He looks momentarily horrified at that thought. Then, relaxing, he settles back into the sofa, his arm going around behind me. “That’ll never happen.”
“You go through women at the speed of light. Even though you’re seemingly having a hiatus or rest or whatever, you being you will restart, and it’s possible that you could screw the entire female population of the U.S. by the end of this decade—excluding me, of course.”
“Of course.” He smirks, bringing his whiskey glass to his lips, and he takes a drink.
I ignore his pointed look. “So, what will you do then? Start recycling?”
He clanks his glass down on the table. “Nope. I’m not an environmentally friendly kind of guy. And just so you know, I might have gone through a lot of women in my time, but when I fuck—I fuck long and slow…real fucking slow.”
An image of Tom and me having sex flashes through my mind.
My heart speeds up. I can feel my body heating at the thought of Tom and sex and me.
Him and me…fucking.
I know my chest is flushed. I don’t have to look down to see. I know it is because Tom’s eyes are on it, staring, right now.
Stupid, traitorous, underused, and currently oversexed body.
Tom’s eyes lift, meeting mine, with knowledge.
Looking away, I force my spine straight as I hold the glass to my chest, trying to cool myself down. “And I need to know your screwing speed, why?”
He leans in close, real close this time, leaving our mouths centimeters apart.
I gulp down.
His whiskey-scented hot breath blows through my parted lips and fires down signals to my long-unused girl parts, sending them into a frenzy.
Shit.
Squeezing my thighs together, I bite down on my lower lip to regain control.
I will not lose my shit over Tom.
His eyes flicker down to my mouth. “You’re not ready to hear the answer to that question.”
“And what if I ever am—”
What the hell am I saying?
I’ll never be ready for Tom “Screw Anything” Carter. Ever.
“I mean, if I am, at some point in the imaginary, not-real-ever future?”
I see surprise flicker over his face, but he quickly covers it with a grin.
“Well, on that imaginary day, you would let me know, and then I’d tell you. But until then, just use that imagination of yours.”
He stands, running a hand through that outgrown sexy hair of his. “And, Lyla, let it run wild.” With a wink, he’s gone, sauntering through the bar, leaving me and underused girl parts on fire.
A Few Days Later—Tour Bus, Somewhere Mid-America
My imagination did run wild, too freaking wild.
I spent the next few days thinking about Tom. It was way more time than a person should spend thinking of someone she’s living with.
I also took a lot of cold showers, and during restless nights, I would try to expel the ache he left in me with my hand. I couldn’t even use ASBOF because I was afraid the guys would hear the vibrations through these paper-thin walls. So, it was, Hello, Hand, for me.
But what’s made things even harder for me is seeing a different side to the Tom Carter I thought I knew.
He’s—dare I say it?—sweet. He’s still pervy, but he’s kind.
I like him—the Tom who resides inside the womanizing, hardened, bad-boy exterior.
Like tonight, I’m watching him play video games with the guys.
He is fun, like he always is, but he is also relaxed. No pretense, no guard up, no being the Tom Carter. He is just Tom.
Seeing him like this softens me to him even more than I already was.
After a night of the guys playing video games while I watch in between reading on my Kindle and making food for them—nothing out of the ordinary—we all decide to turn in early, and catch up on much needed rest since we didn’t have a show tonight.
As it has been every night, after I climb into bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, while I think of Tom and sex.
And sex with Tom.
Restless, I decide to get up and make myself a hot chocolate instead of trying to masturbate the ache away since that is clearly not working.
I’m hoping some cocoa will help me sleep.
If not, I’m hitting sleeping tablets next.
Quietly, I crack open my door, and I immediately hear the soft sounds of a guitar playing.
Seems I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.
I tiptoe out into the hall, and when I pass the bunks, I find Tom’s curtain is the only one open. My stomach flutters at the knowledge that he’s out there, playing the guitar.
I stop just before the entryway to the living room area and watch from my vantage point. Tom is sitting on the sofa, one leg bent up, with Van’s acoustic guitar in his hands. He’s strumming the chords and softly singing the words to Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River.”
I feel ignorant of the fact that I didn’t even know he played anything outside of the bass—let alone, that he could sing.
He sounds…amazing.
And he looks…beautiful.
Oh God.
The way he sings. Eyes pressed close. Feeling the lyrics. Like on some level, he understands the pain of betrayal.
I stay where I am, watching, not wanting to encroach and break the song.
Partway through a line, one that really hits home for me, Tom’s eyes flick open. His gaze hits straight onto mine.
I wonder how long he’s known that I’ve been standing here.
His eyes on mine while he’s singing, it feels like he’s singing to me. Something coils around my chest, squeezing my heart tightly.
I expect him to stop singing, but he doesn’t. He just holds my eyes and continues. So, I decide to join in. I take the seat before him, and I sing the lyrics that are etched into my mind.
I tortured myself with this song for months after I caught Dex and Chad together.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” I say as he strums the last chord. I prop my feet up onto the little coffee table between us.
He puts the guitar down beside him on the sofa. “I’m a man of many talents.”
