by Amy Marie
“Can I hear it?” she asks when she joins me at the booth.
“So boring,” Hannah whines.
I swivel to face her. “No one said you have to be here. Find something else to do.”
“Like what?” she sneers. “You won’t let me leave.”
“Go down to the beach.”
“By myself?” she asks.
I groan and rest my head in my hands. This is my own personal hell, and Cole can’t get here soon enough.
“I could go for a beach break,” Orelia says.
I look up at her, my brows pulled down. “You can?”
“Yeah,” she shrugs. “We’ve made some good progress today. I think we’ve earned it.”
I smile. “Yeah.”
Hannah squeals in delight. I hate that she’s getting her way, but if it means the chance to spend some time with Orelia without soundproof glass between us, then I’m in.
Ten minutes later, I’m dressed in dark blue board shorts, a pair of classic Ray-Bans perched on the end of my nose. Stepping out on the deck, my tongue nearly falls out of my mouth at the sight of Orelia. Miles of smooth tan skin is on display in the barely-there white bikini. She’s bent over, one foot propped on the deck railing as she rubs lotion into her thigh. The fabric of her swimsuit is gathered at the center seam, hugging the curve of what has to be the most spectacular ass I have ever seen.
I’m struck dumb, gaping at her like a fucking creeper.
She sees me and smiles, oblivious to the war raging inside me. She waves then holds up a bottle of lotion. “You need some?”
I swallow though my throat is completely dry and manage to choke out a response. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself,” she says, dropping the bottle into her bag.
Hannah strolls out in a hot pink bikini that barely covers her nipples, and let’s just say it’s a good thing she waxes on the regular because the G-string bottoms leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I frown as she approaches. “What?” she asks. I arch a brow. “You know how I feel about tan lines.” She rises on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek before heading for the stairs.
I meet Orelia’s eyes, and she shakes her head as she follows Hannah down the stairs.
The moment her feet hit the sand, she takes off running toward the water, dropping her bag just out of reach of the surf.
Hannah spreads out a blanket in the hot sand and begins oiling her body. She sees me watching and smiles. “Get my back, baby?” She holds out the oil, and I glance back to Orelia, wading into the surf.
I shake my head. “I’ll pass.”
Orelia wades in to her hips then dives beneath an incoming wave, popping up on the other side, hair slicked back away from her beautiful face, skin glistening in the sun. She looks like a Sports Illustrated cover come to life, and my cock stands in salute once again.
“Fuck,” I sigh, dropping my towel and sunglasses beside her bag and jogging the last few steps to the water.
Hannah calls out behind me, but I ignore her, letting the chill of the water calm my overheated skin. I dive under a large wave, but when I come up, Orelia’s gone. Looking around, my heart speeds up when I don’t see her.
Something sweeps my legs beneath the water, and I go under with a splash. I pop up, spitting the salty water from my mouth and wiping it from my eyes to the sound of her laughter.
“Oh, you’re in for it now,” I dive toward her. She squeals and twists away. She moves out of my reach, and I move faster, eventually catching her around the waist. I take a deep breath and throw my body backward into an oncoming wave, taking her down with me and letting go the moment we are both submerged.
When I surface, I’m met with a quick burst of water, then another as she splashes me. Enduring the assault, I move toward her as she screams in delight. “Stay back,” she shouts.
I dive under the shallow water and push my shoulder into her stomach, then stand, lifting her over my shoulder.
“Put me down,” she laughs and pounds on my back.
“If you say so.”
I lift her legs and flip her back over my shoulder. She hits the water with a splash and comes up, spitting and cradling her arm. Panic floods my system, and I rush to her side.
“Are you okay?” I reach for her arm, inspecting her for any visible damage. “Shit, did I hurt you?”
“No,” she squeals, jumping on my back and dragging me down into the surf.
I surface, laughing, and wipe the wet hair from my eyes. Holding up my arms, I declare, “Truce.”
She tilts her head, brows raised in defiance. “Giving up so easily? I thought you were a King, your majesty.”
“Ha-ha, very funny, but this king knows when he’s been beaten.”
“Beautiful and humble,” she says, floating on her back, paddling just enough to keep the current from carrying her away.
“What did you expect?” I ask.
“If I’m being honest,” she turns over, swimming circles around me, “at first, I thought you were just a creep looking to get laid.”
I laugh. “I was perfectly sincere. A gentleman.”
She raises a brow. “A gentleman who basically asked me to run away with him.”
I tilt my head. “Then, why did you come?”
“My boss Googled you, then fired me.”
“You got fired?”
“Yep. She said that if I didn’t get on that plane, I would regret it for the rest of my life. Of course, I don’t think she considered that the reverse could also be true.”
I frown. “Do you regret coming?”
She thinks for a moment and tilts her face toward the sky. “Despite the excess of drama, I think I’m where I’m supposed to be. What about you?” She says, treading water a few feet from me. “Is this where you are supposed to be?”
