As You Were (Rising Star Book 2)

by Lee Piper

  When I cup his other cheek, our noses touch. “Can’t.”

  His gaze flits between my eyes, searching. I’m transfixed, drowning in his confused indecision. Pulling back, he looks away, his Adam’s apple bobbing on a swallow. “Kinda like havin’ you around.”

  Drawing his gaze to me, I murmur, “You’ve got a strange way of showing it.”

  “You’ve got a strange way of liking it.”

  In that moment, he sets my world on fire then stands back to watch it burn. But I won’t go quietly. If he wants ashes, I’ll become a goddamn ash cloud.

  “For the record, I hate when you yell,” I murmur.

  Blink.

  “I hate when you’re cruel.”

  Blink.

  “And I really hate that you were married.”

  With a muttered curse, Zeke steps away, one hand scrubbing the side of his face. I watch each movement, picking apart the nuances and analyzing each in turn. The anger is gone—I’d like to think it was my touch that helped—but in its place is something else. Palpable frustration.

  This time I let him feel it. I let him stew in the predicament he’s found himself in. Seems I’m more vindictive than I thought.

  “My marriage was a fucking sham. What I had with Selena ended a long time ago.” His chuckle is cold. “And she broke her vows well before that.”

  “What happened?”

  “It ended.”

  “How?”

  “Just did.”

  Tipping my head to one side, I consider him. “Still doesn’t change the fact you belonged to someone else.”

  He pummels a fist against his chest. “I don’t belong to anyone, you hear me? Not Selena, not the next woman who’s stupid enough to fall for me. No one.”

  “Are you saying you never want to fall in love?” I don’t know why I’m shocked by his statement, but I am.

  “What do I look like? A fucking Hallmark card? That shit’s for pussies on Valentine’s Day.” He steps forward, his expression severe. “Want to know what love is? Love is a two-faced bitch; she pumps your cock with one hand and shoves your balls in a vise with the other.” He shakes his head. “Never again.”

  Even though my heart splinters, even though his words are a lance to the gut, with each declaration I move closer. And it’s only when my bare feet touch his combat boots that I stop. “You’ve got a lonely life ahead of you, Zeke.”

  His breaths are frantic. “Not from where I’m standing.”

  What is it with me and storms? What is it that lures me to the tempest, delights in the chaos, and dances in the turmoil?

  I wish I knew.

  If I did, I wouldn’t have pressed my body against Zeke’s. I wouldn’t have pulled his mouth to mine. And I wouldn’t have kissed him.

  He stills. For a brief moment, Zeke is immobile. Then a low growl sounds. He wraps one arm around my waist, shoves his hand in my hair, and kisses me back. Lord, does he kiss me back. Zeke’s mouth is firm, demanding, in complete control. He bites my bottom lip, causing me to yelp, and then sweeps his tongue inside.

  My hands slide to his shoulders, nails scraping against the fabric of his T-shirt. I wish it was bare skin; I wish I could score his flesh and claim this whirlwind as mine.

  “You’re wrong,” I gasp, between hot, desperate kisses. “Everyone belongs to someone.”

  Fingers hook in the waistband of my pajama shorts and yank me closer. “You reckon that someone is you?” His gaze turns pitying. “Baby girl, you’ve got mistake written all over you.” A large hand skims the back of my thigh, hitching my leg up to wrap around his waist. Zeke drives his hips forward and grunts.

  “Jerk.”

  He’s hard.

  “Siren.”

  I’m wet.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” I warn.

  “Not a chance.”

  My head lolls back.

  “Give me your mouth. I need to taste you.” His lips devour mine while I hold him close, succumbing to the bliss of lips and tongue.

  “Jesus fuck. You taste like cherries.”

  “It’s my moisturizer.”

  Zeke licks and nips his way down the column of my neck. When he reaches the juncture of my collarbone, he groans. “Freckles. You’re fucking killing me.” Sharp teeth bite my skin. Hard.

  Knees? Gone.

  Pale skin? Bruised.

  Cares given? None. Not a one.

