Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4)

by Jaine Diamond

  Okay, that was a lot of vodka-induced introspection. But Taylor usually did speak her mind. I loved that about her.

  I wasn’t lying when I said I preferred her uncensored.

  Even if uncensored Taylor scared me sometimes.

  “That’s probably what scares people,” I said, trying to digest everything she’d just said, and the implications of it. The more layers of I like you she’d piled on with that revelation. “It scares us away from commitment. Maybe we’re scared that we don’t have a choice, from the moment we meet that other person and we want all in.”

  Out. In.

  I wanted her in from the moment I met her. So I thought I’d just keep her out.

  Simple.

  But when she came back, wanting in, I pulled her in tight and close, and locked her down in every way I could in a matter of days, with no intention of letting her go. Getting her moved into my place, signing contracts, filling her bank account with money. I might as well have pissed all over her, written my name on her forehead and given her a ring.

  “I actually think it’s kind of stupid to fear something you have no control over anyway,” she said.

  “Are you calling me stupid?”

  “I would never call you stupid. You’re very brilliant.”

  “I think it’s dangerous to accept that you have no control. Because then you have no illusions, nothing to hold onto when the fear creeps in.”

  “I think fear is natural and holy and good. It’s primal and there’s a reason for it.”

  “I think not everyone is as brave as you.”

  “I think anything worth doing is frightening at its core. Because it makes you face the truth, that if it’s something you want to do or want to have, it’s worth losing.”

  “I think you’re way too smart to be an executive assistant. And way too special to be wasting your time on me.” I was flirting with her, flattering her, but there was so much naked truth in that statement it was kinda terrifying.

  “I think it’s not a waste of time if I wanted you from the moment I met you. Because that means I have something to gain, something to learn, or something worth losing by being here.”

  “I think you’re fucking beautiful.”

  “I think drinking straight vodka makes people really drunk.”

  “I think you’re way too sexy to not have my cock in you right now.”

  “I think I like it when you make me wait for it.”

  “I think you’re gonna be naked in a few seconds.”

  “I think I can’t think anymore—”

  I kissed her, trying to erase the burden of thought. I buried my tongue in her mouth, like I wanted to sink my dick into her and probably would’ve, immediately, if there wasn’t still something in the way. I’d been half-hard ever since she slipped into the pool, and hard as hell since her lips touched mine the first time.

  “Thinking’s overrated,” I mumbled against her lips as my dick throbbed and I untied her bikini bottom with one jerk of the string. “You don’t have to think when you’re with me.”

  She laughed.

  I paused, brushing my thumb over her wet cheek. “That came out wrong.” I held her by her jaw and looked in her eyes. “I meant, I’ll take control. You just give.”

  “Give?”

  “Give me everything. I can’t get enough of you.” I melted into another kiss as her soft lips moved against mine.

  “Okay,” she breathed. “I give. You take. Take everything you want from me, Cary.”

  I kissed my way down her neck as she arched her back, lifting her breasts out of the water. I slid my hand between her legs, smearing my fingers over her naked softness. That soft, intimate part of her that was so deeply personal and so beautiful, it was a fucking miracle any woman wanted to share it with any man. That she wanted to give it to me. Open herself like that. Let me in.

  Let me touch her inside and possess her.

  That she wanted me enough. That she was willing to trust me enough, already.

  I kissed my way down her chest and flickered my tongue over her nipple, making her back arch. She gripped my hair and made a soft hiss of pleasure.

  I wondered if she had any idea how jealous I was of her freedom. Her strength.

  The fact that she let me hold her down while I fucked her, take control, that she liked that shit, seemed far more than I deserved.

  But she did. That much was clear.

  I pulled her out of the pool and laid her out on one of the long, cushioned lounge chairs. I would’ve gone down on her first but she told me to take, so I put my dick out of its thudding misery and plunged right into her. She hitched one leg up around my hip and panted as I pumped into her. My hand went to her throat automatically, the other one into her hair, gripping. I kissed her, deep and hard as I fucked her, and her hands strayed over my back. She slid one hand around and up my chest, to my throat, where her fingers curled into me gently, pulling me toward her as we kissed.

  I pushed myself up on my arms, looking down at her for a bit while I fucked her in smooth, pounding strokes. Her hand fell away from my throat. She watched me as I watched her, her hands landing on my hips and gently holding on.

  “If I smacked your face right now, what would you do?”

  She blinked up at me in pleasure. “Uh…”

  I smacked her face. Lightly, but enough to make her cheek sting a little. My fingertips tingled.

  Her eyes flared and her mouth dropped open, but she said nothing. She did nothing.

  I smacked her again.

  She moaned a little.

  I dragged my fingertips over her jaw and pressed my hand to her throat, holding her there. Not forcefully. She could’ve moved, but it was the fact that if she tried, I’d tighten my hold and keep her there that made her so wet. Her pussy made wet, sucking noises as I pumped into her.

