As Dust Dances

by Samantha Young

  “I won’t. But you should. It sounds so much sexier in your accent.”

  “Have I shagged a famous person other than you?”

  “Mmm?” I was sitting up, turned into him, reveling in the intimacy of being with him like this after another round of amazing sex. I’d spent the day messing around on my guitar. I couldn’t play too much too often, but I was getting somewhere, and that, along with the abundance of endorphins released during two nights of epic sex, made me feel better than I had in a long time. Killian had left the office early and arrived at my apartment with Thai food. We’d talked while we ate and then not too long later jumped each other.

  “No. I was either working with them or knew there was a possibility I could end up working with them.” He reached out and curled a hand around my thigh. “It’s usually a bad idea to mix business with pleasure.”

  “I have heard that somewhere,” I teased. “So you’re saying you’ve been in a position where it was an option for you to sleep with your label’s artists? Someone has tried to get you in the sack?”

  He shrugged arrogantly. “Tried and failed.”

  I fluttered my eyelashes in ridicule of his sexy obnoxiousness. “I managed to lay Killian O’Dea. I do feel special.”

  He attempted to tickle me in punishment and I laughed, struggling to get away from him. But his strong arms banded around me and he tugged me down beside him, tucking me into his side. “You need to start working out or it’s going to be really easy to win every play fight with you.”

  “I’m thinking about working out again. I used to have a personal trainer.” I lifted my wrist. “It’s getting better. We had all that sex, I played the guitar, and it’s only twinging a little.”

  Killian gently held my wrist to his mouth. He pressed a reverent kiss to it that made my heart swell.

  Romantic bastard.

  What was he doing to me?

  Then he disarmed me further. “Did you only ever date famous men?”

  It was only fair that I respond since he did. I shrugged against him. “I didn’t actually date a lot. Micah caused too much drama about it.”

  “Aye, manipulative little shit.”

  That was true, but I still didn’t like Killian insulting him. Not wanting him to misconstrue my defense of Micah as anything but years of friendship, I stayed quiet.

  “You were photographed with famous guys in the tabloids,” he pressed hesitantly. “None of that was real?”

  “Some. Max.”

  “Max Carter? From Talking Trees?”

  “You did research me, huh?” I teased. “Yes. Max. And it was real. I’m not saying we were in love but we cared about each other.”

  “What happened?”

  “Micah happened,” I said, my bitterness hard to miss. “Max knew Micah was filling his head with nonsense about us to try and make him crazy insecure. Max was too smart for that. But he was also a very cool guy. Non-confrontational, laid-back, a zero-drama kind of guy. And he couldn’t handle the Micah twenty-four/seven drama. So he broke up with me.”

  “Then you’re better off without him.”

  I smiled. “I just had multiple orgasms. I’m well aware I’m better off without him.”

  Killian grunted and caressed my arm.

  “Mostly I had flings though,” I continued. “Jay Preston.”

  “From Cabin Fever?”

  “Yes. And Danny Alexander.”

  I felt his gaze and turned my head on his shoulder to look up at him. He was surprised. “The superhero-movies guy? He’s what? Twenty years older than you?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t sound so judgy. I was drunk. And it happened in the bathroom of the VIP section in a nightclub. Very romantic.”

  His lips tightened.

  “You’re judging me.”

  “Just . . . spare me the actual details.”

  I didn’t particularly think that was detailed. Caveman. “Okay. I’ll spare you the Spence Holloway details, then.”

  “That name is vaguely familiar.”

  “Supporting actor in that dystopian movie.”

  “Your big-break song?”

  “That’s the one. We got to meet the cast at an awards show. I was lonely. He was there.”

  He gave me a squeeze. “Is that all of them, then?”