  Thankfully, I’m lifted by two muscular arms before my ass hits the ground. With both of my legs wrapped around his hips, Zeke stalks to the closest available surface. The sharp cold of the marble countertop against my bare thighs is unexpected. I hiss.

  Wrenching my head back by the hair, Zeke takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking it through the fabric of my tank top. I hiss again.

  “I’m gonna own this body,” he rumbles, his hand palming my breast. “Every last inch will be mine.”

  “Promises, promises,” I pant.

  “You think I’m lying?” His eyes sear mine.

  “I barely know you.”

  “I don’t fucking lie.” Straightening, he rocks his hips. The hard cock barely contained in his jeans rubs against my swollen clit.

  My eyes roll back in my head. “Then I guess we have something in common.”

  He grunts.

  “It’s the start of a beautiful relationship,” I joke.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Make me.”

  He does. Zeke pulls back, rips the tank top from my body, and feasts on both breasts. He’s everywhere. Biting, licking, sucking. The stubble from his chin combined with his masterful mouth causes waves of pleasure to build and strengthen, while each swipe of his tongue has them peak but not crash.

  Head thrown back, I moan.

  “So responsive,” he mutters, pinching my nipples. “Like a fucking dream. Gonna make you come by playing with your tits, nothing else.”

  My fingernails mark his neck.

  “Ready?” He sucks a taut peak, tanned cheeks hollowing from the pressure. After flicking the sensitive tip with his tongue, he releases it with a pop.

  A whimper escapes. I’m so close.

  “Not even touching your cunt and I know it’s fucking soaked.” His teeth clamp down on my breast. “Can smell it from here. Fuck, it’s making me hard. Just wait till I fill you with my cock. You won’t be able to sit for days.”

  Throwing up a quick prayer to Hedone, goddess of pleasure, I give in to Zeke’s hands, his mouth, his oh so dirty words, and come.

  There’s screaming, I think it’s me. And groaning, which I’m guessing is Zeke. It’s hard to tell when my body is convulsing with exquisite pleasure. But when my mind clears and my limbs stop trembling, it’s to witness the dark promise in his gaze.

  And then it all goes to hell.

  Someone fiddles with the keypad outside. The front door swings open, and “Wil? You there?” is called. Drake saunters into the apartment, cell phone in hand. His voice echoes through the room. “Zeke’s looking for…” He falters. His shocked expression would be comical if it weren’t trained on me. “You.”

  Zeke steps in front of me, his broad chest blocking Drake’s view. Scrambling for my tank top, I slip it over my head then hold my face in my hands, beyond embarrassed.

  Drake saw me half naked.

  With my boss.

  Who’s an ass.

  Fuck my life.

  Placing a gentle hand between tense shoulders, I murmur to Zeke, “You should go.”

  Pivoting to face me, his eyes search mine for a long moment. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, so I have no idea if he finds it, but eventually he growls, “We’re not done here.”

  I shiver. The anticipation of what’s to come sends my nerve endings haywire. Then I blink, remembering exactly what we did and what it could mean. Shaking my head, I mutter, “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have—”

  “But you did.”

  “It was a bad idea.”

  Turning his
back on Drake, he lifts my chin until our gazes clash. “Never said it wasn’t.”

  “Zeke,” I whimper.

  “It’s happening.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  He kisses me. His touch sears, and I pull him closer, craving the burn. Damn him and his delectable mouth. Damn his lips and their ability to render me stupid. Damn everything about this man that has me throwing logic out the window and ushering insanity inside.

  Breaking away, his lips swollen and pink, Zeke stares at me. His chest heaves, and mine does the same. After giving my mouth a final nip, he releases it from between his teeth and strides from the room.

  Well, then.

  The second the door clicks shut, Drake throws his hands in the air, incredulous. “What the fuck, Wil? What the actual fuck?” Advancing to where I lean precariously against the marble benchtop, he jabs his temple with an index finger. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t hook up with the producer. Have you any idea—Wait. What?”

  “I said, yes. I’ve lost my mind.” Dragging my sorry ass to the couch, I collapse onto it. “This whole situation is so confusing. What am I going to do, Drake?”