“Maybe,” I respond, her question shaking loose a pang of uncertainty. Am I where I’m supposed to be? I know I’m meant to make music. That’s a given, but is this really it? Do I want to spend the rest of my career babysitting my ex and catering to the suits?
She stands up, the water cascading down her breasts, her nipples growing hard, poking through the thin fabric of her suit. “If you could do anything, have anything, anything in the world, what would it be?”
There is no hesitation in my answer, “I want to run my own label.”
“Really?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I nod. “I want to be my own boss, write my own rules, focus on the music that I want to create. Music I believe in.”
“That sounds,” she hums for a moment, “awesome.”
I drop my head, trailing my fingers in the water.
“Hey,” she says, “It’ll happen. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day or next week, but you’ll get there.”
“That’s the plan.”
She smiles.
My body rolls with the waves as we bob up and down in the surf. “What about you?”
“Hmmm?”
“If you could have anything you want, what would that be?” I ask, turning the tables.
She shrugs. “I don’t need much. I just want to be happy, make a living playing music, maybe one day have a family of my own, and be able to give them everything thing they need.”
“A family?” I ask.
“Not right now, but someday, maybe.”
“You want the fairy tale. Nothing wrong with that.”
“No,” she says, a little wistful. She pauses. “Well, not the fairytale exactly, but I want to fall in love. I want to feel that spark. You know, the thing that ignites when you meet the person you are meant to be with. With all the hookup apps and social media, some of the magic of falling in love seems to have gotten lost along the way.”
She looks out toward the open ocean behind us. Without thinking, I reach out, linking our fingers together. She looks back at our joined hands first, then up to meet my eyes.
“You deserve a happily ever after, Orelia.”
She
smiles, and with that one look, the walls I built up to keep her out crack and crumble inside me. “So do you.”
Chapter 16
Orelia
My hand is beginning to cramp. I shake it out, flexing my fingers before setting pen to paper once again. Lyrics flow through me, some shaping into songs, some just lines that have potential.
The pressure to deliver a fantastic first album is beginning to weigh on me, and being trapped in this house with a raging bitch and a man I am dangerously attracted to isn’t doing anything to keep the creative juices flowing.
Cole showed up a little after three and has thankfully distracted Hannah by taking her shopping. The house has fallen into blissful silence with just Ezra and me alone in the house, and I hoped it would allow the lyrics to flow, but I have been sadly mistaken.
I was painfully aware of his presence, regardless of where he was in the house. Out of sight or not, he was rarely out of mind.
Something is going on between him and Hannah. She came down this morning wearing only his T-shirt and grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Granted, she’s proven herself to be a manipulative shrew, so it could have been just another one of her games designed to fuck with him, and with me, but I can’t shake the image of them together. Whether it was last night or years ago, it bothers me that he shares such an intimate history with someone so hell-bent on destroying him.
I shouldn’t care. We aren’t together. As far as I can tell, he has no intentions toward me beyond a working relationship. He may be attracted to me at least a little. I mean, I have eyes, I see how he looks at me. The chemistry is there, but for whatever reason, he’s fighting against it. His interactions with me run from scorching hot to freezing cold and everywhere in between. It’s impossible to interpret, and I am on the verge of insanity from trying.
Ezra drops onto the couch beside me with a huge bowl of popcorn. Reaching out, I snag a handful before he snatches it from my grasp. “No treats for you until you finish at least one song.”
I groan and toss the salty snack in my mouth, my brows drawing together when the sugar-sweet taste of chocolate melts with the buttery popcorn.
Looking into the bowl, I notice a rainbow of color freckled through the fluffy yellow kernels. “Did you put M&M’s in the popcorn?”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Duh.”
“Why?” I ask, scrunching my nose in distaste.
“Because salty and sweet is only the best snack food combination on the planet.”
“Salty and sweet?”
“Mmhmm,” he mumbles around a mouthful of popcorn.
“It’s like you in a bowl,” I mutter, focusing on my journal, writing the phrase salty and sweet over and over as my mind wanders.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I shake my head.
He shrugs and gathers a handful of popcorn, tossing it in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth and failing spectacularly. I brush the few strays from my lap as another lands in my cleavage.
He chuckles. “Sorry.” Then he wiggles his brow. “Want me to get that for you?”
I giggle and pull the offending snack food from between my boobs, tossing at him. That one he manages to actually catch in his mouth, and the victorious smile that lights up his face is worth the crumbs in my bra.
“What’s with you?”
“Nothing, why?”
“You’re not your usually broody self. What gives?”
“Broody?” He laughs.
I nudge at his shoulder. “You know what I mean. You seem different, less tortured, I guess.”
“I don’t know, I guess I’m just more relaxed.”
“Maybe it’s the beach,” I suggest.
“Maybe it’s you.”
My eyes snap to his, and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Is he flirting with me?
He sits up straight and drapes an arm over the back of the couch, scooting closer to see what I’ve been writing. I press the journal to my chest and lean away from him.
“Come on,” he whines, “how am I supposed to help you if you won’t let me see what you’ve been working on?”