  Nope. There was one more. But it was kind of a painful memory. I snuggled deeper into him and laid my hand on his chest so I could feel his heart beneath my palm. “Not long after the first album dropped, I turned eighteen. Micah and I had decided before the band even took off that we wouldn’t pursue a relationship with one another for the sake of the band. We were struggling with it. And I was starting to think it was bullshit. That no band was worth not being with the guy I loved. I got the feeling he felt the same way, and when he gave me this stupidly expensive bracelet for my birthday, I believed it meant something.

  “That night we had plans to go to a party we’d been invited to. It was at the actor Jack James’ Malibu beach house. We thought we’d made it.” I gave a huff of laughter but I wasn’t really amused by the memory of how naive I’d been. “I got all dressed up but decided I wanted Micah and I to work things out . . . maybe go as a couple. So, I dropped by the apartment he was staying in with the guys and I found him screwing the brains out of some girl. Something that became a regular pattern in our relationship. I’d make myself vulnerable and he’d fuck someone else. He’d make himself vulnerable and I’d punish him for the many times he’d fucked someone else. We were toxic to each other.

  “Anyway, I went to that party heartbroken. Naturally, I got wasted.” The memory was still a pressing weight of regret on my chest. “I ended up losing my virginity to Mike Roth. The guy from that teen drama set in Boston where everyone is ridiculously beautiful and rich. Anyway, he got off, didn’t get me off, got off me, and left me in a stranger’s bedroom like I was a common prostitute.”

  I’d felt worthless. And so goddamned alone.

  Killian’s arm tightened around me and I felt his lips brush my forehead.

  “I know I shouldn’t because it wasn’t his fault, but I blamed Micah for that too.”

  “I’m sorry, Skylar. I wish it hadn’t been that way for you.”

  “Long time ago now.” It was also time to shake it off.

  “Did you and Micah ever . . . ?” Killian prompted, sounding like he needed to know as much as he didn’t want to know.

  “About a year later. Despite my not-so-nice experience with Roth, I gave Spence a shot. It was marginally better. But Micah found out and lost his shit. We argued. It turned into sex. But afterward I was still hurt about the groupies and I said that sex didn’t change anything. I was horrible. I hurt him. Really badly,” I whispered the last in regret. “It took me less than a day to decide I’d made a terrible mistake, that I needed to stop punishing him, and get over it. A fresh start together. But when I went to tell him, he was screwing a groupie. She actually asked for my autograph while he was inside her.”

  “He sounds like a walking STD.”

  I snorted. “He did like to spread the love around. He blamed that on me. Apparently, it was his way of coping with not getting to be with the one he loved.”

  “So you slept with him just the once, then?”

  I was silent a moment as worry began to percolate. Was Killian concerned about my feelings for Micah? That I might still have some? Was that what all the questions were about?

  This was the moment I could choose to lie so as not to plant some stupid seed of doubt in his mind. But I’d lied to my mom. I’d lied to everybody. And lying screwed everything up. “He was the last person I slept with before you. Before I left the States, I called Gayle and the band together and I told them I was quitting. They were devastated but supportive. Later that night, Micah came to me. He said he was terrified that my leaving the band meant he wouldn’t see me again. We ended up . . . well . . . you know. The worst thing was it was almost as bad as my time with Roth. I felt so detached from
it because I knew I was only doing it because I felt like I owed him a debt. I left the States the next day.”

  “Jesus, Skylar,” Killian muttered.

  I tensed, sensing judgment. “I know it was horrible to do that to him.”

  “That’s not . . . I’m upset for you.” He lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Micah should have known you were in no position to be thinking clearly about anything, let alone a relationship with him.”

  “Maybe. But I’m not the type of person to blame someone else for not protecting me from myself. My actions are my own.”

  “I still blame him,” he grumbled.

  I laughed and relaxed back into his body. After a little while of sweet, silent contemplation between us, I cracked a grin and asked, “So how and when did you lose your virginity?”

  “A long time ago.”

  I smacked him playfully. “No fair. Details.”

  He chuckled. “Fine. I was fourteen.”

  “Holy shit. Why is it guys are always so young?”

