Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Camry escorts us to my table, beautifully adorned with candlelight and dozens of roses, waiting for us in its secluded spot.

  Upon seeing the flowers, Raine gasps. “What are these?”

  “Flowers,” I answer dryly.

  Camry giggles and Raine stiffens, so I think of something smarmy to cover my blunder before Raine comments.

  “Flowers for a rare flower, Raine.”

  My words work like magic. Realizing, they are true, I caress her cheek. Her entire body relaxes, and she gives me a dreamy look.

  “I’ll send Brian right over,” Camry interrupts, and I drop my hand.

  Without further comment, she walks away.

  Raine laughs nervously and shifts her weight. “Um…um…are we going to eat the roses?”

  “No, sweetheart,” I say, amused. “The wait staff will remove them, until we’re ready to leave. Then, someone will bring them out for you to take if you want them.”

  Kissing the back of her hand, I let it go to hold out her chair. “Relax. It’ll be fine.”

  “Mr. Kiln,” my usual waiter greets.

  “Brian.” The man has a knack for coming at just the right time. “Would you clear the roses and package them for when we leave?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Within minutes, the table is cleared of the flowers and replaced with silverware and crystal. Raine takes in our surroundings, the cogs in her brain spinning. Her bemusement is adorable.

  “If I seem like I’m not my usual self, I guess, tonight, I’m not. I’ve enjoyed the peace between us, too, and thought it was time to do something outside of the house. Let’s just play tonight by ear. Can we do that?”

  “I want to ask what’s the catch, but I won’t. After you sent that fan girl away on my behalf, I’ll just let the chips fall where they may.” She cocks her head to the side. “That’s a regular occurrence, right?”

  “Yes. Somewhat. Does that bother you?”

  “Not tonight. Long-term, it might.”

  She has nothing to worry about then. I’m sure she knows it. Ordinarily, I would help her along and say the words, so she’d have no doubt. With Raine, there’s no need, and it’s as frustrating as it is refreshing that I can’t say and do what I please to her.

  Brian brings out a bottle of my favorite red wine and pours each of us a glass before walking away.

  “To you, Raine. Maybe, we’ll come out of this as friends.”

  She beams at me. “I’d like that.”

  We touch our glasses and take sips.

  It’s odd witnessing her sweetness—shyness. The new side of her pleases me. Makes her totally feminine. I like knowing she’s tough enough to fight her own battles as much as I like her feistiness. I still want to feel as if she needs me to be her protector. This Raine, I can definitely imagine depending on me. The other one? Not at all.

  We drink more wine, then I take her hand into mine again, feeling an amazing connection to her.

  I place my palm against her cheek and she leans into my touch. This is not one-sided. Our awareness is complete. Mutual.

  “Kiln,” she starts, uncertain.

  “Shhh.”

  She listens, and falls silent. Raine, as she is now, captivates me in a different way than that other side of her does. The violent little thug in her makes me want to strangle her and break her. I want her to bow to my wishes. I want to grab her, push her against a wall, and shove my cock so deep in her cunt, she’ll taste me.

  This Raine, though. The girly, soft Raine gives me a different feeling. I want to protect her and cherish her. I want to show her the world. Give her the world. Make love to her. Luckily, the Raine I’m used to will soon return, and I’ll put this gentle side of her, and me, to rest.

  For the time being, my goal isn’t only to fuck her brains out but wine and dine her, too.

  “Just play the evening by ear, beautiful,” I remind her.

  Dietrech’s face flashes into my mind, threatening to send the illusion of this night up in smoke. Dietrech was sweet and compliant, too. She was shy and feminine. Everything Raine is currently showing me, my ex-wife had in spades. And I fell for it.

  Dietrech was all fluff, eye-candy. I need substance in my life. As with anything, I must give substance to get it. And I just haven’t mustered up the faith in a woman to offer it. Bitterness is my cocoon. Cloaking myself in resentment keeps me closed off. Love and kindness won’t leave my walls. But neither will they come in.

  “Kiln?”

