IT WAS ALWAYS YOU

by Erika Kelly

  His long legs ate up the carpet, and within seconds he was standing in front of her, too close, too intense. His eyes burned with anger, determination…and yet…underneath all that, she could have sworn she saw helplessness.

  “I was seventeen.” Intensity radiated off him. “I fucked up, but I was a kid. You have to let it go. You have to…you can’t…fuck.” He cupped her chin—and she felt the tremble in his fingers—and the fierceness in his gaze made her hot and restless and…and confused.

  Because he might act like the cavalier playboy, but he felt like the boy she’d loved so completely.

  Still watching her, he lowered his mouth, a tumult of emotion churning in his eyes. It all settled into a stark, desperate yearning that ripped through her body like a scream.

  Because she knew what was coming.

  One second later, he kissed her. Her heart kicked so hard it hurt. His mouth opened, as he licked inside, and he shifted closer. The heat of his body sank into her skin, and when his hands cupped her jaw, tilting her to deepen the kiss, she thought she would die.

  Of pleasure and longing and…and…the sweetness of this moment, of finally closing the gap that had always existed between them.

  Oh, God, she was just melting from his touch. The scent of him, the hunger in his kiss…everything just swirled around her, had her spinning, lifting, taking flight.

  Until she remembered. This is Cassian. The careless playboy.

  Kissing meant nothing to him.

  She snapped out of it, tore her mouth away, and shoved him.

  She wanted to burst into tears, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’d wrecked her.

  “That will never happen again.”

  Chapter Six

  Cassian paced his hotel room, watching the recording his friend had just sent. But it was hard to pay attention when desire still rocked his body.

  And fear. What had he done?

  Why would you kiss her?

  She hates you.

  That kiss sure as hell didn’t taste like hate.

  “You see it?” Dean’s voice came through the speaker on his phone.

  His friend had gotten the hotel to release security footage of the entire scene at the pool—from the moment Amie jumped onto the diving board and started peeling off her bikini, to him leaping onto it and blocking her, and then to Dean handing him a towel, saying something quietly. “Yeah, I see it.”

  “You don’t sound happy.”

  Because I’m not. “No, it’s good. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  The way Gigi saw him—it made his stomach sick. He didn’t prey on women, did he?

  He flirted. He hooked up with women he met on the road. But neither of those could be considered preying. The whole point was to not hurt anyone.

  “I sent it to Coach and Joan,” Dean said. “They’re going to release it. We need to show that you were being a good guy. That we were just partying as a team.”

  “No, they can’t do that.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because, in the photograph, you can’t see that it’s Amie Clover. Here, you can. And I don’t want to jeopardize her job or her reputation.”

  “Fine. We’ll blur her face, but you’re not going to get traded over shit like this.”

  “Okay.” He brought the phone back to his ear. “Do you think I prey on women?”

  Dean went quiet, and Cassian breathed a little easier. He could trust his friend to take his question seriously and give him a thoughtful answer.

  “I’m going to need some context here, because I’ve never known you to lie or mislead anyone.”

  “When I talk to a woman, am I nice? Or do I go into scoring mode?” He thought about the nurse, and how he’d talked to her. He hadn’t been thinking about getting laid. He thought he’d been putting her at ease.

  “First of all, you’re allowed to have a sex life. It’s okay to hook up with women who’re looking for the same thing. That’s hardly preying on them. And I’m not sure you treat women any differently than you do other people. Don’t you turn on the charm when you talk to a reporter? A teammate? The person bagging your groceries?”

  Relief loosened his shoulders. “Yeah. I do.”

  “Yeah, so, it’s your personality. You’re a fun guy. People like you. A predator makes promises, manipulates…misleads. That’s not you.”

  At the window, Cassian parted the curtains to look down at the pool. Underwater lights made it look a brilliant blue. At this late hour, he’d expected it to be empty. Instead, he saw two people.

  Playing guitar.

  Awareness shot through his body.

  Gigi and Grant sat close together, strumming and singing.

  “You want to tell me what got you thinking about this?” Dean asked.

  He hadn’t told Dean about Gigi being on the tour, but he needed to talk before he stormed down there and fucked things up permanently.

  Because they’re not already fucked up permanently?

  She thinks I get off on hurting women.

  And then I went and kissed her.

  “Gigi’s here.”

  “What—in your room?”

  “No. On the tour.”

  “Oh.” One word held a world of meaning. “That’s…”

  “Yeah.”

  “You talk to her?”

  “We’ve been stripping off pieces of each other’s skin.”

  Dean went quiet for a moment. “Well, cut it out. You’ve got seven days with her.”

  “Six. I wasted today.” Actually, he’d made things worse.

  “Doesn’t matter how many days you wasted. All that matters is what you do with what’s left. Let me ask you this, what’s the best outcome you can think of for this week with her?”

  I want her back.

  His world bottomed out. All the bravado, the whole fucking foundation he stood on, collapsed. Jesus, he felt the loss of her like a huge, gaping hole right in the center of his heart.

  He ached for her.

  Ached for the friendship that had made him full. Complete. Safe.

