Raw Need

by Cherrie Lynn

  “It’s only one night. We’ll have a good time and then I probably won’t see her again. I don’t know. She doesn’t need any complications right now and I don’t want to give her any.”

  “I’ll hang back and give you guys some room.”

  “You’re not coming.”

  “Fuck I ain’t.”

  “Jase, I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to.” Sometimes they fought like an old married couple, and they were still fighting as they disembarked and headed straight for pickup, where there was a black SUV waiting to take them to the hotel. Zane only had an hour to jump in the shower and make himself presentable. And as he wiped a clear streak in the steam on the bathroom mirror, he thought that he should have planned something extremely special for Rowan. Maybe a quick trip to someplace she had never been. Dinner on a secluded beach somewhere, just the two of them. She seemed like the kind of romantic girl who would appreciate something like that. But like a dumbass, he’d failed to plan . . . and besides, that might give her the wrong idea. He liked her, he liked her more than he should, but he couldn’t afford to give out any signals like that. This couldn’t go anywhere.

  As he was securing his long black hair in a bun, Jase banged on his door. “Got the car,” he grumbled. “I still don’t like it.”

  “The more high-profile I go, Jase, the more likely it is that I’ll need you, and we don’t want that. I’ll stay low-key. Chill.”

  Even through the closed door, he heard Jase sigh as he wandered off.

  His bodyguard was as bad as his brother. All he needed was Mike here to lecture him on being on his best behavior around Rowan, and the night would be complete. Mike was worried that Zane would fuck her over somehow, and there would be another scratch on Mike’s poor wounded conscience. He didn’t have to worry. Zane’s was scratched enough.

  Chapter Two

  She had no idea what to expect when her doorbell rang. When she’d flown to Houston with Savannah to meet Zane for the first time, he’d had them picked up at the airport in a limousine. Would he do something similar tonight? She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. The star treatment had been so much fun at the time, but she wasn’t quite sure she was in the mood for it now.

  Putting one eye to the peephole in her front door, she smiled. It was the man himself on the other side of the door, not a driver or anyone else in his entourage.

  Zane Larson. At her house. Ringing her doorbell.

  Holy shit.

  The butterflies in her belly turned into a flock of hummingbirds. Exhaling deeply and closing her eyes for a brief prayer for strength, she opened the door.

  Two months ago, when she’d first entered the backstage dressing room where Zane was warming up his vocals, she’d almost passed out when she saw him standing there. Now, for one terrifying instant, the earth spun and she thought she might do so again. He wasn’t what some might consider a conventionally handsome guy, but he was arresting, and his presence couldn’t be denied whether he was standing on a stage in front of thousands of screaming fans or . . . standing here on her doorstep, smiling at her. The very air around him crackled with electricity.

  To her, he was beautiful.

  “Rowan,” he said, that melodic voice thrumming along her nerve endings. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him say her name before. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you,” she managed to squeak, wondering what to say in return. Before she could settle on a response that wouldn’t make him call the whole thing off, he brought forward his left hand, offering Rowan a single, perfect red rose, so fragrant that the scent reached her from two feet away.

  Rowan managed to breathe again as she reached to take it from him. “That’s so sweet! Can you give me a minute? I can put it in a vase.”

  “Of course.”

  Feeling like a schoolgirl on her first date, she whirled around and retreated into her house. “You can come in, if you like,” she called back to him, then wondered if maybe she should have dusted. She hadn’t actually expected him to step inside her home. But here he was. Jesus Christ. He was in her house.

  It was nice, and neat, but probably nothing like he was accustomed to. Then again . . . according to Savannah, the Larson brothers hadn’t exactly grown up in wealth. She didn’t know much of the family history, but from what she understood, there was a reason for the secrecy they maintained.

  Her hands shook as she filled a vase with water and slid the long stem inside. Something washed over her in that moment as she stared at the velvety crimson petals, some unnamable emotion that brought an alarming warmth behind her eyes. Oh God, no. She couldn’t have one of her unpredictable breakdowns here. Not now. She couldn’t.

  Tommy hadn’t been big on flowers. Maybe on their anniversary, sometimes on her birthday. He would rather take her out, or buy her a gift that would last. Sometimes, though, she’d longed for the gesture. Just because. She’d never been able to tell him that; it seemed a bitchy thing to complain about. Thanks for the diamond bracelet, but hey, why don’t you ever buy me flowers?

  After his funeral, however, she’d been inundated with them. She hadn’t been able to take care of them all. It had been another blow, watching them slowly wither while she felt helpless to do anything about it.

  Gathering her breath and her courage, she left the rose in its vase on her granite countertop and went to find Zane in the living room. He had strolled over to the family portrait on the wall and was studying it: the entire Dugas clan, Tommy, his parents, Rowan, and Savannah.

  He didn’t turn to her right away, so she had a moment to drink him in. Tall, at least six-two, maybe even six-three. He didn’t have the physique of his MMA fighter brother, but there was still a strength in his posture, in the broad set of his shoulders. She’d seen the power and grace in the way he prowled the stage, and it was somehow evident even now as he stood perfectly still. His eyebrows were two straight, low-set brushstrokes, one of them pierced with a single hoop, his mouth so sensuous it almost seemed to pout even when it was at rest. It was framed by a beard he seemed to be letting grow at will. He’d pulled his long black hair away from his face, and though she preferred it loose, she could appreciate his features more like this.

