Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)

by Tracy Wolff

  Which only made the whole thing weirder. Not to mention setting off every trigger and trust issue she had.

  She had just clicked over to another big Ryatt blog, determined to see what this blogger had to say about Wyatt, when the man himself started stirring. He groaned a little, burrowed deeper into the bed. Then flung an arm around her waist and cuddled into her.

  “Do you always get up at the crack of dawn?” he asked, his voice all smoke and gravel in the early morning quiet.

  “Trying to catch up on some work,” she answered. “Since I spent so much of yesterday either fucking you or worrying about you, I’m a little behind.”

  He grinned and opened one sleepy blue eye. “I thought I was your work.”

  “You are, but so are the others. And since I’m not planning on sleeping with any of them, I figure I should do what I came here for and get you guys started on what you can do to maximize your social media exposure.”

  “Now you sound like Jamison. She’s always after us to post more pictures or tweet more.”

  “She’s totally right. You should do that. But there should be so much more to the strategy than just tweeting more. The sheer number of Tumblr and Instagram accounts devoted to you guys is seriously awe-inspiring. It’s ridiculous that you haven’t been utilizing that kind of unrestricted access to your fan base.”

  He snuggled closer, pressed soft kisses to her stomach where her shirt had ridden up. His shirt, she corrected herself. She’d picked it up and shrugged into it when she’d gotten up to go to the bathroom a couple of hours before.

  “So instead of waking actual me up to have more incredible sex—”

  “Incredible?” She raised a brow.

  He just looked back at her blandly. “I don’t think I’m exaggerating by calling it incredible, and I’m pretty sure you don’t either.”

  She inclined her head, nodded for him to go on. After all, the man did have a point. It had been several hours since he’d last been inside her, yet her body still felt deliciously and wonderfully used. It was a new experience for her, one she’d never come close to feeling with another guy, and it made her nervous—especially considering everything she’d found out about him today. At the same time, though, she couldn’t help responding to him, her body completely in tune with his after the night they’d spent.

  “Instead of doing that,” he continued, “you’re looking at pictures of the rock star version of my friends and me and trying to come up with better ways to promote us? How does that even make sense?”

  “I am from the label,” she reminded him. “I believe we’ve been accused of being a tad bit single-minded at times.”

  “Yeah, well, I can be single-minded, too.” He started to wrestle her computer away from her, but this wasn’t her first rodeo, and she held on tight. They’d be prying this computer out of her cold, dead hands one day. Until then, it stayed right where it was.

  When he realized she wasn’t giving in, Wyatt pulled back and looked at her inquisitively. “Something going on that I should know about? I mean, other than you plotting Shaken Dirty’s world domination?”

  She took a moment, tried to decide what she wanted to say. How she wanted to say it. “You’ve got a lot of fangirls, you know?”

  He quirked a brow. “It’s kind of part and parcel of the rock star thing. Besides, most of them are there for Ryder and Jared.”

  “No, you don’t get to say that. Maybe in the old days you could, but I’m on a tumblr dedicated to you and you alone—wyattdomelikethis. A couple of minutes ago I was on one dedicated to you and Ryder and the oh-so-secret love you two have for each other.”

  “You were on a Ryatt site?” He burst out laughing.

  “So you do know about Ryatt? Even though you claim never to have been on Tumblr or Instagram?”

  “I don’t have to be on Tumblr to hear about Ryatt. Or Wyred or Ryinn or Jinn for that matter. We get tweets about it all the time.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that people think you’re sleeping with your bandmates?”

  “Why should it bother me?” he asked with a shrug. “I mean, besides the fact that Jamison would bury my body where no one would ever find it if she thought I was making a move on her man. But, seriously? What’s the big deal? Every other day I’m linked with a new Victoria’s Secret model. Why is this any different?”

  Wow. When he phrased it that way, it kind of bothered her. Not the band ships, obviously, because after meeting them and seeing how they were together, the idea of him sleeping with one of them was ludicrous, no matter how many photo manips or how many “receipts” Tumblr produced. But him being linked to model after model? Yeah, that bothered her more than it should considering she’d promised herself just last night that she wasn’t going to get in too deep with Wyatt.

  Sure, she’d always had an okay body image and pretty decent self-esteem, even if she had boring brown eyes and even more boring brown hair. But she was no underwear model. Not by a long shot. The idea that that was the kind of women Wyatt was used to—the kind of women he was normally attracted to? It hit a little closer to home than she might have liked.

  Then again, that so wasn’t what she’d planned for this conversation to be about. Who Wyatt had slept with in the past—and who he was going to sleep with whenever this thing between them was done—was none of her concern. Even if, right now, it kind of felt like it should be.

  Determined to cut off that train of thought before it could do any more damage, she focused on bringing the discussion back around to what she really wanted to talk about. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with beautiful blondes with incredible bone structure and even more incredible bodies. And wings…

  “These blog owners—the ones who have tumblrs dedicated to you—they’re pretty intense.”

