She looks up at me, her brown eyes pools of unhappiness. “She’s got to be devastated. All she wanted was some time off to lay low and figure out what she wants away from all this crap. Now everyone’s hounding her. They’re stalking our house. Look, there’s even a picture of our front door.” She thrusts the magazine in my face.
I reach out and push it down, nodding. “I know. I get it. They’re ruthless.” Try for lightness. “It’s a good thing you’re not there, huh?”
She bites her thumbnail. “I guess,” she mutters. “Maybe I should head back. Charlie might need a friend right now.”
“She seemed pretty cozy with that guy she came to the wedding with. You don’t think he’s keeping her company?”
She makes a face, but seems to be considering it. “I’m going to text her at least.”
I nod. “Sounds good. Then she can let you know how she’s doing. If you decide we need to cut our trip short, we can do that. We’ll find an airport and buy you a ticket, and you can fly back as soon as possible. But …”
She looks up from her phone, her gaze sharp. “But what?”
I shrug, starting the car and heading for the freeway again. “But she’s just as likely to tell you she wants to be alone. Charlie’s always been kind of a loner. And it’s not like she hasn’t dealt with this kind of shit her whole life.”
Straightening in her seat, Lauren finally closes that stupid magazine. “Yeah, I guess.”
I reach over and squeeze her leg. “She’ll be fine. I know it probably seems like a big deal to you, but I promise that she’s got her PR team on this already.”
“Yeah. You’re right. She was just …” She trails off, arms crossed, face pointed at her window.
“She was just …?”
She shrugs. “Happy, I guess. For the first time in a long time, it seemed like. It sucks that she’s getting dragged back into this when all she wanted was a break.”
I think about the increased media attention I’ve gotten over the last year. Nothing like what Charlie’s currently facing, but still more than I’d prefer, since what I’d prefer is nothing. But this is the knock-on effect of my brother’s return to the limelight and my own return to the stage, albeit only occasionally for concerts where Jonathan decides we need to play some old Brash hits.
It’s fun, but I’m glad I’m not touring with him all the time. I don’t think I could handle going back to that full time.
There’s a reason that I’ve focused on learning the production side of the business.
We spend the next few hours mostly lost in our own thoughts. Lauren fiddles with the radio in my car, and I let her because I’m a gentleman, even though I sometimes cringe at her choices.
I distract myself with thoughts of tonight. I haven’t mentioned it yet, but I’m planning on getting another hotel. After barely sleeping last night, I’m tired, and spending the night in the car after our recent agreement doesn’t sound like my idea of fun. I know myself well enough to know that I won’t be able to keep my hands off Lauren. Not when she’s given me the green light.
As it is, when the roads are clear and straight and traffic’s light, my right hand drifts to her leg, giving it a squeeze, a soft caress, wishing it were summer and she had on shorts. Or a skirt.
Mmm, yeah. A skirt would be perfect. I could tease my fingers up the inside of her thigh, edge under her panties, and make her gasp.
Smirking, I shift in my seat, tugging on the front of my jeans to make more room for the hard-on growing down my leg.
“What?”
I glance at Lauren, and she’s staring at me, a smile playing on her lips.
“What?” I ask back.
“You’re all squirmy over there. Did someone prank you with itching powder? Or is there something I should know?”
With a low chuckle, I shake my head. “No. No itching powder or other sources of itching. That’s … not my problem.”
She leans closer. “Then what is your problem?”
I quirk an eyebrow, giving her another quick glance. “You really wanna know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
Licking my lips, I pitch my voice low. “I was thinking about what I’d do if you were wearing a skirt.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” She’s trying to sound unaffected, but her breathiness gives her away. And her cheeks are already turning pink.
