He advanced slowly, probably in deference to the slick bathtub. I took small steps back until the tiled wall halted my progress. He took my hands one at a time and lifted them to his cheeks. “Too scratchy? Last chance to weigh in.”
They felt fine. I liked them a little scratchy. A five o’clock shadow looked fantastic on Dylan. “Not too scratchy.”
Then he pinned my wrists to the wall. “Let’s get one thing perfectly clear: I waited because I wanted us both to be sure. I love you, Lacey. Heart and soul. I love everything about you. I love the way you smile, the way you pretend to know what’s going on when you haven’t been following the conversation, the fact that you need things in groups of six. Don’t think I haven’t figured out why you want us to hire two backup singers.”
That was a connection I hadn’t made, but it was true.
“I love your intelligence, your tenacity, and your wit. I love your zest for life and the way you have unfailingly believed in me from the start.” He released my hands and turned to rinse his hair. “Did that adequately answer your question?”
More than. I nodded, but he couldn’t see me. “Dylan?”
He finished and turned back to me. “Yeah?”
“I love you too.”
His cocky grin was worth it. “I was thinking.”
I caressed his head. “Does it hurt?”
“Funny. As I said, I love your sense of humor.” His face hovered inches above mine. “I think you shouldn’t deliver your lies so convincingly. Give a mischievous smile at the end to let people know you’re joking. Or use some of your dry wit. Make it ironic or sarcastic. It’ll provide the stress relief you need without the stigma of a lie.”
The idea held appeal. “I’ll think about it.”
He dropped to his knees. I hoped he wasn’t going to propose in my shower.
“Hold on to the towel bar.”
I barely had time to grab it before he threw my knee over his shoulder and buried his face between my legs. Holy hell, that man had a talented tongue and strong lips. He supported my ass with one hand and added the fingers of his other to the mix. They curled inside me, finding my sweet spot with every stroke.
“The towel bar isn’t going to hold me,” I warned him.
His chuckle turned to a moan when I grabbed his hair for leverage and rode his face into the sunset.
Chapter Eighteen
DINNER WAS DELICIOUS, not that I tasted it much. We made grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato and bacon, and it turned out I was ravenous. I inhaled my food, finishing well before Dylan, and after that, our conversation meandered. He talked about recording the band’s first EP. I’d booked studio time for them next month. I talked about John—a lot. I opened up and told Dylan all the things I’d withheld before.
“I was terrified of him at first. It took three weeks before I stopped hiding under a table in the corner with a plastic sword in my hands.”
I couldn’t tell whether Dylan wanted to laugh or hug me. He took a sip of milk. “They didn’t place you with a female counselor so you’d feel more comfortable?”
I studied Dylan closely. What did the gender of my therapist have to do with anything? “What did I say—exactly—in the bathroom yesterday?”
He shrugged. “You said enough for me to figure things out.”
I couldn’t have said nearly enough. I regarded him somberly and confessed the details of my sordid past. He listened, his fists clenching and angry color rising to his cheeks at several points, but he didn’t comment or interrupt.
The apartment was silent for a full minute after I stopped talking. I knew what he was doing. Counselors are trained to let the quiet make people talk. However, I’d said it all.
“Wow,” he finally said. “I knew you were a strong woman. Looks like you’ve been that way your entire life.”
“I don’t always feel strong.” My mother is a fierce woman. I don’t have a tenth of her strength. She lost her husband, and it hadn’t destroyed her. That amazed me. I felt adrift without John, though now I had Dylan to anchor me. “Right now I feel very, very weak.”
He pulled me onto his lap and held me in the safe cocoon of his arms. “It still hits me like that sometimes. Losing a parent is hard. You don’t have to pretend with me. Ever.”
After breakfast, Dylan sang the song he’d been working on.
She’s pretty and she’s smart
Completely unaware.
Six smiles
Six laughs
Six kisses on the lips
She hears whispers in the dark
Telling her she’s loved
Six notes
Six chords
Six lines I write
Six roses
Six bridesmaids
Six layers on the cake
Six lines our vows
Six seconds our kiss
Six days the trip
She’s pretty and she’s smart
Completely unaware.
Six smiles
Six laughs
Six kisses on the lips
She hears whispers in the dark
Telling her she’s loved
Six bedrooms in the house
Six kids come along
Six times I take her
In my arms
Six times I whisper…
I had no words, only tears. He made love to me one more time. (Six total orgasms, and yes, he was counting—that sweet, sweet man.)
Later, I shoved him out the door. “You need to go home and get some fresh clothes before you can see patients today.”
He hesitated, a protest in the firm set of his jaw.
“I’m fine. I have a meeting. I need to see my mother, and then we have a band meeting at seven at your house. I’ll be over at seven.”
And I was fine for the moment. I held it together until I arrived at my mother’s house. John had almost always answered the door when I came over. Seeing my mom assume that duty socked me in the gut.
Mom must have known because she pushed open the screen and pulled me into her safe, familiar embrace. “Baby, I know. Come in. I have some tea made, and there’s a shitload of food in the kitchen. People apparently think I buried my ability to cook.”