  “It’s rock and roll,” he answered with a shrug. “It’s intense by definition.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, rock star, tone it down a bit.”

  He looked offended. “I’m just saying, rock is an intense musical genre. If you wanted something a little more bubblegum, you should start working with a boy band or something.”

  “Wow. Arrogant and disdainful. I’m so impressed. And I’ll have you know that a lot of boy bands have really talented members.” She batted her eyes at him for a moment, daring him to say more, before she settled back against the pillows and pulled up one of the tumblrs she’d just been visiting. “But seriously, the fans who run these sites seem to know everything about you and the others.”

  “They don’t know anything. They know what we tell them, what we let them see. But the real stuff, we keep that shit buried deep where the fans can’t get to it.”

  Which was exactly the opening she’d been looking for. “Like what?”

  “What do you mean? You’re from the label—you should know this better than anyone.”

  “I do. But I’m talking about you specifically. What do you keep buried deep?”

  He quirked a brow at her. “You mean besides the fact that I was doing more than an ounce of heroin a day before I checked into rehab this last time?”

  God, that was so much worse than she’d envisioned. An ounce a day? She’d read up on heroin addiction the first time Wyatt had gone to rehab, had learned more than she’d ever wanted to about the hell of getting clean. But she’d also learned a lot about what the human body could tolerate, and shooting up an ounce of the pure stuff was way more than most people could handle. The fact that he’d been doing that to himself, to his body…it made her want to pull him close, to hold on tight so he could never hurt himself that way again.

  All she said, though, was, “I get that you tried to keep your addiction quiet as long as you could—your basic human right to privacy with that is absolute. Or it should be, no matter who you are.”

  “That’s not really how it works, though, is it?”

  “No, not really.” She sighed, rested her head against his shoulder. “Is that why there are all these
conflicting stories about you? Because you don’t want anyone to know any truths? So it’s easier to hide the painful stuff?”

  He stiffened a little, but she pulled him closer, held him tighter, and eventually he relaxed when he realized she wasn’t going to push. “If there are ten stories out there instead of just one, and I don’t deny or confirm any of them, then no one actually knows what’s going on with me. Or, that’s the theory, anyway.”

  “It’s a good theory.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Sometimes.”

  “It’s worked so far. I mean, I’m from the label and in charge of your social media message and even I don’t know what the truth is.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been lying to myself and everyone else so long that sometimes I don’t think I do either.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that, even though she knew admitting it—coming to grips with it—had probably been a big part of rehab for him. But she hated the way he implied that he was inherently untrustworthy, because she didn’t think that was true. Sure, the addiction had made him that way. But she had seen him with his boys, had seen the way he tried to protect them, the way he struggled to be good enough for the band and his friends. Those were not the acts of an untrustworthy guy.

  It was as much a realization for her as it was for him, and she could feel her resolve crumbling a little bit more, could feel herself falling even harder for him despite all the warnings and assurances she’d been giving herself. Because in a lot of ways that mattered, Wyatt was trustworthy and that…that was her own personal kryptonite.

  The knowledge freaked her out more than she wanted to admit, even to herself, and she went back to poking at him because it was easier. And because she wanted to know. “So, tell me the truth, then.”

  His gaze, wide and wary, flew to hers. “What do you mean?”

  She forced a laugh as she set the computer down on the floor next to the bed and then rolled over so she was draped on top of him. “Don’t worry. I’m not asking for your deepest, darkest secrets. Just a few of the small ones. Like, were you really born in Texas? Or were you born in Missouri? Or Alaska?” she asked, remembering she’d seen an interview where he’d claimed to be from Anchorage.

  She’d thought where he was born would be an easy question to start with—what did it matter, after all? But he stiffened underneath her and for long seconds, she was certain he wasn’t going to answer.

  In the end, though, he did. Grudgingly. “I was born in Springfield, Missouri.”

  She’d already known that from the birth certificate, but the fact that he was honest with her…it meant something. She could feel herself melting just a little bit more, feel her defenses getting just a little bit weaker. The fact that a hint of a native accent crept into his voice when he said “Missouri” was just icing on the cake.

  “Say it again,” she teased, straining forward to drop a kiss on his chin.

  He looked baffled. “Say what?”

  “Missouri. Your accent is adorable.”

  He rolled his eyes at her, but he did it—twice—then waited for her giggles to quiet down before saying, “Okay, my turn.”

  “For what?”

  “You don’t think you’re the only one in this bed who gets to ask questions, do you?”

  She had thought that, actually. But if he had questions…she had answers. As long as he didn’t ask her about her real reason for being in Austin.

  Her stomach tightened unpleasantly at the thought. Here she was, all hung up on whether she could trust him, and she was the one lying to him. The one keeping secrets. The fact that she was doing it because she cared about him, because she wanted him to succeed, didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. Not when they were plastered against each other in bed playing twenty fucking questions.