I bet he is. I think of the way his fingers were moving over the strings. Plus, he has had a lot of practice with his hands—
I scratch the thought of Tom and other women from my mind.
“I love that song.” I might torture myself with it, but it is a beautiful tune.
“I know.”
I give him a look of confusion. “How do you know?”
He puts his leg down. The sight of his bare feet does strange things to me, heating parts of me that have not seen any action for quite a while.
“Well, for starters, it’s set as your ringtone, and you sing it a lot.”
“I do?” He noticed that?
Nodding, he rubs his thumb along his lower lip. It’s a ridiculously sexy movement.
“Yeah.”
“It drives you nuts?” I smile, knowing it drives Cale mad.
He tilts his head to the side. A cheeky grin appears on his lips. “A lot of things you do drive me nuts, Firecracker. But listening to you sing isn’t one of them.”
A flush starts at my chest and ends at my virginia. I cross my legs, linking them at the ankles.
“You should perform it onstage sometime,” he says.
What?
“You think?” Unconvinced, I lift a brow.
“I definitely think.”
I fold my arms. “Okay, I’ll sing it live, if you play the melody for me.”
He lets out a laugh. “Not a chance.”
“You got a little stage fright there, Carter?”
“Nice try. I’m not afraid of shit, and you know it. This one is all yours. Your show, your tour. You don’t need me onstage with you. But this song, you singing it…the fans will love it. I’ll teach Van the melody, and he can accompany you. That’s all you’re getting from me.�
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“Spoilsport.” I stick my tongue out at him and get to my feet.
“I wouldn’t stick your tongue out at me unless you intend to use it in the right way.”
Pausing, I turn back to him. “You’re disgusting.”
“Just the way you like me.” He stands, towering over me.
I feel very much like a girl in this moment.
My hands go to my hips. His eyes follow the movement.
“I never said I liked you.”
“You never said you didn’t.”
“Dick.”
“Dick? Yes, I have one.” He leans in close. “And it’s fucking huge.”
I push a hand against his chest. Sparks ignite at the connection.
“Like I said…disgusting.” I grin, so he knows I’m messing with him.
He tosses out a laugh. “As in…it’s disgusting just how big my cock is.”
A giggle escapes me. I could slap myself.
Turning, I say over my shoulder, “I’ve never seen it, so I can’t comment.”
“Easily rectified.”
I spin around just as his hands are going to his jeans.
“Stop it!” I hold my hand up.
“Stop what?”
“Getting your…thing out.”
“My cock?”
I nod.
“Say it, Firecracker.”
“Say what?” I bite my lip. “Cock?”
His eyes flash with intensity and lust. My stomach tightens. Another flash of heat ignites between my legs.
He steps closer. “Say it again.”
I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. This is the effect he has on me.
“Cock.” I’m surprised by how breathy my voice sounds.
He touches his thumb to my lower lip. I hold my breath.
“Do you know that your mouth makes a perfect O when you say cock?”
Dumbstruck, I shake my head.
His eyes are on my lips.
And I can’t move.
He’s going to kiss me. It’s actually going to happen.
There’s no one awake to walk in and interrupt this time.
Do I want him to kiss me?
Yes!
No.
If he makes a move, I’ll push him off.
I think.
He slides his fingers along my jaw, cupping it. His skin is rough against mine.
“Lyla…” he breathes my name.
I melt into a puddle on the floor.
Then, “Zzz-zzzz-zzzzz-hngggggh-ppbhww-zzzzzzzz.”
Tom’s hand drops from my face.
We both look in the direction of the bunks and then back to each other as we burst into laughter, our kissing spell instantly broken.
I clap my hand over my mouth. “Sonny,” I say, the word muffled under my palm.
Tom removes my hand from my mouth, but he doesn’t let go, holding my hand between us.
“No kidding. The dude has the bunk across from mine, and only curtains are separating us, remember?”
It’s hard for me to concentrate on anything but my hand in his, as he ever so lightly runs his thumb over the soft skin on the top of my hand.
“Of course. You must be missing sleep.”
“Goes with the tour bus territory. I had to put up with Denny’s snoring for years. Earbuds were my friend for a long time.”
I’m smiling, but my heart is currently doing a thump-thump-thumpity-thump dance in my chest.
“Well, if you ever want a break from Sonny the Dragon Snorer, you can always take the bed.”
“You offering to give me a side?” He tilts his head, grinning.
And that full body flush I always get under his scrutiny is back in force.
“If you want to get me in bed, Firecracker, you only have to tell me.” His fingers tighten around my hand, gently squeezing.
I roll my eyes. “Ha! You wish. I’m offering you the bed, minus me. I’ll take your bunk.”
“And where would the fun be in that? Seems stupid for you to go in my bunk when we could both get a good night’s sleep in the same bed.”
I can’t imagine getting a second of sleep with him lying beside me.
Knowing how much my body would like that, my brain quickly advises me that it would be the worst idea ever.
I tug my hand free and give him a gentle poke in that hard chest of his. “Nice try, Carter.”
“What?” He holds up his hands in innocence, but his face shows me anything but.
“I’m not having sex with you.”