My mother’s sense of humor was intact. I wanted to ask how she was doing—wasn’t that the polite thing?—but I knew the answer. Humor was her shield. I don’t know how many times she found gun jokes to tell me when I was growing up. John did his best to rein her in, but my mother was a force in and of herself.
She set a cup of lemon tea in front of me and gave me an envelope. “John left you this. After his heart attack, he put his affairs in order, and he wrote some notes. I gave one to each of his sisters, one to his nephew, a couple to close friends. I didn’t read them, though.”
I opened the envelope to find a handwritten note.
Dear Lacey,
Words cannot describe the blessings you’ve brought to my life, but I’m going to try anyway. I knew from an early age that I could never have children. I’m not a religious man, but I can’t deny that something divine sent us to each other. You say all the time how I helped you, but you healed me too. You wouldn’t remember this, but when I met you, I was this hotshot therapist who had absolutely nothing but his work. I had no friends, no real connection with my family. I had loads of acquaintances, and nobody to love. I thought I was “all that” because I listened to people whine about their petty problems all day and offered solutions.
Working with you challenged my core beliefs, my cynicism about people. You have grit, a stubborn tenacity I hadn’t seen before. You showed me I had more to give to people than a bill at the end of fifty minutes. You humbled me. You showed me what it was like to work for love—real love. Because of you, I met your mother, and of course you know, she is the great love of my life.
If you’re reading this, I’ve passed on. I want you to know that I’m proud of you—of everything you do and everything you are. I wish I could be beside you to
see the great things you’re going to do with your life. Know that I will never leave your side. I might not be there in body, but I’ll always be there in spirit. I love you, Lacey. You might not have called me “Dad,” but you are my little girl. You always will be.
By the time I finished reading, the words were blurry with tears. I sobbed like a baby, and my mom held me with my face pressed to her abdomen, just like she used to. She didn’t say anything as the pain knifed through me. She just rubbed my back and shoulder until I was all cried out.
When I looked up, I saw her tears. I sat up, putting my arms around her.
We didn’t eat lunch. Neither of us was hungry. Instead we sipped tea and reminisced about the man we adored. Sadie kept us company by napping under the table.
On the way out, I casually mentioned that Dylan and I were together.
She stared at me, skepticism written all over her face. “What about Thomas?”
“We broke up.”
“Really? After he flew all the way here to be by your side?”
“I swear I’m telling the truth. Thomas and I talked yesterday morning. He told me he couldn’t be with a woman who was in love with another man.”
She rolled her eyes. “John predicted this. He said one day you’d realize what your heart truly wanted, and you wouldn’t waste time once you did.”
I waited silently, hoping she’d give me her blessing.
She didn’t disappoint. “Dylan is a good man. And if the band thing doesn’t work out, he has a good degree to fall back on.”
Now came a task I didn’t relish. During my short leave from work, I had neglected to tell the band some important information.
Dylan met me as I walked up the driveway. I was used to letting myself into the house and going straight down to the basement. I didn’t have a key, but they kept the side door unlocked. He greeted me with a light kiss on the lips and walked with me the rest of the way.
“I didn’t say anything about us to the band. I thought maybe you’d want to tell them together.”
Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about breaking the news to the band. I dodged the question. “I told my mother.”
He shoved a hand in his jeans pocket. “What did she say?”
“She said you’re a good man.” The first day of November was cold, and I was tired. I tried to move past him into the house, but he caught my arm.
“You’ve been crying.”
Great. Did that mean my face looked puffy and my eyes were bloodshot? “My mom gave me a letter John wrote.”
“Are you okay?”
I shrugged. “Like you said—one minute I’m fine, and the next I feel like somebody sucker-punched me.”
“Did you want to—”
“Dylan, can we just do this meeting first? I have real business to discuss. I assure you nobody is going to be surprised. When I told Daisy about Thomas, she was a little mad at me because she thought you and I were already dating.”
“Oh.” He held the door for me. I went inside and let the air warm the chill in my bones. “I was going to ask if you wanted to postpone the meeting. If you’re not feeling up to it, nobody’s going to blame you.”
Now I felt like an ass. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that.”
He grinned. “I’ll let you make it up to me later, maybe by jumping on me naked.”
“It’s about time.” Gavin’s comment made me blush.
The back door opened to a landing that led to the basement stairs. In the other direction, one step led up to the kitchen. It was a blind corner. While I could see the refrigerator, I couldn’t see the rest of the room. Apparently, it contained Gavin.
“Seriously? Now we’re gonna get a series of sappy love songs.”
That came from Levi. I peered up at Dylan. “Problem solved.”
Daisy came up the stairs and whacked Dylan’s ass on her way to the kitchen. “Proud of you, little brother. You’re not going to die a lonely, born-again virgin.”
I’m sure my face was crimson. I buried it in Dylan’s chest.
Daisy pried me away from him. She kissed me on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, sister.”
I gave her a sassy smile. “Sister? Does this mean I get to borrow your clothes?”
We climbed the single step into the kitchen to find Levi and Gavin chuckling quietly.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
Levi’s shoulders shook harder.
