Taming the Storm

by Samantha Towle

  Then, he drags his tongue across his lower lip.

  Fire licks between my thighs.

  Gulping, I lower my arms. I put my sweetest-sounding voice on as I say, “Um, Tom?”

  His eyes slowly lift to mine. The look is still there, and I have to stop from squirming under his lusty stare.

  “Unless the human body changed overnight, eyes are up here.” I point two fingers at my eyes.

  His face cracks into a grin, and a throaty laugh sounds from him. He lowers the paper to the table. “Sorry. You just have a great fucking rack. It’s hard not to stare.” He grazes his lower lip with his teeth.

  A blaze of heat strokes up the back of my neck, threatening to circle and set my face ablaze.

  “Well, try to do your best. Respect goes both ways.”

  He lifts his shoulders. “Maybe you could wear a bra. That might help. Actually, no, it wouldn’t.”

  “God, you’re such a pig!” I exclaim. “Seriously, would you like it if I just sat and stared at the huge bulge in your pants all day?”

  Did I actually just say that? And did I really call his bulge huge?

  Oh God.

  A full smirk spreads across his gorgeous face. “Firecracker, are you asking me if I would like it if you sat and looked at my cock all day?” He grins, his eyes questioning me. “Are you sure you want me to answer that question? Because you know it would be a resounding—”

  I throw my hand up, stopping him. “Stop! Seriously, I don’t want to know.” I’m laughing as I say this, and Tom rewards me with a boyish laugh.

  Smiling, I dip my spoon into my cereal and load it up.

  Tom is watching me, but the fun in his face is gone now, replaced with something a little more serious. His fingers start to tap against the table.

  I swallow down my cereal and milk. “Everything okay?” I gesture to him with my spoon.

  “I spoke to Jake last night. He told me about Rally, that he’s your dad.”

  The cereal I just swallowed hits my stomach like rocks.

  I put the spoon down in the bowl. “Oh, right. Okay…and do you have any issues with that?”

  He tilts his head to the side, looking confused. “Why would I have issues with it?”

  “Because my father is an asshole, and he’s caused you and your friends a lot of problems over the years.”

  “Trust me, we’ve endured worse than what Rally has thrown at us.”

  “So, you don’t dislike me now by association?”

  He gives me a wicked smile. “Ah, so you do care whether I like you or not?”

  Not wanting to answer that question, I give a noncommittal shrug of my shoulders. I pick my spoon back up and start eating again.

  Tom links his fingers together and leans toward me. I can’t help but look at his hands. Strong, masculine hands. Hands that I have no doubt he knows how to use very well. They look rough from years of playing bass. I can only imagine how good they would feel against my skin.

  “Jake explained your situation,” Tom says, bringing my attention back to him, “and how things are for you with Rally. But even if you got along with him, it wouldn’t change how I view you.”

  “Thanks.” I smile. “And I really mean that.”

  He nods and rests back in his seat.

  “So, you know my father is the bastard of the music industry. I’m guessing you know that my mother was—”

  “The darling of it. Your mom was beautiful, Lyla. Really talented. From the pictures I’ve seen of her, you look exactly like her, which is good. You could look like Rally, and that would be a total fucking waste.” He grins.

  I laugh.

  Then, he says, “I’m sorry you lost her.”

  And my mood drops, right along with the spoon into the bowl in front of me. “Yeah, so am I.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  A ripple of uncertainty moves through me. He knows about my mother. Everyone does. She was tabloid fodder for the press for most of her short life. Every breath she took was documented.

  Tom asking to hear about her warms places in me that have been cold for a long time.

  “I’m sure you know most of it from the papers.”

  “Yeah, I know what the press said about your mom. But I don’t know how she really was, who she was to you.”

  I stare at him, stunned from the depth in his words. And that’s what has my lips parting and my voice speaking. “My mother was a child star. First, TV, and then she moved onto singing. She quickly became one of the biggest country singers we’ve ever had.”