  She moaned and twisted a little beneath me. She planted her heels on the chair, on either side of my hips, and pushed herself up into me, meeting my thrusts. I thrust harder, pushing her down with my weight and kissing her. I bit her lip gently.

  “Why do I want to hurt you?” I asked her, my voice raspy against her lips.

  “I don’t know,” she breathed. Her eyes locked with mine, those fathomless, bottomless depths. “You can slap me again if you want to.”

  I didn’t. I just stared at her.

  I wanted to watch her come.

  Take.

  I ground into her clit with my pelvis, digging deep with my cock, answering her body every time she rolled her hips. Pressing into her deeper, harder, every time she pressed into me. I watched her face as she moaned. I watched her eyes, drifting, the dark turquoise depths stirring. I watched her skin flush and I watched the sounds falling out of her mouth. Her soft, swollen lips.

  When I knew she was close to orgasm, I slowed down but I didn’t let up on the intensity. I wanted to draw it out. I wanted to savor it. I didn’t want to miss a thing.

  I slid myself in and out of her slowly as she started to come. I felt the spasms in the tight sleeve of her pussy as she gripped me. I reached down between us and pinched her clit, and she gasp-moaned. “Ahh, Cary,” she groaned, and I held on, trapping her flesh with my fingertips, squeezing. She thrashed around a little as the waves crashed through her body.

  Then I felt my own pleasure about to tear loose. I couldn’t hold it back anymore.

  I sank my mouth over hers and plunged my tongue into her, letting go. And when I came, my whole body convulsed. Felt like I pumped a gallon of wet heat into her. We slid together, both of us pool-wet, sweat-wet and slippery. She was shuddering beneath me as we kissed, breathing against my face.

  I collapsed on top of her, my head swimming with vodka and pleasure.

  She sighed, her hands playing gently in the hair at the nape of my neck.

  “You’re afraid I don’t need you,” she whispered against my neck, her lips brushing my ear. “But I do.”

  We went to shower in the poolhouse, then I
made Taylor eat some food and drink a ton of water. Then I slept next to her in her bed in the poolhouse. I couldn’t let her out of my sight after all the vodka.

  Just the thought of anything happening to her made the blackness creep in around the edges of my vision. And because I was kinda drunk, it was worse. Harder to control. I had a terrible, restless sleep.

  I kept jerking awake in the night to check that she was okay.

  That she was still breathing.

  That she hadn’t thrown up on herself and suffocated, or fallen and hit her head.

  We really didn’t drink all that much. She seemed pretty sober, considering, by the time we went to bed. But it was just my anxious nature. I couldn’t even rest.

  It wasn’t because I loved her.

  It was just my nature to worry.

  I liked her. That was all.

  And I felt responsible for her. The vodka was my idea, and she was here because of me.

  No matter what she said about two people being what they were and feeling what they felt from the moment they met, or how right she might’ve been about that, I wasn’t falling in love with her. I knew that much.

  That kind of thing took a fearlessness I just didn’t possess.

  Maybe I used to. But not anymore.

  Anyway, as I lay in her bed in the middle of the night, sleepless, I knew Taylor Lawson didn’t need a man like me. She needed someone fearless, like her.

  Someone who meandered around life’s rules and really didn’t give much of a fuck about them, deep down. Someone who laughed out loud at crude comedy specials, who splashed around and did cannonballs when they were in a pool, and picked the vodka with the coolest bottle. Someone who knew how to have fun and not always take every moment of life so damn seriously.

  Sure, I could bend the rules, even break them, in the studio, and in bed.

  But in life?

  I’d pretty much opted out of life in general a few years back.

  In. Out.

  My career and sex; those were the only two parts of my so-called life that I gave a damn about anymore, and the second one I’d only really showed up for recently—when Taylor came along.

  Those were the only parts of my life where she fit.

  Where I had a need for her.

  I’d told her when I hired her that I didn’t need anything. But that wasn’t true.

  I needed a distraction from myself. And it didn’t hurt that she could help me blow off steam while I was working on this album.

  I’d had Bliss before, but now I had her. The sex was better, the conversation was better, the convenience was better, and anyway, I liked her.

  That didn’t mean I ever had to love her.

  She might’ve liked me, but she definitely didn’t know me well enough to love me. She was a smart woman.

  She’d figure out that she didn’t love me, that she couldn’t love me, long before she ever got that deep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Taylor

  Lonely Lonely

  It was Saturday evening, and Danica had been texting me every five minutes for like an hour. I’d been jogging, then showering, and when I got out of the shower to find the string of texts on my phone, I laughed out loud to myself.

  Me: Can’t wait to see you! Just picking out the perfect LBD.

  I sent that text and started getting ready, searching through my many little black dresses hung up in the poolhouse closet.

  I felt like I hadn’t seen my best friend forever. And clearly she was as excited about tonight as I was. It had been ten days since I saw her at Little Black Hole and we went out for lunch together; I may have been a little caught up lately with my new employer-slash-lover. But for the two of us, ten days without a hang out was way too long.

  Tonight, we were having a much overdue ladies’ night.