  Because her guilt was eating her alive, she told him, “Ask away. I’m an open book.” And she would be, she promised herself, about everything but her relationship to her dad and Caleb and her real reason for being in Austin. Wyatt deserved that much.

  He tightened his arms around her waist, pulled her even more firmly against him. She reveled in it—in the feel of his tight, hard body beneath hers. In the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear. And, most importantly, in how well their bodies matched up. How good it felt to be wrapped up in him as the streets below them started slowly filling with people beginning their morning commute.

  “Hmm.” He deliberated for a few seconds, his fingers unconsciously toying with the ends of her hair as he did. Finally, he settled on, “What do you do at the label? When you aren’t formulating social media plans for pain-in-the-ass bands? Or is that what you do all the time?”

  Shit. Seriously? He could have asked her anything, and that was what he’d chosen? She was going to kick Caleb’s ass for putting her in this position—and her own ass, too, as soon as she figured out how to manage that. How was she supposed to lie to him when they were naked in bed together? And when she was trying so hard to let him know that he could trust her? When she was working so hard to trust him, too?

  In the end, she decided to stick as close to the truth as she could manage. “Mostly I’m in marketing. I work out plans for bands when we first sign them, decide how we’re going to market them, what kind of publicity we want to garner for them, what demographics we want them to appeal to. I’m also often the liaison between the label and the band’s management. I make sure we’re all on the same page.”

  “So you do all that, but you don’t actually work with the bands?” He looked skeptical. “Or is it just Shaken Dirty that you didn’t work with early on?”

  “No.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I don’t work with any of the bands. I just strategize.”

  “Why not? You mentioned before that music is your life. Or was that just about your work?”

  “No! Music is my life.” She rolled over, despite his efforts to keep her in place, and settled on the side of the bed with her feet on the floor. “Rock, especially. I fell in love with Queen and Aerosmith and Led Zeppelin before I could even walk. Spent my childhood going to Pearl Jam and U2 concerts. Soundgarden, Nirvana, The Cure. Nine Inch Nails. I loved them all. From the time I was in junior high, I never wanted to do anything but work with musicians and help connect them with fans who really got their music.”

  “Which explains your obsession with social media. You get to do that on a global scale now, right?”

  “I guess.” She sighed. It was so much more complicated than that, but she couldn’t explain it to him. Not if she wanted to keep her cover.

  “There’s a story there,” he said, brows raised. “Do you want out of marketing? Would you rather be focusing on the music end of—”

  “Dude! No offense, but I’m pretty sure you’re on like your fifth question, and I only got to ask one. That’s not how this is supposed to go.”

  “Yeah, but this is so much more interesting!”

  “To you, maybe. Not to me.”

  “Okay, fine.” He settled back against the headboard with a little bit of a huff. “What do you want to know?”

  “When did you move to Austin?”

  “When I was sixteen.”

  “So you didn’t grow up with Jared, Ryder, and Micah.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “They felt sorry for me and pulled me in a few months after I started at Austin High.”

  “And by ‘felt sorry for you,’ you mean they were awed by your talent.”

  He snorted. “Not quite. Jamison and I got to be friends and Jared freaked out. I had trouble written all over me, even then. I’m pretty sure he befriended me to make sure I wouldn’t take his little sister to bed.”

  “I doubt that’s it.”

  “No offense, but you weren’t there. I guarantee that was almost one hundred percent of his motivation. Can’t fuck your band mate’s little sister, after all.”

  “Yet now she’s with Ryder.”

  He laughed. “She is. And that was hilario
us to watch. Jared almost killed him at one point.”

  “I’m glad he didn’t. Replacing a bassist is one thing. Replacing your lead singer and guitarist is something else entirely.” She paused. “Almost as hard as replacing your drummer.”

  “Really? We’re going to go there now?”

  “No.” She shook her head, pressed several soft kisses to his chest. “We’re not. But you’ve got to admit, the opening was too perfect to pass up.”

  “I don’t have to admit anything,” he answered with a smirk. “But, since you brought it up, I should probably get going.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” She tangled her legs up in his, then rolled until his back was pressed into the bed and she was sprawled above him. “Not yet.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why not?”

  She stroked her hands down his chest. “Because I don’t want you to go.”

  “Does that mean you have an incentive to keep me here, then?” His fingers tangled in her hair before she could answer, pulling her down for a kiss that went on and on and on.

  They were both breathing hard and she was even trembling a little bit when he finally broke away. “I could make breakfast,” she told him when she could finally talk again.

  “Not quite the incentive I was thinking of.” He reached for the box of condoms where it lay half empty on the nightstand, then quickly fumbled a condom out of it.

  Seconds later he was wrapping his hands around her hips.

  Lowering her down on his cock.

  Thrusting his hips up to meet hers.

  It was hot and wild and thrilling. And fast—so, so fast this time, with both of them soaring over the edge together only a few short minutes after Wyatt slid inside her.