Only Ever You (A Little Like Destiny Book 2)

by Lisa Suzanne

  It’s a day just for us. No one else exists for this one day. The guilt stabbing at me is easy to ignore when all my focus and energy goes to Mark—his hands, his fingers, his lips, his tongue, his cock.

  When he tells me he has a club appearance to make later that night, I’m filled with a tightness in my chest and heaviness in my limbs even though my body is wrung out, exhausted, and a little sore.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t want to go, either,” he says. “But I have a surprise.”

  He comes back with a large box in his hands.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Open it.”

  I lift the lid off the box, and I find a gorgeous yellow dress inside. “What’s this?”

  He chuckles. “It’s a dress.”

  “Why do you have a dress?”

  “Because you’re going with me tonight.”

  “What?”

  “You’re my date.”

  “I can’t be your date. What if we’re pictured together?”

  He shrugs.

  “What if Brian sees?” I clarify.

  He nods. “Yeah. I didn’t think about that.”

  “Not until I get the chance to talk to him.”

  “You’re right.” He shakes his head and averts his eyes to the floor as if reality just struck him. “Fuck.”

  “Thanks for the dress, though.”

  He shrugs. “Don’t thank me. Thank Penny.”

  “Your publicist?”

  He nods. “She gets free shit for me all the time.”

  “And your dates.”

  “Yeah. Or non-dates.”

  “What if I wear the dress and hang in the car and wait for you?”

  He nods slowly. “I think I can get on board with that.” He eyes me, and I already recognize the wicked glance he gives me.

  “What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “Don’t wear panties under it.”

  “Why not?”

  “That way I can fuck you in the car before I get there.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You think so? I think I might need a break.”

  “Can’t keep up?”

  I giggle. “You’re the definition of a rock star, and not just when you’re up on stage.”

  He grins. “Hmm…then I can finger you and smell you on my hand all night. Or taste your cunt and have you in my mouth.”

  I ignore the bloom of desire I feel. There’s no way I should feel that after all we’ve done today. “Instead of peppermint?”

  He laughs.

  “Why do you always taste like peppermint?”

  He pulls a tube out of his pocket and tosses it to me. Peppermint flavored lip balm.

  I laugh, shaking my head.

  *

  “How was the appearance?” I ask after he stops kissing me and the car starts moving. He’s back after a little over an hour. I push my phone into the pocket of my jeans—I opted out of wearing the dress since I wasn’t even getting out of the car.

  “Boring.” He settles into our regular position as we ride in the back of a car together—his hand spreads out on my thigh and I hold his arm to my chest, my hands clasped around it. “Worse knowing you were waiting for me.”

  “What does an appearance entail?”

  “A press line, photo ops, and a song or two.”

  “What’s a press line?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. I do five or so interviews, then there’s the club’s heavy hitters who paid for a photo op, so I smile and look like I’m having a good time.”

  “But you weren’t?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I was thinking about you sitting in the back of this car all by yourself. I even thought of some naughty things you might be doing by yourself back here.”

  Heat nips at my cheeks, and I’m glad for the darkness. He moves his hand and nudges me over onto his lap much like he did last night so I’m straddling him. “That’s better,” he mutters.

  “What songs did you sing?”

  “‘One for the Road’ and then sort of a mashup of ‘Before You’re Gone,’ ‘Never Before,’ and ‘Better Get Out’.”

  I link my arms around his neck and he leans in to kiss my neck. “Were you by yourself?”

  “Ethan met me.” His words are soft against my skin.

  “You didn’t go together?”

  “Sometimes we do, depending on what we’re doing.”

  “And you were doing me?”

  He laughs and answers by burying his face in my cleavage. I arch my back, pushing my breasts into him. His hands start to trail up my back, and his fingertips are inches from my bra strap when a phone starts ringing.

  It takes me a second to place the sound, but it’s not mine. He doesn’t stop kissing me, doesn’t stop the connection between us, though his fingers pause for a split second on my back. He continues his ascent then pulls at the strap, skillfully unhooking it with one flick of his hand.

  My breasts feel heavy without the support, but my nipples brush inside the cups and harden at the sweet sensation.

  His phone stops ringing, and his hand starts to move toward the front, toward my breast, all while he continues to kiss me.

  His phone starts up again, and this time it’s joined in chorus by my own phone.

  He closes his mouth and brushes his lips across mine one last time before he leans his head back on the seat. “Fuck,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

  “You should get that,” I say. “It could be important.”

  He blows out a heavy breath and pushes his hips up to get his phone out of his pocket. I move to slide off his lap onto the seat beside him. He gives me a look that clearly says I should stay put then pushes me back into place on his lap as he glances at his screen.

  “It’s my mom,” he says. “At eleven forty-seven.” He flicks his phone screen. “Mom?”

  I pull my phone out of my pocket as he answers his phone. Missed Call from Brian Fox.

  If it’s 11:47 here, it’s 8:47 tomorrow morning in Germany. Shouldn’t Brian be in meetings? My phone lights up with a text.

