Nell knew she’d missed something while she was hanging up the shirt, because she turned back to see a strange expression on Ghostflower’s face as the artist shaved and disinfected the skin below Eamonn’s left collarbone — affectionate, wistful, and maybe a little worried. They were talking in soft voices and it wasn’t meant to be overheard, but Nell had sharp ears. “You falling in love, Peasy?”
Hearing the answer to that question, whatever it was, couldn’t be good. “I’m going down to the bakery to get another tea,” Nell said in a bright enthusiastic-instructor tone. See? I’m leaving. Please have your awkward conversation while I’m not here. “Does anyone want anything?”
There was no awkwardness later when they all went out for dinner. Ghostflower was kind and friendly, Justin turned out to have a wicked sense of humor, and even though Stell didn’t talk much and was a good decade younger than the rest of them, the apprentice seemed glad to be included and smiled whenever Nell made eye contact. Eamonn sat close to Nell the whole time, often resting a hand on her thigh or wrapping an arm around her waist.
I could get used to this, she thought. His friends were good company. She could imagine her friend Amy fitting in with them too. It all seemed very comfortable and pleasant, and she kept waiting for the bubble to pop, the dream to end.
They stopped for ice cream cones to end the night, and walked back all together to where they’d parked, licking their ice cream in contented pleasure. “Want to try a taste of mine?” Eamonn offered, holding his cone out to Nell — he’d chosen cherry, creamy pink with bits of candied fruit and swirls of jam.
“Sure.” She took a small lick, then held out her lemon ice cream to him, knowing that the tartness of it would make his mouth pucker after the sweet cherry. “Try mine.”
She grinned at the expression on his face when he tasted it.
Ghostflower gave Nell a hug before leaving and Justin shook her hand. Stell waved goodbye from the back seat of Ghostflower’s car, a little flutter of fingertips, and then it was just the two of them, standing in the street next to Eamonn’s truck.
He opened the door for her, and because her back and neck still hurt and her head throbbed a bit and her freshly tattooed shoulder felt tender, she let him help her up into the seat.
“My place okay?” he asked, getting into the driver’s seat.
“I should go home,” Nell countered, though her heart wasn’t in it.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why?”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
“Come on, lovely.” His gaze turned sensual and his voice thickened, dropping into an undeniably sexy tone. “My bed is bigger than yours.”
Why does he have to be so flipping irresistible? An answering tingle of desire flickered over her like lightning, just from the look in his eyes and the promise in his voice. “Don’t know how much fun I’ll be,” she muttered, not wanting to admit to feeling pain, but not sure how much in the way of mattress gymnastics she could take.
He stifled a groan, but she still heard it. “You know I’m happy just to hold you,” he said ruefully. He bit his lip, breathed out slowly. And that little demonstration of self-control set her fizzing like the fuse of a Roman candle — burning toward an explosion, no stopping what was started.
“I want more than that,” she blurted out. “I’m just not sure how well I can ride you with my back messed up like this.”
At that, he shot her a grin that was pure sinful heat. “All I needed to hear is that you want me.” He put the car into gear. “Buckle up, babe. Let’s get home.”
In his sunshine-yellow bedroom, Eamonn helped Nell take off her t-shirt, easing it over the newly tattooed shoulder and lifting it straight up so she wouldn’t have to bend or twist her back. Then he stripped down to his boxer briefs and flopped onto the bed, grinning at her, cupping his obvious erection through the cotton with one hand and patting the bed beside him with the other. “How d’you want to do this?”
“I…” She looked at the bed, and at him. “Being on top takes more hip action than I can manage tonight, and… lying down, I move around too much when I’m on my side, so I have to be pretty much flat on my back with something wedged under for support…” The obvious conclusion was inescapable and added an unaccustomed edge of vulnerability to her wanting him. She’d never accepted a passive position, always able to control their movement, always taking an active part in arriving at their mutual pleasure. Never pinned down.
It took him only a moment to reach the same conclusion. He gazed up at her, his expression taut, his eyes so dilated with desire that they appeared darker than their usual blue. “Are you going to let me climb on top of you tonight?”
She hadn’t expected it to be that much of a turn-on for him. He liked a little bit of power exchange with his lovemaking — that had become clear enough, since telling him firmly what to do or what she needed could bring him to a point of helpless urgency — but she’d assumed he only went for the more submissive side of things. Apparently, though, it worked both ways for him, and the unexpected switch gave her a disturbing thrill of anticipation, an uncertain melting feeling that was unwelcome but not entirely unexpected. The idea of giving up control to him should not be so appealing. And yet, she was drawn to it, moth to flame.
With a small nod, she undressed down to her underpants and got onto the bed, carefully settling onto her back and adjusting the pillow under her head.
He stroked a hand down her belly to the waistband of her boyshorts and pinged it gently against her skin. “You said you needed something for support under your back. Take these off, and I’ll get you a towel.”
Ooh, he has an assertive mode! She hadn’t seen that in him before — cocky and flirtatious, yes, but never with such a commanding tone. Interesting… and reassuring. She didn’t always find it easy to let go of the instructor role and be fully a student, but that was necessary in order to train to a higher level, and there was a certain kind of peace in obeying commands. Could it be the same with a lover I trust? As he vanished into the bathroom for a moment, she gingerly inched the underwear down over her hips.