  “You’re gonna keep your tits to yourself, that’s what you’re gonna fucking do.”

  Burying my head in a cushion, I groan. “Can’t believe you saw that.”

  “You’ve got a luscious rack, Wil, there’s no doubt about it. But fuck, don’t share it with Zeke. Another guy, maybe. After some rigorous vetting by yours truly, you can give the lucky dude a peek at some side boob, but that’s it.”

  I groan again.

  The sofa dips as Drake sits next to me. He rubs my back in soothing circles. “Look, I’m the first to admit Zeke’s a genius in the studio. He knows his shit, no question about it.”

  “There’s a but coming, isn’t there?” I mumble into the cushion.

  “But,” he draws out the word, “how well do you really know him?”

  Straightening, I wiggle until I’m facing him. “What do you mean?”

  He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “Promise not to put a spell on me, okay?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Yes, I like natural remedies and alternative therapy. Yes, Mom taught me about pagan gods. No, it doesn’t make me Wiccan or a witch.” Rolling my eyes, I grumble. “Ignoramus.”

  “Whatever. I want to keep my balls where they are, that’s all.”

  “What is it with men and their balls?”

  “Hang on, did Zeke—” Drake holds up one hand. “Forget it, I don’t want to know.”

  “What do you want to know, then? You’re not making any sense.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Like I was saying before, how well do you know Zeke? I hate to break it to you, but he could do this shit all the time. We’ve only been around the guy three days. What’s to say he hasn’t tapped other chicks who record with him? What’s to say he doesn’t do it for special favors?”

  “Special favors?” My stomach hollows. “Like what?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know.” Drake scratches his jaw. “Better sound quality, meet-and-greet opportunities, nominations for music awards. Want me to go on?”

  “Not really.”

  “Look, this is our band’s first big break, yeah?” I nod. “And this record is going to open a lot of doors for us.” I nod again. “How do you think it will look if people find out you’re fucking the producer?”

  I’m going to be sick. Right here, all over Drake’s lap. He’s going to hate me.

  “Well?”

  With effort, I swallow. “It’ll look like I’ve whored my way to the top.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh my God.” Eyes wide, I scramble from the couch. “I’m not a whore! I’ve worked my ass off to get this far. We all have.” The room is swallowed up by my pacing.

  “You don’t have to convince me. And everyone who knows you knows you’d never flash your girls for more exposure.” He smirks. “Pun intended.”

  But I’m in no mood for jokes. Instead, I pace some more. “What am I going to do? I can’t have our reputation ruined because Zeke thinks I’m easy. There’s too much riding on our album’s success.”

  “I’ve already told you. Keep your tits to yourself.”

  “But I have to work with the guy,” I exclaim, spinning on my heel to face him. “How the hell am I going to do that?”

  “Unless you’re planning on playing guitar topless, I don’t see a problem.”

  “For God’s sake,” I shriek. “You’re not helping.”

  Standing, he walks to where I’m freaking the hell out. After giving me a gentle shake, Drake adopts his most soothing voice. “Wil, calm down. We’ll sort it out, okay?” Removing his hand, he taps his chin. After a moment, his face lights up. “Right, this is what you’re gonna do.” He counts each idea off a finger. “You’re gonna stay focused, keep it professional, and always stick to group situations. No alone time with Zeke, you hear me?”

  “Stay focused, keep it professional, no alone time,” I repeat, nodding. “Got it.”

  “And whatever connection,” he rolls his eyes, “you thought you had no longer exists. It’s dead. Buried. Gone. Capisce?”

  “I’m screwed,” I mumble.

  “Huh?”

  “I said, I’m screwed. The other stuff I can do, but ignoring the—” Hands flail about me as I search for the word. “—the pull he has on me?” I shake my head, bewildered. “There’s no way I can do it. You might as well tell me to stop breathing.”

  “A bit melodramatic, don’t you think? You gonna start listening to emo music next? How ’bout you write some shitty poetry while you’re at it?” When I don’t respond, Drake crosses his arms. “Wil, how the fuck can you be attracted to Zeke? He never opens his mouth unless it’s to bark orders.”