  “This is a nice picture,” he said, and she jumped. He turned to her with what looked like sympathy in his dark eyes. She didn’t want that, not tonight.

  “Thanks,” she said, wishing she had more to say. But given the close call in the kitchen just now, she was afraid to prod those wounds further. He’d already seen her at her worst once: the day he and Mike showed up unexpectedly at Tommy’s funeral. She couldn’t even remember what she’d said to his brother in her anger over seeing him there, only that she’d stormed away in a haze of tears. She’d since apologized to Mike for that. It had felt good, like gaining some control over herself and her emotions.

  “Are you all right?”

  God, the dreaded question, the one she’d heard far too many times these last few months. She usually hated the asker for making her lie and say she was. Because that was what people wanted to hear.

  Somehow, she couldn’t lie to him.

  “I’m not really, but I will be.”

  “You sure you feel up to this?”

  “I need this,” she admitted. “I need to do something normal. I mean, not normal, of course going out with you isn’t normal, but . . . oh, shit.” She raised a hand to her forehead.

  He only chuckled lightly. “I get it.”

  “It’s more than needing to, though. I want to.”

  “Are you feeling all right? The baby and everything?”

  “I’m sick in the mornings sometimes. Certain smells set me off. Other than that, I feel okay.”

  Zane glanced back at the picture on the wall. “It has to be hard. I’m sorry you’re going through it.”

  There was that nagging warmth behind her eyes again. “Let’s not . . . I mean, can we . . .”

&n
bsp; “Sorry,” he said quickly, holding an arm out to her. “Are you ready? Do you know what you want to do?”

  She’d made reservations at her favorite restaurant. Now, though, the idea of sitting across from him for two hours or so in public set panic off in her head. What if he was recognized? Hell, for that matter, what if she was recognized? Tommy hadn’t exactly been an A-list celebrity, but since Mike had gone back to fighting, Rowan’s name had been mentioned in the press a time or two as Tommy’s pregnant widow. And the paparazzi were relentless; one didn’t have to be famous to know that. If anyone recognized Zane, who had just come off a sold-out, nationwide tour, it might not take much digging for them to discover her identity.

  “There’s a restaurant I was thinking about,” she said, “but would that be okay? I don’t want to drag you into anything if you’re recognized, or . . .”

  “I’m not worried about me so much as you. We can do whatever you want.”

  “Okay.” She took a breath. God, this was going worse than she’d thought it would. She needed a knife to cut though the awkwardness.

  “If you feel uncomfortable about it in any way, Rowan, we don’t have to do this.”

  “No, I want to,” she insisted again, trying for a smile. “Let’s go.”

  A shiny black SUV was parked at her curb, and the hummingbirds were back in her belly. It would be just the two of them. Zane even opened the door for her, and she settled into the leather seat, immediately starting to sweat in the sultry summer heat as he went around to get in the driver’s side.

  Was this really happening? It was like a dream.

  “You’ll have to give me directions,” he said, starting the engine. Immediately, an August on Fire song blared from the radio, and they both laughed as he quickly reached to turn it down.

  “I swear to Christ I did not plan that.”

  “Must be weird to hear yourself on the radio at any given moment,” she said, then wanted to cringe over how banal it sounded.

  “I hate it, if you want to know the truth. It’s hard for me to listen to my own voice. I’m my own worst critic. I never think it’s good enough.”

  Rowan cocked an eyebrow at him, then leaned forward to turn the song back up a little. It was the last single off their newest album, which was now a couple of years old. But the song, “God Complex,” was one of her favorites, and probably one of their most played and recognized tunes. Something about hearing it in that moment soothed her frayed nerves, and the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. The vocalist himself, sitting right next to her, was the reason for those nerves. “You want to know what I hear? Absolute perfection.”

  He looked a little sheepish, and a little fidgety, which she found adorable. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

  Somehow, she found that hard to believe. This man had probably never blushed in his life. “I doubt that.”

  “I figured we’d go low-key tonight,” he said, seeming eager to change the subject. “I hope you weren’t expecting more.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. This is great.” Less chance of being recognized. It did make her a little sad, despite her reservations about everything. How cool would it be to be able to sing about this from the rooftops? She was going out with her favorite rock star in the world. Any fantasies she’d entertained as a teenager about something like this had never entailed not being able to tell a soul about it. Those fantasies had always included flashbulbs going off, mobs of people vying for a spot close to them, articles assessing the relationship, and proudly sitting side stage watching him perform while she was the envy of women all over the world.

  Then her life had turned upside down with the death of her parents, and fantasies were a thing to be scoffed at. Reality was a cruel beast, all-consuming, and there was no escape from it.

  “All right, navigator, navigate,” he said as he pulled from the curb, yanking her from her thoughts.

  “Take a left up here. Are you really a man who can follow directions?”

