“It’s a moot point, Coop. It’s over now. He’s dead. They both are.”
“It’s a breach of ethics. Your judgment is clouded by your past.”
“Coop.”
“What?”
“I’ll be outside until Tate gets back.” Rasping his knuckles across the top of my head, he let me go. “Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”
“I love you, Marshall.”
“Ditto kiddo.” Despite our tête-à-tête, his posture was downtrodden as he descended the steps and pushed open the door. He’d get over it, I told myself. Like me, he just needed a little time. I’m sure the day raked up all sorts of bad memories involving his sister’s murder.
The door shut with a click, but not before Tate’s voice snuck through.
“How is she?”
A few seconds later, the door opened again. Tate trotted up the stairs, pausing at the top to take a moment and see for himself. “What happened? Are you alright? I asked how you were and Marshall just stalked off like an angry bear.”
“He’s mad because I reamed him out. He’s got a death wish.”
“I hardly think that’s true.” The muscles ticked along Tate’s jaw. “Bloodlust is more like it.”
“Bloodlust?”
“He feels robbed. He wanted to take Grant down himself. Evan wouldn’t let him. It would’ve been a conflict of interest since he was emotionally involved. The police would’ve had cause for a lawsuit.”
“That’s what I said!” I didn’t mind Marshall wanting to protect me, but I didn’t want him sent to prison because he killed someone in my defense.
“Evan’s a step ahead of you. This was all addressed before he hired Marshall.” Limping toward me, he looked down over his high cheekbones. “How are you really?”
“Tired but wired.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.”
“Is there anything you can take?”
“I’d rather not.”
“What can I do to help you relax?” Subconsciously, he leaned in, his chest thrusting out so that it brushed mine in suggestion. My nerve endings began to stir and tingle.
“Did you have something in mind?” My lips curled into a slow smile. I stroked a hand down his chest and settled at his waist. Normally, he showered in the facilities provided, but his shirt was soaked with perspiration. Realizing, Tate straightened, his back stiffening.
“I’m sorry. I was worried about you, and I just wanted to get back.” Lifting his arm, he turned his head to the side and stuffed his nose in his armpit. “Let me…oh yeah…let me just take a quick shower.”
“Tease,” I accused. Tate ducked into the bedroom for his towel. Quick was right. You had to be strictly conservative showering on the bus. The tanks only held so much. There was no standing under the hot stream for minutes on end. You wet yourself, shut the water off, soaped, and then rinsed sparingly. It sucked royally, especially with hair like mine.
“I’m rank,” Tate said in passing. Stepping into the bathroom, he draped his towel on the sink and started the shower. “Stage was scorching.” Tate shrugged out of his shirt. It landed on the floor at my feet. His jeans landed beside them. My mouth went dry. I hoped I never get over seeing him naked. The thrill it gave me was like a drug. My chest fluttered to the point of mild pain. I felt lightheaded and warm. “Coop.”
“Hmm?”
“You didn’t hear a word I said.”
“I can’t help it. When you’re standing there like that—all naked and everything—I can’t think straight.” Busying myself, I grabbed his jeans and began emptying the pockets. I came out with a handful of guitar picks, aspirin, his cell and a business card for one Matt Copeland.
Matt had come to see Tate for business, but slipped away during the chaos. Whatever they had to discuss played second fiddle to the unfolding drama of my life and Grant’s demise.
“I asked if you ate anything.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” Honestly, I was afraid to eat. The day’s events had left me nerve-racked and nauseous. When Marshall offered to get me a bottle of Green Machine, I had retreated to the bedroom to lie down.
“What do you want me to do with this card?” I asked, changing the subject. “The one from Matt Copeland.”
“Don’t lose that. We’re supposed to meet with him tomorrow.”
“Who is he?”
“Record producer. He wants to record you.”
“Me?”
The shower door cracked open. Tate’s head popped out, suds and bubbles rolling down his hair and neck. He flashed me a smile. “You.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” I had to press a hand to my chest to restrain the butterflies bursting forth. Someone wanted to record me. Me.
