And then, Lita. Jesus, she was a problem for him. Making him crazy in the worst way. He’d pissed her off today, and she’d surprised him with the way she handled Callie’s mom. She’d seriously dented a few of his assumptions about how she got her stories. Yeah, maybe she was only giving the kid-glove treatment to Minerva because she was Lori and Callie’s mom, but he doubted it.
He struggled with his reaction. Was it because she was really a fair professional, or because of the lingering feelings she brought up again? There was no denying that she’d gotten inside, gotten to him those few days on the beach, and he’d never quite shaken her. In fact, he’d given up trying a long time ago, resigning himself to it and attributing it to the extreme emotional turmoil created by the band’s blow-up.
And those fucking questions today with Minerva. He still couldn’t get it out of his head. When Minerva had spoken all that stuff about trust and never leaving, he’d felt gut-punched. Because the bottom line was he wanted to trust Lita, but that kind of stuff was built on having the same outlook on life, the same beliefs. And in a fundamental way, they didn’t.
Lita had been the brightest part of his life for those few days. And she still glowed on his periphery, minimized but never dimmed. She eclipsed every woman he’d been with, her memory always keeping him at arm’s length emotionally with anyone else. Avoiding her had always been easy in L.A., but this week, with all the love-dovey crap going on—their past was getting to him.
In fact, too much was going on. He was getting itchy with all these people around. It was funny that being on a tour bus with the guys didn’t get to him; the proximity in that situation felt right. But here in this house, the walls were starting to close in on him, and he had the urge to run. To hide. He needed space. He could zip over to his cabin on the other side of Echo Lake for a day and get some breathing room, be back in plenty of time for the rehearsal dinner. Callie would be cool with it. She’d been awesome at figuring them out, accepting each of them as they were. Yeah, she rolled her eyes and called them all “angsty musicians,” but not once had she complained when they were bitten by the music bug and disappeared for a day at a time to create. Lori and Sydney were good sports as well. None of the men in this group were easy, and you got them as a group deal. Lesser women had run for the hills when they figured it out. How many songs had been written about how hard it was to love a music man? At least one that he’d written. He’d paid for his Montana hideaway with the royalties.
Yes, he would take a night at the cabin. Sleep in his own bed. Grill a steak on the deck, and hear himself think for a while and figure all this crap out.
The music had ended, sweet silence in the void, the chirp of the summer crickets the only melody playing anywhere. He leaned deeper into the cushions, checking out the stars so bright in the dark sky. Nothing beat this view, and while he loved many things about L.A., you couldn’t get this. He enjoyed the night and the buzz caused by the alcohol in his system, taking the illusion of peace where he could find it.
Someone stepped out on the terrace, and he knew who it was without looking. Lita still wore the same perfume—an expensive one he smelled whenever he went into Burberry to buy something for his assistant for Christmas.
“If you have that karaoke machine with you, turn around,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on what he thought was Orion’s belt.
“No more singing,” Lita answered, her footsteps bringing her closer. “The lovebirds are all kissing and slow dancing without music.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I felt like a high school dance chaperone, trying not to notice the wandering hands.” She plopped down on the sofa next him with a soft thud. “And I needed some air to make the world stop spinning.”
He turned his head to look at her. She was fully reclined, head thrown back, eyes closed and long, smooth neck exposed. Her dark hair was black in the dimmed lighting, her skin a rich bronze color. He’d forgotten how gorgeous she looked in the moonlight. Okay, he hadn’t, but it still hit him hard. “If you feel like you’re going to throw up…”
“I’ll do it in your lap while you hold my hair.”
“Don’t count on it, sweetheart.”
“You’re so mean to me.” Her voice had that little pout added to it that made his body sit up and pay attention. That teasing tone, the way her voice adopted a sultry Brazilian lilt when she was tipsy. Damn. It was at times like this when she most resembled her mother, Estrella, at one time the most famous supermodel in the world. Lita could have easily followed in her mother’s footsteps but didn’t, something he remembered was a friction point between the two of them.