  Cary would probably be working late anyway. He never seemed to take any days, or full evenings, off.

  As the sun went down tonight, we’d gone for a jog together. He wore the usual cap pulled low over his eyes, and we stuck to the quiet residential streets. We barely saw another human other than the odd car driving past and the occasional couple walking a dog. No one ever bothered us on our jogs, and so far, so good. He didn’t always join me when I asked, but sometimes he did.

  I was taking that as a major achievement.

  Over the past couple of weeks, the routine of Cary’s life had become very clear, and I’d adjusted to it. He worked late almost every night, even on weekends, though he rarely asked me to stay late. Being in the studio, even alone, just seemed to be his happy place. In the mornings, he usually drifted into the studio a little later than I did, which worked out just fine. It gave me a little time to get myself organized, check emails and messages, make coffee, and get things ready for him to walk in the door.

  I liked the idea that there was someone there to turn on the lights for him and just get things going so he could walk into a welcoming space.

  During the day, we worked together and separate. We’d go over things first, usually. I’d bring him up to speed on correspondence from Little Black Hole, Brick House, whatever important emails or calls had come in that deserved attention. We’d set up a plan for the day, set goals. He didn’t really do that before I came along and he seemed to like it. He said it helped him focus on what he needed to get done that day. Of course, that part was up to him, but saying it out loud to me and watching me write it down seemed to give him motivation to stay on track.

  Whenever he had headphones on and he was deep in the music, listening or working, or if he was writing, playing one of his instruments… I made myself scarce. I went into the other room or took my laptop out to the living room or the patio.

  Sometimes he asked me to come in and listen to some melody he was working on on his guitar or whatever.

  I loved those moments. But what could I say? Everything he wrote sounded good to me.

  My feedback usually just defaulted to I love it. Can’t wait to hear it in a song.

  We’d started eating together, too. Usually I ordered takeout or I threw together something for us for lunch. I didn’t have to, but I liked to. And at night, I’d order in takeout or sometimes I’d cook dinner. Sometimes he cooked dinner, too. He was actually a pretty good cook.

  I supposed he had to be, living alone for so long.

  In the evenings, we usually had sex. And sometimes we had sex in the morning or afternoon, too.

  Afterwards, Cary would go back to work. He was dedicated and focused like that.

  It was impressive.

  In the evenings, I’d go do my laundry, talk to friends. Or I’d head down to the animal shelter and put in some time, take the dogs for walks, help clean out kennels. At least a few nights a week I’d go for a jog, and sometimes, like this evening, he’d join me. Or I’d do some yoga in the backyard to an online video on my laptop, or swim in the pool. Cary sometimes came out for a bit to sit by the pool or swim with me. Most of the time he seemed distracted at night, until he got enough work done to feel satisfied. He said he was most creative in the evening and he liked to lose himself in work.

  But he seemed to want to be here with me, too.

  Eventually, we’d meet up in his bed in the studio or in my bed in the poolhouse, or on the living room couch. But he never took me to his bedroom upstairs.

  I wondered if he’d be in bed when I got home from ladies’ night tonight. Or if he’d just stay up working until I came home.

  I liked that he’d be here, waiting for me. It was nice having a boyfriend.

  Okay. Yeah. I’d admit it to myself.

  My boss was now my boyfriend.

  When I was all ready for ladies’ night, I grabbed my purse and headed into the house to say goodbye. As I walked into the foyer, I found the studio doors open, as usual. I could hear water running faintly in the studio bathroom; he was still in the shower.

  Which meant I had a little time to kill.

  I glanced up the stairs to t
he second floor, and it didn’t take long to decide to go up. I figured I would at some point. I’d hoped he’d ask me up. But there didn’t seem any harm in taking a look around. He rarely seemed to come up here, but Rose kept it tidy like the rest of the house.

  I peeked into a couple of bedrooms down one hall. The biggest one was white and clearly decorated for a girl. Lacy bedspread and curtains. There was a photo of Courteney and a couple of other girls, friends of hers I’d met, stuck on the mirror over the dresser. This must’ve been the room she used when she visited her brother and stayed in the house rather than the poolhouse. I knew she’d done that sometimes.

  I’d heard him call her cupcake. It was obvious that he adored her.

  Yet she seemed so unable to reach him. It was clear to me by now that he didn’t talk to her all that much.

  I went up the other hall and I found the master bedroom. It was huge, with a king-sized bed and simple, luxurious decor in shades of dark gray, black and white. There was a fireplace and a walk-through closet leading into the bathroom.

  I didn’t linger.

  It just seemed like a shame he didn’t use it. That his world had gotten so small, he barely even used his whole house and yard.

  As I headed back down the stairs, I paused to look at the framed photos of Cary’s family and friends on the wall over the stairs. He still had people in his life who clearly cared about him. Not only his sister, but Xander, too, for sure.

  Merritt checked in with him regularly from Little Black Hole, and it was obvious it wasn’t just because of her duty to her job. She seemed to genuinely care about Cary and check in out of concern, just making sure he was okay.