  Raw and broken, Cassian pressed his forehead to the glass. Would he ever stop hating himself for what he’d done?

  She’d obviously gone swimming, because her damp hair had begun to dry in its usual gentle waves. She was laughing, totally relaxed with this guy she’d just met.

  He couldn’t have her back, so he at least wanted her forgiveness. “I want to fix what I did.”

  “You never told me the specifics. Just that her dad asked you to back off so she could reach her potential or some shit.”

  “I hooked up with her best friend.” Ah, fuck. Every time he thought about it, it sliced open the same wound.

  Dean exhaled.

  “In front of her.”

  “Damn.” His friend stretched that single syllable into three.

  “Right after she told me she wanted to be with me.”

  There wasn’t a day that went by that the memory didn’t pass through him like a shiver. Some days, more like a violent twist. “I can’t stand it.”

  “Okay, well, it’s not too late to fix it. It’s never too late.”

  Cassian felt a flicker of hope. Because Dean was a problem-solver. He’d help him see the situation clearly. “I don’t know where to start. Every time we talk to each other, she winds up gutting me like a fish.”

  “Have you apologized?”

  Cassian let out a bitter laugh. “No.”

  “Start there.”

  “I might’ve made things worse.” He paused. “I kissed her.”

  “Before you apologized?”

  “Yeah.” Her scent had washed over him, erasing the hotel hallway, driving him back into the heart of them. That lush, sexy mouth, the vulnerability in her eyes…Jesus, she’d slayed him.

  Because there was so much more than anger going on inside her. There was hurt…but there was also want. It’s still there.

  “Not your best move.”r />
  “Probably not.” Cassian watched her foot stir the water, creating gentle waves that fractured the underwater lights.

  “Look, it’s not that complicated. Talk to her. Let her say everything she’s stored up all these years.”

  “That’s what I want to do.”

  “Well, quit kissing her and let her have her say. Think you can do that?”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t take back what he’d done, but he had six days left with her. Six days to fix things. “Sometimes, I think I’m going to go out of my mind without her. She’s the only one I want to be with, to talk to. It’s always been like that, from the moment I met her. And not having her in my life…” He was saying all this shit out loud, not something he normally did. But with Dean…with Dean he could.

  “I’ve got Vivi now, so I get it. And I’m telling you, it’s not too late. Quit fuckin’ around and fix it.”

  * * *

  With both hands full, Cassian kicked her door.

  “Hang on a second,” she called from inside.

  He was determined, for sure, but also anxious. Gigi was a tough cookie. She wouldn’t be won over easily.

  If at all.

  A moment later the door swung open, and he was gifted with her bright smile.

  Her expression dulled when she saw him. Plucking a to-go coffee from his hand, she said, “Sweet. Thanks. I’ll see you at breakfast.” She let the door fall closed.

  His boot kicked out, keeping it ajar.

  “Nice reflexes. Not for nothing, all that training you do.” She spun around on him. “I’m running late, so excuse me if I can’t chat.”

  He pushed into her room, which smelled of a fresh shower and her expensive scent. “Joey Canton loves muscle cars and root beer floats. I found both.”

  She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, about to transform her face into a Lollipop—which meant heavy eyeliner, rosy cheeks, and bright red lipstick. “I didn’t see that on the information sheet.”

  He liked her natural. With her creamy complexion and amber eyes framed with dark lashes, she was beautiful. “I did some research. Made some calls. Found a souped-up Mustang to rent for the day.”

  Lips parted, she applied mascara to her eyelashes. “He might not be able to leave the hospital.”

  “I checked with Kevin. We’re good to go. You in?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. See you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

  “I can’t be ready that fast.”

  “You can’t turn yourself into a Lollipop that fast, but you can be ready by then.” As his hand closed around the doorknob, he heard, “I have to be a Lollipop, you ass. That’s the only reason I’m on this tour.”

  “The rental place is two towns over. Fifteen minutes is all we have if we’re going to make it to the hospital on time.”

  “Fine.” She screwed the wand into the tube and tossed it into her make-up bag. “I’ll get ready in the car. Let me just get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  Eighteen minutes later, Cassian was signing autographs, when he caught movement out the corner of his eye. He glanced over to find Gigi strutting towards him, wearing jean cut-offs, a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and flip flops.

  That woman had no idea how her beauty rang a bell throughout his body. Everything about her…

  She’s mine. She just is. Whether he got to be with her again or not, he knew—he’d always known—there was no one else for him.

  Finished signing the last scrap of paper, he said, “Have a good day, guys.”

  He intercepted Gigi on her way to the door. Getting right up in her face, he felt the powerful charge between them. “You’re late.”

  Her lips parted. “I’m…” She bit back a grin, nudging his arm. “Shut up. Let’s go.”

  He led the way to the car idling under the portico. “What’s in the bag?”

  “I told you. I have to turn into a Lollipop by the time we get to the hospital, so I brought everything with me.”

  They made their way around the valets and guests coming in and out of the hotel. He reached the taxi first, holding the door open for her. As she ducked into her seat, he felt this terrible twist of longing—to be close to her again. He couldn’t stand the huge, ugly divide.

