by Anna Paige
The five weeks between Thanksgiving and New Year’s were the TotC equivalent of summer vacation—minus the summer weather.
We could go wherever we wanted, do whatever we wanted, and be whoever we wanted for those five weeks.
Okay, maybe I couldn’t go everywhere I wanted. “Home for the holidays” wasn’t exactly in the cards for me anymore, but I made the best of it with the family I built for myself. Kane, Kade, Jared, and Lenn.
My heart sank when I realized this year part of me also wanted to be in New York, with Emily.
The interview went well, if a little repetitive, and we were all out of there a couple of hours later.
The first thing I did, when I was safely in my car, was turn on the AC—L.A. didn’t bend to the seasons, it was always hot here—and call Emily. I’d parked in the far back corner of the garage, facing the wall, so I had plenty of privacy.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” I sat back in the seat and closed my eyes, listening to her voice coming through the speakers.
“Interview over already?”
“Thank God,” I groaned. “If I get asked one more time what it’s like writing songs with Kade, I may lose my shit. New questions, people, damn.”
She chuckled, but it sounded hollow.
“What’s going on, Em? You’ve been off today.”
She hesitated. “Nothing. Just tired I guess.”
“Try again and leave out the bullshit this time.”
“You think you know me so well,” she snorted.
“No, but I know you well enough to know something’s up. Tell me, maybe I can help.” I wanted to, whatever it was. But she had to trust me with it first.
“You’ve got your own stuff to deal with.”
“I’m not letting up, so you may as well tell me.” I usually didn’t push because I preferred to let her hand me one piece at a time, at her own pace, but I felt like this was different.
She blew out a breath. “It’s just…Dana and I have this tradition. There’s one day every year that we always—always—spend together. We get up early, go to the farmers markets and do breakfast. Then we spend the whole day cooking and drinking and listening to music. It’s our tradition. Dana started it the year I moved here, as a way to distract me from…well, it’s not my favorite day of the year, let’s put it that way.”
Kind of like the way Jared and I always went to the falls on the same day every year and drank a six-pack near the water’s edge.
The place where Ryan and Cara died.
Em didn’t need to tell me the why of it. I knew loss when I heard it, knew the ache in her voice, the pain.
Another piece clicked into place.
“And this year she can’t make it?”
“No. She tried to get the time off, she really did, but they’re so understaffed right now, she just can’t get out of it. But she’ll be able to come over that evening, so I don’t know why I’m so down about it.”
“When is it?”
“Thursday. I’m supposed to be off, but I think I might go in, at least for half a day, just to keep busy.”
My mind was already churning. “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”
She sighed. “So, enough about me. What’ve you got going on this week?”
I did something then that I promised myself I wouldn’t do.
I lied to Emily.
Chapter Eleven
Ethan
My flight got in late Wednesday night, and I went straight to my studio. I couldn’t help adding more to my sketch, it was an addictive pull to take my pencil to the canvas, to hear the soft scratching of the charcoal on the canvas.
I limited myself to a few hours, knowing I needed to be well-rested when I showed up at the gallery.
She wasn’t spending even half of the day alone, not if I had anything to say about it.
If she wanted to go to the farmers markets, we’d go together. If she wanted me to help her cook, I’d don an apron and start chopping. Whatever she wanted.
I drove to the gallery that morning with a huge grin on my face. I’d texted her first thing to be sure she was still planning on working, and she said she was. Then she said she’d already been to the farmer’s market and the grocery store, so she’d be ready when Dana got off work.
It meant we’d have to wing it, as far as what to do for the day, but I had no doubt we’d think of something. There was far too much to do in New York to ever be bored.
Our messages over the last couple of days had been…edgier than usual. Filled with flirtation and innuendo. We’d been getting friendlier and friendlier over the last few weeks, much to my dick’s delight, but texting something salacious and saying it in person were vastly different things.
I had no problem being direct, but I planned to follow her lead. I’d only act on our flirtations if she made the first move.
My dick wasn’t a fan of that strategy.
I hadn’t been with anyone since before the show, hadn’t even thought about it because I’d been so wrapped up in Emily.
If it happens, it happens.
And my poor neglected penis would just have to deal with it, if it didn’t.
But I’d be lying to myself—and my dick—if I said I didn’t care either way.
The truth was that I couldn’t decide which version of myself wanted her most. The drummer who was always ready to bang or the artist who liked to use long, slow strokes.
I’d never been with a woman who knew me as both the musician and the painter.
Maybe that was why I’d told her in the first place— because I wanted something different, someone who I could be myself with; my true self.
My whole self.
There was just something about her that made me want to invite her in, so I had. And now I was fucking clueless on how to proceed. I didn’t want to ruin what we had going.
Damn, I was so into this girl.
Suddenly, I wanted to take her to my place. Not to bed her, though that wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the afternoon either.
No, I wanted to show her my studio.
Holy shit, I want to take her to my studio.