Shifting once more, I take my right hand off the steering wheel and drop it on her knee. “Well, I’d start here, get a feel for how silky and smooth your skin is.” I rub her leggings, my hand big enough that with my fingers spread, my pinky already reaches mid thigh on her. I tease my fingers a little higher on the inside of her thigh. “I’d keep it here for a while, edging my way higher little by little.” My fingers inch up, and I cut my eyes to her. “Since this is a demonstration, and not the real thing, I won’t draw it out as much as I would if you had on a skirt.”
She clears her throat. “Sure. Makes sense.”
My fingers stroke and tease her inner thigh, right at the boundary of propriety. “In my fantasy, this is where I’m just getting under the edge of your skirt,” I tell her.
“Mm-hmm.”
I wait, continuing to stroke her, the only sounds the road noise and her panting breaths. When she squirms, shifting down in her seat, spreading her legs just a little, I know I have her where I want her.
Without a word, I move higher … higher … until my middle finger teases just inches from her center. When I finally trace my finger over the seam of her leggings, she lets out a soft gasp. Wanting to see what other noises I can draw from her, I do it again, this time a little firmer, then I rub the knuckles of two fingers right there, where I know her swollen little clit is, because I saw it last night. All pink and perfect and shiny with her juices. Her heat radiates through her clothes, and I wish they weren’t in the way, because I want to sink my fingers inside her, see how tight she is, feel her clench around me.
“Fuck,” I whisper as Lauren grinds against my hand. I let her for several long moments until I can’t take it anymore. I’m rock hard, imprinting my dick with an impression of my zipper through my boxer briefs.
Then I clear my throat and withdraw my hand, wrapping my fingers around the steering wheel. “So that’s what I was thinking about.”
She makes a noise that’s all disappointed frustration. Kind of a groany growl.
Then she leans over the center console. “That wasn’t very nice, Brendan.”
I shoot her a wolfish grin. “Who said anything about me being nice?”
She considers me for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then before I even realize what she’s doing, her hand snakes out and lands on my dick. She grips me through my jeans, rubbing her palm up and down the ridge behind my zipper.
My breath hisses through my teeth, and she lets out a menacing chuckle. “Two can play at this game, you know.”
A tortured, “Oh, god,” is my only response.
She rubs faster, then slower, stops to squeeze the head of my cock. I swear to god, she’s going to make me come in my pants.
And right now I don’t know which is worse—her stopping and leaving me like this, dangling on the edge, or coming in my pants like a seventh grader.
She leans even closer, her breath fanning across my cheek, her lips by my ear. “Do you want me to stop?” Her voice is sexy and husky and pure seduction.
“Yes,” I grind out between gritted teeth. Her hand freezes. “Wait. Fuck. No. God, no. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”
She gives me another squeeze, a slow stroke, and then she sits back in her seat. “The road looks a little curvy. I think we should save the rest for later. Don’t you? I wouldn’t want to be a distraction.”
The curve she’s referring to is a gentle bend to the right following the slope of farmland. Nothing like the winding mountain passes we’ve already made our way through.
It’s my turn to narrow my eyes and glare at her. “You’re not nic
e either.”
She gives me a cheeky grin. “Never said I was.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lauren
Knowing Brendan is as worked up as I am satisfies my need to keep us on even footing. Somehow I feel off kilter with him. Unbalanced.
He pushes me more than any other guy I’ve been with. Digs deeper. Wants to know more.
He seems to see through my usual attempts at deflection. Doesn’t let me get away with it. And gives only tiny snippets of information in return.
On top of all that, we’re in his car, driving across country. So far he’s paid for almost everything. I insisted on buying my things last night at the store, but he bought our shared snacks, has paid for most of my food on the road, not to mention the hotel room.
Almost everything about our relationship is uneven. So if he’s going to tease me, make me grind against him shamelessly, well … turnabout is fair play. At least I can even the score there.
I hide my smirk by looking out the window as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, biting back a little groan as he navigates the curve I mentioned, which I’m sure he would’ve managed fine even if I were giving him road head. Not that I plan to do that.
