Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5)

by Cari Quinn

  She sent back a quick text of her own.

  LR: I’ll be home as soon as I can. On my way. There’s a slight delay.

  There. Hopefully that was enough so he wouldn’t worry, but not so much that he’d have fifty questions. She’d handle this just fine.

  His response arrived in seconds.

  NC: Where are you? What’s wrong? I’ll come to you.

  She couldn’t help rolling her eyes, partially to stop her cheeks from getting warm from something other than windburn. He was so sweet and attentive sometimes, especially in this case where she could just bet he wanted to escape the open house. But she wanted him to be there, to have time to bond with everyone.

  Including Simon—and Margo, who’d also texted her a while ago to let her know they were visiting. Lila hated that she’d been gone at the wrong time and ruined their surprise, but judging from “the incident” Margo had alluded to, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Boys. Whether six or sixty, they never changed.

  LR: I’m fine. I’ll be there in not too long. I’m on my way.

  After sending her text, she grabbed the spare and went to deal with the task. She’d changed more than a few tires in her day, thanks to her father’s determined tutelage, and she’d be damned if she’d let a little—okay, a lot—of snow impede her from getting the job done. Just as well that she got stuck with the going-flat tire than her mother anyway. Her mom could bake the hell out of a tart, but car maintenance wasn’t her area of expertise.

  Lila pushed her flyaway hair back under her hat and knelt to remove the tire. Luckily she’d stopped the car in a spot where the snow was even enough to set the jack. She’d done this so many times while her father watched that she didn’t have to think about it. Just a matter of—

  Holy shit, a car—no, a truck—was bearing right down on her, barreling down the hill.

  She jumped to her feet, cursing that she’d forgotten to set out flares, and waved her arms over her head. The truck slowed and skidded to a stop sideways across the road. It took her about fifteen seconds to recognize their own SUV and the deranged man who hopped down out of the driver’s side and bellowed into the night.

  “What the fuck, Li? Think this is a good night for a stroll?”

  Her eyes narrowed. After all, that she’d done to make this night memorable for them, he’d dare to curse at her? He might look sexy as hell with snow rapidly covering his mop of hair and his big boots clomping through the snow, but she would never allow herself to feel any inappropriate urges in his direction after he’d yelled at her. And swore.

  Freaking unappreciative bastard.

  “Well?” He marched down the hill to her, gesturing wildly enough to make her half Italian grandmother proud. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  She pulled off her remaining glove with her teeth—she’d already taken off the other one while she worked on the car—and pushed her hand into her pocket. Then slammed the ring box into his chest. “That. That is what I have to say for myself, though now I’m wondering why I even bothered. You obnoxious, pompous—”

  His mouth closed over hers before she’d finished the thought.

  She arched up to meet his kiss, winding her other arm around his neck to pull him closer. His warm tongue streaked into her mouth and she moaned, already desperate for more. Rubbing against him made warmth, for sure, but there were too many layers between them. She wanted him naked now.

  Pissed off sex was the best sex.

  He hoisted her straight off her feet, making her squeal. He groaned—and the sound was not sexual—giving her just enough time to yank her head back before he planted her ass on the hood of the car. She knew his moves by now, and as much as she wouldn’t have minded that under normal circumstances, the timing was not ideal. “It’s jacked!” she got out just before he dumped her on the hood.

  She wasn’t sure how he’d missed that fact, but city boy and all. He’d ridden a bike a lot longer than he’d actually owned a car. Also, he’d been more than a little intent on her since he’d parked across the road.

  Turning her head, she shielded her eyes against the glare of headlights. Yeah, across the road. Not good. Even if this hill wasn’t often used this time of night, they had a full house on site for the open house, and at least half of them would need to head down this hill to head back into town.

  “Say what?” He cocked his head, gaze traveling downward. “What the hell were you…is that a jack? Ow, fuck.” He shifted her in his arms.

  She narrowed her eyes, following his gaze. “Jacks are usually used to jack cars, yes.”

  “Don’t use sarcasm on me now, woman.” Still holding her, he crouched to examine the the tire, dipping her so low that her hat popped off her head. She let out another yelp but he seemed oblivious. “You were changing this yourself? In this weather? Why?”

  “I thought I’d put on some blingier rims. Because it went flat, you dolt.” She hit him with the hand that still clutched the ring box. He hadn’t taken it from her to open it. “I told you I was on my way. And um, look at me.”

  Suddenly he rose and set her down on her feet. “So you do a lot of maintenance yourself? That’s really—ow,” he muttered as she turned his face to hers.

  His cheek had a big cut and even in the weak glow from the moon and reflection of the snow, she could see bruising. Way too much bruising.

  She picked up her hat and yanked it back on. “You fought with Simon.”

  “Fought is a strong word. Anyway, everyone was looking for you. They were worried. Simon ate all the tarts.”

  Classic Nick diversionary tactics. He was the most adorable, infuriating, confounding man.

  “Were you worried about me, Nicholas?”