Eamonn returned at almost the same moment that Nell realized she was stuck. The sore muscles in her back protested any attempt to raise her legs, lift her hips, or curl to the side to get her underpants off. If she’d been standing, gravity would have done the job. As it was, she couldn’t push the stretchy cotton past her fingertips’ reach where it constrained her upper thighs. Crap.
He saw the problem immediately and tried not to laugh, but she could see it in his eyes. “Nobody’s perfect all the time,” she said. The grin he’d tried to suppress spread across his face like sun from behind clouds, and she contemplated wrenching herself up through the pain so she could flip him and pin him down.
“No,” he agreed. “That’s true. But you? You’re pretty close, most of the time.” He wedged the folded towel under her lower back, giving it some support, then ran a teasing hand over her upper thighs where her underwear had slid to a stop in its current partially lowered position. “And this? Sexy.”
She tried to part her legs further and couldn’t. Squirmed as his fingers brushed closer but still didn’t touch. The muscles in her back protested, and she winced.
“No moving.” He shook his head, teasing but also serious. “Neither of us is into pain, so you need to lie still, lovely. Let me do the work.”
“All right,” she gritted out, refusing to add sir although it was there in her mind.
He placed his free hand firmly on her abdomen to hold her steady, and then at last his fingers dipped down to stroke her where she needed it, slowly, far too slowly, but still blissful.
Her hips tilted a little to get more and his hand stilled, denying her.
“You’re freaking killing me,” she muttered.
He laughed, all too pleased with himself, cocking an eyebrow at her impatience. “Just relax. I’ll get you there.”
He continued his slo
w, tantalizing strokes — not fast enough or deep enough to satisfy her. The underwear binding her thighs prevented her from spreading them to get more of his touch. Her various aches receded in a haze of wanton urgency, and a wordless growl of frustration escaped her before he finally helped her kick her underwear away.
By the time he rolled the condom on and settled himself over her, she’d almost lost the capacity for coherent thought. His weight and strength on top of her invited an emotional surrender and relinquishing of power she wasn’t sure she was ready to give.
“You’re safe with me, Nella-bella,” he reminded her, his voice low and thick with desire, then he chuckled affectionately. “And anyway, I’m pretty sure you could still kill me from there. But just… lie back and let me love you, okay?”
It was true. She could easily get a foot onto his hip, and from there… As he held himself above her, poised to enter but waiting for encouragement, she truly realized she’d never need to do it — unless someday he might be willing to play that game with her. She smiled and reached down between them to guide him in.
Without her usual focus on controlling and guiding the action, all Nell could do was lie back and feel. Somehow, Eamonn wasn’t just thrusting into her body, but driving himself into her soul.
They slept in, and woke to sunshine trickling in around the edges of the curtains. A glorious day, clearly, and Nell could barely get out of bed.
“But you weren’t this bad yesterday,” Eamonn said, concern in his eyes.
“Second day,” she grumbled. “It’s always worse. Just need a hot shower.”
He helped her to the bathroom and got into the shower with her, holding her against him under the hot spray so the water could flow over her back, angling her so that not too much of it would hit her left shoulder. She could feel his morning wood against her stomach but he didn’t try to make anything of it, thankfully seeming to understand that she was too achy just then for any kind of fun, even though the skin-to-skin embrace felt good. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” he asked, wincing in sympathy when she shifted her weight and grimaced.
“It’s only a pulled muscle. I’m fine. This is helping.”
“I’ve got some Voltaren gel, if you want it after we’re done here.”
“That’d be great. Just a few minutes more like this…”
The steaming water streamed around them, beading on the Dermalize covering their new tattoos. Some pale pinkish-yellow fluid had collected underneath his, but she could still make out the letters of her name, permanently inked into his skin just under his collarbone. Ridiculous man. Why?
“Integrity, huh?” he said, nodding toward her left shoulder. “It means that much to you?”
She wondered how much fluid had gathered under the wrap covering it, how clearly the strong letters and graceful swirls could be seen. “It’s… everything I am. Doing right, doing my best, trying my hardest even when no one will know. I—”
She could see the pulse beating in his throat, near a small tattooed star. “I admire that,” he said, so softly that it was almost inaudible against the falling water.
After the shower, he was uncharacteristically quiet, getting dressed without any of his usual flirting and humor. Nell followed suit, putting on her sports bra and slightly damp underwear, feeling thankful that she’d thought to wash them out in the sink the night before. Damp was better than dirty or going bare.
Then, as he rubbed the aromatic pain-relief gel into her lower back, he said, “It matters to you, that I haven’t told Blade how sorry I am.” It was a statement, not a question, and he stood behind her so she couldn’t see his face.
“You know I’ve accepted that it’s none of my business,” she reminded him.
“But would you… think better of me if I did?”
She whipped around to face him, annoyed that he was putting this burden onto her. Why are we having this dead-end conversation again? “It shouldn’t matter what I think of you. Integrity is an inside-yourself thing. Yes, I think you’d be happier if you tried to resolve what happened, but for yourself and maybe for him, not for me.”
