throws at you. I’ll see you in a while. “He’s an Air Force flight surgeon. I’ll email him when I get home and we’ll video chat when he’s able.”

  The doorbell chimed several times in succession, and was quickly followed by the sound of the front door opening and a woman’s voice calling out, “Hope you’re decent, darlings!”

  “Be right down, Mom — don’t come up!” Eamonn bellowed back, then turned to Nell with a hesitant half-grin. “She knows the key code. For when I’m away on tour, and such.” He held out a hand for her to take. “Come and meet her. She’s… oh, probably not much like any mom you’ve ever met.”

  Maybe his words should have prepared her as they descended the stairs and turned toward the kitchen; still, she wasn’t expecting the thigh-high white leather boots or the floaty silk chiffon tunic that probably was vintage Zandra Rhodes but put a lot of well-maintained skin on display. A vivid turquoise manicure, giant sunglasses, and feathered blonde 80s hair completed the astounding first impression Nell had of Amanda Joy Yarrow. This woman does not look old enough to have a son Eamonn’s age, she thought wildly.

  A gurgle of amused laughter greeted her. “Oh, I was only seventeen when I had him, honey
— don’t judge!” the older woman said, as though Nell had spoken aloud.

  Honey? “My name is Nell, Ms. Yarrow.”

  “Of course, honey — I’m so pleased to meet you! Call me Mandy. Here’s your tea; I got you a London Fog with coconut milk, so it’s a tea latte, really. I hope that suits you.” And Nell found a warm to-go cup pressed into her hands, steaming and deliciously fragrant with the sharp bergamot of Earl Grey and the sweetness of vanilla.

  “I see where you get the pet-names habit from,” Nell muttered to Eamonn.

  He just shrugged and grinned at her. “Honey means Mom likes you; darling is being generic or sociable; sugar is a storm front warning.”

  Overhearing the last bit, Mandy Yarrow chuckled, seeming good-humored and not at all offended. “That’s right, and if I have to resort to sweet thing, I’m probably contemplating murder. You want to sit out on the patio?” She gestured toward the French doors at the back of the townhouse.

  “You and Nell go on out with the doughnuts, Mom. I’ll bring some plates and napkins.”

  “That’s my Easy.” Mandy snagged the box of pastries from the kitchen counter and headed outside, somehow managing to juggle it and her coffee and still open the doors before Nell could even offer to help. She followed.

  At the back of the townhouse, a tiny but very private patio was surrounded by tall fences, further screened by vines and bamboo. A few strategically placed ornamental trees and pots of colorful flowers completed the illusion of a postage-stamp oasis. Mandy placed the doughnuts on the coffee table and settled herself on the lounger, leaving the loveseat for Nell and Eamonn.

  “You… even you call him Easy?” Nell asked, sitting down. It didn’t seem like a nickname a mother would use.