The look on her face was priceless when I strolled through the gallery’s front door. She was seated behind the reception desk, only the top half of her face visible over the high counter that surrounded her.
She did a double take and jumped to her feet. “Ethan! What in the world…”
“I thought I’d keep you company until Dana gets off work.” I shrugged, playing it cool.
“But you had a meeting with your managers today,” she stammered.
I gave her a sheepish look. “I may have misled you about that.”
“Misled?” She narrowed her eyes at me, blinking rapidly like she was about to cry.
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Mission accomplished.”
I glanced around at the mostly empty gallery. There were a few visitors milling around in the adjacent room, but no one was paying attention to us, thank goodness. “If you’d rather stay here, I understand.”
She was already shaking her head before I finished. “No. I’m not in the right frame of mind to be here today. Where should we go?”
I reached out a hand and waited for her to slip her slender one into it across the counter. “It’s going to sound like a total come-on, but I want to take you to my loft. My studio is there, and I’d like you to see it.”
Her eyes went wide as saucers, and she just sort of stared, not answering.
Okay, bad idea, Chase. She’s not ready for that.
“Shit, never mind. I wasn’t thinking. I should know better than to ask you to do something like that so soon.” I’d intended to invite her to brunch or a show, maybe stroll through Central Park, something to distract her.
But once the idea was in my mind, the image of her in my sanctuary, I couldn’t help myself.
Fuck.
I moved to pull my han
d away, and she snatched it back. “Are you kidding? Of course I want to see your studio. I was just caught off guard by the invitation, the idea that you would want to share that with me. I know how protective artists are of their workspaces.” She leaned forward, a sincere look on her face. “I’m not afraid to be alone with you, Ethan.”
Something in the way she said it sounded like more than a declaration of trust. It sounded like she wanted to be alone with me, and not just to see my work.
Maybe she’d been a bit bolder over text, but she wasn’t afraid to get her point across in person, either.
She was flirting, but not in the overtly sexual way I was used to from fans. It was subtle and refreshing to behold, like the peck on the cheek in my car.
I’d forgotten how nice the buildup could be—those moments when eyes locked and breath caught, when the inadvertent brush of someone’s hand could be the most captivating thing in the world.
It hadn’t occurred to me to miss those things, until now. Living in the spotlight, having fans swarming us at every turn, and fighting for the chance to spend a couple of sweaty hours on our bus or in some random backstage dressing room had become routine. It had been exciting in the beginning; those first few tours were like an endless parade of women, faces and bodies that held my attention for fleeting moments before I moved on to the next city and the next batch of hookups. After a few years, I’d toned it down, being more discerning but still having my fun whenever I wanted because, hey, I was a fucking rock star, right?
So what if I didn’t connect with anyone?
So what if I was working out lyrics for a new song or mentally noting what paints I needed to pick up while some chick had my cock stuffed down her throat?
It was all I’d known for nearly a decade, and it never occurred to me that it could be any other way.
Then I saw Emily standing in this gallery, looking for all the world like she might just throw me out herself, her fiery gaze full of passion. Passion for my art, for the part of me I never got to let see the light of day. And suddenly, I wanted someone to know me, all of me.
I wanted her to know me.
And it was made more intense by the fact that I was the one pursuing her. She wasn’t throwing herself at me like the women I was used to or using me to get ahead. I knew this because I was the one instigating it all. She hadn’t even mentioned my offer to work with the gallery again, though I was sure Arthur or the owner had asked about it. She wasn’t asking anything of me, and I’d noticed.
It just proved that she was exactly who I’d imagined her to be.
And she was spectacular.
She leaned in with a worried frown, breaking whatever trance I’d momentarily slipped into. “Are you all right? If you’re having doubts about showing me your studio, it’s okay.”
Our hands were still clasped on the counter between us, and I lifted them up, covering the back of her hand with my other one. “I’m fine. I guess I surprised myself with the invitation. I’ve only ever let the guys from the band into my place, and even then, they mostly stayed out of the studio.”
I held her eye, searching for something I couldn’t even name in their emerald depths. “I want to show you the loft, the paintings I’ve hidden away, the ones I’m still working on, the clutter and the chaos…all of it. Damn if I know why, Emily, but I feel like I can be myself with you, like I can trust you with things I normally don’t share with anyone.”
She squeezed my hand and smiled the warmest, sweetest smile. “You can.”
I returned her smile. “Can I tell you a totally embarrassing secret?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Absolutely.”
I leaned in and dropped my voice to a whisper. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?” she whispered back, her expression shifting to concern.
I inched closer, until I was near enough to feel the tickle of her hair against my cheek and spoke softly into her ear. “Because I’m bringing a girl to my place for the first time.”
She leaned her cheek against mine, her breath skittering over my ear as she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to be gentle.”
Her playful response broke my concentration, and I chuckled, pulling back to give her a slow once-over that had her blushing like mad by the time I was finished. “I never said you had to be gentle.”