  “What? No. Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

  She shook her head. Nick was about to be in some serious trouble if he’d put marks on Oblivion’s lead singer’s face days before they were due back in the studio. Not to mention the preliminary photos Donovan had lined up to prove to the world that Oblivion was back together. And back on top, though that remained to be seen.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Don’t do that. You sound just like your father when you do that.”

  He sat down right in the center of the road and dragged her onto his lap. He huffed and puffed more than he usually did, probably thanks to his wrestling with Simon. Still, it was a little disconcerting how easily he flipped her around. She wasn’t exactly a small woman.

  “Sorry. Why, were you having chats with Daddy while I was on my errand?” Which he still hadn’t paid any attention to the fruits of, but whatever.

  They’d get there. They always got where they were headed eventually. She wasn’t exactly feeling terribly engagement-minded at the moment anyway.

  “Never mind that.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s talk about about Simon, and why you were fighting with him. Again.”

  “It’s what we do.” He shrugged as if they’d had a little squabble over tea. “Back to the tire. You were changing it?” He framed her face in his big bear paws and pressed his cold nose to hers, making her laugh in spite of her irritation. “All by yourself?”

  “You make that sound like I was creating an atom from the power of my mind. Yes, I was changing the tire by myself. As I have done many times before, and will again. So if you ever run your bicycle tire flat, I’m your gal.”

  “You’re already my gal, and you know I don’t ride my bike around LA anymore. Much.” He scraped his teeth over the tip of her freezing cold nose and she laughed, burrowing closer. “That’s fucking hot. You do realize how fucking hot that is, right?”

  “Everything makes you hot, including sitting in the snow in subzero temperatures.” She directed a glance at his crotch, which she happened to be nestled against. Quite comfortably, as a matter of fact.

  He had to be hurting like hell, if the rest of his body matched his face. Knowing how he and Simon liked to rip holes in each other—physi
cal and otherwise—she was willing to bet it did.

  Which meant she’d be playing nursemaid before she did any proposing. Probably. She might end up as Dirty Nursemaid, who demanded some sexual servicing before she rendered any assistance.

  That idea had definite possibilities. As did getting inside a warm building, stat.

  “Sitting in the snow isn’t what’s making me hot. It’s the thought of watching you finish changing that tire and then me banging the hell out of you in that Sherman-tank-disguised-as-a-suburban-sedan’s roomy backseat.”

  “You’re parked across the center of the road. There’s a million and one beds at Happy Acres, and a king-sized one already has our names on it.”

  “Ever done it in a car?”

  She wasn’t shivering from excitement. Hell no. It was freezing out. Of course she was shaking. “A car is purely a mode of transport.”

  “You can’t say that and be my girlfriend. It’s against natural law. Also? It proves I’ve let you down in my duty as steward of your vagina.”

  “What?” She gaped at him for a full ten seconds before she started to laugh. “Have you been drinking?”

  “No. I’m high on life. Now up and at ‘em, soldier.” He pushed her to her feet, then none too gently smacked her ass to get her moving. She shot him a disparaging glance over her shoulder as she tucked away the ring in her coat pocket.

  Completely oblivious male.

  She changed the tire in record time, well aware that his gaze never left her. She could practically feel the steam from his stare melting the icicles forming off her fingers. A slight exaggeration, but not much.

  Once she’d placed the flat tire in the trunk for safe disposal later, she shut the trunk, then brushed off her hands as she walked to the front of the car. Nick was on his hands and knees, minutely studying her work.

  “It’ll be fine, if you think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it. You’ve known how to do everything since the day I met you.” He stood and pushed a snowy hand though his even snowier hair. “Well, except how to put on a condom, but we fixed that, didn’t we?”

  She thought she’d imagined the last part, because of the howling wind. She had to have imagined it, right?

  “But I’m still derelict in my duty. I’m supposed to be showing you new things. Things that involve you bare-assed and—why the hell did you slap a ring box against my chest?”

  “Wow, took you long enough.” She pretended to be interested in the tire. “You want to drive this baby and test my handiwork?”

  “No. I want to see what’s in that box.”

  He crowded her against the car, and she reached down to protectively shield her pocket. “Nope. Sorry. This isn’t for you. It’s for my lover, Sergio.”

  “Sergio wears girly jewelry?”

  “Oh, wait. If it comes in a ring box, it has to be girly. Not thick and white gold and super manly.”

  In fact, she’d insisted on exactly that. She’d talked to her favorite jeweler at length about finding the best piece in available stock, because special orders just wouldn’t do. That said, she wanted the piece to be something Nick liked to wear, not felt duty bound to.

  Assuming he even said yes. He had to say yes. Otherwise there was a very good chance Nick’s final resting place would be on the secluded road that led to Happy Acres.

  She was pretty sure she could ask for Simon’s help to bury the body. Maybe not until after he’d healed from their latest brouhaha, but she was almost certain he’d be on board.

  “White gold, huh? Thick?” He grabbed her arms and pinned them on either side of her against the car. His hold wasn’t tight, and she could’ve gotten away at any time, but why would she want to? He was making a damn convincing argument for thick below the waist as well.

