Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
“I guess.”
“Are you happy?”
“No.”
His answer surprises me and I tilt my head at him like a curious cat. “But why? You’re living a dream.”
“Someone else’s dream. Not mine.”
“Then what’s your dream?”
He straightens the salt and pepper dispensers. Then he lines the bottles of ketchup and steak sauce perfectly next to the salt and pepper before he answers. “Being free. Flying like a bird. Not literally... but being weightless. Soaring above all the noise and the crazy. Gliding away from the storm.”
“Can’t you do that? I’m assuming you have the money now to go on relaxing vacations... or to pay people to handle stressful stuff for you?”
“I wish it was that easy.”
“Are you enjoying it at all? Writing songs, bringing them to life for millions of people to love? You had the entire audience under your spell tonight.”
“That part, yeah. It’s all about the music and the words for me, you know that. It’s the other crap, the never-ending circus of bullshit I can’t stand.”
“I guess that sort of comes with the territory?”
“Yup.”
Our food arrives and we eat in silence for a few minutes before he puts his burger down and looks up at me.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Piper,” he says. “Back then....”
Swallowing my food, I nod. I know his words are true. I may not understand him, but I believe him.
His steely cobalt eyes practically hypnotize me. “I meant what I wrote in the note. You’re in my veins. You’re what makes me tick. You’ve heard the songs. You know I’m not getting over you.”
I sway under his gaze and the weight of his words. Words I’ve waited for and wished for, for what feels like forever. Words that feed my starving heart.
“Do you want to?” I ask.
“No, babe. I really fucking don’t.”
The sound of my heartbeat whooshes in my ears. My voice comes out just an octave above a whisper. “Good. I don’t want you to.”
A silent agreement passes between us. It’s not spoken, but I heard it. I felt it. We didn’t read the fine print, we didn’t take time to think it over, we just signed on the dotted line with our hearts and our desires and the deal was done.
Chapter Twenty-Two
One minute I’m eating a hamburger and fries and the next I’m walking down a long corridor toward Blue’s hotel room with my hand tightly clasped in his. The zig-zag pattern of the carpet makes me dizzier and dizzier with each step.
Or maybe it’s from walking up four flights of stairs because Blue doesn’t do elevators.
But most likely it’s because I’m having an anxiety attack. Because I haven’t told him about Lyric yet. Not before he asked me to come up to his room to talk, and not as we hoofed up the stairs.
And certainly not now, standing in front of the door as he swipes the card reader. It doesn’t exactly feel like the right time. He’s happy. I’m happy. Feelings of awkwardness, heartache, and guilt have been shoved into the closets of our minds, waiting to jump out again during a fight someday in the future like emotional boogie-men.
Once we’re on the other side of the door, he releases my hand and cups my cheek with his warm palm. His smoky eyes linger on mine, then lower to my lips. His thumb moves across my cheek to the target of his gaze.
My breath catches when he pushes his thumb past my lips, forcing my jaw open. His mouth comes down on mine, kissing me deeply, filling my mouth with his tongue with his thumb still pressing my bottom teeth. Weakening, I lean back against the door and his hard body leans perfectly into mine. Familiar calloused fingers dig into the flesh of my waist under the material of my shirt.
I missed this so much. All of this that’s him. The rough demands of his touch, his passion, his torment and his words. His scent—oh how much I missed his woodsy, smoky, mint-tinged scent. I love how his touch instantly jump-starts my body back to life. My heart is racing. I’m practically panting with want for him. I want him to throw me on the bed and brand every inch of me. I want to touch him, explore all his new tattoos and his thicker body.
As he slowly drags his thumb from my bottom lip to my chin, his eyes burn with lust watching the wet path of his finger.
“Been waiting all fucking night for that,” he says hoarsely.
My legs are wobbly with desire when he tugs me farther into the large, posh room, and I’m still intoxicated from his kiss when I teasingly ask, “Was it worth the wait?”
I didn’t know my comment was the equivalent of giving a hungry wild animal even the tiniest taste of meat.
With mind-spinning speed, he captures me in his arms and throws me down on the king-sized bed. He lands hard on top of me, his size and weight nearly knocking the wind out of my lungs.