But damn, the thought makes me even wetter. Arms crossed and legs crossed, I squeeze my thighs, unable to get relief any more than Brendan, who’s trying to be subtle about adjusting the manaconda hiding in his pants. Another fine tremor runs through me as I remember seeing it for the first time last night, hard and thick and long, wrapped in his fingers as he jacked off over me.
This is going to be a long drive if we’re both this worked up already.
I glance at him again, because he shifts again, still tugging at his zipper like he wants to take his pants off. I’m pretty sure the head of his cock is trying to bust out of the waistband of his jeans.
Okay … I definitely need to change the direction of my thoughts, because that’s just making me even more horny.
To distract myself, I reach out and fiddle with the radio settings again. I know I’m driving Brendan crazy. He might think he’s hiding his eye rolls and grimaces when I stop on some stations, especially the public radio stations playing classical music.
In fact, I find one of those again. It’s a strings piece that I don’t recognize.
But then a harpsichord comes in. “Ugh.” I slap the power button, turning off the radio as a reflex, needing to get rid of that awful instrument. It’s the worst sounding instrument in Western music.
“Oh, thank Christ,” Brendan mutters.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like my music selections?”
He gives me a look that says we both know I’m a sarcastic bitch, but I just grin back at him.
He shakes his head. “I don’t mind classical music. But I’m tired. And some of that shit just puts me to sleep.”
I laugh. “I can go back to the harpsichord. That’ll keep you awake. Haunt your nightmares.”
It’s his turn to laugh, and I take him in, his attractive face suffused with mirth. There’s no denying that all the Brasher boys are hot as fuck. “Not a fan of harpsichords, huh?”
It takes me a second for what he said to make sense, so caught up am I in admiring him. But then I blink, the words arranging themselves in my brain, lining up with what I just said. “God, no. Did you hear that? They’re awful.”
Laughter bubbles out of him. “What? Did you date a harpsichord player once and it ended badly?”
Rolling my eyes, I huff out a laugh. “Not hardly. Pianists are worse divas than violinists”—I point a finger at him—“and that’s saying a lot, by the way.” Shaking my head, I bite my lip, enjoying the look on his face. “No, no deep connections or psychological reasons for my hatred of the harpsichord. They’re just awful. Everyone should hate harpsichord music. It’s an abomination.”
He snorts, trying to stifle the laughter that’s still escaping. “Fair enough. No complaints here. I didn’t want to listen to that anyway.” Even though he’s managed to stop laughing, he hasn’t wiped the smile off his face. When he’s serious, he looks all hot and broody. But smiling Brendan is a revelation. Those white, even teeth that look like they belong in a dentist’s catalogue. Full lips. Just the right amount of scruff. Dimples. Square jaw and high cheekbones, the perfectly sized nose for his face. And those eyes. Startlingly light with his dark hair, piercing and intense, like he can see all your secrets whether you want him to or not.
I give an involuntary shiver, clenching my thighs again, because my waning desire just revved up again. I wonder how much longer we’re going to be on the road today …
“You cold?”
“Huh?”
“You shivered.” He reaches out and taps the button to bump up the heat.
“Oh, I’m …” I trail off because I don’t know what to say. And he’s already turned up the heat. I clear my throat. “Yeah. Thanks.”
We lapse into silence after that, the wind buffeting the car and the sound of the tires filling the air. But it’s comfortable. Not awkward.
Only interrupted when a giant yawn tries to crack my jaw.
Brendan grins at me again. “Tired?”
I nod, blinking, my eyes watering from yawning so big.
“Put your seat back. Take a little nap. We still have a ways to go before we stop for the night.”
“We’re stopping for the night?”
He makes a low sound in his throat, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Hell yes, we’re stopping.” The glance he gives me has my skin tingling. “I have plans for you tonight, and this car doesn’t have enough room. Not to mention the possibility of getting cited for indecent exposure.”
Damn. “How’m I s’posed to sleep with you saying shit like that?”
He gives me a shit-eating grin. “Try anyway. I plan on keeping you up late again tonight.”