  “I’m not getting into this with you right now. You’d rather fight with Simon than have a mature, reasonable conversation, and that’s just—what are you doing?” He’d slid his leg up between her knees and linked the bare, icy cold fingers of one hand around both of her wrists so he could reach down and slip his other hand into her pocket. Resigned, she sighed. “Where are your gloves?”

  “You mean the gloves you had your father give me?”

  “Yes. Those gloves. Your hands are freezing.” She bit her lip as he pulled out the box and thumbed it open. He tilted it toward the faint light. “I didn’t set it up properly first,” she said weakly.

  For that matter, maybe she was supposed to get down on one knee? She didn’t know the etiquette for proposals in this case.

  His gaze flicked to hers, his thick, snow-laden hair flopping over his forehead. “Celtic knots? Is that what these are?”

  “Yes. I’m half Irish, and I know you said your mom was too.”

  Though he held her gaze, she saw the shutters come down. It was as if he’d been open one moment and closed the next. All from the mention of his mother.

  The last thing she wanted to do was remind him of pain. Not tonight. Not when she was trying to show him he was part of a family now, one that would never reject him simply for being who he was.

  Who he was happened to be a man who couldn’t go easily through life. He would never be one for polite conversations when he was hurting. Could never slap a veneer of civility on something that cut him to the quick.

  Simon had harmed him deeply, so he struck out with his fists. She didn’t condone his behavior. Would never condone it. But she couldn’t blame him for reacting the only way he’d learned to deal with disappointment and hurt.

  She couldn’t reject him for being himself, even when that self was acting like an ass. That brutally honest, usually uncouth, often brash man was the one she loved with her whole heart.

  That didn’t mean she wouldn’t rip him a new one after the love goggles were peeled away and she saw the extent of his latest injuries. Stupid boys.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and slipped out the band, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Nice heft to it. It’s a good piece. Solid. The kind that won’t ever break or bend.” He rolled his lower lip between his teeth. “Christmas present? Did I ruin the surprise?”

  He really didn’t get it. She wasn’t sure if that was because he was on a completely different page of the book than she was, or if he truly couldn’t an imagine a scenario where she would propose to him.

  Now that she was in the moment, with the heavy flakes drifting down around them, clinging to his lips and cheeks, and those inquisitive golden eyes focused on hers as if he’d never be drawn away, she couldn’t fathom doing anything else.

  This was right. Whether he said yes or no—please God, let him say yes—it was right that she make the overture at this time, in this place. With her history behind her and their future spreading out before them.

  “Will you marry me, Nicholas Crandall?”

  14

  Nick

  Lila stared up at him, clearly expecting an answer. He should have one. All things being equal, he should be able to just shout, “hell, yeah” and do a fucking dance that he didn’t have to get down on one knee and propose. Because really, one knee, him? Could that be any more old-fashioned?

  But he’d wanted to do it. He’d been prepared to do it. He could be courtly. A true gentleman. Sure, he intended to fuck the hell out of her the second they were alone, but still.

  There was a ritual, and he’d been glad to do his part. She deserved that much. She’d lived with an asshole who took her for granted, and she should be spoiled. Showered with diamonds and sex and praise and probably breakfast in bed, but he could only do so much.

  Diamonds, sex and praise, absolutely. And there was always delivery.

  “So make a girl wait, why don’t you?” She shook off his slackened hold on her wrists and pushed off the car to walk a few feet up the road. There were only a few tire tracks. Other than coming to or from the open house on the hill, most people wouldn’t travel this way, especially in this weather. At least f
or another hour or two until the party finished.

  She marched down the middle of the street, her blond hair sticking out from under her hat in every direction. When she turned to glare at him, love punched him in the windpipe like a closed fist. No. It grabbed his throat and squeezed, reducing his airflow to a thin hiss. But she wasn’t aware of his distress. She was too busy ranting.

  “You’d figure you ask a guy to marry you, he’d have an answer one way or the other. Yes. No. I haven’t thought about it. Are you kidding me? Something. Not just silence. Not even mentioning the fact that said guy was all about moving in with me last summer, but maybe that was just about saving rent once you break the lease on the band house.” She muttered something that sounded like cheapskate under her breath. Not too under, since he heard it pretty clearly.

  He shoved her ring box into his free pocket. The other pocket held the ring he’d bought for her, his constant companion these days. But he gripped the band she’d given him—or he’d taken, same difference since it was for him—like a lifeline. “Is this about the cable bill?”

  “What?”

  He stalked up the street and enjoyed immensely that she held her ground. Actually, no. She moved forward to meet him.

  And that was why she was meant to be his wife. She would never back down from him. Never hesitate to tell him when he was acting like a complete jackass.

  Like right now, but he had reasons. Good reasons.

  “It was my job,” he said, low. Either she’d hear him or she could read his lips, but he’d be damned if he pulled a Nicholas Crandall, senior and bellowed.

  “Paying the cable bill?” Her brow furrowed under her cap. “If it means so much to you, have at it. I do it online.”

  “Jesus, will you listen?”

  “Talk some sense then.”

  He was fresh out of sense. Out of everything except the need pulsing hot in his veins. She was his, and it was time he put a ring on it.