She wanted Matt.
She’d deal with the consequences later.
She never did things like this. Everything in her life was planned and considered against the impacts it would have on everyone and everything in her life. That she was about to leap with no idea if a net would catch her was frightening, but it was also exhilarating.
She ran her hands up his chest, and he sucked in a shuttering breath. The key slipped out of the lock.
“I hope that’s not a harbinger of things to come.”
Matt coughed. “Again. So bold.”
She let her arms fall. “You said you liked it. Did I take it too far?”
He pushed the key in the lock, turned the handle, and opened the door, standing aside for her to enter. “Not even a little bit.”
“Then what?”
“It’s just that when you say things like that, I’m reminded that I’m getting to know you all over again.”
“Have I changed so much?” Was she asking herself or him? Until tonight, she realized she’d thought of herself as two people. Avery Lind, strong and confident radio host and Amy-Lynn McWilliams, the woman saddled with anxiety and family responsibilities. Standing on Grace and Andrew’s balcony, saying brash things, those two sides of her personality had grown a little closer together.
“Yes, you’ve changed. We both have. But one thing hasn’t. You are still the most beautiful, sexy, driven woman I have ever known.”
She settled on his sofa, pulling her legs beneath her, trying to let his compliment sink in. She watched his eyes travel up her leg to where her fingers wrapped around the hem of her dress. “Have you known many women?”
He opened a beer and lifted it, asking if she wanted one.
“Water?”
He grabbed a glass and filled it from the refrigerator. “Are you asking me how many people I’ve slept with?”
She nodded. “I know it’s not the sexiest thing to ask, but safety first, right?”
He looked up at the ceiling, presumably counting. “Including you?”
“Yes.” She took a long drink from her glass, instantly regretting refusing the beer.
“Four.”
“Four?” she said, nearly sending water spraying across the room.
He sat down beside her, pulling her legs across his lap. He drew tiny spirals up and down her leg, each touch sending sparks flying.
She shivered but forced her attention back to their conversation. “Is that all? I mean, your reputation would lead a woman to believe . . .”
He smirked. “What do you know about my reputation?”
She sighed. “Fine. I might have followed Storyhill for a while.”
He laughed and squeezed her calf. “I knew it.”
She brushed away his hand. “Smug doesn’t look good on you, Matt Taylor.”
His smile dissolved. “You know better than anyone that not everything is as it seems in this business. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of offers. But it’s not a super casual thing for me. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I’ve never slept with someone on the first date. And I’ve never taken someone home after a concert, no matter how much they offer at the signing table.”
He slipped a finger under the hem of her dress, pulling his thumb across her thigh. “What’s your number?”
He really needed to stop that if he expected coherent answers. “More than four.”
“How many, Mac?”
She shrugged. “Ten-ish?”
“Ish?”
“A quick scan of history brings up nine names.” When he simply stared at her, she said, “That’s only one a year since we broke up.”
“I’m not here to judge you. And I can’t expect you to have been celibate . . . though I must admit, I’d have preferred it,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear it. “Anyone serious?”
“No. I’m all work and no play, remember? Most guys don’t want to come second to my job.” Or deal with my family. Or my anxiety.
She inched her bottom closer to him and with one quick move, straddled his lap.
He grabbed her hips, digging his fingers in. “Done talking, Mac?”
“I don’t want to talk about my job or the past. I just want to feel.”
“If I recall, you started this line of conversation.”
“And now I’m finishing it.” She leaned down and brushed a kiss across his lips. Her body thrummed with just a single kiss.
He pulled at the fabric sash around her waist, and the dress fell open. “Wow, what magic is this? It’s like a ripcord on a parachute.”
“It’s called a wrap dress. Only one lever,” she said with a soft laugh, kissing his neck and sinking her teeth into his earlobe.
“Easy now. Actions like those have consequences.” He flipped her on her back and hovered over her. His eyes darkened as the mini dress flipped further open, revealing her black lace bra and panties. “I’m going to pretend you wore these for me.” He traced a finger over the top edge of the bra before rasping his thumb over her nipple, giving it a pinch.
She moaned and arched up into him. She pulled at his shirt, yanking it over his head. “Need skin,” she nearly growled. He helped her the rest of the way. She took advantage and unbuttoned his pants while he was struggling with his shirt.
“Wait,” he said, causing her to protest. “Do you want to do this here? Or should we move to the bedroom?”
“Bedroom’s too far away.”
“Okay, but I need to stand up for a second and get some protection.”
Protection. How could she have forgotten? After everything. She covered herself up as she watched him walk toward the bathroom, his pants hanging dangerously low on his hips.
She should leave. She wasn’t thinking correctly. She had started to tie the sash around her waist when he returned holding a condom—and wearing absolutely nothing.
Her mouth watered and the panic left her body. She wanted—needed—her hands on that body. Something deep inside her knew he was her lifeline, and she had to hold on, no matter the cost.