  The sound of Raine’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

  Does she have substance? Does she have what I need? Do I even want to know?

  “Are you all right?”

  I flash her a silly grin. “Sorry. My mind wandered.”

  “Yeah, I bet it did.” She studies me and then nods. “You’ve been so…so strange, so I forgive you.” She points to Brian, who stands near our table. “He’s been trying to get your attention.”

  “Are you ready for the menus, Mr. Kiln?”

  I lift a questioning brow to Raine.

  “Um, yeah, sure,” she answers.

  “Very good, ma’am,” Brian responds.

  He’s gone for a couple of minutes before returning to hand each of us a menu. Too focused on Raine reading the offerings, I forget about my menu and focus on her as Brian leaves us alone again. She chews on her lip. Turns a page. Shifts in her seat. Flips over another page. Gives me an under-eyed look and closes the menu.

  For long moments, she sits in silence, sipping her wine. Her enigmatic face gives nothing away. Not the fact that the menu is entirely in French. Or the fact that the cheapest item is a side for fifteen dollars.

  She peeps at me through her lashes, and I grin at her.

  “Fine, Kiln!” she huffs. “I don’t understand French. Would you please translate?”

  A soft chuckle of satisfaction escapes me and she rolls her eyes, bursting into a fit of giggles that makes me laugh harder.

  “How about I order for the both of us?”

  She fixes her mouth to say ‘no’. She says it so often, I know her exact expression. Then, she breathes in deep and gives me a slow nod. “I’d like that.”

  I read through the choices. A few new dishes are listed, as are some of my favorites. Once I select our meal, I summon the waiter to the table.

  “We’ll have the lobster with ginger-lemon sauce, cauliflower rice with chive butter and roasted baby corn.” I speak in English, so Raine understands me.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Kiln, sir,” Brian says with a smile, taking our menus and scurrying away.

  “I’ve never had lobster,” she admits, the moment we’re alone. “But I’m sure you knew that.”

  “It would’ve been an assumption on my part, so I didn’t think one way or the other about it.”

  “What’s your favorite food?”

  “Wagyu beef.”

  She frowns. “Um, okay.”

  “Yours?” I ask.

  “Pizza. Although the dumpster you found me at has delicious food. If their stuff is good when it’s cold, it must be insane when it’s freshly cooked.”

  “Maybe, one day, I’ll take you there.” The honest words easily fall from my lips. I like seeing her so relaxed. I’m honored to be at her side as she experiences something new.

  “That’s a deal.” She gives me an uncomfortable smile. “Okay, so what do you do on a date?”

  “Hell, sweetheart, it’s been so long since I’ve been on one, I can’t tell you.”

  We allow our dating ineptitude to sink in and, then, burst into more laughter.

  “I really like this side of you,” I confess, leaning over to brush my lips over hers. “You need to show it more often.”

  “Kiln,” she says in warning. “We’re awkward but we’re doing good, so let’s not start ripping into each other.”

  “All right,” I agree, although I wasn’t trying to insult her. But anger brings on anger, so I change the subject. “Let’s start with the basics. Whe
re are you from?”

  “All over,” she answers cryptically. “My momma said I was born in Shreveport. Louisiana,” she adds, I assume, for my benefit.

  “I’m from Houston, Raine, so I know where Shreveport is.”

  “Oh. Right. Anyway, I have no idea who my daddy is. Then, whenever she met my stepfather, we started moving around a lot. The longest we ever stayed in one place was when we were in Jacksonville, Florida. We’d been there five years. That’s where Montana and me ran away from.”

  “Jacksonville is a helluva long way from Denver. How’d you two end up here?”

  She shrugs. “This is where Montana said he had a contact. To save money for food and our apartment, we hitchhiked. Montana knew that I’d get the most attention on the highway, so he’d put me out there to flag cars. When one would stop, Montana would come out. A few people drove off.”

  My mouth drops open. Putting her out on the highway to flag fucking cars down for rides was a pre-curser to making her earn their living on her back. I’m sure that motherfucker knew Raine would follow him, so he had his revenge planned.

