“Nix?” Her hand cupped my face, and I jerked my gaze to hers. “I was just joking. But…have you? You know? Ever been sued for paternity?” Her brow furrowed, and concern darkened her eyes.
“Hell no. Never been that wasted.” I shook my head. I had to get that letter out of her hands. He wasn’t allowed here. Wasn’t allowed near her.
“Well, I guess that’s good.” She cringed. “Not that you wouldn’t make a great dad. I think you would. Just not…” She bit her lower lip.
“When I was wasted every night and all day in the summer?” I forced a smile to my lips.
“Exactly.” She tilted her head and watched me carefully. “Do you even want kids?”
“I’m not sure a kid would ever want me,” I responded, my hands flexing on her hips.
“Every kid would want you,” she whispered, trailing her fingers down the beard I’d quit shaving after the last show. “And I bet you’d make some beautiful babies when the time is right.”
My heart cranked over, but I was too focused on the letter to reply.
“Anyway.” She withdrew her hand and ripped open the envelope.
“Practice.” I yanked the letters out of her hand and threw all but one onto the floor, then filled my hands with her incredible ass and lifted her to straddle me.
“I’m sorry?” she mumbled through the fabric of my hoodie as I stripped it off her.
“You say babies, and it makes me want to practice making them.” The hoodie hit the floor as I slipped the letter between the couch cushions.
She grinned. “You always want to practice.”
“Makes perfect.” I held the nape of her neck and brought her mouth to mine in a kiss that took us from playful to burning in less than a second. The bone-jarring panic that had accompanied that letter fell away, replaced by a primal demand that bordered on desperation.
I needed her now.
It took minutes for our clothes to come off and a condom on, and then I was inside her, where the world made sense. Fuck me, she was hot, and tight, and always so incredibly wet, so perfect. This was where I wanted to live—right here with her, where nothing else mattered. Where nothing else could touch us.
I kissed her hard as she rode me, arching my hips to meet her. She slowed the pace when I would have pushed it. Gentled her strokes when I would have driven her faster and harder. Ran her fingers through my hair and pulled back enough to look in my eyes, smiling.
The woman was going to drive me to the brink of madness, but I was here for it.
I sat back and let her take the reins, pulling her with me so I could use my hands, teeth, and tongue to work her into a frenzy. Watching her come was even more gratifying than my own orgasm, and I made sure she got there twice before I plummeted over that edge, groaning her name.
Our breathing slowly returned to normal as I cradled her against my chest. She traced the scar along the top edge of the wings that stretched across my chest.
“Jealous lover?” she asked softly.
“Bar fight.”
She lifted her eyebrows at me.
“Other guy started it.” I shrugged, then kissed her. “What about you?” I trailed my finger down the silvery line at her side. “Old jousting wound?”
“Bear fight.” She grinned.
“You’re a dork.” But I laughed.
“Appendectomy when I was ten.” She sat up, depriving me of her skin but giving me a fantastic view of her breasts. “Which tattoo was your first?”
I hesitated, and nearly gave her the lie I’d quoted to every magazine for the last decade. Instead of pointing to the side piece of Icarus mid-fall, like I usually did, I drew her fingers to the small clock that rested under a wing above my heart.
“Really?” Her gaze flew to mine. “I thought it was…”
“If you thought it was Icarus, then why did you ask?” I held her hand against my chest, giving her the only piece of truth I was capable of, which was more than I’d offered anyone else.
“I don’t like getting my information secondhand.” Her index finger circled the clock, pausing on the Roman numerals at the second and hour hands. “Seven twelve.”
“Yep.” My heart clenched. “You going to ask me why?”
Those green eyes pinned me in place. “Do you want to tell me?” The little lift at the end of her question shredded my soul. She was always so hopeful.
I shook my head, crushing that hope.
“Then I’m not going to ask,” she whispered, cupping my face. Her kiss was soft but a little sad. “The irony of you being inside my body when you won’t let me in here”—she tapped my temples lightly—“is a bit too much for me right now.”
With that, she slid off me, picking up her discarded clothing and the mess I’d made of the mail, then leaving me to my own shitty thoughts and a letter I needed to burn.
We stayed in Colorado as November rolled into December. I liked it here, where we were far from the cameras and the tabloids. The only parties included ugly Christmas sweaters, from which I abstained, choosing to wear a sweatshirt I’d had made of Jeremiah’s face.
Zoe’s mother laughed her head off, drawing every eye in the crowded community center.
Naomi drew a mustache on her husband’s printed face.
Zoe rolled her eyes and told me she wouldn’t kiss me while her brother’s face was rubbing up against her, so I ditched it twenty minutes into the party. Nothing was worth missing out on Zoe’s kisses.
I stealthily avoided Peter, who never let an opportunity pass without suggesting he join Hush Note on backup guitar. Apparently, he wasn’t aware that Jonas currently occupied that position.
“So, when are you two headed back to Seattle?” Naomi asked, sipping on whatever green liquid filled the punch bowl.
Zoe turned a questioning gaze up at me. “Oh, I don’t know. Nix, when are we going back to Seattle?” It was a discussion we had every few days.
