One Kiss from the King of Rock (The One Book 2)

by Ainslie Paton

  “You okay?” he said, not wanting to relax his hold in case she was unsteady on her feet but closing his fist to avoid irritating her.

  She fumbled for his hand and turned the ring off. “That was a workout. I think I put on muscle.”

  He laughed into her hot skin and relaxed his hold on her. “I made a mess of you.”

  “From the moment I first saw you.”

  He blinked at her in shock. That was almost loving.

  “Auditions. You were terrible but so self-aware it was painfully endearing.”

  Painfully endearing. “Jesus, Evie, you know how to cut a naked man down to size.”

  She turned in his arms, stood on her toes and brought her face close. His whole body clenched as she traced his lips with a fingertip, her breath ghosting over his throat. “Painfully endearing got you kissed back then.” He flexed his hands on her hips to stop from gripping her too tightly. If she kissed him now he had to be cool, not try to swallow her tongue and believe in his own invincibility.

  “You’re still painfully endearing, which is why I’m standing here covered in your cum.” She tapped his top lip and kissed his cheek, giving his arse a squeeze before slipping out of his arms and heading for the bathroom.

  He sat on the bed, the disappointment a near physical ache. What was the point of being invincible if you had to go on waging wars and celebrating triumphs without the one person who best knew the rhythm of your heart?

  It was somehow fitting that he had trouble getting the vibe ring off and had to lube his finger up again.

  A half hour later, both of them showered and dressed, moving quietly, a little awkwardly around each other in the suddenly too small room that only offered the bed to sit on. He suggested calling Hassan for a ride back to the city. He didn’t want to give up time with Evie, but they were going to go stir crazy if they stayed here. Plus he was starving again.

  “No need. Unless you don’t want to ride behind me,” Evie said.

  “Didn’t I just do that?”

  She rolled her eyes. She was right, that wasn’t painfully endearing, it was excruciatingly try-hard. The kind of thing he’d get away with if this was truly a one-night stand and he was ready to be alone again.

  “On my bike,” she said.

  That monster outside, all shiny black metal and chrome, was Evie’s. Should’ve guessed. She’d stashed two open-faced helmets at the reception. They argued about paying for the room. He won. They agreed on hitting a McDonald’s drive-thru. He wanted to ask her to stay with him for the afternoon, another night, the rest of the weekend, but the inevitability of her saying no felt too damning.

  He climbed on behind her, the bike roomy, but still his thighs aligned along hers, and her hips were right there for his hands to settle over. When she kicked the bike over, the rumble of the engine was a satisfyingly musical hit to his bones. It was possible those vibrations would shake the untapped desire for Evie out of his head.

  But not likely.

  She squeezed his knee. “Ready?”

  To crush the tour, to write a new album, to reach more fans, to help his old brothers out. More than ready. To let Evie go. Not back then. Not now.

  “Jay?” She squeezed again, said his name louder.

  He leaned into her, bumping her helmet with his. In the side mirror, he could see Evie’s torso, nipples raised under her T-shirt. Maybe it was the bike, maybe she wasn’t ready to let him go either.

  “Okay, wild thing,” he said, “take me home.”

  THIRTEEN

  Jay’s McDonald’s order was ridiculous. Evie had never seen anyone eat five bacon and egg—hold the cheese—McMuffins in one sitting, and she’d spent a lot of time on tour buses and seen a lot of whacked-out culinary choices.

  “What did you have planned for the day aside from devouring carbs?” she asked.

  The word devouring slipped out of her mouth and made her clench her legs together under the picnic table they’d found to stop at.

  Jay had devoured her, in some kind of paranormal way. Sunk fangs in her neck and claws in her belly. He’d made her muscles melt away from her bones and her bones rattle around in her body with friction so sweet and addictive she felt turned inside out. He could probably read her thoughts by looking at her. Best keep the sunglasses on. If he licked her, he’d taste her emotions. If she let him get too close under the perfume of diesel and road dust he’d smell disheartened devotion.

  If he kissed her lips. . .

  The shithead had been horribly good about not doing that. And she’d provoked him. Not at first. At first, she’d meant it. Didn’t want the responsibility of his kisses. Without them, she could pretend they were just getting each other off. The sex could be hot without sticking to her and sinking into her pores. It would wash off without altering her chemical make-up.

  A good idea in theory.

  Stupidly, stupidly difficult in practice.

  She’d almost kissed his mouth a dozen times. Knowing he wanted it only made it harder not to. She’d struck a dumb bargain that only starved them both of stimulus. It was just kissing, but she’d built it up as if kissing Jay’s lips was the meaning of life.

  You’re the shithead.

  If it wasn’t for the bargain, she wouldn’t be long finished her muffin and coffee and they’d still be at the motel, kissing, talking, pretending neither of them wanted to be inside the other as close as they could get, that this was something they could do again without hurting each other. If Jay wasn’t easily recognizable, and she didn’t care about his professional reputation, she’d be up for their brand of sex in the open air of this little park.

  She didn’t want to fall for him again, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about him.