  He got in beside her and reached for his seat belt.

  “Davis Rent-a-Car?” The driver peered at him in the rearview mirror.

  “That’s right.”

  The man scowled. “You understand it’s in another county, right?”

  “I do.”

  “It’s at least a forty-five-minute drive.”

  “I know. It’s cool.”

  “Okay.” The driver pulled out of the portico and turned up the radio.

  Gigi stared at her phone, but he had the sense she was using it to avoid conversation.

  Say something. Anything.

  Break the tension. “You like being a Lollipop?” He said it quietly so the driver wouldn’t hear.

  “Yep. Love it.” She looked out her window. “My dream come true.”

  He placed his hand on the empty seat between them. “I know you always pictured a career more like Pink, but…” He checked to see if the driver was listening, but the guy’s fingers tapped to a beat on the radio. “No matter how you look at it, you’ve achieved massive success. I don’t know how much of it’s your music, but it’s your voice, your personality.” He leaned closer. “You’re a superstar.”

  For the first time she looked at him with something other than hate. “None of it’s my music. They write and choreograph everything.”

  He figured, if she was talking civilly to him, then the subject mattered to her. Troubled her. And he felt like he finally had an opening. “Do you like doing it?”

  He got a whiff of more than her shampoo and clean cotton scent. He got the essence of her—something sweet with a hint of cinnamon spice. Her toned legs were smooth, long, and it took everything he had to keep his hands to himself. Because he just wanted that contact so badly—to bridge the massive, Arctic gap.

  And if I hadn’t been so nasty, she might be talking to me right now.

  So, fix it.

  “Even if it’s not your music, are you at least having fun doing it?”

  She didn’t answer, and he could see she was deciding whether she wanted to talk to him or tell him to fuck off.

  But he’d gained an opening, and he wasn’t about to let it close. It was time to get real. With a fingernail, he scratched at the stitching on the seat’s upholstery. “When I saw you last night, it shocked the hell out of me. I was happy, but then I saw your expression, and…I didn’t react well.”

  Her body relaxed the slightest bit. “I haven’t been very nice.”

  “Do you think we can start over? I’ve missed you, Gigi. All these years, all the people I’ve met…” He swallowed. “It’s never been the way it was with you. Not even close. I ruined us—I own that—and it’s up to me to fix it, but I need you to give me a chance to make things right. Will you let me do that?”

  “I don’t know that you can make anything right, but…there’s no point in us being so awful to each other.”

  Relief slammed him. “I’m sorry I made fun of you for being a Lollipop. If I could kick my own ass, I would. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m actually impressed by what you’ve accomplished.”

  He saw the moment she decided to let down her guard. “There are moments when I’ve loved it, but…” She drew in a breath and finally looked at him, the anger, the indecision cleared from her expression. “At first, I was insulted. I was nineteen, in my sophomore year at USC. I went to a karaoke bar with a bunch of friends, and I couldn’t pick a song because they were all so lame, so I just started singing one of my songs. Afterwards, this really smart-looking woman came up to me and said she loved my voice and stage presence. And it was that moment of, Oh, my God, I’m being discovered right here and now at Billy’s Bar and Grill.”

  “I’m not surprised you were dis
covered. You’ve got a powerful voice.”

  She tilted her head. Meh. “But then she explained what she was doing—putting this girl band together—and my immediate reaction was, No way. It just felt like such a slap in the face.” She played with the frayed threads of her shorts. “I didn’t contact her for a few weeks. I talked to my parents and my sisters, my professors…I just needed advice, you know? And pretty much everyone said I’d be crazy to pass up the opportunity. Whatever I thought of a manufactured girl band, it would provide a platform that would take me years to build on my own.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “But I think…and I’m not trying to make you feel bad right now, because if you want to have a real conversation, this is the truth.” She waited for his response.

  “I want real.”

  She nodded. “I think, after the night you kissed Ashton, I stopped trusting my own instincts. So, I’ve found myself going along with other people’s advice.” She twined a thread around her finger so tightly her skin went white. “I think I lost a part of myself when I signed that contract, because I’m not me anymore. I sing the words they write, wear the costumes they give me, and do the routines they choreograph for me on stage.”

  She’d moved on as though the first sentence hadn’t carried any weight, but it had crushed him.

  And he was stuck, hearing it on repeat.

  I stopped trusting my own instincts.

  And, then, the worst thing of all, I lost a part of myself.

  He’d done that, carved out a piece of this vibrant, smart, independent, sexy, wildly talented woman. He’d known he’d hurt her, of course—he would never forget her expression that night—but he hadn’t known the extent of the damage he’d caused.

  Gutted, he couldn’t say a word. He’d had this cocky notion that he could help her heal, but that was before he’d learned he’d fractured her sense of self.

  “But…” Her whole demeanor changed, her vulnerability gone. “The good news is, once we turn in this last album, the world’s my oyster.”

  She’d mistaken his silence for disinterest. And that was unacceptable. He didn’t know how to heal her, but he had to start somewhere. “I’m sorry.”