Flirting with Sin

by Naima Simone

  The orgasm slammed into her like a pile driver. Ecstasy tore through her, stealing her breath so she couldn’t even manage a scream. She convulsed in Ari’s arms, darkness already engulfing her in waves. Her last thought as he stiffened above her and she dove into the abyss was, he’d ruined her.

  She’d never be the same.

  And she didn’t want to be.

  Eight

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Ari murmured.

  Neveah’s long hair, tangled from his hands pulling and twisting it, stroked his chest as she tilted her head back. Her brown eyes appeared black and luminescent in the shadows of the room. Those same eyes had glazed with need and pleasure about an hour earlier. His body still hummed with remnants of the searing orgasm responsible for rocking him to his core.

  He’d had sex before. Lots of it.

  Bad sex. Good sex. Head-banging sex.

  But what he’d shared with Neveah… That hadn’t been sex. He didn’t know what the hell to call it. Mind-blowing. Soul-shattering. Fucking cataclysmic. Being inside her two-sizes-too-small-and-perfect pussy defied description.

  So had the sense of welcome, of comfort and safety when she’d closed her arms around him as he’d driven in and out of her body. The wonder and security had knocked him on his ass even as it’d been familiar.

  “The first night here. You held me out in the living room.”

  She nodded. Her fingers opened and closed on his shoulder. “You were hurting,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I—” She curved a hand around his neck, her thumb sweeping over his pulse at the base. “I couldn’t leave you.”

  Her generosity cut him off at the knees. Just unmanned him.

  Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. Her vanilla and chocolate scent mingled with the musk created from their love-making.

  Love-making. Part of him instinctively balked at labeling it anything other than sex or fucking. But once the word ghosted across his brain, he couldn’t purge it.

  He’d only made love with one woman—Caro.

  Or he had until this night.

  “I’ve loved one woman.” And from there he poured out the story of how he and Caro had met. How she’d come to mean so much to him at the loneliest and angriest times of his life. How they’d been an inseparable team until the cracks had started to slowly fracture them…

  “Darius, Oliver and Liam—they dove headfirst into our new rock star lifestyle. Partying, money, pussy and more pussy. I stayed true to Caro, though.” He hadn’t wanted anyone else, but her. No other woman could compare. Yet, his devotion hadn’t been enough. “But, after six years together, she’d changed. Became more and more unhappy with the constant time apart, the always present and grasping women who only cared about fucking a band member. Especially the lead singer.” He stared at the ceiling, unblinking. “The music I loved, she started to despise. She dreamed of a home, family, a husband who walked in the door every night at six for dinner. The things I couldn’t give her. Maybe someday, but not then. Caro hadn’t wanted ‘someday.’ She’d wanted her image of her future ‘now.’”

  He hadn’t talked about his past in three years. But, it seemed as if once he’d started, he couldn’t plug the dam back up. Neveah remained quiet, her presence like a warm, soothing blanket. And, like Linus, he clung to her.

  “The night three years ago began with a sold out New York concert. I’d flown her in for the show and it was one of our best. Even my father couldn’t complain—which is a minor miracle. But, afterward, Caro was waiting for me, frustrated, miserable…angry. She demanded I choose. Her or the band. She said she could no longer compete or come in second. We argued. God, it was awful. Bitter. Loud. We said things…hurtful things before she stormed out and I let her go.” He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. “It was the last time I saw her alive.”

  “Ari,” Neveah breathed. He felt, rather than saw, her straddle him and lower her chest to his, her arms bracketing either side of his head. Her hair brushed his shoulders, grazed his cheek. “If this hurts you…”

  Hurt him? Yeah. But in the way a snapped bone would have to be further broken in order to be reset and so it could mend. He’d carried this suffocating burden of guilt and shame around for so long, only lancing the wound and reliving the pain might heal it.