Laughing, Tate ducked back into the shower. The water started with a hiss. “He’s the first of many, babe. Don’t get worked up about it. Before long, you’ll be blasé over auditions.”
I highly doubted that.
“Seriously. You’ve sang before. This’ll be a piece of cake.”
“But this isn’t some Podunk bar. This is professional.”
“Think of it this way. This guy’s nothing. He’s small potatoes. Even if he was middle of the road, he’s still the first, and you never accept the first. You shop around, chose the label that suits you. It might not be the largest, but they’ll have your best interests in mind.”
Ha! I didn’t even know what my best interests were.
The hiss of pressure died down to a trickle. Tate stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist. “I’ll walk you through it all, Cooper. Richard will look through any proposals. I’m not going to let you sign anything blindly.”
Taking his cell from my hand, he swiped the screen and put it to his ear. “Hey, can you find someplace that makes a decent chicken sandwich. …Ranch sauce and bacon. …Fries. …And if you can find any of those Snowballs… Nothing for myself. I’m good. Thanks.”
Tossing the phone on the bed, Tate turned to look at me again.
“I’m really not hungry.” Especially now. Food was the last thing on my mind.
“You’ll sleep better if you eat first.”
“That’s because I’ll be in a food induced coma.”
“It’s all for a good cause.” It was then I noticed Tate rubbing his palms along his hips. That combined with his last statement and something clicked. He was worried, truly worried.
“I’m fine. I’m stressed, yes, but otherwise healthy.”
He seemed to cave in on himself, visibly relaxing. I walked to him, letting him fold his arms around me. “I almost lost you today, Cooper. This is the second fucking time now.” Dropping his head, he rested his cheek on the crown of my head, taking deep, steadying breaths. His muscles quaked with suppressed anxiety. His pulse beat madly against my chest.
“I’m right here. I’m safe.”
“I was afraid I hurt you when I pushed you down. I was too rough. Christ, I saw that gun and all I could think of was keeping you safe. I just didn’t think. You’re pregnant, for Christ’s sake. I should’ve been more careful.”
“Look at me, Tate.” Backing me to arms length, Tate looked me in the eyes. The grimace he wore stretched all the way to his forehead, which wrinkled with worry. “I’m ok. Really. I’m strong, remember?”
Lowering his head, he rested his forehead against mine, pressed a kiss to my lips. “I need you, strawberry girl. You’re here in my arms, and it’s not enough. I need to be in you.”
Looking up from under my lashes, I wet my lips with a sweep of my tongue. Tate took that as consent. His mouth met mine with ferocity, parting my lips and thrusting in with his tongue. He moaned low in his throat, rolled his hips against mine in a delicious circle.
My body responded in quivers from my head to my toes.
Pressing into me, he leveraged my weight against the wall and lifted my thighs over his hips. I looped my arms around his neck, chafing my breasts against his chest. The fric
tion it created made my hips gyrate in a slow, seductive circle. Heat pooled between my thighs.
In a brazen suggestion, I suckled at the tip of his tongue. He responded in kind, indulging my whims. His hips matched pace with his tongue, mimicking his thrusting movements.
Pressing my palms to his chest, I pushed him back. With much reluctance, Tate broke the kiss, pinned me with a pouty glare. I dropped back to my feet, smirking triumphantly.
“Relax. I just want to get undressed.” Slowly, I lifted my shirt over my head. Tate took a step toward me. I held my hand up, my index finger pointed in warning. “Just wait.”
“You’re killing me here.”
“I haven’t even started yet.” Hooking my thumbs into my sweat pants, I tugged them down and stepped out of them. Tate tugged his towel free. It fell to the floor. His erection sprang free, bobbed at me in a wanton invitation.
I dropped to my knees at his feet. Watched Tate’s eyes glaze over. We hadn’t gotten around to testing my tongue ring yet. Tiny had said to give it a few weeks to heal, and it had been a few weeks…
“Oh shit.” Tate’s voice came out strained, hoarse.