“Hey,” he said, kneeling between her legs, “you’re all tied up again.” His smile fell, nearly wrenching her in two. “You change your mind? Because if you did, it’s totally okay.”
Yes, she’d changed her mind. And then changed it back.
She slid her hands down and circled him, squeezing while moving her hand up and down his shaft.
“God, Mac.”
His eyes fell to half-mast and a groan slipped from his lips. One small sound that said it all. Gratification. Pleasure. Need. An unfamiliar feeling unfurled in her chest. Power. She’d pulled that sound from him. With a single touch. Something so intense from something so simple.
“You’re not the only one who remembers things.” She leaned up and drew her tongue across his nipple. She wanted to hear that sound again. She hungered for it.
“But your dress . . .” he managed between groans.
Think fast, Avery. “I thought maybe you’d like to unwrap me again.”
He smiled and tugged. A part of her sagged under the weight of half-truths. He deserved more from her. She should tell him. Before any more clothes came off.
But he’d unhooked her bra and sucked a nipple into his mouth. She squirmed at the sensation. I’ll tell him later. I promise.
He continued his path down her body, pulling her panties down as he kissed her hips. His mouth slipped into the valley between her leg and torso, and he ran a finger over her core.
“Christ, Mac, you’re so wet.”
“Put your mouth on me, Mr. Taylor.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Please,” she breathed out impatiently.
He licked up her crease, and she screamed, shattering into a million pieces. Wow. That went from match strike to full-on forest fire in no time flat.
He didn’t stop caressing her until the last aftershock faded into a whisper of warmth.
“Now you,” she said, grabbing the condom from
the back of the sofa, ripping it open, and sliding it on him. She could feel his heavy gaze on her the entire time.
“I want to see your face when you come a second time.” He sat back on the sofa and lifted her over him. She slid down over him inch by inch, allowing time to adjust to his size. His breath hitched, and then he moved inside her.
She followed his rhythm. And it was like they’d never stopped doing this. The physical pleasure was unbelievable, but the connection between the two of them was . . . was . . . What was it? She had no words.
His head fell back to the sofa. “I’m so close, Mac. Are you close?”
She took the hand clutching her thigh and moved it six inches to the right. “Help me,” she whispered.
He circled the spot just north of where they joined, and they screamed out together and she collapsed forward on his chest. Sweat making their skin slick. Exertion making their chests heave.
“I gotta say, that is not the way I expected this evening to end.”
“Is it over?” she said into his chest.
He chuckled softly, burying his head in the crook of her neck. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”
“Got another round in you?”
“Or two.”
“Two more?” she said. “Sounds like someone’s been reading romance novels. I think three times in one night only happens in fiction.”
“That sounds like a challenge. Give me five minutes for a snack and water and then move over Nora Roberts.”
Avery laughed. “You know Nora Roberts writes romance?”
He shrugged, biting back a smile. “My mom had a stash, and I might have scanned to get to the sexy bits.”
“Okay, sign me up for the snacks too.”
Matt stared at the ceiling as Avery slept beside him. How many times had he imagined this? He ran a finger down her bare arm just to make sure she was real. She moved but didn’t awaken.
Was it everything he dreamed it would be? Yes. And in some ways, it was so much more. They weren’t kids anymore, and the fumbling sex they’d had in the beginning had been replaced with something so much better, so much hotter.
But in his dreams, it had only been about the physical act. He never thought about anything else. But now, here in the dark, his body was satisfied, but his heart ached.
Was this just one night? Was it just sex? Did he want it to be more than that? If he did, could he convince her to give them a chance in less than ten days?
They had years of history and yet time was running out.
He knew he’d take whatever she’d give him. A few more nights like this. A few days spent together. His heart squeezed. He’d ask for all those things—and more.
He reached for his phone. Yes, it was the middle of the night. But time was short. The stability of the band was good. The radio gig helped. But he needed more. He needed to prove he was a man she could rely on. Smart. One that people respected.
He shot off a quick text to his manager and agent. Surely there was more out there for him.
She rolled over and her eyes fluttered open. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice heavy with sleep and, he hoped, satisfaction.
“Taking care of some business,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face.
She bolted upright, leaving the sheet behind. His eyes followed. He knew her nipples were hard from the cool night, but damn if the sight of them didn’t send a bolt of lightning to his groin.
“Business? Is it morning?” she asked, panic in her voice, as she scanned the room.
“Not yet, love,” he said, kissing her shoulder and reaching to pull his thumb across a nipple.
She batted his hand away. “I need to go.”
He smirked. “I haven’t delivered on my three times yet.”
She looked back to him, desire flaring in her eyes, but only for an instant. It was quickly replaced with something entirely different. Panic.
“I need to get home. What if they realize my bed is empty? What if something has happened to one of them?”
He pulled her tight against his chest. “You told me you’ve had several sexual partners.”
She swung her legs off the bed. “Yes, but I never stayed the night. I don’t stay the night. It’s too . . . too . . .”
Something deflated in his chest. He’d hoped this was different. He hoped he was different. “Personal?”