His face looked bleak and hard. “Happier? You’ve got to be kidding me. Security’ll throw me out on my ass before I can even say I’m sorry, and then what?” He sighed. “But I know what I have to do. At least I’ll have tried. Will you come with me?”
“What?” I can’t have heard that correctly, Nell thought.
“I can’t do this alone. Will you — please — come with me?”
No! “Look, you can’t do something like this because of what I said, or to make me ‘think better of you.’ It doesn’t work like that.” She wanted to roll her eyes, or stomp her feet in frustration, and most of all she wanted to make him see that you couldn’t fake integrity to buy respect.
“I know!” he snapped back. They stared at each other. She could see his frustration simmering, mirroring her own. “T-shirts are in the top drawer there, if you want one. I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said, when the silence had stretched too far.
She took her time brushing her teeth. Is this almost-arguing crap a thing that couples do? She didn’t generally care enough to let anyone get under her skin, or mind that they didn’t understand something important to her. Still a bit on edge, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to borrow one of his t-shirts, but eventually poked through his drawer and selected one with a Warwick logo.
As she descended the stairs, she smelled hot butter and something cake-like. When she got to the kitchen, she found a mug of tea steaming on the kitchen island breakfast bar for her and Eamonn methodically making pancakes with his back to the door.
She could tell by the tensing of his shoulders that he’d heard her come in, but he didn’t turn or say anything.
“Thanks for the tea,” she said, to break the silence.
“No trouble.” He slid a pancake from pan to plate, added butter to the pan, poured more batter. Then, “I miss them. I want to try to fix things, but I’m a fucking coward, all right? I can’t do it without you.”
Well. Nell took a sip of tea, looking at his stiff back. “Right. So, you are being a coward, and the first step to fixing that is recognizing it and making the decision to do something about it.”
He spun around, looking shocked that she’d just agreed with his self-assessment.
She grinned. “What? You thought I’d be nice and assure you that you’re not a fraidy-cat at all? Me?” That drew a half-laugh from him. Then the sizzling sound and browning-butter smell from the frying pan behind him grew a bit stronger. “Don’t let that pancake burn.”
Just in time, he turned to flip it. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad you’ve decided to try to fix things with your bandmates,” she told him. “I know it takes courage. And… I will come with you. Not because you need me, not because you can’t do it without me — you absolutely could — but because you want me with you. That means something to me.”
“Nella-bella, I want you with me all the time.” He lifted the last pancake out of the pan and added it to one of the plates, which he then brought over to set in front of her. “And especially for this. I’m so ashamed and afraid to face them, but you were right all along. I need to do it. Thank you.” Having said that, he seemed to relax. “What d’you like on your pancakes? Ah, that is, I hope you like pancakes. I’ve got syrup, jam, whipped cream, cinnamon sugar…”
“You and your sweet stuff in the morning! Got any peanut butter? If not, I like them fine just plain.”
He produced a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard, then grabbed his own plate of pancakes and loaded them up with syrup and whipped cream before sitting down at the island bar next to her. “I’ve got to tell you, though…” A note of doubt crept into his voice, and he forked up a big mouthful of pancake, effectively stopping what he was going to say.
Nell deliberately rolled her eyes at him. “What? You’ve already told me some pretty dark crap. W
hatever it is now can’t be worse, honestly.”
He swallowed, cleared his throat. “I want you to come with me. More than anything. But we… have to do it my way.”
“And what exactly is your way?”
“I’ve seen you being a ninja. You haven’t seen me being a rock god yet.”
“I absolutely have seen you being Easy — at the hospital, among other times. You’re flirty and charming and you smile a lot. That’s not so terrible.”
“It’s more than that. I can’t roll up in an old t-shirt and a budget rental car — it’s a first-class flights and limos kind of deal. I know to expect media attention and camera flashes, and you’ll be with me, so…”
“Oh.” Nell thought about that for a moment. How bad could it be? People took pictures of her competing at tournaments all the time. Then something else he’d said struck her. “You said flights. As in, taking an airplane? Just where are your bandmates right now?”
Eamonn shrugged and said, “Time Rock.” It sounded as though he thought she’d know what that meant, but no, so she made an exaggerated inquiring face at him, and he threw his hands out in a forgive me gesture. “California.”
“Right.” She’d assumed they’d be here because he was, even though that made little sense once she thought about it.
“You don’t have to come,” he said, with hardly any hesitation in his voice, but she suspected he was regretting his words even as he spoke them.
“I promised,” she told him. “Don’t worry, I don’t break my promises. I’ll go with you.” She could see the relief in his posture and his smile, and the way he dug into his pancakes with more appetite.
“Good.” He spoke between bites, but not with his mouth full, which she appreciated. “I’ll book our tickets.” Bite of pancake, sip of coffee. “You’ll probably want to go home for a bit to pack, and all that?”
Nell almost choked on a mouthful of tea. “Uh, when are we going?”
“Got to see when we can get a flight. Tomorrow, or maybe this evening.”
Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2) Page 21