“It’s personal.”
“Good music is always personal.” He flicks his fingers. “Hand it over.”
I close my eyes and reluctantly hand it over. My skin heats, and I can practically feel him reading the fractured thoughts and phrases that I’d been trying to work into something.
“You think you see me, but you look right through. You’ll never look at me the way I look at you,” his voice is smooth as he reads my words. “My heart dissolves in your embrace, but your touch, your kiss, I can’t erase.”
I cringe as he continues, his eyes scanning over the page filled with lines and notes, and doodles. His face is serious, completely unreadable.
“What?” I ask, reaching across him for the journal. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”
“No,” he says, holding it out of my reach. “This is good. Really good, actually.”
“You think?”
He smiles and hands it back to me. “Yeah. You’re on to something there. Keep going.”
Warmth floods my face, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the grin from my face.
His compliment hangs between us, and I’m afraid to look up at him, afraid he’ll see the truth behind my words. Or worse, that he won’t.
A buzzing sound cuts through the silence, and we both look over to the side table where I left my phone. It buzzes again, and Ezra reaches for it, glancing down at the screen, and his expression hardens as he hands it off to me. “It’s Durant,” he says, pushing to his feet.
He heads toward the kitchen, and I glance down at the screen as another text from Jamie comes through.
Jamie: How are things with the King and Popstar? Still tense?
We’ve been texting on and off since the party a while back. Even more since the show. He’s been so sweet and supportive, especially after that video went viral. Yes, he gets a little flirty, but I’ve come to count him as a friend. A friend with really shit timing.
I don’t reply, don’t check the rest of his messages, just drop the phone and my journal to the couch and follow Ezra into the kitchen.
“Ezra, I…”
He cuts me off, “You two seem close.”
I frown, confused by the statement.
“We’re friends if that’s what you mean.”
He laughs, but there is not a trace of humor in his furious expression. “Friends, right.”
“Look, I’m sorry if what he said offended you, but…”
“You think I give a shit what that asshole thinks of me?” he growls.
I blink at him, unsure of what set him off. “He’s been good to me. Someone I can talk to about well, everything.”
“And I bet he’s just waiting for you with open arms.”
“Like I said, we’re friends.”
“Bullshit,” he spits. “He wants to fuck you.” Ezra pauses, raking his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Orelia, are you really this naïve?”
His words sting, and tears begin to well behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Anger charges in my blood, and I clench my fist tightly at my sides. “Naïve? Are you fucking kidding me? So, what if he does? He’s gorgeous, talented, and at least he’s honest about what he wants.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He leans back against the counter and hangs his head.
I move around the island stopping in front of her. “The fuck I don’t. I think I’ve been pretty damn transparent when it comes to how I feel, and all you’ve done is push me away. Now, you’re pissed at the possibility that someone else could want me? Jesus, Ezra, you can’t have it both ways.”
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look at me.
“How dare you think you have any say in who I choose to spend my time with?”
“He’s not worthy of you,” Ezra spits through his teeth.
“And who is?
You?” He doesn’t respond. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then, by all means, enlighten me.”
“Things are complicated.”
“Because of Hannah?” I ask.
His frown deepens, and his jaw clenches. “What? No, of course not.”
I step forward, closing some of the distance between us. “Then what is it you want, Ezra, because this hot and cold thing you’re doing is driving me crazy.”
He runs a hand through his hair and looks up at me with sadness and fear in his eyes. “I—I,” he stutters, “I don’t know.”
I take a step back, defeated, and wipe a tear from my cheek. I nod. “Let me know when you figure it out.”
I turn around and march up the stairs, growing more and more angry with every step. Deciding to take a shower and give myself some time to calm down, I grab some clean clothes and head for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
Flipping on the water, I rip my shirt over my head, pausing for a moment to take in my reflection. My face is flushed, and my chest heaves, nostrils flaring with rage. He is unbelievable. He doesn’t want me. He’s made that fact abundantly clear, but he doesn’t want me to be with Jamie either. It’s insanity.
Steam begins to fill the room and clouds up the mirror, but I’m frozen, glaring at my blurry reflection and gripping the countertop until my knuckles turn white.
Suddenly the door bursts open and slams into the wall behind it. Ezra storms toward me, the veins visible beneath the skin of his neck. The warm air parts around him, and I instinctively cross my arms to cover my chest, clad only in a black lace bra.
He reaches me and yanks my hips so hard I crash into his chest as his lips collide with mine. He kisses me hard, rough, ravaging my mouth and threading his fingers through my hair. He holds me close, biting down on my lower lip. Delicious tendrils of pain slink through my body as his tongue soothes away the sting.
I gasp, and he slides his hot, wet tongue into my mouth. I groan as the taste of him overwhelms me, salt with just a hint of sweetness, and just as he said before, it’s the perfect combination. We claw at each other, delving deeper, exploring every curve, every angle, until I feel confident I could trace the lines of his back and his shoulders from memory.
