Every single one of Gabby’s decisions make so much more sense to me now—giving up performance opportunities to see Jonathan at nearby tour stops, choosing to perform with him when given the opportunity instead of finishing her degree—all of it. I still can’t quite say I’d do the same, but I get it now. In a way I never did before.
Brendan and I have only been apart for a few weeks since we officially became a couple. Gabby didn’t see Jonathan in person for like two months at one point the semester they were apart.
Which makes me wonder how awful this will become once school starts again. Right now it’s summer. I have obligations, but they’re fewer and a little more flexible. With classes and homework and preparing for competitions and auditions and my senior recital …
My racing heart is now as much panic induced as it is excitement over seeing Brendan, and it’s been less than a minute.
He pulls back, his eyes soft, the green dominating the hazel as he looks into my face and swipes his thumb over my parted lips. “Hey.”
I smile. Because how can I not? “Hey.”
“Everything alright in there?”
“Ha. Yes. I’m fine.” Leave it to Brendan to realize that I’m quietly freaking out while he’s kissing me. I put space between us, adjusting the straps on my shoulder, intending to step back so we can find the carousel that should be spitting out my suitcase soon. But Brendan’s not having it.
His arm cinches tighter behind my waist, pulling me close once more. He dips his head and touches his lips to mine, this kiss softer, sweeter, less hungry. When he pulls back this time, I’m basically a puddle draped against him.
His smile is self-satisfied. “That’s more like it.”
I shake my head at him, but can’t fight off the smile that curves my mouth. This time when I step back, he lets me, one hand reaching for the strap of my violin case. I slap my hand to my shoulder, stopping him, and we’re locked in a weird staring contest, both of our hands covering the vinyl webbing.
“I’ll be careful with it. I promise.” His face is as solemn as if he were making a sacred vow. Which, in a way, he is. To me, anyway.
After another beat, I relent, letting him carry my instrument for me. He slings it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing, even though it’s over seven pounds. He threads his fingers through mine on his free side, and I let him tug me along. I’m barely paying attention to where we’re going, though, because I keep sneaking glances at my violin case.
Yes. I have a problem.
No one carries my case but me. Like ever. I let Gabby carry it sometimes, but only because she’s a violinist too. And usually it was her just handing it to me or something, because she always had her own.
As we walk, I become aware of Brendan’s shoulders shaking. A glance at his face shows that he’s laughing, a wide smile splitting his face.
“What?” I ask, my tone defensive. If we were standing still, I’d be pulling my hand free so I could cross my arms.
He shakes his head. “You want it back? I was just trying to help. But if it’s that big of a deal, you can carry your violin.”
I shift my shoulder, sort of relieved to be free of its weight, but also feeling weird having someone else carry it. Even if that someone is Brendan. “It’s just …”
He stops and lets go of my hand, pulling the violin off his shoulder and gripping the handle so he can pass it back to me. “Seriously. It’s obviously bugging you.”
Without hesitating, I reach for the handle, feeling immeasurably better as soon as my fingers wrap around the leather. But Brendan doesn’t relinquish it right away, instead waiting till my eyes meet his again. “I know I’m just a drummer, so I don’t carry my instruments around with me the same way you do, but I do know how to take care of one. I wouldn’t drop it or slam it into anything.”
Swallowing, I nod. “I know. I believe you. She’s just my baby.”
He arches an eyebrow. “She?”
“Yup. She’s a she.” It’s silly, I know. And I don’t usually refer to my violin as a she to other people. But with Brendan, I don’t feel self-conscious about it. And his response is more curious and not mocking.
“How do you know?”
I lift one shoulder and let it drop. “I just do.”
He flashes that dazzling grin of his again and lets go of my case, watching me settle the strap over my shoulder. “I didn’t realize you’d bring it along.”