I give him a long look, lips pursed while I consider how to respond. My default is flippant sarcasm, but I have no witty comebacks right now. Lust is short-circuiting the part of my brain that manufactures those. Finally I just do as he says. “Good to know. But what about you? Aren’t you tired too?”
He shrugs. “We’ll switch after your nap. I’ll get some sleep then.” He cuts his eyes to me. “Worst case, you drive longer tomorrow.”
With a snort, I settle against the reclined seat, grabbing my sweatshirt to ball up for a makeshift pillow. “Alright, then. I’ll do my best.”
I don’t think I’ll get any sleep, but I close my eyes anyway. Despite myself, the hum of the wheels, the thrum of the engine, and the motion of the car have me drifting off in a matter of minutes.
Blinking in the weak sunlight filtering through the window, I realize that I’ve been asleep for an unknown amount of time. And we’ve stopped. And Brendan’s hand is on my shoulder.
“Hey.” He gives me a gentle shake. “Pit stop. Gonna fill up. Need to use the bathroom?”
His hand falls away when I lift my arms over my head for a full body stretch and a yawn. I’m sure it’s super sexy, but when I meet his eyes, they’re bemused, a gentle smile curving his lips. Finding the lever with my right hand, I move my seat so it’s upright instead of reclined and stuff my feet back in my shoes, rubbing my eyes to clear the sleep. “Man. I didn’t think I’d nap, but I guess I did.”
“Yeah. You’ve been out for almost two hours. You’re cute when you sleep.”
I give him a funny look that’s part smile, because he called me cute, and part “whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?”
His soft smile turns into a smirk. “You make these cute little sighs when you’re deeply asleep. Like a little kitten. It’s adorable.”
I wrinkle my nose, then curl my fingers like my long-for-me fingernails are claws. “Rawr.”
He laughs, which was my goal.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever compared me to a kitten before,” I comment lightly.
“No? It seems fitting. You look all cute and sweet, but you’ve defini
tely got some claws and fangs.” His voice goes low and husky again. “I have a feeling you like being petted by the right person and might even enjoy rubbing yourself against someone.”
My face heats, and I look down at the floor. Brendan reaches over and tucks a stray tendril of hair behind my ear, trailing his fingers along my neck, making me shiver. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rumbling barely above a whisper. “I think you’d like being petted by the right person a lot.”
Sucking in a breath, I lean away from his hand and look out the window toward the gas station convenience store, taking in my surroundings for the first time. “Where are we?”
He lets out a low chuckle, my sudden topic change an obvious escape from our building sexual tension. “Somewhere in the middle of Nebraska.”
I give him an exasperated look. “No kidding. I kinda figured from all the snow-covered fields. But where?”
He squints against the glare of the wintry sky. “I think the sign said Elm Creek? We’re about a hundred and fifty miles from Lincoln.” When his eyes refocus on me, they’ve lost a lot of the heat, and he’s back to the look he gets when we discuss logistics. “I’m hoping to get close to Des Moines tonight. So we shouldn’t take too long here.”
I nod. “Sounds good. I’ll go use the bathroom and grab some snacks.”
His lips curl into a wicked grin. “Sounds good. See you inside, kitten.”
Then he climbs out of the car, slides his arms into his coat, and starts pushing buttons on the gas pump. I stare at him for a second, stewing in my own desire that two hours of sleep have done nothing to settle, then get out and hurry into the store, content in the knowledge that whatever else happens, at least I know the ache between my legs will get taken care of later tonight.
But I might need some chocolate to hold me over in the meantime.
Chapter Twenty
Brendan
“You know …” Lauren says from across the table. We’ve stopped for dinner at a chain restaurant just inside Iowa that she’s familiar with, and I’m not. When she saw the signs, she said she was tired of convenience store snacks and fast food and would like to sit down and eat, so we stopped.
Overtones (Songs and Sonatas Book 6) Page 9