  “She had an amazing voice, Lyla. You sound a lot like her when you sing.”

  His compliment spears me in the heart.

  “So, you know she was beautiful and talented…but she was also kind and sweet and so smart. Real business savvy, you know? Then, she met Rally at some fundraiser. He wanted her, and you know what he’s like when he wants something. Anyway, Mom signed with AME when she was nineteen. She was at that in-between stage of coming out of her clean-cut child-star image and growing into the woman she was becoming. Rally was instrumental in making that happen. They got married a year after she signed with AME, and I was born the year after that. We were happy for a time.” I ease out a breath. “Then, Rally got bored, like he always does. When something stops being a challenge, he goes out and finds a new one, which was Tanya Olsen. Have you heard of her?”

  Tom shakes his head.

  “She’s not around now. I think she performs on cruise ships these days. She was another one who Rally screwed over. Anyway, Tanya was nineteen years old, an up-and-coming pop singer. He signed her to AME, but obviously, Rally’s interest in her didn’t stop at the music.” I roll my eyes. “He wasn’t discreet about the affair. Everyone, including my mother, knew about it, and when it finally hit the tabloids, it was the excuse he needed to leave us.”

  “How old were you when he left?”

  “Four.”

  “And how old were you when your mom passed?”

  “Eight.”

  “She died from an overdose, right?”

  My defensive eyes snap up to his. “She didn’t kill herself.”

  “Hey”—he leans forward, resting his arms on the table—“I never said she did.”

  “Sorry,” I huff. My elbows hit the table, and I drop my head into my hands. A surprising tear escapes. I discreetly wipe it away on my sleeve. “It’s just that everyone says she killed herself, and I know she didn’t.” My eyes lift to his. “She would never have left me like that, not on purpose.”

  There’s a look on his face—kindness but something more…concern.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asks softly.

  I shake my head. “I don’t talk about…what happened—ever.”

  The only person I ever really talked about it with was Dex.

  “Well, maybe it’s time you did.” He stands. “I’ll make us some coffee, and then you can talk.”

  I watch Tom, confused. He says nothing. The only sounds are the kettle boiling and my thudding heart.

  Tom places a mug of steaming coffee in front of me, and sits back down, holding his own mug between his hands.

  I push away the half-eaten bowl of cereal, my appetite gone. I wrap my hands around the mug, pulling it closer.

  “So, you were eight when she died.”

  “Yeah. My nanny and I went away on a school trip for a few days. When we returned home, I found my mother’s body on her bed. She’d taken a cocktail of pills and vodka. She’d been dead for a whole day. She was there all alone.”

  A stupid tear escapes, but I quickly catch it.

  “She was only twenty-nine years old when she died.” My teary eyes meet his. “Seven years older than I am now.”

  “Too young. But then, they say the great always die young.”

  I can see on his face that he’s thinking of Jonny Creed.

  “You miss Jonny.”

  His gaze hits mine—hard. “Every damn day. So, after your mom
passed, you went to live with Rally?”

  “No. I went to live with my Aunt Steph, my mom’s sister, and her husband, my Uncle Paul. They already had a kid, Dex, my cousin, who became my brother overnight.” I take a deep breath. “Rally didn’t want me.”

  The angry look on Tom’s face makes the hurt from Rally’s rejection surface. I try to shrug it off like it doesn’t matter.

  “It wasn’t a surprise,” I say, trying to sound unaffected. “I barely saw Rally after he’d left us and married Tanya.”

  “He’s been married a few times now, right?”

  “We hit wife number seven last year. Olga, the Swedish supermodel, who is two years younger than me.” I roll my eyes.

  Tom chuckles a deep sound.

  I take a sip of my coffee. “That’s just what Rally does. He gets smart, talented, beautiful women—well, maybe calling Olga smart is pushing it.”

  I give a cheeky smile, and Tom laughs again.

  “And he destroys them. He did it to my mother. To the world, I know it looked like she was okay, but she wasn’t. Sure, she carried on touring and recording, but she was broken.” My eyes lower to the table. “I used to hear her crying at night when she thought I was sleeping.”