“When we feel like it.” Was I hindering her from scouting out new bands? Probably. Was I blatantly using any excuse I had to stay here with her in our little snow globe? Absolutely. I was twenty-three weeks sober and in no rush to jump back into the lifestyle that jeopardized that. Plus, living in Colorado had the added bonus of living with Zoe—an issue that would eventually rear its head when we went back.
“Such a defined answer,” Naomi teased.
“Is this sarcasm from the same woman who walked into the kitchen counter when she first met me?” I wrapped my arm around Zoe’s shoulders.
“That was before I knew you. Sigh. The good old days.”
“Your family is mean,” I complained to Zoe.
“At least you know my family. We’ve been together for—” Her eyes popped wide, and she pressed her lips between her teeth.
Ah, yes, the together label she’d studiously avoided using when dancing around the topic of our relationship. That little ache in my chest flared up at how worried she looked, so I went through a quick comparison in my head to Quinn and Jonas, who were the only examples I had.
Zoe and I lived together. Slept together. Fought both for and against each other, depending on the subject and day. Grocery shopped together. Watched movies together. Showered together. I didn’t want anyone else and didn’t see that changing anytime soon…or at all. We were here together, and we’d go back to Seattle together. Yeah, we were together. At least we’d better be after my lawyers threw a shit fit while arranging her Christmas present.
“Months,” I said softly. “We’ve been together for months. And trust me, you’re not missing anything when it comes to my mother. Now, how about you let me take you home so we can go be…together again.”
“You’re lucky my dad is across the room.” Zoe smiled.
“I’m lucky for far more reasons than that.” I pulled her closer.
“I’m lucky you’re leaving, because you two are nauseating,” Jeremiah interrupted, coming into our little circle with a sleepy Levi on his shoulder. “And don’t talk about my
little sister like that.” He shivered. “I mean, I get it. You’re a tatted-up rocker, but come on. There are families around and you’re using words like ‘together.’”
“Shut up.” Zoe rolled her eyes. “You guys headed home?”
“Levi needs to go to bed,” Naomi said with a nod.
“And Daddy needs to be together with Mommy,” Jeremiah said, wiggling his eyebrows at his wife.
“Eww.” Zoe cringed.
“And on that note.” I hefted her over my shoulder, applauded myself for not smacking her ass, then carried her to the coatroom, successfully avoiding both Peter and his wife.
Naomi and Jeremiah followed us out.
“Crap, I forgot my purse,” Naomi said over the stack of Tupperware containers she carried.
“Coatroom?” Jeremiah asked.
Naomi nodded. “Left-hand side.”
“Here, I’ll take him,” I said, stepping forward to take Levi out of his arms.
“You sure?” Jeremiah asked.
“I won’t drop him,” I promised.
“Thanks.” Jeremiah transferred the sleeping boy to my arms, and I carried him the rest of the way to their car, then buckled him into his car seat with a few quick motions.
When I looked up, Zoe was watching me with a mix of surprise and confusion. I kissed her quickly and tucked her into our car.
“You made it,” Zoe told me a few minutes later while I handled the snowy roads. “Your first Legacy Christmas party. I’m impressed.”
I shook my head and smiled but kept my eyes on the road. “I bought you a Christmas present.”
“Oh yeah? I bought you one too.”
“I bet mine is better than yours.” I smirked.
“If it’s just you in a big red ribbon, I’m not interested.”
I laughed. “You’re a liar.”
“Maybe.” She tensed as we rounded the corner into our driveway. “When we go back to Seattle, will we still be…together? Or is this a Colorado thing?”
I slowed the Rover down, stopping completely when the house came into view. “What do you want it to be?”
“You first.” Her chin lifted despite the fear in her eyes.
That ache was back, throbbing behind my ribs. Damn, she was gorgeous…and mine. “We’re together wherever we go.” I put the car in park and reached for her hand. “I’m going to fuck this up. I don’t want to, but I know I will. I know I already do on some days. But I want this. I want you in my bed, and I don’t just mean in Colorado. I want you with me in the hotels, in my apartment in Seattle—or yours,” I rushed to add.
She shook her head. “You don’t want to see my apartment.”
“I do. I want to be wherever you are.” It was the most honest thing I’d ever said to her.
Her lips parted, and she smiled. “Good. Because I feel the same.”
“Thank fuck.” Every taut muscle in my body relaxed.
“Oh, come on, like anyone has ever told you no.” She picked up my hand and kissed the back of it.
“I’ve never cared enough to put myself in a position for someone to say it.” Did she know everything about me? No. But she knew more than anyone else. That was enough for now.
“We can’t stay here forever, you know. I can’t always tour with you. I won’t be outside your dressing room, fending off the women lined up to take my place.” Her grip tightened.
I leaned across the console and kissed her until we were both panting. “No one else,” I repeated the promise I’d made months ago.
“No one else,” she said against my lips. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I pulled back so I could see her in the dashboard lights. “And we can come here whenever you want. We never have to leave, as far as I’m concerned. Fly to Seattle for meetings, go out on tour, whatever.”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “No, we can’t.”
“Yes.” I looked her in the eye. “We can.”
Two little lines appeared between her eyebrows.