She strained against his embrace. “Yes, and Momma and Jess and Wyatt are my responsibility.”
He kissed her shoulder and let his arms fall slack. “Isabel and Jessica are grown women.”
Her chest heaved and her breath came faster. “You don’t understand.”
He rose from the bed, opened a nearby drawer, and threw a t-shirt at her. She’d feel more comfortable, and her naked body wouldn’t be a distraction. “Explain it to me.”
He climbed back into bed, set her pillows against the headboard, and pulled her back to lean against them—and him. Her shoulders dropped, but just.
“Something might have happened to one of them,” she repeated. “Where’s my phone?”
Matt pointed at the side table. “I grabbed it last night.” He turned the screen toward her. “See? Nothing.”
She grabbed the phone and opened her text app. And then her email. Her fingers shook as she navigated between the apps. She let the phone drop, screen-side down, to her thigh, but she maintained her grip on it.
He pried her fingers up. “Can I have this?” he asked softly.
She nodded but said nothing. He set the phone beside her on the bed.
“Mac.” He turned her head to face him. “Look at me.” When she finally raised her eyes to his, he asked, “What’s going on?”
“Ever since daddy died, they’ve been my responsibility. I can’t leave them alone.” She said it so quietly that he wasn’t certain if she was talking to herself or him.
He stroked her hair, trying to calm her. “Mac, you’re the only one in that house that’s not a parent.”
She looked up at him as if it was the first time she’d thought about that.
“Why are you responsible for them?” He knew, from the moment they met, that she’d been protective of her family. She’d had to shoulder extra duties after her father passed. But this panic, in the middle of the night, was new—or maybe just more intense? It was breaking his heart to see this brash, confident woman reduced to this.
“Do you have your medication with you?”
She shook her head, causing the waves in her hair to bounce against her cheeks. “Don’t take it anymore.”
“Okay, then you need to talk to me. Are you upset about what happened between us?”
Her eyes flew to his, something inscrutable passing behind them. “No,” she whispered. “But I never expected to still be here”—she looked at her phone— “at three in the morning.”
“I’ll take you home whenever you want, but let’s wait until this passes. Okay?”
She nodded.
He wanted to take this from her, to help shoulder the burden of whatever was pulling her down into the depths. But he knew that wasn’t the way this worked. “Are you ready to tell me why you think your mom and sister are your responsibility?”
She pulled the sheet up to her neck and held it there. He could tell she was trying to regulate her breathing. He waited. If memory served, she’d talk when she was ready and not before.
She ran her thumb over her clavicle. Back and forth. Quickly, then slowing. She looked at him, pain dancing in her beautiful eyes. “They are my responsibility because it’s my fault Daddy died.”
His gut clenched and he wanted to scream, “What the hell are you talking about?” but he calmly said, “Tell me more.”
He eyed the dresser. This was a conversation that called for pants, but he didn’t want to leave her.
“Momma got pregnant in high school, and their families forced them to marry.”
This was not new, but the guilt dripping from her voice was something h
e hadn’t heard before. How long had she been carrying this around? Forever, he guessed. How had he missed it before? He thought he knew everything about her. But even at twenty-two, when they broke up, they were still basically kids.
“And?”
“They never should have gotten married. It was my fault they did,” she whispered.
“Mac, honey.” He laced his fingers with hers. He had to touch her. “It was their choice to have unprotected sex. Yes, you resulted from that, but that doesn’t make their unfortunate marriage your fault.”
“Yes, but they were only together because of me. And it got him killed.”
“He was serving his country, across the world in Iraq, when he died.”
She shook her head. “He kept signing up for more tours. He was running from a family he never wanted . . . and it got him killed. I got him killed, so it’s my duty to take care of them now. Because he can’t.”
His heart shattered. He kissed her temple. “Is this why they all live with you?”
She nodded, quiet tears running in rivulets down her cheeks.
He swiped at them with his thumb. My god, she’d been carrying this burden for over fifteen years. Is this when the anxiety started?
Something else clicked into place. Could this be part of the real reason she broke up with him? He shook the thought from his head. One issue at a time.
“Mac,” he said, and when she didn’t look at him, he placed a finger under her chin and softly turned her head to face him.
She closed her eyes. “I’m so embarrassed.”
Wait, what? “Why are you embarrassed?”
“I never want anyone to see me like this,” she said.
“What? Naked and sated?” he said, trying to make her laugh.
She didn’t laugh, but at least she smiled. She ran a hand up his chest. “Make love to me again.”
“There is nothing I would like more, but I think we should talk about this a little more.” Plus, it didn’t help his already shaky confidence that perhaps tonight’s activities had less to do with her wanting him and more to do with her wanting to block out her life for a while.
“So, I’ve got daddy issues? Who doesn’t?” she said, forcing out a fake laugh.
“Darlin’ this is more than your run-of-the-mill daddy issues. Have you talked to anyone about this?”
Don't Let the Music Die (The Storyhill Musicians Book 2) Page 13