  Tom reaches over and squeezes my free hand.

  Liking his touch too much, I pull my hand free under the pretense of needing it to lift my coffee cup to my mouth.

  “She was medicating to get through the days. I didn’t know. I should have seen it.”

  “How exactly? You were a kid. Trust me, as a grown-ass man, I watched Jake fall to pieces in front of me, and I didn’t realize it was happening until it was almost too late. Some people are just really good at concealing stuff.”

  I look at Tom, surprised. Surprised that we’re having this conversation. Surprised that there is this side to Tom.

  But most of all, I’m surprised because I’m telling him these things. I’m opening up to him. Now that I’ve started, I don’t seem to want to stop.

  “But Jake’s okay now,” I say.

  “Yeah, but no thanks to me.” He runs a hand through his hair.

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a good guy, Tom.”

  “You’d better be careful, Firecracker. I’m gonna get to liking these compliments, and I’ll start to demand them all the time.”

  “You’re a mut.” I grin.

  “Better.” He winks.

  “I’m not a good guy—well, I wasn’t, but I’m working toward becoming one.”

  I look at his sincere face, a little shocked at his blatant honesty.

  “You’re not a bad guy. A bad guy is one who has his four-year-old daughter deliver divorce papers to her mother.”

  Tom’s features tighten, anger firing up his eyes. “He did what?” His tone is seething.

  I conceal my pain by sipping my coffee, wondering why the hell I just told him that. But now, I know I have to tell him the rest.

  “The first time Rally came to collect me after he’d left…well, my mom…she kind of lost it when she saw him. She was begging him to come back.” I cringe at the memory, hating that Rally reduced my mother to that.

  “Of course, Mom was upset, so I started crying. Rally picked me up and carried me out of there before dumping me in his car. I couldn’t stop crying, so he took me for ice cream. The entire hour we were in that ice cream parlor, he spent talking on his cell. Then, he said he had business to attend to and had to take me home. He pulled up in front of my house and didn’t get out. He handed me a brown envelope and told me to give it to my mother. It turned out the envelope contained the divorce papers, and he’d gotten me to serve them to her.”

  I remember walking up to the door, and my mother was waiting on the other side. Rally had already driven away before I’d even gotten the door open. Handing her the envelope and how her hand was shaking as she took it from me. I can still hear the desolate tone in her voice as she told me to go to my room. Instead of going to my room, I hid on the landing, watching, as she tore open the envelope and pulled out the papers inside. Feeling tears in my eyes, seeing as she steadied herself against the wall.

  To this day, I can still clearly see the look of crushing devastation on my mother’s face.

  “Fuck, Lyla. I knew I hated that guy for a good reason.”

  “Yeah. That was the last time Rally picked me up for a visit. My childhood relationship with Rally consisted of calls with his PA and presents and cards all done by his PA. That worked just fine for me since I pretty much hated him after that.” I meet Tom’s eyes. “He didn’t attend my mother’s funeral, you know. Didn’t call to see if his eight-year-old daughter was okay after losing her mother.”

  “Some people don’t deserve to have kids. I always say, family is the one you make.”

  I smile. “My Aunt Steph and Uncle Paul are great.” I avoid mentioning Dex again. That’s a whole other can of worms in my pathetic life story, which I’m not ready to open with Tom. “I’m lucky to have them.”

  “How do they feel about you coming into the music business?”

  “They’re really supportive.”

  Then, unease sweeps through me. I’ve told Tom things that only a handful of people know. People I trust.

  After worrying my lip with my teeth, I say to him, “Tom, all these things I’ve told you about Rally and my mom, it’s not stuff that many people know. Only people I trust.”

  So, why did I tell him?

  He smiles. It’s warm and genuine. “As far as the rest of the world is concerned, this conversation never happened. But to me, it happened. You ever need to talk again, you come to me.”