  Brian: Call me as soon as you can.

  “Oh, shit.” Mark says to his mom. He looks at me with wide eyes. I see a flash of vulnerability there, and a tingle of fear shoots down my spine. I slide off his lap, and this time he lets me. I can’t call Brian, not here in the back of Mark’s car, not when Mark is on the phone with their mom. He turns his gaze away from me, fixing his eyes out the window. My heart aches that something bad is happening, that I don’t know what it is, that he turned to face out the window instead of showing me his pain. I might not be what he needs, but I want to be what he needs.

  “But he’s going to be okay, right?”

  He? Who?

  Another text comes through on my phone.

  Brian: Where are you? I need to talk to you.

  “God. When?”

  Fear grips my chest. I don’t know what to do. Brian needs me—his texts sound pretty desperate, but if Brian needs me because of whatever Mark’s talking about with his mom, Mark might need me, too.

  He returns his gaze to me. He’s scared. Whatever his mother told him…it’s bad. “No, I’m in LA, but I can be there in less than six hours.” He’s quiet as he listens. “I’ll have to check with Vick, but this is more important anyway.” He glances away from me and lowers his voice, but I still hear. “Have you talked to Brian?”

  My heart cracks in half. Part of it is in Germany with Brian, and the other part of it is here in the back of this car with Mark. Two brothers in pain, two brothers who may need me, and I don’t even know what it’s about yet.

  “I need to make travel arrangements. I’ll be in touch. Love you, Ma.”

  He hangs up and rests his head on the seat again. He stares up at the ceiling of the car. “Fuck,” he mutters, then a little louder, “Fuck!” He rubs his forehead then runs his hand down his face. He turns his gaze out the window again, avoiding eye contact wi
th me. “Call Brian.”

  “What’s going on?”

  He finally looks at me. His voice is edged with pain when he speaks. “My grandfather had a heart attack. My mom said he isn’t doing well.”

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” I scoot closer and place a hand on his forearm, but he turns away from me.

  “You should call Brian.”

  Tears sting my eyes at his bitter dismissal. I want to be here for him, want to hold his hand through this.

  But he’s right to push me away. I can’t be there for him, not in front of his family. Not in front of Brian.

  sixteen

  “My grandpa is in the hospital. He had a heart attack tonight.”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Brian. What can I do?”

  “Get to Chicago. Can you do that?”

  A million thoughts run through my head. I lied earlier, said I couldn’t come to Germany because I had to teach summer school. Wouldn’t that prevent me from going to Chicago, too? Or would a family emergency constitute a good excuse?

  And then there’s Mark, who still won’t look at me. His eyes are fixed out the window. He’s clearly hurting, but he’s pushing me away instead of allowing me to comfort him.

  My heart aches.

  “Yeah. I’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m at the airport now. I’m getting on the next flight to Chicago. I’ll be in touch with my details.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Thank you for doing this, for dropping everything to be with me. I love you.”

  “You, too. Just be safe, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I feel like I should tell him I’m here for him, for whatever he needs, but I don’t know if I am and I can’t bring myself to say it in front of his brother. We hang up.

  “You okay?” I ask Mark softly.

  His head bobs once in an unconvincing nod. I reach over for his hand, but he pulls it away.

  “Stop. I won’t be able to hold your hand when we’re there, so we need to get used to that now.”

  I swipe at the tears that spill over onto my cheek. His words are harsh but forgivable. He’s scared for his grandfather, for his family, and I get that. I hate that he won’t let me in after everything we’ve shared over the last twenty-four hours—but he’s right. Even if I’d been able to end it with Brian before this all happened, Mark already made it clear that we need to keep what we have under wraps in front of him at least for a little while.

  I grab his hand in mine anyway, and I don’t allow him to pull it away this time. I grip it to my heart. “We can get used to it when we’re in Chicago, okay? It’s just us now, and we don’t need to worry about it until then.”

  He finally rips his eyes from the window and looks at me. I’ve never seen him stripped so raw, and his vulnerability and the anxiety written in his eyes claws at my heart. I’ve never felt such a base need to protect and comfort another person before. It’s a deep part of my heart that’s never been tapped, and the pure emotion terrifies me as much as it exhilarates me.

  “I’m scared, Reese.” His voice is a soft plea.

  I pull his head to my shoulder. “I know. And that’s okay.”

  I feel the weight of his head as he relaxes into me. It only lasts a few seconds, but he pulls strength from our connection.

  He blows out a breath before he sits up. He opens the glass separating us from Vinny and Stanley.

  “Stan, reroute to the private jetway at LAX. Vinny, I need you to file a flight plan.”

  “Where are we headed?” Vinny calls back.

  “Chicago. As soon as we can.”

  “You or your girl need any bags?”

  Mark looks at me and answers before I have the chance. I don’t miss Vinny’s description of me, words that send a ripple of gratification down my spine despite the dire situation we suddenly find ourselves in. “We can get whatever we need when we land.”