  “Not all guys,” he disagreed. “I had a friend at uni who lost his when he was twenty-one. We celebrated for so long after it happened, five of us ended up with alcohol poisoning.”

  I snorted. “Okay. So not all guys. But fourteen? Wow.”

  Killian shrugged. “I don’t think it’s the same for a guy as it is for a girl. For me, it was about being horny as hell and finding an outlet.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “What you’re saying is that it was a form of masturbation?”

  “I am not,” he scoffed. “I mean it was about mutual release. It felt good. Sex was an escape from . . . reality.”

  “Who was the girl?” I was trying desperately not to sound jealous. Even though the scary truth was that I was jealous of any woman who had touched Killian that way. Especially one who had offered him an opportunity to disappear from his grief for a while.

  “Maryanne Wright. She was gorgeous and sixteen.” He scrubbed a hand over his face with a regretful sigh. “Everyone called her the town bike.”

  “The town bike?”

  “Because every guy at school had ridden her.”

  “Okay, now I feel less bad about my virginity story.”

  “Hey, I learned some valuable lessons from Maryanne Wright.”

  “I’ll send her a thank-you note. And should I send more to all the women who have come after her? Were they all part of your unattached, undramatic, serial monogamy philosophy?”

  “Aye. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m quite career-oriented.”

  “No, I really hadn’t.”

  He ignored my sarcasm. “I didn’t have time for girlfriends when I was a teenager. I was too busy looking after Autumn.”

  The truth in that gave me pause. When I was a teen, I was single-mindedly forging a path to success for my band. Getting a record contract was the extent of my worries.

  Killian’s was school and raising a child.

  I turned into him, resting my chin on his shoulder as I traced his jaw with a whisper of my fingertips. “You’re a good brother.”

  He frowned, concern dimming his eyes. “Autumn is drifting. She seems lost. I feel like I’m failing her.”

  “No,” I hurried to assure him. “Killian, she would be the first person to tell you that that is not true.”

  He bent his head toward me and I kissed him, letting my feelings for him sink into the kiss, hoping it was a balm for his worry. I knew if it was, it was only temporary. Like a parent, Killian saw it as his full-time job to worry over his sister.

  “What were your parents like?” I asked as we pulled back from the kiss.

  He stared at me, seeming surprised by the question. “The only other person who’s ever asked me that is Autumn.”

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” I didn’t want to push him.

  “It’s fine,” he reassured, and I sank back down to rest my head on his shoulder. “They deserve to be talked about. To be remembered. They were good parents. Pete adopted me when I was so young that I never thought of him as anything but my dad. He was a good man. You know he was a police officer?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “He was my real dad’s complete opposite. He was CID.”

  “What’s CID?”

  “Criminal Investigation Department. Plainclothes detective. He went after the bad guys.” He laughed softly, humorlessly. “He . . . he was my hero.”

  Tears burned in my eyes at the heartbreaking way he confessed that. “I’m glad you had that.”

  “You never knew your father?”

  “No. But my mom said he was a hero too. There was an ambush. First a roadside IED that blew off his friend Mullen’s leg. Everyone took cover. My dad wouldn’t leave Mullen so they offered firing cover while he went back for him. But he was killed trying to drag Mullen to safety. Mullen survived. Mom said he came to visit when I was four, but I don’t remember it.”

  “Your dad was a hero.”

  “Yeah, he was. I don’t miss him because I didn’t know him, but I’ve always longed for the idea of him. I missed the ghost of him. It’s sad,” I whispered, “that we both had heroes in our lives, only for them to be taken away from us when we needed them most.”

  His answer was a sweet kiss to my temple.

  I nuzzled into him. “What was your mom like?”

  “Brilliant.” He answered immediately. “While all the other mums were giving their kids a row for coming home for dinner caked in mud, Mum was right there with us. She’d take me and a bunch of pals camping, canoeing, and hiking and all the while she’d crack rude jokes they couldn’t repeat to their parents. Looking back, they weren’t that rude, but they seemed so at the time.”