I swept my tongue across my lips, moistened them.
“Coop,” Tate rasped. Watching his face, I cupped his sack in one hand and grasped the width of his cock with my other. Slowly, I ran my tongue along the length, slid the round ball of my tongue ring along the thick ridge. His testicles tightened, rose in my hand.
Tate’s eyes rolled back. His head dropped against the wall behind him. When I reached the satiny head of his cock, I lollipopped it, swirled my tongue over it with a sucking sweep.
His hips jutted forward. His hands found their way to the crown of my head. “Holy fuck. Jesus. My God.”
Raveling his fingers through my hair, he worked himself deeper into my throat and then withdrew again. I suctioned on his head again, worked my tongue ring along the cleft. Staring down at me, Tate bit down on his bottom lip, sucked a sharp breath through his teeth.
I hollowed my cheeks, holding his gaze.
Tate hissed a few ardent expletives.
He seemed to have a grip on things, so I dropped my hands, let him take his pleasure at will. This wasn’t altruistic on my part. I slipped my fingers between my thighs and worked myself in tandem. To my surprise, the more aroused I became, the harder I worked Tate.
Before long, we were both in a frantic race to the end. I won. Tate followed in a close second, impelled by my garbled moans of pleasure.
What I wasn’t expecting was for Tate to pull out and paint my chest with the results of our exertions. It caught me off guard when the first hot lash struck my skin. Yet, there was something erotic about it. He tugged my hair, tilted my head back and arched my chest forward while he coaxed the last of his peak. I felt wicked and wanton, and strangely desired.
“You’re going to put me in an early grave, Tate accused, panting. His knees quaked. “Never have I felt anything like that. Never. I think my heart stopped. Jesus. I’m dying.”
Gasping for air, he picked his towel up from the floor and began wiping down my chest. “I’d apologize, but you look smug.”
“I feel robbed.”
“Robbed?”
“I thought it was girl’s choice.”
“What? Oh.” He grinned licentiously. “You have to sing tomorrow. I didn’t know if it would make you flemmy.”
Half embarrassed and appalled, I laughed. “That’s really…um…thoughtful.”
Tate held out his hand, helped me up. “The tongue ring stays. So stays. Jesus Christ. I think I’m really dying.” Still gasping, he dropped on the edge of the bed and flopped back. His hand rose to his chest, as if holding his heart in place. “I didn’t even do anything. You’d think I rocked your world and not the other way around.”
“Does the tongue ring get all the credit?” I said indignantly. “A tool is only as good as the person wielding it, after all.”
Reaching up, Tate grasped my hand, pulled me down with him onto the bed. “I love you, Cooper. That’s what the difference is. Everything with you is so much more intense.”
“So my blow job was mediocre.” Settling into his side, I rested my cheek on his chest. He smelled of soap and sex, or rather he smelled like soap and I smelled like sex.
Tate’s eye cracked open. One brown eye rolled in my direction. “You’re amazing, Coop, but I hardly think I’m the first person to tell you that.”
“Actually, you are.”
“What?”
“I’ve never given anyone a blow job before. Call me a prude, but I always thought of it as more intimate than sex.”
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
“How did I not know this?”
“You’re narrow-minded, remember.” I cracked a smile, teasing.
“I don’t mean who or how many, Coop. I just meant your feelings about giving head. Did you hate it?”
“Did I seem like I hated it?” I asked. “Contrary, I find it empowering that I have that effect on you. I must’ve done something right.”
“…must’ve done something right. That’s one hell of an understatement.” Dragging a hand down his face, Tate sighed. “Tell me about this Sean McCreary.”
Gasping, a wide smile spread across my face. “You remembered his name! I can’t believe you remembered his name!”
“We had this conversation only a few hours ago.”
“It’s been eating at you, hasn’t it?”
“Terribly. You don’t have to take such delight in it.”
“If you would’ve been more open-minded, you wouldn’t have been jealous in the first place. The point I was trying to make had nothing to do with sex.”