  His gaze remained focused on the ceiling. “Hours later, Joseph called me at the club we’d all gone to for an after party to tell me Caro had been in an accident. A long-haul truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and plowed into her car. He walked away with only a mild concussion. But Caro…” He cleared his throat of the fist-sized knot of emotion clogging his windpipe. “But Caro was killed instantly.” He blinked. Blinked again. But the stinging behind his eyes wouldn’t ease. “It was my fault she ran out into the night. Because I couldn’t offer her what she needed. Because I was so wrapped up in my drive, my future and my music to compromise. Because I didn’t go after her.”

  Grinding his fingers into his eyes, he exhaled a hard gust of breath. The shame bore down on him like a barbell. Except nothing or no one stood there to spot him, to share the burden. He didn’t dare glance at Neveah. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it if he glimpsed disappointment in her eyes.

  “Every year since her death, I’ve gotten drunk so I can make it through. This year, especially. Everett Graves, the truck driver, is up for parole this coming Monday. People believe I hate Everett Graves for taking Caro away from me, but truthfully? I don’t. He committed a horrible mistake incapable of being undone. But Caro wasn’t Graves’ responsibility. She was mine. I don’t blame Everett Graves for her death, I blame myself.”

  “Jesus, Ari,” Neveah whispered. “Look at me.” She levered off his chest and grasped his chin, turning his face forward until he met her angry and sad gaze. “I want you to hear me. We’ve all done neglectful or selfish things we regret. Things where the consequences hurt us or others. Things we have to make right no matter how long it takes because some choices we have to outlive rather than out run. But, Ari,” she cradled his cheek, swept a caress over his bottom lip, “this isn’t one of those things. Could you have gone after her? Sure. Should you have? I don’t know. If you two were as angry as you claim, you might have said something even more damaging. Regardless of whether or not you had followed her, would it have saved her? We can’t know. None of us. Least of all, you.”

  “Neveah…” The intrusion of her words were like a parasite struggling to lay siege to its host in order to survive. Guilt had been his parasite for so long, he battled to let go. To believe.

  “No, listen to me. You make music, not destinies. Unless God granted you some all-mighty power capable of determining life and death, you are blameless. Let this go, Ari. Let yourself go.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. Not sexual, but comforting. Healing. “As someone who has kissed enough frogs in her lifetime, let me tell you, Aristotle Sincero, you are a bona-fide prince.”

  He arched an eyebrow, a reluctant smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “A prince, huh?” He traced the delicate line of her jaw. “Does that make you a princess?”

  She scoffed, managing to look adorable and offended. “Princess? Hell, no. I’m the knight in shining-fucking-armor.”

  * * * *

  Neveah jerked awake, jackknifing from the tangled blankets, her heart pounding. Beside her, Ari stirred and sat up, albeit less violently. What the hell was that noise?

  Bri-i-ing.

  Oh. The suite landline phone. She pushed her hair out of her face with a sigh.

  She eyed the receiver, not making a move toward it. A glance at the digital clock beside the phone revealed the time. Six am. An early morning call, coupled with how the landline hadn’t rung once since they’d been there…

  “Who the hell is calling?” Ari’s grumble echoed the question bouncing around in her head.

  “I don’t know.” She reached for the receiver. Whoever waited on the other
end probably wouldn’t be the bearer of good news, though. Not at the ass crack of dawn.

  Foreboding wriggled in her chest as she pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Morning. Sorry to call so early,” a deep, male voice rumbled in her ear. “Is Ari Sincero there?”

  She frowned, glancing at the sleep-rumpled man next to her. Didn’t he say no one knew where he’d gone? What if a reporter had somehow found out and was fishing for information?

  Just as she parted her lips to demand the caller’s identity, he chuckled, the low burst of laughter rueful. “Since I know he’s going to be, uh, displeased, could you tell him Jack Riley needs to speak to him and it’s important?”

  Jack. The person who should’ve been her suite partner this week. Ari’s manager.