“I was today.”
“What?” Lita turned to look at him.
“Mean.” He clarified. “I was kind of an ass earlier.” He took a breath, finding this harder to say than it should have been. He wasn’t a difficult person. He could apologize when it was called for. “You did a good job with Minerva, and I didn’t tell you right. So…sorry.”
She looked back up at the sky. “Wow. I’m going to wish I wasn’t so drunk when I don’t remember this tomorrow.”
“I’ll remind you.”
“If you remember it. I saw you pound back those shots.”
“I’m a big boy.”
“Mmm. Don’t. I. Remember.” Lita let loose a small giggle, and his insides heated up like he’d just touched a live wire. There was no mistaking her tone, or her inference, and he wondered just how drunk she was. “You want to see my draft?”
Very drunk.
“Does that involve anymore singing?” Rocky watched as she turned toward him once again, her face scrunched up in concentration as she punched the screen of her phone. He had no idea what she was doing, surprised to suddenly find her snuggled up against him, holding the device up for both of them to see. He knew he should give her some space, but he didn’t. She felt so damn good, all soft skin and even softer curves, the best parts pressed against his body.
He’d blame it on the drinks tomorrow.
The video loaded on the screen, and then it began. Callie. Jake. Downtown Fairbanks. Minerva. Lori. Callie and Jake kissing. Callie and Jake with worried expressions on their faces. A pic of Jake’s ex. On it went for about five minutes, with Lita’s voice narrating in between snippets of dialogue from interviews. The video perfectly depicted Callie and Jake and their story, the good and some of the not-so-wonderful. It was tasteful. Sweet. Truthful.
“That’s good.” He looked down as she tapped the screen and closed the video, waiting until she lifted her face to see him. “It makes Callie and Jake…”
“What?”
“They look like real people. Not like selfish lunatics.”
“That’s what I do.”
“Well, you’re good at it.” He ignored the surprised rise of her eyebrows. The last thing she expected was a compliment from him. That was fair.
“Thanks.”
They were still touching, from shoulders down to their thighs, bodies trading warmth in the slight chill of the night next to the lake. She was close enough to kiss, close enough for him to caress, and he bit back a groan when he recalled her curves. She was smooth muscle, silky skin, lush breasts that filled his palms with their delicious heavy weight. Rocky broke eye contact, taking the chicken-shit way out for a moment.
He should move, get up and walk around, but he wasn’t going to do it. The big, horny bastard who made poor decisions was super-powered by tequila shots. That guy was like the Hulk, except that poor schmo in the movie couldn’t fuck without losing control, and when you were green with anger-management issues— that was a big problem. But Lita loved it when he lost control, and he enjoyed it when she took everything he had and begged for more.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward, and it wasn’t empty. The drumbeat of what they were both contemplating was in time with the pounding of their hearts. His cock ached, strained against the fly of his jeans; his mouth salivated with the desire to taste her. Lita’s
nipples were tight under the flimsy fabric of her tank top; it rose and fell like she’d been running. He was waiting for some sign that she was on board for them to both make a poor drunken decision.
“I’m really sorry about Mexico…after Mexico,” Lita whispered as she looked up at him again, her breath warm against his mouth. He licked his lips, disappointed that he couldn’t taste her there.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore.”
“Do you believe me?”
Rocky sighed slightly, cataloging the hope in her eyes that maybe they could put this behind them. He reached out a hand, allowing his fingers to trace the arc of her cheek, the side of her neck, dipping into the hollow of her throat and coming to rest on the curve of her breast.
The tension was strung taut between them, but through it all, he realized that he owed her an answer before this went any further.
“I’m just tired of fighting about it.”
She closed her eyes briefly, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of his words or the effect of his gentle stroke against her flesh.
“That’s not a great answer,” Lita said, opening her eyes again.