This time when I shrug, I glance away, ostensibly scanning for the carousel. “Sorry. I brought my practice mute, so it shouldn’t be crazy loud or annoying. You can wear headphones while I practice so you don’t have to listen. Or go do something. I won’t be offended.”
But the look on his face says he might be. “What? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to listen?”
I laugh at that. “Have you ever heard someone practice? It’s not that fun to listen to.”
“Uh, yeah. I was in Brash, remember? I know we ‘only’ played pop music”—he raises his hands and gives air quotes on only—“but our mom was going to be an opera singer. She rehearsed us just as hard as any orchestra conductor you’ve ever had.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat, and I feel like a judgy bitch.
“Yeah, oh. I know I don’t live in the same musical world you do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get it. I was only meaning that I thought you’d take a break.”
I shake my head. “No time for breaks. My trip to see you and Gabby and Jonathan was my break. I need to keep improving if I’m going to have a chance at doing any of the things I want to do with my music.”
“Makes sense,” he says softly, and the lingering nerves I’ve had since I made the decision to bring my violin evaporate. He gets it. He’s not upset. And I don’t have to justify myself or my decisions beyond simple explanations. He doesn’t fight me or feel like it means I don’t want to spend time with him. Instead, he’s irritated that I suggested he might not want to listen, like that’s a ridiculous idea. He cares enough that he wants to spend time with me however he can, even if I’m focused on my music.
Which makes me feel immeasurably better about us. Because even though he wasn’t in my plan, he supports it and doesn’t expect me to change it just because he’s entered the picture. He just wants to be included in the picture. I think I can do that.
With his hand on my back, Brendan ushers me closer to a carousel that’s already mostly picked over—only a few sad suitcases going around and around. “That one’s mine.” I point at the emerald green hard-sided suitcase that my parents got me as a high school graduation present.
Brendan steps forward and snags it easily, setting it on end and pulling up the handle. He freezes for a second with his fingers wrapped around the telescoping aluminum and looks at me. “This is okay, right? I’m allowed to drag your suitcase around for you?”
At my laugh and nod, he breaks into a grin, pulls my suitcase over and threads his fingers through mine again. “Let’s get to our hotel then.” His scorching gaze rakes over me. “I have plans for you.”
A delicious shiver travels up my spine, and I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face even if I wanted to. “Sounds like fun.”
He bumps my shoulder with his arm, his gaze still heated but tempered with affection. “I’m glad you’re here.”
His words warm me from the inside, and not just because we’re both horny. “Me too.”
Chapter Seventeen
Brendan
Everything feels better now. With Lauren’s hand in mine, the wheels of her suitcase rhythmically clicking over the seams in the concrete as we walk to my car, some indefinable tightness inside me relaxes.
When my orange 2018 Charger comes into view, Lauren lets out a little gasp that makes my dick twitch. I’m already half hard just from kissing her. And from thinking about what I plan to do to her once we get to our room.
She reaches over and gives my bicep a light smack with her free hand. “You drove?”
I shrug. “It�
��s not that far. Plus, I thought it’d be nice to have a car.” And since part of my plan here is to recapture the chemistry we had on our road trip, I thought having the car would help. Maybe not a lot, but it seemed worth the effort.
While I pop the trunk to stow her suitcase, she drags her fingers along the roof of the car, the movement slow and sensuous, the same captivated look on her face as when she’d admire my car on our road trip. I watch her, swallowing against the sudden dryness in my mouth. She hasn’t touched me like that. Or looked at me that way. And now I’m jealous of my fucking car. When her head lifts and she meets my eyes, they flare slightly, and then a mischievous smile stretches her kissable lips. “What’s that look?”
I duck my head, stuffing her suitcase in the trunk as cover. “Nothin’.” But my voice sounds gruff.
She gives me a throaty laugh in response. “Uh-huh. Suuure.”
Clearing my throat, I raise my head to look at her over the trunk. “You wanna put the rest of your stuff in here?”