  “If you could bring Montana back, would you?” I already know the answer, but, fuck, keeping this secret is right for her long-term well-being.

  “You know I would. I miss him so much and feel so lost without him.” She tips her head back and gives a watery laugh. “Oh my God, I’d hug him so tight, and then punch him for putting me through this.”

  She’d be so pissed if she knew Montana faked his own death, and she’d be crushed that he considered her a burden. A nuisance.

  “How long did you stay in an apartment?”

  “Almost four years before we started having problems. The past three we’ve been on and off the streets. When we met Chambers, it seemed like a gift from heaven.”

  Chambers, her pimp. Chambers, the man she thinks murdered her brother.

  I drop the subject before her raw grief appears and fucks up my plans to not reveal Montana’s secret.

  “Is your name really Raine Storm?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your middle name?”

  “I can’t tell you that, dude. You think Raine Storm is bad. My middle name is so shameful, you wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  She shakes her head. “Nope.”

  It isn’t worth an argument, so I move on. “Do you have a favorite movie?”

  “As a child, I don’t remember ever going to a theater. Montana took me to the movies for the first time about five years ago. After that, we tried to see a matinee a month. But, then…” Her voice trails off and she heaves in a breath. “What can I say? We couldn’t waste money on that stuff.”

  “Have you ever gone bowling?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Damn, Raine. What have you done?”

  “Hmmm.” She lays a finger against her cheek and pretends to think. “Oh, I know,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Steal, fuck, and dumpster diver.”

  My jaw clenches. “Raine—”

  “Kiln, babe, it’s okay. I have my stories and you have yours. I only missed going to movies after Montana took me and then stopped us from going. I don’t feel as if I missed out on bowling, or whatever, because I never had it.” She gulps from her glass of wine. “We can tell stories from the trenches. The groupies you’ve been with and the johns I’ve met.”

  Hell no. Fuck no. I don’t care to hear about the dicks she’s seen. Instead of admitting that, I turn it around. “Do you really want to hear about all the pussy I’ve been in?”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” She lowers her lashes and begins to make little circles on the back of my hand. “You had a life before you met me and you’re in the public eye, so I understand women will always come up to you and proposition you. You’ll always run into old flings.” She sidles a glance in the general direction of the hostess station, although we can’t see it from here.

  I play dumb. “What are you talking about?”

  “Camry? The way she was making eyes at you and twitching her ass. The look she gave to me. You two have fucked before.”

  “We have.” There’s no reason to deny it.

  Questions brew in her eyes, but she refuses to ask them. I wish she would. I want to know what she’s thinking. How she feels.

  “Do you like the Bard?”

  Her question takes the conversation in another direction and surprises me.

  “He’s okay. But he was required reading. Anything I’m made to do rubs me the wrong way, so I always found his stories incredibly boring.”

  “His sonnets, too?”

  “You mean poems with thou and thee and fairest. Dearest. Beautifullest.”

  Peals of laughter burst from her. “Shakespeare doesn’t use beautifullest.”

  “I’ll bet that word is buried somewhere in one of his sonnets.”

  “A fan of William Shakespeare thee isn’t,” she teases.

  “Sure the fuck am not,” I agree.

  “Do you know he invented the name Jessica?”

  “Not,” I argue. “He was the first to use it as it’s currently spelled. In one of his plays.”

  “The Merchant of Venice,” she supplies, surprising me yet again. “However, he is the one—”

  My raised hand interrupts her. “Stop, sweetheart. Jessica is derived from Jeska or Yisca. I’m serious. Look it up.”

  She wrinkles her nose at me. “You know if I discover you’re right, I’m going to keel over.”

  I bark a laugh. “Who was it that talked about compromise, miss?”

  “All right, I won’t exactly keel over. I’ll just be very disappointed that my knowledge of Shakespeare has slipped.”

  “You like him that much?”