Dylan punched Levi’s arm. “You better not have made bets.”
Gavin lost his battle first. Laughter burst from him.
I looked to Daisy, but she just shook her head. I didn’t take that to mean she had no idea what was going on, only that she wanted no part of it.
Levi cleared his throat. “Back before we asked you to be our manager, we all bet on how long it would take you two to hook up. Monty cleaned our clocks. Looks like we all owe him forty bucks.”
“Monty was in on it? That little shit.” There was no heat in Dylan’s exclamation, yet Daisy glared at him anyway.
“He happens to be very good at reading people,” she said. “He argued that you would drag your feet until something forced you to make a move.”
“I thought you’d cave the moment you found out she was seeing somebody else,” Gavin said.
I saw where this was heading, and I didn’t want to go there. This group could derail a meeting faster than a cat can lick its ass. This was as good a time as any to throw some more onto their collective plate. “So, I forgot to call and schedule dates for the three record producers to stop by.”
Beneath the sympathetic expressions, I saw an undercoating of trepidation.
“It seems RCA and Dreamworks didn’t wait for me. They sent reps to see your last concert.” It had been the day before John’s funeral. “And they both want to meet with you. I think you should meet with them both, hear them out, and then decide if you want to go with a label or go indie.”
I wondered if I’d lost the counsel of Patrick Westman when I’d lost Thomas. I certainly knew there was no way Thomas would read over the contract for me. He was a great guy, but he had his limits.
Dylan went to throw his arms around me, but Daisy got there first. “Oh, hell yes, you can borrow my clothes.”
I was ripped from her arms by Gavin. “I knew we were right to beg you to come back.”
Levi took his turn. “You’re our good luck charm, Lacey.”
Dylan, wise man, waited until they finished their round of celebratory hugging to wrap his arms around me. He smacked a kiss on my lips. “I’m going to call my next song ‘Cherry Kisses’ after the way you taste.”
“See?” Levi said. “What did I tell you? Love songs. Sappy, happy love songs.”
Dylan grinned. “Lots of them.” Then he kissed me again, deeper and longer.
Later that evening, after Dylan made love to me, he held me in his arms. “I love you, Lacey—endlessly.”
I kissed his shoulder. “I’m not sure that’s a romantic sentiment. Isn’t that song about the death of hope?”
He strummed his fingertips over my back, tickling a little and leaving gooseflesh in his wake. “I think it’s about beating the odds because you know the one you love will always be there waiting for you—no matter what crap misery throws at you. That’s what gave me the fortitude to wait until you found your way back to me.”
I lifted my head to look at his face. He is a consummate romantic. I need him by my side to point me to all the wonders life has to offer.
“I like your interpretation much better than mine. I love you, Dylan—endlessly.”
Acknowledgments
I could not have done this without the support and encouragement of some key players. Thanks to Suzy for telling me it was okay to try a new genre. Thanks to my kids for being considerate when I need to work. I don’t have an office or any place designated for writing, so they’ve been great at giving me space and sometimes making me stop to play with them.
; In the writing world, I met Katie Mac and the Indie Express. When I needed beta readers, she put together a rocking group of people who gave me invaluable feedback and advice. They fell in love with Dylan and Lacey, and words cannot express how much that meant to me! Thanks to Amy Malek Concepcion, Becky Schmidt, Lara Feldstein, Julie B. Deaton, Lea Burn, and Jennifer Diaz for your painstaking efforts and detailed notes! Lacey was a difficult character to get right, and you definitely helped me realize my vision for her.
About the Author
I’m Michele Zurlo, author of more than twenty romance novels. I write contemporary and paranormal, BDSM and mainstream—whatever it takes to give my characters the happy endings they deserve.
I’m not half as interesting as my characters. My childhood dreams tended to stretch no further than the next book in my to-be-read pile, and I aspired to be a librarian so I could read all day. I ended up teaching middle school, so that fulfilled part of my dream. Some words of wisdom from an inspiring lady had me tapping out stories on my first laptop, so these days, in the evenings, romantic tales flow from my fingertips.
I’m pretty impulsive when it comes to big decisions, especially when it’s something I’ve never done before. Writing is just one in a long line of impulsive decisions that turned out to showcase my great instincts. :) Find out more at www.michelezurloauthor.com or @MZurloAuthor.
Sneak Peek of
Kiss Me By Moonlight
ON THE WAY HOME, Dylan fumed silently. I drove, as he tends to speed and cut people off when he’s in a sour mood. We were almost to my apartment when he said, “Aren’t you going to apologize?”
I glanced at him, surprised he’d ask me to lie. “I’m sorry?”
“That’s not going to cut it.”
“I’m not sorry I said it. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, but you know how I feel about that song.” I turned into the parking lot and found the space designated for my apartment.
“You called me a manwhore, Lacey.” His entire life, Dylan had slept with two women, one of whom was his late wife. “That’s not the image we’re trying to project. We want fans to focus on our music, not our imagined bedroom antics.”
Kiss Me Goodnight Page 19