  The inkling of dread swelled into full-blown sadness and regret. The emotions resounded inside her like a struck gong, growing louder and louder with each reverberation.

  Mouth dry and a pit yawning wide in her stomach, she picked up the old-fashioned base and passed it and the receiver to Ari. “Jack Riley.”

  “Shit.” He snatched the phone. “What?” he barked into the mouthpiece.

  She slid from the bed and padded over to her discarded clothes. Numb, she drew the tank top over her head and the pants up her legs. Needing space, but unable to leave the room, she crossed the floor to the windows. Rubbing her palms over her arms, she stared out into the still-dark sky and landscape.

  “When?” Ari snapped behind her. A pause. “Goddammit, Jack. They promised.” Another pause, followed by a heavy, tired sigh. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Fuck. What time?” A beat of silence. “See you then.”

  The clack of metal meeting metal echoed in the room.

  “You’re leaving.” Not a question, but a statement.

  The rustle of covers and, several seconds later, he stood behind her. His chest brushed her back, but she didn’t relax against him. He wasn’t hers to lean on anymore. Their time had ended with a phone call.

  “Our record label is throwing a last-minute birthday party for the CEO and they want us to play.” Frustration and weariness colored his tone. “No matter what I want, it’s not something we can refuse.”

  “Of course not.” Pain scoured her chest like a rusty knife, but she agreed. A person didn’t bite the hand that fed them. But that didn’t make the hurt or loss any easier. “When are you leaving?”

  He huffed a breath. “As soon as I get dressed and packed. The party is tomorrow.” He settled a hand on her hip. “Neveah—”

  “I’ll miss you,” she blurted. “And thank you. For everything.”

  By “everything” she meant the laughter, the kindness, the encouragement and affirmation. The hottest sex imaginable, responsible for healing the part of her that doubted her own femininity due to Troy’s cruelty.

  Not for the heartbreak, though. She wasn’t thankful for the chasm gaping wider and wider in her chest even now.

  But she didn’t blame him for the ache. The blame belonged solely on her shoulders.

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you, baby.” He pressed a tender kiss to her hair. She closed her eyes, clenching her teeth against the whimper clawing its way up her throat. Why did it hurt so badly? His leaving had been inevitable. She’d been aware of his eminent departure from her life from the very beginning. Still, when Troy had walked out, his spiteful insults hanging in the air like a foul odor, she hadn’t hurt this bad. Like her blood had been pumped out of her and replaced with grief and pain.

  “I—”

  Her heart stuttered, stopped, then hammered in her chest. He, what? Please…

  “I’m going to miss you, too.” His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. “I’m going to miss the hell out of you.”

  He pressed another kiss to her head and exited the room.

  Leaving her cold. Alone.

  And hopelessly in love with a rock star.

  Nine

  One week later

  “What the hell has crawled up your ass?” Jack slammed the dressing room door, belying his calm tone. “And, before you answer, you should be aware three guys have volunteered to remove whatever it is with rusty pliers and no anesthesia.”

  Ari grunted without lifting his head from the guitar he strummed. If the irritated grumbling from Darius, Oliver and Liam hadn’t been a clue about their issue with him, than the threats to “break him in half” would’ve been a definite clue.

  He shrugged. Blaming lack of sleep and a brutal schedule might suffice to explain his shitty mood, but they would’ve been scapegoats. The true reason for his apathy lay about twelve hundred miles north of LA in Seattle.

  A turbulent mixture of emptiness, sorrow and need surged through him and incinerated the apathy in a fiery blast. Inhaling, he rose from his chair and crossed the room. He carefully set the guitar on its stand before lacing his fingers behind his head and turning to his friend. The friend who was responsible for the heaven and hell he found himself in.

  Heaven for the memories of the few days he’d spent with a beautiful, amazing woman who haunted not just his dreams but his every waking moment.

  And hell for the memories of the few days he’d spent with a beautiful, amazing woman who haunted not just his dreams but his every waking moment.