His eyes widen. “Who said anything about sex? Jeez, Lyla, I was just talking about sleeping. You have a really dirty mind, you know.”
I open my mouth to come back with a retort, but all that comes out is a scoffing sound. Heat creeps up my neck, and I turn my back on him. I walk through to the kitchen, and I reach up on my toes, opening the cupboard. “I’m making hot chocolate. You want some?”
“No, thanks.”
I busy myself with getting a mug and the hot chocolate. I fill the kettle with water, plug it in and turn it on.
It’s so quiet in here that I’m positive Tom has snuck off to bed, but when I turn, he’s still here, shoulder leaning against the wall of the archway, as he watches me.
Half-smiling, I lean my back against the counter, curling my fingers around the edge. “You hanging around for a bit?”
He gives me a slow nod and then his eyes fix onto mine. “Are you over him?”
My body stiffens. “Am I over whom?”
“The ex—Chad,” Tom says with a surprising level of venom.
And hearing Chad’s name serves as a reminder of that night. The betrayal.
My hands slide from the counter and come around to my chest, pressing down on the ache I feel.
“Yeah, I’m over him. I have been for a while.”
Tom’s expression remains stoic. “But he’s the reason you always sing ‘Cry Me a River,’ right?”
Shaken to the core, I realize that he’s thought about this, thought about me. I shake my head gently. “What makes you think I sing that song because of him?”
He gives me a confounding look. “Because we’re musicians, Ly. Music bleeds into everything we do. We tie all feelings—pain, happiness, anger, sorrow—to music…lyrics. I know he hurt you…bad. And that song isn’t exactly light and roses, and you sing it all the time.”
When I don’t immediately respond, he says, “I have a song for every person I’ve lost.”
I want to ask him about the tattoo on his back, but I chicken out.
Instead, I softly say the one person I know he’s lost, “Jonny Creed.”
Tom’s face tightens, pain lancing through his eyes. He nods, and his voice is quiet as he says, “‘Hear You Me.’”
“Jimmy Eat World?”
“His folks played it at his funeral. I’ve listened to it every day since.”
In this moment, I hate that he’s felt pain and still feels it now. It makes me want to go over to him and wrap my arms around him, hold him tight.
But, of course, I do nothing.
“‘Cry Me a River’ isn’t Chad’s song,” I admit.
Tom gives a curious tilt of his head.
“I never told you who Chad cheated on me with.” I take a deep breath, the pain in my chest bursting. “My brother.”
Anger flashes through those green eyes. His expression is still stoic. He braces his arms above him. His hands are gripping the archway, lifting his T-shirt and giving me a glimpse of those fabulous abs of his.
See? Even now, at this moment, while rehashing painful past memories, the sight of him distracts me.
“Dex, my brother. Technically, he’s my cousin, my Aunt Steph and Uncle Paul’s son, but he was my brother where it counted.” I press my hand to my chest. “After I caught them mid-act, Dex admitted that he and Chad had been having an affair for a month. Dex, aside from being my brother and best friend, was also lead guitarist in Vintage. We originally formed the band w
ith Cale. After it happened”—I gestured, unable to say the words, I made my best friends choose between him and me—“he, um…left the band. We replaced him with Van. I haven’t spoken to Dex since.” My hands move to grip the counter edge again.
Tom hasn’t said anything. He’s just staring at me, his jade eyes piercing me, while he’s working his jaw angrily.
I’m not sure as to where his anger is coming from. I can’t believe he would be this angry for me. There definitely has to be some other reason.
Awkward in our silence and confused by his reaction, I start talking again, “The night I caught them together was the night we opened for you at Madison Square Garden. Afterward. While you were performing onstage.”
Tom gives a slight nod, acknowledging but still saying nothing.
“Chad had come along to support us during our big night. After we went offstage, I lost the guys in the excitement, so I was wandering around, trying to find one of them. I got a bit lost, turned a corner, and stumbled upon a couple of guys going at it. I mean, they were actually having sex, and I saw it.” From out of nowhere, my eyes fill with tears, my lip trembling.
“Jesus, Lyla.”
The next thing I know, Tom is pulling me hard to his chest, and his arms are around me, holding me.
Tom is hugging me.
Surprised by his act of compassion, I freeze for a moment before relaxing into him. I slide my arms around his waist until I’m pressing my palms on his back, ignoring how very right this feels.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.” He runs his hand up my back, his fingers playing over the exposed skin from my tank.
From just those slight touches of his skin on mine, my body is calling for so much more of him. I can only imagine what it would feel like to have his hands all over my body, his lips on mine…him inside me.
I swallow down. “Dex calls me every day. I don’t answer. I have ‘Cry Me a River’ set for him to remind me of how much he hurt me, so I don’t weaken and answer, which is why the song is always in my head.”
“That’s not healthy, Firecracker.” His hand gently strokes my hair.
“I know,” I say quietly. “But it’s all I got right now.”
I hear and feel a murmur of understanding rumble through his chest.
“And you don’t answer his calls because you don’t know how to forgive him.”
“No,” I whisper into his shirt.
Taming the Storm Page 10