She studied his face, her eyes processing each assessment she made, every calculation of pros, cons, and the absolutely insane. Rocky expected her to pull away, to end this detour and frolic into madness. He needed her to do what he could not do. He wanted her under him, around him. Wanted her in every way he’d had her those three days in Mexico, wanted to refresh those living memories with warm flesh, wet kisses, and pleasure. But he wouldn’t lie to get it.
“It’s the best I can do,” he whispered.
“I know for a fact that isn’t true.”
“You’re right,” he said as he slid his other arm between them and around her waist. He tugged her upward, and the movement put her eye-to-eye, mouth-to-mouth with him. This was without a doubt the dumbest thing he’d ever done, drunk or sober, but it felt incredible. He’d dreamed about this, woken achy and hard from his subconscious fantasies that involved Lita, a hammock on the beach, and not a stitch of clothing in sight. “You are so goddam beautiful.”
She inhaled quickly, her breath catching before stuttering out. “You’re drunk.”
“Yep. Enough to tell you what I want.”
“And what do you want?” Her eyes told him she knew what his answer would be. Her expression dared him to say it out loud.
He ran a thumb over her lips, dipping in when she opened, a shiver racking him when her tongue swirled around the digit. “I want you.”
Lita shifted, swinging a leg over him until she straddled his waist. On instinct, he moved his hands, cupping her ass and touching the sweet heaven of bare skin where her tiny skirt had shifted up. She leaned over him, mouth within kissing distance, one hand wrapped around his neck and the other around a long hank of his hair.
“You don’t even like me.”
“I’m good at pretending.”
She smiled, her eyes dark, smoky, tinged with mischief and softened by the tequila buzz. “For how long?”
Rocky leaned closer, a gentle brush against her lips catching her laughter and then stopping it altogether with a deep, hot kiss. He sank into her mouth, using his tongue and his lips to coax her first moan of pleasure. He pulled back, making sure she saw how very serious he was.
“For as long as it takes to make you come.”
Chapter Six
She wasn’t drunk enough to have an excuse tomorrow.
Lita began to close the distance again. Kissing him was an imperative, but he beat her to it. In typical Rocky fashion, he leaned up to her, taking her mouth in a way that spoke of possession, hunger, and dominance. He never did anything half way—drumming, writing music, fucking. Rocky committed or got out of play, and tonight, he was all in.
She opened to the press of his tongue, grabbing his hair with both hands to try and get him to let her lead, but he wasn’t on board with that plan. He slowed down his assault, leisurely probing, tasting, rubbing his soft lips against her own in a teasing seduction. She pressed harder, and he retreated a little; she nipped at his mouth, and he shifted to press hot¸ moist kisses against her cheek, her neck.
“What’s your hurry?” he whispered in her ear between slow kisses and licks.
“I want—” She inhaled sharply, exhaling on a shallow stutter when he dipped his fingers under the edge of her tank top, past the silk of her bra to find her sensitive nipple. “I want that.”
He huffed out a laugh, returning to kiss her mouth, and she was lost in the sensation of his teasing, drugging kisses. She flushed hot all over; he made her dizzy, light-headed, her chest expanding and contracting with her desperate need for air. But she wanted his touch, his kiss more than breathing at this point in time.
She’d ached for this for four years. Whenever she saw him, allowed herself to think about those days, this is what had kept her up nights. This is what made every other guy come in second place with her.
“I’m not rushing this. An orgasm is like a fine wine, ” He leaned back in, gently kissing her, his breath hot on her mouth, his tongue soft and probing. “And I know that yours are to be savored. You get all sticky sweet when I take it slow. You melt against me like candy left in the sun. I love that.”
“Oh my God.” Lita slumped against his chest when he traced a path up her thighs with his hands, lifting her skirt even higher with his progress. You would think that a man with such large, calloused hands wouldn’t be able to do gentle like that, but damn, he did. The cooler night air was a sharp contrast against the heat of her skin, and she shivered in reaction, but the next tremble was caused entirely by Rocky.