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  He was singing to her on the radio and talking to her from two feet away. Surreal. “This is amazing,” she said after a moment, unable to resist.

  “What?”

  “What, he asks. This. You. Here. With me. Crazy. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I generally don’t do things I don’t want to do, Rowan.”

  “Regardless, I appreciate it. I haven’t gotten out of the house much lately. Regina—that’s my mother-in-law—she tries to get me out every now and then. And Savannah, when she’s not with Mike.” She fiddled with the wedding ring she still wore, twirling it around her finger. “I don’t have many friends here.”

  “No? Not originally from here?”

  “I am. I just . . . don’t have many friends. I never really did, except through Tommy. I guess I see now they were never really my friends, because I haven’t heard from them much since he passed.”

  “Keep that circle small,” Zane said gravely. “Believe me, you’ll be better off for it.”

  “It’s easy to tell myself that, until I get lonely and bored.”

  “Well, you always have me.” He sent her a little grin and her heart turned a disturbing flip. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry . . . But when she gave him his next set of directions, she knew he could hear the quaver in her voice. “I mean that, you know,” he said after a moment of silence. “Call me any time you need to talk. I know you have your husband’s family, but sometimes they might make you feel worse without meaning to. That’s how it was after . . . Well, that’s how it’s always been for me. Sometimes I just had to leave, be around the people who weren’t going through the same thing I was.”

  She wondered what he’d been about to say. “That’s a different kind of pain, though. When I’m around those people, I’m . . . I don’t know, jealous, I guess. That they’re not hurting the way I am.”

  “Makes sense,” he said. “The people I ran to had a way of numbing me out.”

  It was no secret he’d had a drug and alcohol problem in the past. He’d spoken openly about it in the press. But according to him and the rest of the band, he’d been clean and sober for years, ever since AoF’s mainstream success. He’d done it, he said, for the fans who would look to him as a role model.

  “I thought about it,” she admitted. “Just getting so drunk I don’t feel anything anymore.”

  “Don’t. You only feel worse when you wake up. Then you drink more. And then you spiral.”

  “I always knew that. That’s why I didn’t.”

  “Smart girl. I was a dumbass.”

  “No, you were just hurting. You won’t find any judgment here.” She was sure he’d found plenty enough elsewhere.

  With the setting sun casting a bronze glow across his skin and over his black hair, she couldn’t help but be struck by his beauty right then. Even the way he sat casually sprawled in the driver’s seat, one tattooed arm stretched toward the wheel and the other resting on the center console, exuded a raw sex appeal. Had he been born with that charisma, or had years on the stage, in the spotlight, shaped it? Or maybe her hormones were out of control with pregnancy and deprivation. She had to get a grip. He’d been the star of a few of her fantasies even when she was married. It had seemed silly and harmless at the time. Now it seemed dangerous. Never, not once in her life, had she ever expected to meet him, much less spend a considerable amount of time with him.

  “Your music got me through a lot,” she said, something he’d probably heard a million times, but was no less true for that. His band’s song on the radio was long gone by now, and she found she missed its comforting sound.

  “It got me through a lot too,” he said. “It saved me. I don’t know where I’d be right now if not for the band.”

  “Your first CD came out not long after my mother died. And then my dad died. I was still in high school, and I just . . . retreated. I lived with an aunt I barely knew, and she tried, she really did. But we didn’t relate very
well. I was in grief counseling, but the only time I felt better was when I listened to you guys. That was my therapy. I met Tommy not long after all that. He helped a lot too.”

  “That’s good, that you found someone.”

  And now he’s gone, like everyone else. “Yeah, but I almost . . .” She trailed off, aghast at what she was about to admit. Something she would never in a million years tell Savannah or Regina or anyone else she knew. But for some reason, she wanted to tell him.

  “What?” he asked gently, glancing at her. “You can say it. No judgment here, either.”

  “There have been moments when I almost wished I’d never met him, if it would spare me the pain of losing him.”

  “But then you wouldn’t have the memories of the good times. Aren’t they worth more?”

  “Right now? I’m not sure.”

  “I bet once some time has passed, they will be. It’s still pretty fresh. I wasn’t there, you know. At the fight. I usually try to make all my brother’s matches, but we were in France for that one. He was so messed up about it, Rowan.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I did blame him for a while, I admit. I could have strangled Savannah when she fell for him. I still feel bad about it. I said some terrible things to her that I can never take back.”

  “I’m sure she understands.”

  She was lucky to have such understanding people in her life, and for a moment, she was overcome with gratitude for them all. Even for Mike, who did everything he could to make amends, and was so good to Savannah. And for Zane, who damn sure hadn’t had to subject himself to this pity date. It was amazing, really, that for all the horrors she’d endured, she’d hit the jackpot with the people still in her life. She couldn’t let dark thoughts take hold in her mind, easy as it seemed. If she’d never met Tommy, she wouldn’t be a mother-to-be right now.

  Some days, the life growing inside her didn’t seem real. Other days, it was all she could think about. Her hand drifted down to her swollen tummy, and she thought she noticed Zane watch its journey from the corner of her eye.

  “When are you due?” he asked.