  She watched him eat the last of his McMuffin. He hadn’t answered her question about his intentions for the day, just gave her the finger. Same finger he’d jammed inside her vibe ring and used so devastatingly on her body. Thinking about it made her squirm on the hard bench seat.

  Having him sit behind her on the bike did gut-swirling things to her too. Her bum was basically in his lap. At one point, stopped at traffic lights, he’d slipped his hands over her thighs to grasp inside her legs and hold her body to his. She’d felt his hardness. If she didn’t fear dropping the bike on the way to the hotel, she’d have dared him to touch her nipples.

  That’s why the impossibly dumb, inconceivably difficult no-kissing rule had to stay because there was nothing stopping her falling into a relationship with him again and doing that had changed the course of her life. She wasn’t ready to change it again.

  “Do you have to work tonight?” he asked, scrunching up their rubbish.

  “Are you trying to maneuver me into a corner so when you ask me to stay with you I sound like a monster when I say no?”

  He grinned, all adorably floppy-haired from the helmet. “I would never be that Machiavellian.”

  That was a line, but it was also true. Jay wasn’t a manipulator. Mind-fucking was a Tice family-core competency. An age-old talent that every generation had improved on. That’s why her bros were always arguing, each of them trying to get one up on the other. Grip had always been violently neutral territory as a survival strategy and Jay had always been disgustingly honest. She kicked his foot under the table. He’d been disgustingly honest when he’d said they needed to break up.

  “Yes, I have to work tonight. I have a band playing most weekend nights.”

  He pointed at himself. “This is the face of a grown man who wants to pout like a five-year-old but knows that isn’t cute.”

  It might be cute.

  “Can I come with?”

  She raised a hand to stop him talking but he took hold of it and wrapped it in his own. “Is it impossible? I don’t want to make your life harder, but I don’t want to give up time with you either. Venue inspection Monday, technical rehearsal Tuesday and Wednesday, first show Thursday night and a show nearly every night for the next ten weeks. Between your sch
edule and mine, and with the travel, there won’t be a lot of time to be together and I’m not okay about that.”

  “That’s not my problem.” She wanted to bite her own tongue off. It was the wrong thing to say, unnecessarily defensive. Why did she have to be so prickly?

  He frowned but didn’t let her hand go. “Okay.” He brought their hands to his lips and kissed her palm. “I misread things. I’ll cool it.”

  “What would we do with the rest of the weekend?” They couldn’t have lip-kissless non-penetrative sex the whole time, but when they weren’t doing that they were impatient, easy to rile and snippy with each other.

  “Not kiss you like I want to.”

  Just like that. “That’s not a cool answer.”

  He twined their fingers together. “Not come inside you.”

  “Not helping your cause.”

  “I didn’t start it with the rules and you don’t need an answer because you’re making it clear it’s not going to happen.”

  “You’re pouting.” It was a little cute.

  He tapped the back of her hand against his forehead. “You can’t tell me what we did wasn’t great and you don’t want more?” The frustration in his voice was an off note that jangled in her head.

  She broke his hold and smoothed his hair back. “It was really great and I do want more of it.”

  “So what’s the deal here?”

  “I have to work tonight, and you can’t come with me. You’d cause a riot.”

  He knew it. Resignation in his lowered chin. The price of fame. He didn’t know she was stretching the truth. A protective white lie. She didn’t have to work tonight. The gig was covered and while she’d normally show up anyway, it wasn’t like things would fall over if she didn’t. She could be free of the commitment in a single message.

  “You do love your work.”

  He said that as though he was only now coming to terms with it. “Why would you think I’d lie about that?” She was offended and really, she no right to be. He was only slightly off the beat in picking the deceit.

  “Because there was a lie in here somewhere, Evie. An untruth, a misunderstanding. You loved to sing. You have a phenomenal voice. Why didn’t you try to make a go of it?”

  Oh, there was the beat, loud and clear. “Fuck you. Did we not establish I have a career in the industry and I love my work?”

  “You don’t sing. You don’t write. Unless you use a stage name.”

  Now she truly was offended. She took her sunglasses off, the better to glare at him. “Who are you to say I should?”

  “I’m the guy who loved you. Who knows how talented you are. Who left you because you needed to take your shot, focus on making it on your own.”

  “What the fuck kind of revisionist history is that?” What. The. Fuck.

  “Revisionist.” Jay swiped his hand over the table and sent their balled-up rubbish flying. “That’s my reality, Evie. I gave you up. I gave you up and it nearly broke me. I gave you up so you wouldn’t have to choose between me and your own ambition. And for fuck all. You didn’t even try.”

  “I don’t know where you’re getting this from. Some book of fairy tales. You broke up with me.”

  “I told you we needed some time apart. You took that to mean we were over and you and the boys cut me out like I had a terminal disease you might catch.”

  “You don’t think Evie we need time apart isn’t a breakup?” Just as well they had the park to themselves, she was yelling.

  “I didn’t think it was a permanent one. Just that you needed space to work your own stuff out.”

  God, men could be such idiots. She put her glasses back on. “Then why did you say it?” She yanked at her hair trying to drag understanding into her head. “Why did you push me away? Why did you leave?”