“You like that?”
Lita opened further to his talented, seeking fingers as they teased and caressed her sex. She opened her eyes and looked down on his face. He was hard to see clearly in the dark, the moonlight and shadow accenting the darkness of his beard, the sharp cliff of his cheekbones. Rocky’s eyes were dark, watching her as he took her apart, piece by piece.
“Fuck but you’re hot, Lita. So slick, soft. I wish I could put my mouth on you and taste you. Would you like that, baby? I could drop to my knees and worship at your feet. Make you come and come until you think you can’t take it anymore.”
She moaned, dropping her head to bury her face in the curve of his shoulder. He smelled of man, sweat, and sunshine, and she bit down on the long muscle there, needing to do something or risk crying out and drawing attention to them. The last thing they needed was one of the other couples wandering out and finding them like this.
Who was she kidding? She just didn’t want to get interrupted, period. She was so close, reduced to one big, writhing mass of hormones and nerve endings, and if someone stopped this right now, she just might die from it.
“Lift up, Lita, and let me suck your tits. I’ve got to taste you.”
“Yes.” She straightened, bringing her breasts within range of his mouth, her nipples already so sensitive under the thin fabric of her tank top.
He watched her, eyes narrowed with his concentration as she bared her body to him. One strap slid down one shoulder, the second following suit, the fabric dragging against her skin in the wake of the goosebumps. The weight of the lace straps dragged the cups of her bra down and exposed her nipples to him.
“You’re breasts are so beautiful.”
She barely had time to register the colder air before he leaned forward and covered her skin with his mouth.
“Oh God.” She immediately wove her fingers through his hair, holding him to her body and hanging on for dear life. He always did this to her, had some power over her body that no one before or after him possessed. She’d missed this. Missed him.
Pleasure bloomed somewhere deep in her belly, warm and liquid, spreading through her to the ends of her fingers, the tips of her toes, every inch of her skin. She was on fire for him. It had been the same the first night, on the beach, his body filling her, soft tongue in her mouth and hard length
inside her.
Rocky’s large blunt fingers teased past her folds and eased inside her body, pumping slowly in and out, curving to reach that spot inside that set her off like a fuse. Lita undulated against his hand, urging him deeper, faster. Her head fell back, heavy with lust and the tequila, rough breaths escaping her mouth on deep moans.
She was on the edge, teetering on the verge of free fall just like when she went skydiving. This time Rocky was her parachute as she held onto him with desperate, clutching fingers, and then he took the bottom out from under her with the glide of his thumb against her clit.
She lurched over, hurtling toward earth in a knife-edge of pleasure that bordered on pain, when suddenly it was light and warmth and ecstasy that turned her bones to mush. She was gasping, whimpering with the impact of it, and it went on and on and on.
Rocky moved like lightning to flip her over onto her back on the couch, kissing her as they both fumbled with the button-fly of his jeans. Two sets of hands wedged between their bodies made it almost impossible to accomplish the task. Rocky grabbed her hands, pulling out of the kiss to look down at her, amusement and lust washing over his face.
“This is going to be fast and hard and dirty. I do not apologize for how much I need to fuck you.”
“I, I’m good with that,” she stammered, her desire making her stupid.
“Good. Because when we’re done here, I’m going to take you up to my room, strip you naked, and do it all over again. It will be like before. We’ll wallow in lust for days, wring each other dry, and then go our separate ways. Any objection needs to happen right now, because once I’m inside you, it’s game on.”
Yes, she had an objection. The sex, the days in bed, the wallowing was fine, great, heavenly even, but the after? The leaving and going back to the way it had been for the last four years? She wasn’t sure she could do that again. There was only so much that even her hard, cynical heart could take before it turned to stone.
She opened her mouth to object, to negotiate for better terms that didn’t risk her heart when raised voices interrupted them.
Playing With the Drummer Page 5