“You know I’m shit at following the rules, and I’ll just buy you a second present to open next week. Merry Christmas.” I looked pointedly toward the house.
She glanced back and forth in confusion.
“I bought it. The house. The land. All of it. Except the bears. Turns out, those aren’t for sale.” I held my breath as she sucked hers in.
“You bought the house…as in, that house? The McClaren house?” Her voice broke.
“We can call it whatever you want, since you’re on the title too. I was going to give you the whole thing, but just in case I fuck this up, I have the legal right to park a camper on the front lawn and loudly beg your forgiveness.”
“This had to have cost millions.”
“A couple.” Three.
“We weren’t even officially together until twenty minutes ago!”
“I didn’t say my attorneys approved of the decision.” I shrugged. “I like it here. I want to know we can come back whenever we want, so I bought it. Merry Christmas. Accept your gift.” Was it always this hard to give a woman a present?
“I didn’t get you anything near this big!” she sputtered.
“You’re welcome.” I grinned, then drove us into the garage and parked. She was still slack-jawed when we made our way inside.
“Seriously, Nixon…” She shook her head, looking around like it was the first time she’d seen it. “This is too much. I bought you a new strap for your Les Paul because the other one leaves a welt on your shoulder.” She sighed.
My chest tightened. “Really?”
She nodded, pursing her lips.
“You noticed the welt.” I pulled her against me.
She nodded again.
“You’re incredible, and I can honestly say that’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever been given.” I dipped to kiss her.
She put a finger on my lips. “Don’t say that until you see it. I had it personalized.”
I grinned. “Oh yeah? What does it say? Nixon? Sex God? Yes, oh yes, please, yes?”
“Not exactly.” She arched an eyebrow, and I waited. “It says, ‘Zoe’s.’”
My mouth dropped for a second, and she laughed.
“Just kidding,” she rushed. “I got you two. That one was the joke.”
“Until I wear it in Houston and you’re the one answering the questions,” I teased, meaning every single word. I lifted her by her ass, and she locked her ankles around my waist, Grinch sweater and all. “What does the other one say?”
She set her lips to my neck, and my grip tightened. “‘Still Zoe’s.’”
We didn’t make it to the bedroom.
15
ZOE
I was blissfully, madly, totally in love with Nixon. Every day, it got just a little harder to keep it in, but I wasn’t about to scare him off when he’d come so far. He challenged me every day, worshipped my body every night, then wrote music in the mornings while I worked.
It was the kind of perfect we knew couldn’t last—hiding away in our little slice of heaven—but we held onto it with our fingernails. Nixon had paid millions to keep it—to give me equal footing in this one space we both owned. But even this house couldn’t prevent the calendar from turning, and February came, no matter how hard we both tried to hold it at bay.
He wore the “Zoe’s” guitar strap I’d bought him as a joke instead of the real “Nixon” one that had been his actual present for the Houston concert a few hours ago, and according to the thirty-seven emails in my inbox, the world had noticed. But hey, he was asleep at my side without a welt. Deliciously naked and weltless.
We probably should have let the post-show buzz run through him, but he’d given me that look the second we walked through the door, and I’d jumped him.
Five shows. Six months. He was still sober.
My job was at its contractual end, and we were headed into uncharted territory.
At least, we would be next week when we headed back to Seattle. I couldn’t do m
y job from here—not to begin with. Plus, the band had a few studio days set aside now that Nixon had handed in three songs for the upcoming album. “Worry and Ruin” was my favorite of the three, followed by “Palm of my Hand.” “Blue Castles” was right up there, though. I loved everything he wrote.
I pulled the sheets up over my breasts and flipped to the next email, then replied with the line we’d agreed to use. Our relationship is private and therefore will not be commented upon. I hadn’t even wanted to go that far, but Nixon had turned that smirk on me and asked if I was embarrassed to publicly admit we were in a relationship. So there, another statement fired off to another person who had zero business asking.
On to the next email. It was an event request for July. I wouldn’t be on the Hush Note team when we got back to Seattle, but that didn’t stop me from glancing ahead at the band’s calendar. They’d be in the middle of the tour but might be able to swing it.
Where would I be in July? I flipped back to my personal calendar and scrolled to summer. I’d no doubt be fighting to split my time between the office in Seattle and wherever I could meet up with Nixon. There was zero chance I’d be able to go three months without seeing him.
I grinned at the little tabbed reminder that popped up on July 12. Nixon: One year sober. I’d definitely have to fly to wherever he was on that day.
Nixon roared, jolting upright, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.
I gasped and my phone hit the bed, throwing us back into darkness. By the time I hit the bedside lamp, Nixon was out of bed and shoving his legs into a pair of shorts.
My heart thundered. This wasn’t the first time, but it had been a few weeks.
Something told me the further we got into spring, the more often they’d come. The closer he’d get to reaching for a sleep-aid that wasn’t my body.
“Nix?”
“I’m okay. Go back to sleep, babe.” He walked out of the bedroom without another glance my way.
I sighed, then slipped a robe on and headed downstairs for what had become a little too routine. He already had the teakettle on.
Muses and Melodies (Hush Note Book 3) Page 18