Despite her flushed cheeks, she surprised me with a challenging smirk. “Then I guess we’ll just have to see how the day plays out, won’t we?”
My dick twitched in my jeans.
I loved that she was so comfortable with me.
I helped with her coat and held the door open for her. “I guess we will. I don’t know about you, but the suspense is killing me.”
Chapter Twelve
Ethan
The incredible sexual tension between us was amplified with every passing moment. Sure, we managed to talk throughout the drive over, but the undercurrent of desire spilled over into every word, every movement. The air between us practically crackled with electricity, and we were both well aware of it.
Fucking hell, if I’d caught her licking her lips one more time, I would have found the nearest exit and bent her over the hood of my BMW; spectators be damned.
Thankfully, or not so thankfully depending on how you looked at it, maneuvering through traffic kept me sufficiently distracted, and I managed not to do something impulsive.
Besides, she might not have appreciated the public manhandling, and I didn't want to go too far too fast.
My only priority was getting this right.
Pacing myself and drawing it out.
Yes, I wanted to lick every inch of her lithe body, but I wanted to do it after I’d shown her my studio.
Just once, I wanted to be with someone who knew it all. When she cried out my name, when she looked up at me as I held her caged between my arms and thrust into her body, she would know all of me. The musician, the artist, all of it.
Just imagining it was the biggest fucking turn-on ever.
When we parked in the garage attached to my building, Emily got out without waiting for me to help. She pulled in a deep breath as she closed the car door and gazed at me over the roof. “For some reason, I was picturing something a little more on the starving artist side.” Her eyes sparkled, and she offered a warm smile to let me know she was teasing.
I just gave her a shrug as I came around to the front of the car and reached for her hand. “It has security at the door, whereas most of the broken-down hovels I looked at did not.”
“Do you have a lot of trouble with crazed fans?” She threaded her fingers through mine without hesitation, but I could see her pulse dancing in her neck. She was nervous, though she was doing an admirable job of hiding it.
“No major run-ins for me, luckily. But Kade had a stalker break into his house in Pennsylvania several years back. She did some truly disturbing things on his bed and stole personal effects before security nabbed her.”
“Holy shit. That’s really scary. Was he in town?”
“No, we were in L.A. for an awards show, thankfully.” I gave her a somber look as we passed the armed guard—a former marine named Jay—and stood at the elevator bank. “When they arrested her, they discovered she had a gun.”
Emily’s eyes went wide. “I totally understand the need for security now.”
I played it off as no big deal, seeing that she was kind of freaked out by the story. “Just part of being in the spotlight.”
“Then you can have fame and fortune. I’ll take the safety of obscurity over crazy, gun-toting stalkers masturbating on my bed any day,” she announced seriously.
We’d just boarded the elevator, and I turned to give her a pointed look. “I never said anything about masturbation.”
She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Oh, please. Like it takes a rocket scientist to figure out what a crazy fangirl would want to do on her idol’s bed. I’d bet good money she even humped the pillows.”
I barked out a laugh, my head dropp
ing as my shoulders shook. “Well, I was trying to be tactful and not say all that, but yes, that’s about the gist of it.”
“I’m not particularly shy, Ethan. You don’t have to tiptoe around me.”
“Avoiding talk of masturbation on a date—especially the second date—doesn’t qualify as tiptoeing in my book.” I placed my hand at the small of her back and guided her off the elevator. The small foyer gave entrance to my loft by way of a utilitarian-looking metal door. I pulled my keys from my pocket and brushed past her, deliberately grazing her abdomen as she turned to the side to let me by.
She sucked in a shallow breath and stilled as I moved past, her voice sounding thready as she managed, “This was supposed to be a date? I thought it was more of a friend thing.”
I inserted my key in the lock but didn’t turn it, twisting to look at her over my shoulder instead. “What if I wanted it to be a date?”
To her credit, she didn’t falter under my heated stare. She held my gaze and shrugged as if unaffected. “Then you should have asked properly in the first place. Taking me to lunch and coffee so I could regale you with tales from your exhibition does not, to my mind, constitute a date. And neither does giving me a tour of your studio. Just saying.”
Her no-nonsense tone and posture almost had me, would have had me, if she hadn’t let the smallest of smiles slip through.
“Are you fucking with me, Emily?” I asked, letting my mouth curve into an amused smirk.
“A little,” she admitted, coyly.
I turned and stepped in close to her, the key forgotten in the deadbolt as I skimmed one hand up her side. Barely grazing her arm, I brushed her hair back off her shoulder and cupped the underside of her jaw with a light touch that practically sparked with electricity. When her wide green eyes settled on mine, I thumbed her cheek and asked, “Maybe I should ask you on a proper date. What do you think?”
She gave the barest of nods, apparently unable to speak, though she swallowed hard.
I leaned down until my lips were a scant inch from hers, inhaling her scent and loving the way her eyes fluttered, like it was her instinct to close them, like she was expecting my mouth on hers. “So, you’d go on a real date with me if I asked?”