  “I know.”

  “He has no social skills.”

  “I know.”

  “And he’s angry all the damn time.”

  My smile is soft. “I know.”

  Drake considers me. “Is this a fiery redhead thing? Are you an angry sex kind of girl? Because I’m at a fucking loss otherwise.”

  Threading fingers through my hair, I hold the strands up to the light. “It’s auburn, not red.”

  “Babe, it’s flaming red. You’ve even got freckles to match.” When he registers my scowl, he winks. “It’s cute as hell.”

  Stomping my foot, I growl, “I’m not cute. And don’t call me babe.”

  Drake throws his head back, laughing.

  When I consider my actions from his perspective, I stop. “Crap. I am, aren’t I?”

  “Yep.” He ruffles my hair so I swat his arm away. “Probably why Zeke can’t keep it in his pants around you. He’s gone all caveman, wants to protect you and shit.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong. The only person Zeke wants to protect is himself. Can you believe he told me he never wants to fall in love?”

  “Sad.”

  “Says the man who’s slept with 98 percent of the female population.”

  “Hey, when I meet my woman, I’m never letting her go. Gonna show her in every way a man can that she’s it for me.” He resettles himself on the couch. Throwing one arm over the back of it, he points in my direction. “And since your shenanigans cock-blocked me tonight, you owe me a cooked meal.”

  Rolling my eyes, I head to the kitchen. “If by cooked meal you mean nachos, then sure.”

  “Hell yes.”

  “Vegetarian nachos.”

  He groans, I chuckle, and for a brief moment I forget about Zeke.

  It doesn’t last.

  Despite Drake doing his level best to distract me, and a surprisingly restful sleep, I wake the next morning with sordid images of Zeke fresh in my mind—growling Zeke, dirty-talking Zeke, naked Zeke. Shaking my head, I pad to the shower, adjusting the temperature so it�
�s colder than usual.

  After dressing and collecting Jeanette’s gift, I step into the lift twenty minutes early. Sadly, it’s not early enough. When I enter the garage it’s to witness Zeke bent over the engine of my car.

  I blink.

  Never have I seen an ass so fine. Never have I seen stronger arms or a broader back. The way his deltoids ripple beneath the material of his T-shirt is ridiculous, and the way his thighs own those jeans is insane. How the hell am I going to keep my distance when he looks so freaking hot? I bite back a groan.

  Reminding myself of everything I have to lose if I let hormones dictate logic, I take a steadying breath and walk over to where he’s grumbling obscenities at my Honda.

  “Hi. Um, what are you doing?”

  The grease-streaked hand pressed against the engine stills. The other hand, the one holding a cap of some description, tightens. Yep, his knuckles are white. Never a good sign.

  “Zeke?”

  Straightening to his full height, he glowers at me. “Brake fluid’s empty.”

  “It is?” I peer under the hood, then realize I have no idea what I’m looking for, so I straighten again. “But the brakes worked fine last night.”

  His jaw ticks. “Last night?”

  I shrug. “Yeah. I drove it to the gas station to buy coolant. Since my car wouldn’t turn on without overheating, I coasted downhill in neutral.” Zeke’s gaze narrows. “I didn’t have any trouble stopping.”

  After carefully placing the cap back on the reservoir, closing the hood, and wiping his hands on a rag tucked in his jeans pocket, he stalks away from me.

  Weird.

  When he reaches the other side of the garage, Zeke pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. After that, he exhales, clasps both hands behind his neck, and stares at the ceiling. And stares. And stares. Heavy breaths fill the silence.

  “Are you okay?”

  Wrenching his hands away, he glares at me. “Your spark plugs are fried.” He steps toward me. “Radiator hose has two holes in it.” Step. “Valve spring is broken.” Step. “Oil hasn’t been changed in years.” Step. “Fan belt’s disintegrating.” Zeke stops, his chest almost flush with mine. I bite my bottom lip, trying desperately not to inhale his scent. “And you think it’s a good idea to coast,” he mocks the heck out of my word choice, “downhill on less than a tablespoon of brake fluid?”