  “Because I thought I had to. I thought I had to for you.”

  “That makes no sense.” There was anguish in the pinched lines between Jay’s brows and the way his lips flatlined thinly. “Why would you think that?”

  He looked away, a muscle in his jaw going hard. “For one thing, you didn’t do anything to try to hold on to me.”

  That made less sense. Although it was true. She hadn’t tried to hold onto Jay, as if deep inside she’d always expected him to be fickle, to grow tired of her and want out. “I, Errol. I.” She hadn’t tried to fight for Jay, to talk him around because Dad had been right about him after all.

  “Why didn’t you fight for me, for us?” he said, anger making his words clipped.

  “You didn’t give me a chance.” Excuses. Worse than the shielding lie about needing to work that she’d told earlier. But he wasn’t going to put this on her. No way.

  “You didn’t call, message, write.” Jay was leaning into the table, all the muscles in his chest gone tight. “I waited to see you chart, to hear your voice, and nothing. I gave you up for nothing.”

  Evie squeezed her eyes closed. “You promised we’d be forever and I believed in you when no one else did.” He wouldn’t see her eyes were wet behind her sunnies. “I did fight for you. For all the time we were together. I fought Errol. He said you were too weak, didn’t have the guts to stick. He said you wouldn’t stand by me. I fought him for so long about you and then you proved him right because you wanted out. You did everything he said you’d do. You broke your promise, and you quit on all of us.”

  “Fuck.” Jay stood, both hands to his head. “Tired of you? I could never be around you enough.”

  That’s how she remembered it. The craving to be together. The satisfaction and comfort when they were close.

  “You never wanted to sing?” he said.

  “I love to sing but I never wanted to be in the spotlight.” Another thing she’d fought with Errol over. “How does that even matter to us?”

  He left the table abruptly and walked towards a stand of scraggly trees. His shoulders were up and his movements jerky, he kept his back to her, hands clenched in fists at his side.

  The sun was baking the wooden picnic table, making cicadas shrill, but Evie was chilled through. Why would Jay think he had to break up with her? She’d thought they were in love. She’d had no clue he was unhappy when he bounced the we need time apart thing on her. It had felt like such a betrayal, and now he was saying he wasn’t unhappy, that he’d done it for her and the decision had broken him.

  That he’d given her up for nothing.

  Her stomach was churning so badly she wanted to vomit. Not nothing. She’d fought with Errol over and over about not wanting her own band, not joining her brothers, not trying for a solo career. She wanted to be a session singer or write for other artists, but Errol had been horrified by that. A waste of her talent. He’d made it his mission to get her to change her mind because he was convinced that if she didn’t try, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

  Did he ask Jay to leave her? Was that part of his plan? Errol never thought Jay was good enough for the band or Evie. Did he think Jay was holding her back? That without him she’d fall in line and live the dream he’d wanted for her.

  After Jay abandoned her, the thought of being a performer was poison. Musicians weren’t people she could trust with her heart and she didn’t want to be one.

  Now she felt sick because Errol had mind-fucked both of them.

  He’d made Jay feel responsible for standing in the way of his ambition for Evie.

  And worse, much worse, her father had sewn so many seeds of doubt about Jay’s ability to commit to her, to the band, that when he pulled away, it was like a self-fulfilling prophecy and she’d crumbled in the face of it.

  She dug her nails into the weathered wood of the picnic table. A bushfire burned in her brain, misting her eyes with a heat haze.

  Her own father broke them up, broke Property of Paradise up, and made Jay walk away.

  She didn’t sing or write today because she’d grown to despise the idea of it from that one sequence of events.

  It might’ve all been diff
erent.

  She was crying, ugly, rageful tears when Jay sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. “Evie, Evie. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m sorry I got angry. Don’t cry, or I don’t know, cry as much as you need to. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

  Just made her cry harder. Clutch Jay and cry into his chest for the time wasted and the lies told and the intentions that were wrong, for the different choices she might’ve made, for the life they could’ve had together.

  When she could get her throat to work she pulled away, put some distance between them. “Errol told you that you were holding me back, right? He guilted you into leaving. That’s why you’re disappointed I’m not a singer.”

  “Jesus, Evie.” Jay wouldn’t look at her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He’s your dad. He only wanted what was best for you and I could’ve done everything differently. I could’ve talked to you for a start.”

  “Don’t defend him. He tried to guilt me into performing, even when he knew I didn’t want to and he used you as weapon against me.”

  The two most important men in her life had sold her out, not trusting her to make her own decisions. It just made her madder.

  Jay took her hand tentatively, as if he was ready for her to yank it away. “I couldn’t bear the idea that I was stopping you from having the career you wanted. That things were so bad between us you couldn’t talk to me about it and Errol had to step in. I didn’t believe him at first. I didn’t think you’d let me go. When you did, I figured Errol was right, that I had been standing in your way, holding you back and you resented me for it.”

  She threaded her fingers through his, needing the connection. “I thought you wanted out, that you’d been lying to me about being happy and I’d been a fool to trust you.”