  A double-edged sword if he’d ever imagined one.

  One week ago today, he’d walked out of the Colorado hotel suite, leaving Neveah behind. Or rather, she’d left him. By the time the concierge had knocked on the door to carry his bags downstairs, she’d disappeared. His last image of her was when she stood at her bedroom window, her back to him, shoulders so rigid a strong wind could’ve probably snapped her in two.

  I’ll miss you.

  Pain had coated those words in a dark, vivid crimson. His arms had ached, trembled with the need to gather her close, hold her. But his mind—his fears—had cuffed his arms to his sides.

  And he’d left.

  “What’s the problem?” An ache pulsed in his chest like a raw, open wound, sharpening his voice. “The sound check went fine. We even finished faster than usual.”

  Jack snorted. “Because everyone couldn’t wait to get away from you.” He hesitated. “Is it the hearing? Are you having doubts? For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing supporting Graves’ parole.”

  “No, I don’t regret going or speaking on his behalf.” The final decision belonged to the parole board but, the moment Ari had left the hearing, a huge weight had elevated from his shoulders as if it had sprouted wings. No, he had no remorse about his decision. It’d been the right thing to do.

  His friend and manager stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his slacks and hiked his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “C’mon, man, talk to me. The idea of the vacation was so you could unwind, get your head on straight. It was cut a few days short but, damn, you came back strung tighter than when you’d left. What’s going on?”

  Ari didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the fucking ball of anger and sadness blocking his throat.

  A few moments later, Jack released an abrupt bark of laughter. “Wait…” He held up a hand, incredulity heavy in his tone. “Is this about the woman who answered when I called? The one who passed you the phone within seconds, I might add?” Still, Ari didn’t reply, his silence apparently confirming Jack’s guess. “Fuck me. It is. I knew I shouldn’t have traded vacations with you.”

  “Watch it.” Ari narrowed his eyes. The thought of Jack with Neveah, even talking to her over coffee as they’d done after sledding, triggered an impulse to plant a fist in his friend’s face.

  “Huh. Didn’t see that one coming.” Jack shook his head. A small smile rife with disbelief tugged at his mouth. “Well, shit.” He clapped his hands together. “Where is she? Let’s go get her, fly her here if her presence will get you out of this funk. What’s her name and number?”

  “It’s Neveah Morgan, and I don�
��t know.”

  Jack frowned, spreading his hands in a what the fuck? gesture. “What do you mean you don’t know? Didn’t you get her contact info before leaving?”

  Ari lowered his arms and dropped into the swivel chair, tipping his head back. “No.”

  “Well, why the hell not? Didn’t you think you might want to…oh, I don’t know…get in touch with the woman you fell in love with?”

  Ari straightened, his spine fusing with the back of the chair. His heart pounded out a bass drum solo against his ribcage. “I never said anything about love.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Jack scoffed, striding across the dressing room and propping his hip on the edge of the table that would sustain an ungodly amount of liquor in a few hours. “You haven’t written a song, hell, a fucking verse, in three years. Now suddenly, you’re locked up in hotel rooms, composing like a madman. Something happened while you were away. And this Neveah had something to do with this, this…reawakening. If you try to tell me differently, I’m going to call bullshit.”

  Ari couldn’t force the denial past his lips. Not only would the objection be a lie, but he refused to dishonor her influence. No, not influence. Her impact, her power…her magic. He closed his eyes. What had she said when they’d drank coffee and talked in the lobby?

  The songs you’ve written…they’re magical.

  If he hadn’t met her, hadn’t come to know her, he wouldn’t have the piece of himself back he’d begun to believe he’d never possess again. Her heart, her selflessness, her…love had healed his bruised spirit.

  Because Neveah loved him. From the start, he’d warned himself women like her didn’t do fuck buddies or hit-it-and-quit-its. When they gave a man their bodies, their hearts came along as a package deal.