She shakes her head. “I’d prefer to put my violin in the backseat, if you don’t mind. It doesn’t rattle around as much on the floor back there.”
With a shrug, I unlock the car, watching as she places her violin on the floor behind the passenger seat. When she straightens, that smile is back in place. “You gonna let me drive?”
Shaking my head, I step closer and wrap my arms around her, enjoying the freedom to do so again whenever I want. She’s here, and I know she was getting caught up in her head when she first got off the plane, but I’m not going to let that get to me. In fact, my mission this trip is to keep her out of her head as much as possible, show her that we make sense. That our magnetic connection is something worth pursuing. That the fact that we can so easily fit back together, even after strained months apart, is worth fighting for, even if the circumstances might not be ideal at this point in time. She won’t be in school forever. And I won’t be working for The Professor forever, either. Eventually I’ll strike out on my own. I still have a lot to learn, though, so that’s not going to happen in just a few months. But in a couple years, maybe …
And if she ends up in California for grad school or just because, then that would make things even easier in the meantime.
I drop a kiss on her mouth, and pitch my voice in the low, rumbly range that I know she likes best. “No. I’m driving right now. You have no idea where we’re going.”
Sighing, she rests her head on my chest. “I’m trying to pretend to be annoyed with you for not letting me drive, but really I just like it when you talk like that. Especially with my head on your chest.” I chuckle, and she just sighs again, her body molding to mine.
Dropping my hand to her ass, I give it a squeeze followed by a soft smack. “Get in the car. I’ll drape you over my chest and talk to you like that all afternoon.”
Her eyes are snapping with humor when she raises her head to look at me. “That’s all you have planned, huh?”
I give her a wicked grin. “No. I didn’t say what else I’d be doing to you while you’re draped on my chest.”
Goosebumps ripple over the exposed skin of her neck and chest, out of place in the Vegas heat. Satisfaction spreads through me knowing I caused that reaction. I smack her ass once more, just a little harder. “Let’s go.”
Lauren shoots me a look when I valet the car, but doesn’t say anything. I didn’t splurge all that much on this trip. Not yet, at least. I got us a modest room, and I let Lauren cover part of the cost of her ticket. She insisted on paying half. I may have fudged a little on exactly how much half really was, but I can afford the expense more than she can.
And rates in Vegas this time of year are cheap. It’s summer, so it’s hot as Hades, and no one wants to come here. A decent room at the Stratosphere is less than a couple hundred bucks a night.
I tug her after me through the smoke-laced lobby, past the main casino floor to get to the elevators that lead to our room. She makes a face at the smell, quickening her pace and trying not to breathe.
“Do you want to play the slot machines later or something?” I ask once we’re safely in the elevator.
She looks up at me, eyes wide. “I don’t know. Maybe? I’m not much of a gambler. I thought we’d just hang out, maybe see some shows? I’ve heard people say there are good shows here.”
Slipping my arm around her waist, I pull her against my body, where she belongs. “Ha. Yeah. You could say that. What kind of show do you want to see?”
Her shoulder shifts against my chest. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
“You haven’t? I figured you’d get online as soon as we got off the phone yesterday and start researching what you wanted to do.”
She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Why would you think that? I was busy rearranging my schedule and figuring out what to pack. Not to mention practicing.”
“You didn’t give any thought to what we might do once we’re here?”
She shakes her head. “No. I figured you had it covered. I didn’t really care about coming to Vegas. I just wanted to see you.”
Yesss. I wasn’t fishing for that, but it makes me happy to hear her say it. Especially without me having to drag such an admission out of her. This is new and different for us. For her.
While Lauren’s always been free with her opinions and her thoughts about herself and what she wants out of life, now, at last, she feels comfortable enough to share her thoughts about us. I didn’t realize that was something I wanted so badly until it started happening.