  He leans back against the seat with one leg crossed over his other thigh and his arm around the backrest, his strong, masculine fingers tapping against the wood. “I didn’t get a chance to say it last night, but you fucking rocked the place.”

  He’s changing the subject. I appreciate it.

  I smile, curling my fingers around the cooling coffee mug. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  Then, I remember why he wasn’t there to tell me that last night, and the smile disappears from my face.

  Sharing my life history with him and him being so sweet had me forgetting for a moment just who I was talking to.

  He takes a sip of his coffee. “You have fun last night after the show?”

  Yeah, but not as much fun as you had, I’m sure.

  Nodding, I say, “Yeah, it was all right.”

  “Did you get back late?”

  “Yep. You were sleeping.”

  Nodding, he rubs his hand over his smooth chin. “I was wiped.”

  From banging the brunette.

  Stop it, Lyla.

  Then, an unwanted image flashes through my mind.

  Ugh. Image of Tom with the brunette be gone!

  “You shaved,” I say, trying to direct my thoughts elsewhere.

  I glance down at my coffee, and when I look back up, his eyes are intense on me. I have to stop the shiver I feel.

  He rubs his hand over his chin again. “Yeah, it wasn’t working for me. Women seemed even more attracted to me with the beard. Go figure.” He grins.

  “Like the one from last night?”

  And there it is.

  Why can’t I keep my mouth shut about anything ever? Even more so when it’s something I don’t want to know.

  It’s like I have a self-inflicted torture button in my brain.

  Tom tilts his head, giving me questioning look. “The one from last night?”

  I bring the mug to my lips and take a drink before speaking. “Yep, the brunette groupie you were talking to after the show. The one you left with.”

  He rubs his forehead in thought, his eyes meeting mine. I see something there in them, but I can’t quite decipher it. I don’t get a chance to though because whatever it is disappears, and it’s like a light comes on in his eyes.

  “Oh,” he says, nodding. “You mean, the one with long dark hair, legs that went on forever, and
the biggest pair of fake tits I’ve ever—”

  “Yes, that one,” I cut him off just as he’s sizing a pair of breasts with his hands in front of his own chest.

  He stands and moves away from the table. “Yeah, I didn’t leave with her.”

  “You didn’t?” It’s hard for me to keep the surprise out of my voice.

  “No, I didn’t. I left alone, came back here, and crashed out.” He turns back to face me. “You sound surprised.”

  “No, I’m not. Well, kind of.”

  “But more so, you look…relieved.” He places his large hands on the table, leaning in close to me. “Are you?”

  His nearness has my brain scrambled. “What?”

  He leans in a little closer. “Relieved.”

  “Of course I’m not relieved.” I force indifference onto my face.

  But he knows I’m relieved because I am. It’s written all over my imperfectly indifferent face.

  “I guess that’s a good thing then.” His voice sounds husky. “If you were relieved at the thought of me not being with another woman, then that would mean you care…about me. And if you cared, that would mean you want—”

  “I don’t care,” I say quickly. “And I certainly don’t want anything.” I lift my chin, trying to give off more of that indifference but failing miserably.

  All I really manage to do is put my face closer to his. Well, technically, my mouth is closer, like within kissing distance.

  I can feel his hot breath all over me, and the scent is minty mixed with coffee. It’s like an aphrodisiac.

  We’re just staring at one another. Tom’s breaths are deep and fast. Mine are even faster. My panties are wet, and he hasn’t even touched me. I’m so wet that it’ll be embarrassing when I have to stand.

  His eyes dip to my lips. I squirm at the sight of his teeth dragging over his lower lip.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  And I’m pretty sure that I’m going to let him.

  The bathroom door bangs shuts.

  Tom and I jerk away from each other like we’ve been shot.

  Seconds later, Cale comes wandering into the kitchen. “Fucking Sonny. Beat me to the bathroom, and I’m dying to piss.”

  My eyes are still fixed on Tom. He’s standing by the bench he was just sitting in with his hand gripping the back of it, his eyes on Cale.