  “Love him. I was Juliet in the school play. My drama teacher bought me a book of his sonnets. She said it was a reward for my dedication to the role.” She forces a laugh. “Unfortunately, I never got to do the actual play. I ran with Montana before the production debuted. The do-do bird gave my book to his junkie girlfriend, who traded it for a hit. I was so fucking mad with both of them. Montana could be so stupid.”

  Stupid is one word to describe him. I add a few more. Selfish. Sleazy. Slimy. Lazy. Bitter. Hateful.

  “I have an idea,” I tell her, ending my list. Motherfucker isn’t worth the time. “Once we’re done with the meal, why don’t we return to the mansion and utilize Sloane’s fifty-seat movie theater?”

  “A fifty-seat movie theater?” Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  I nod. “Sloane has all types of movies. I’m sure he has one that involves Shakespeare.”

  “Oh no! Can we do that some other time? Would you have The Vow with Rachel McAdams and Channing Tatum? He has to make her fall in love with him again after they’re married.”

  “Is this a sappy chick flick deal that will make my balls shrivel to a quarter of their size because I’m watching?”

  “Pul-leaze, Kiln,” she drawls, exaggerating the blink of her eyelids.

  I give her the stink eye. “Will you at least let me feel your pussy if I look at this movie?”

  “Not for another five days. Nice try, though.”

  She drains her glass and grins in satisfaction. Happiness and alcohol brighten her eyes. To keep that look on her face, I guess I can hand in my man card for one evening and watch a movie made for women to cry their eyes out.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fogginess curls around my brain as happiness tickles my stomach. Next to me, Kiln reclines on one of the cinema loungers in Sloane Mason’s huge home theater. Luxurious indulgences fill the room. Plush seating. A ginormous screen. Stocked bars tucked into several alcoves. An old-fashioned popcorn maker. A soda fountain with various drinks. An Icee machine.

  The vast collection of titles is a movie lover’s dream. Some are digital. Some are on DVD. All are accessible with the touch of a button on the control panel in the back of the room.

  My excitement is almost enough to ki
ll my alcohol buzz. However, Kiln’s closeness and the wonderful night he’s shown me—along with the vast amount of wine I drank—has me giggling at every little thing.

  I feel young and carefree. And…amazing.

  “Are you watching the movie, Raine?”

  Curling up in my seat, I twist toward him and offer a wide grin at his amusement. He’s so close but still so far away. We’re on separate seats, after all.

  “What movie?” I tease.

  “The bullshit that’s been on for over an hour,” he rumbles, his look filled with fake disapproval. “What’s this called again?”

  “Dunno. Who needs a movie when you’re so close to me?”

  He smirks at me. Instead of answering, he leans toward me and palms my neck.

  Sighing dreamily, I part my lips. He wastes no time in taking my silent offer, covering my mouth with his. He tastes of beer and whatever icy mint he’s been chewing on. Our tongues duel, spiral, and wiggle. My nipples press against the silk of my bra.

  “Raine,” he whispers against my mouth.

  I practically purr. Without thinking this through, I climb over the armrest and into his lap, circling my legs around his waist. He thrusts his hard dick against my pussy and I moan, grinding against him. Damning the barrier of our clothes.

  We devour each other’s mouths. Kiln wraps me in his arms, then slips to the floor with me, covering me with his muscled body.

  “Fuck me,” I demand, lifting

  my hips in invitation. I’ve said this before, unfortunately, but I’ve never meant it as I do now. “Please, baby. Hard.”

  He thrusts against my pussy and I cry out, partly frustrated because we remain dressed.

  “Not yet,” he tells me, in a Kiln-voice. Authoritative. Husky. Sexy. “Not until I eat your cunt. Open your pussy lips and lick your clit until you’re out of your mind.”

  He lifts me halfway and covers my nipple with his hot mouth.

  “Wait, damn it,” I cry. “I have to take my clothes off. As good as you feel through the material, you’re going to feel a hundred times better if I’m naked.”

  Laughter rumbles from him, but he doesn’t stray from my breast. Trembles rack me. I throw my head back, allowing him full access. The room is starting to spin from alcohol and sexual frustration. I clutch his biceps.