“Nothing?”
“Nada.”
“Fine, fine, I’m listening.”
“Oh, now you want to hear it?”
“Coop.”
“Ok, ok, I dated Sean through my senior year. We were inseparable. We even made prom queen and king.”
“My God, how can I compete?” Tate drawled facetiously.
“Just listen,” I chastised. “I broke up with him before I left for college, but despite my suggestion to see other people, he said he’d wait for me. He didn’t need to travel the world to know I was the one for him. He swore that he was in love with me, head over heels and all that crap.”
“You really are a romantic.”
“I’m a realist. We were eighteen and going off to college. But don’t worry, I got my just deserts. When Sean found out I was back, true to his word, he came to see me.”
“He obviously didn’t stick around.”
“No, he didn’t. I told him the same thing I told you and everyone else that’s ever come on to me. I told him the truth. He cut and run.”
“What a pussy.”
“No, I actually respect him for it. He could have played the noble, but he didn’t lie to either of us by staying. He would have resented me. It wouldn’t have ended well.”
“I’m really confused, Coop. Wasn’t there supposed to be a point to the story, something positive?”
“Yes, there is, actually. In hindsight, I’m glad he bailed out, because I would never have met you.” Sliding my leg over Tate’s waist, I straddled him and pressed a kiss to his jaw.
“Me too,” Tate agreed, zeroing in on my breasts. “Me fucking too.” Before he could act on the thought, a knock came at the door. The spell had broken. Looking at me once over, longingly, he said, “Hold that thought. That’s gotta be the food I ordered.”
Sliding out from under me, he inched off the bed and wrapped the towel around his waist. He looked at me one last time before limping from the bedroom. “Don’t move. Not one inch.”
Several minutes later, he came back with two small bags of food and a box of Snowballs, the latter of which I hid under the bed. Setting the first bag on the nightstand, he sat the second and larger bag on the bed and tore it open, using it as a placemat for the food inside. He han
ded me the sandwich and stole a few fries for himself. “Eat something, babe, while it’s still hot.”
Wrapping the sheet around me, I sat up and crossed my legs. “I’m really not that hungry.” Despite Tate’s distractions, the day’s events lingered in my head like a nagging migraine, which quashed my appetite.
“Carter bought some ice cream. Cooper special. Closest thing to it, at least.” Tate watched the slight shift in my expression. “That’s what I thought. Eat something first. Then you can have the ice cream.”
Scowling, I unfolded the foil wrapper and took a meager bite, while Tate watched with mild amusement.
“What?” I grumbled self-consciously.
“And you said I haven’t been around Levy enough to have learned anything.”
“Ha ha.”
Sprawling on the bed next to me, he picked up another large french fry and dragged it through the puddle of ketchup. “What was your worst job?”
“What?”
“Your worst job. I’m turning the tables.” He ate the fry, licked some ketchup from his fingers. “Was it waitressing?”
“No, I worked at a burger joint one summer. My first job. It was disgusting. Greasy. The customers sucked. They’d get all pissy if their order wasn’t right. I mean, you pay a dollar for a cheeseburger, what do you expect? Scrape the freakin’ onions off if you don’t like them. I swore on principle alone, I would never eat fast food again. I hate it, can’t stomach it.”
Dawning on him, he stared at the sandwich in my hands. “But I’ve seen you eat it before.”
“Have you?” My lips curled into a faint smile. “Diners are one thing, but have you ever really seen me eat fast food, like McDonalds or anything of the like?”
“You take Levy there.”
“Right, Levy. He’s a kid. It’s like a rite of passage for him.”
“What the hell have you been eating then?” At his sudden change in tone, the smile faded from my face. He was mad. Whether he was mad at me for some odd reason or at himself for being unobservant, I didn’t know.
Preparing for an argument, I placed my sandwich down. “Where do you think all the fruits and vegetables go, Tate? The others certainly don’t eat them.”
Someone to Watch Over Me Page 27