I squeeze her tighter against my side, willing the elevator to hurry up, because now more than ever I want to get her into the room and show her how happy I am to see her. An eternity later—or maybe five seconds—the elevator dings, and the doors slide open. The hallway is empty, so we waste no time hurrying to our room, Lauren a step behind me.
Once inside the room, I shove her suitcase in the direction of the closet, whirling on her as soon as the door closes behind her. Carefully I slide the strap of her violin case off her shoulder, setting it down against the wall, safely out of harm’s way. Straightening up, I see her shrug the strap of her bag over her head and drop it to the side as well. She’s staring up at me, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
I stare at her for a moment, my chest rising and falling with my deep breaths, anticipation thrumming through my veins and lighting me up inside now that we’re finally alone. I drink her in from head to toe—salmon V-neck T-shirt, cut-off shorts, well-worn flip flops on her feet, her toenails a berry color.
Stepping closer to her, I keep my eyes on her feet. “That’s new.”
She wiggles her toes. “Yeah. I went for a pedicure. It’s sandal season.”
“It’s cute.”
“Thanks.” The last word comes out as little more than a whisper, because she lifts her head right then and realizes that my mouth is now an inch from hers. Pressing up on the toes we were just admiring, she seals her mouth to mine.
I make some kind of noise of appreciation, a grunt or a moan. I don’t know, and I don’t care, because all I care about is getting more of Lauren. More of her mouth, more of her skin, more of her. In every way imaginable.
I hitch her leg up to my hip, and she twines her arms behind my neck, struggling to get closer. I pull her against me with my hands on her hips, grinding her right where I want her, torn between the desire to just tear off the clothes blocking me from being inside her and wanting to drag this out. Savor it. I don’t feel like I’ve ever gotten the opportunity to do that, to just enjoy her like I really want to. There’s always a time limit, a deadline hanging over our heads.
This trip is no different in that regard. In a few days she’ll fly back to Spokane, and I’ll drive back to California. We’re not here indefinitely. But we have five days together. Five whole days. Which is a pathetic amount in the grand scheme of things, but is the most time we’ve had together since our road trip. And so much of that was spen
t driving.
Here we only have to do whatever random things we want to do. Which means I have the time and the ability to taste and explore every inch of Lauren if I want to. And Christ, how I want to.
But she’s pressing against me, grinding her center on my dick, her heat scalding me even through our clothes. And she’s whimpering—honest-to-god whimpering—because she wants to feel me so bad.
“Please, Brendan, please please please. Don’t drag this out. Not this time. It’s been too long. I need you.”
Her breathless pleas are enough to convince me of my course of action. Just because I take her hard and fast now doesn’t mean I can’t spend all night satisfying my need to explore her afterward.
When I lift her other leg, she clings to me, and I pin her against the door, grinding hard against her, just for a minute. Then I adjust my grip on her ass, pull her away from the door, and carry her to the bed. I let her legs down one at a time without breaking our kiss, standing her in front of the bed, my hands finding the button on her shorts. I fumble for a second before gripping the denim and giving a yank hard enough that she sways toward me. The hand that goes to my chest to catch herself turns into a caress. Metal grinds as I find the zipper and tug it down.
Her hand slides down my chest, over my abs, making me moan into her mouth when she rubs her hand up and down my cock over my shorts. I press my hips into her grip, hoping for more, but she stops. Any protest I might’ve given is cut off when I feel her fingers trying to free the leather of my belt. Instead, I reach down the back of her open shorts, pushing the fabric out of the way and slipping under the waistband of her little panties. It’s not a thong this time, but that’s all I can tell by feel. And right now all I care about is getting them off.
Her fingers falter when I give her a squeeze, push all the fabric in my way down to her thighs, and give her ass a little smack. When I caress the skin I just hit, she makes a soft sound of encouragement, so I do it again to the other cheek.
But when she doesn’t resume her efforts to get my shorts off, I’m forced to break off our kiss and pull back. I glance down at my waist then meet her eyes. “What are you waiting for?”
Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7) Page 10