  “I should take a regular flight,” I say.

  Mark shakes his head. “You’ll come with me. It makes the most sense. I’d have asked you to come with me either way.”

  “Either way?”

  He looks out the window. “If you were just my brother’s girlfriend,” he clarifies.

  “And instead, what am I?”

  He gives me a long, hard look, and then he lifts a shoulder. “More than that.” His voice is quiet and confused, and I leave it at that even though I’m desperate for more going into what’s sure to be a turbulent few days ahead.

  *

  “Text me a list of what you need,” Mark says to me once we’ve boarded his plane.

  “Like what?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Makeup and hair shit. Whatever you use.”

  “I can just use whatever hair stuff you have.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “You think I’m sharing my secrets?”

  I giggle. “Okay, fine. But, like, everything?”

  He nods. “Be specific, too, because Vick doesn’t always choose a woman to go buy makeup and a man won’t know what the hell you’re talking about unless you give everything down to the color.”

  I start typing out my list. I have my purse, so I happen to have most of my make-up with me. But I don’t have things like deodorant or even a toothbrush. I type out everything I can think of, including underwear and clothes in my size, and then fire off the text to Mark.

  He copies my list and sends it along to Vick. “Most of it should be waiting at my place when we get there.”

  “How?”

  “I make shit happen, babe.”

  I can’t help my laugh. I hate why we’re here. I hate that I’m about to meet the parents of my boyfriend who also happen to be the parents of the man I love, and I hate that we’re meeting under these circumstances.

  Despite all that, though, I find myself falling deeper for the rock star sitting beside me. He settles into me, my arms around him as he rests his head against my chest. I still wonder what’s behind the door at the back of the plane, but I haven’t gotten up the nerve to ask.

  “I can’t stop thinking about the Legos,” Mark says quietly.

  Of all the things I thought might come out of his mouth as the wheels pull up from the ground and we’re on our way to Chicago, interlocking blocks probably falls somewhere toward the bottom of the list.

  “The Legos?” I ask.

  “He gave me Legos every year for my birthday. Even when I stopped playing with them, he still gave them to me. Even now, he still sends a set every year on September twenty-sixth, whatever’s popular that year. I’ve got Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Wars, Toy Story…even Harry Potter. The boxes are stacked in a closet at my place in LA. I wish I would’ve put them all together, wish I would’ve taken a picture of the completed sets to send to him. Why didn’t I do that?”

  My heart breaks for him. “You grew out of them.”

  “But I didn’t grow out of him.”

  “Maybe it’s not too late. You can still put them together.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I worry I said something wrong. I said maybe it’s not too late. The flipside of that means that maybe it is too late.

  He lifts his head and sits up straight. He looks forward as he speaks rather than at me. “He’s one of those people who always knows exactly what to say, you know?”

  “Give me an example.”

  “I remember Ethan and I wanted to start up a band when I was a freshman in high school. We had two other kids with us, but they didn’t take it seriously. They just wanted to mess around and jam, but I was looking at it as a potential career. Pops—that’s what we all call him—he always told me to lighten up a little and enjoy it.”

  I smile at the thought of a grandparent telling an intense teenaged boy to lighten up. “Did you listen?”

  “Not until I was in my early twenties.”

  “Do you regret that?”

  He shrugs. “Yes and no. It’s all experience. He said experience is what you get whe
n you don’t get what you want.”

  “When does Mark Ashton ever not get what he wants?” I attempt a light tone despite the gravity of the situation…despite everything at stake.

  He presses his lips together but doesn’t answer.

  I pull one of his hands into mine. I stare at it, turn it over, stroke it. I pull his other hand into mine, too. I memorize their warmth, the length of his fingers, the short, trim nails, the golden skin tone and the light smattering of hair on the back. I study the veins that rise above the surface. I study the black ink over his golden skin, swirls and designs that have meaning to him.

  These are man’s hands, powerful and rough. The fingertips of his right hand are slightly harder than I expect them to be, probably from years of playing guitar. A small scar mars the back of his left hand, and I’m curious to know how it got there.

  I think about all the times he’s used these talented hands to entertain crowds of people as he played guitar. I think about the times he’s used these skilled hands to pleasure me. I try not to think of the times he’s used them on other women, but I know those times exist unspoken in his past. I think about the times they’ve held and comforted other hands and the times they’ve provided strength.

  I glance up at him, and he’s lost in thought. I pull his hands to my chest and hug them close to my heart.

  “We need a plan,” he says, his loud voice cutting into my musings.

  “What sort of plan?”

  He turns to look at me. “Brian’s going to need you. He’s the youngest and he takes things the hardest.” He pauses, and my heart breaks that he’s protecting his brother through this. “But I’m going to need you, too.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to be there for both of you.”

  He shakes his head. “You can’t.”

  “So what’s the plan, then?”

  “You and Brian will stay with me at my place in the city. I’ve got rooftop access. You can meet me up there. It’ll be a private hideaway for us. We need a code word.”

  “Destiny,” I say.