  “You had the cool mom.”

  “I had the cool mum.” He agreed and then his voice lowered with pain. “Sometimes I wished they’d been just a little bit awful . . .”

  So it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

  I only allowed our moment of sad affinity for a few seconds and then I distracted him, asking him when he first knew he wanted to work in the music industry.

  He talked. I listened. I talked. He listened.

  And that’s how it was.

  Easy.

  Our voices drifted together into the wee hours of the morning as we talked about everything and nothing at all.

  * * *

  THE SOUND CRACKLED IN MY ear through the headphones and I heard Oliver say, “It sounds good, but you dropped that last note.”

  I stared at Oliver sitting at the recording deck behind the glass of the sound booth and then flicked a look at Killian. He stood next to my producer with his arms over his chest, his expression typically unreadable. I sighed. “We’ve been at this for three hours without a break. I’m tired.”

  “We’ve got to lay down the vocals so we have plenty of time to figure out production,” Oliver reminded me.

  I waited for Killian to jump in, insist on me taking a break, but he just stood there.

  We’d been secretly dating for the last three weeks.

  It had been bliss unlike anything I’d ever imagined.

  It had also been frustrating because every time we walked into the label’s offices, the man who smiled and teased and played in bed with me turned into the man who had first approached me on Buchanan Street.

  Cold. Aloof. Impersonal.

  Irritated, I yanked off the headphones. “I’m taking a break. Unless you want me to lose my voice.” I slammed the headphones down and strode out of the booth.

  Oliver swung around in his chair as I came out. “We’re not trying to exhaust your voice. We have a lot to do in a short amount of time. And honestly, I didn’t realize we’d been in here that long without a break.”

  Killian pulled out his phone and pressed a speed-dial button, all without looking at me. “Eve,” he said, “we need some lunch in Studio Two for Oliver and Skylar . . .” He pulled his phone from his ear and glanced between me and my producer. “Sandwiche
s and soup?”

  “Sounds good,” Oliver replied. “Ask Eve to get me a Sprite too.”

  I nodded, trying not to glare at my—I actually didn’t know what to call Killian. Was he my boyfriend? Right now, in this moment, I had a warmer relationship with my postman.

  “That’s fine. Thanks, Eve.” He hung up. “I’ve got to catch up on some calls.” He looked at Oliver. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

  I watched him leave after throwing me a vague nod of acknowledgment and I felt a now-familiar ache in my chest. We were recording the album, but so were a few of the label’s other artists. As such, we all had to work around a schedule. Which meant I’d been in and out of the studio for the last two weeks. Although Killian made sure to be there for the recording, he was so cool with me, it hurt.

  But then at night, back at my apartment, he was the opposite. He was loving and passionate and so attentive, it made me momentarily forget the human icicle he became at work.

  That utter focus in the studio to get this album complete, and the lack of care for how tired I was or how emotional this whole thing made me, was starting to piss me off. And another thing! We always stayed at my apartment. I’d never set foot in his. Why wasn’t I allowed into that part of his life?

  There was keeping our relationship a secret.

  And there was making me feel like his dirty little secret.

  The two were mutually exclusive.

  “Hey,” Oliver said as I slumped into the seat next to his. “If this is too much, I can tell Killian we need to reschedule.”

  I twisted my mouth. “And upset his schedule? No, thanks. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  He shrugged. “I’d take the flack. Pushing artists can backfire. You’re right, we can’t push your voice to the point you lose it.”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay.” I took care of my throat by keeping it hydrated. I drank lots of room-temperature water all day. Plus, I was avoiding caffeine again. When I was on tour, I had a no-spicy, no-acidic foods diet and I would rest my voice as much as possible between performances. The guys bought me a whiteboard I could hang around my neck so I could still communicate with them. They got a kick out of it. “I’ll probably steam tonight.”