Girl in Love (31 page)

His mouth descended onto hers and his knees went weak. His tongue dipped inside to taste her. She tasted like bourbon.
Son of a bitch.

He figured she’d been drinking. And of course it
had
to be bourbon.

His arms strained to distance her body from his, but she was firmly fucking attached and she was stronger than she looked.

“Kylie. Uh, babe,” he tried to say between kisses.

She ignored his pleas, sweeping her sweet little tongue into his mouth, across his teeth, and over his lips.

He couldn’t force himself to quit tasting her. There wasn’t enough willpower in the whole wide world. He let his tongue massage every inch of her lush, velvet, whiskey-soaked mouth. He sank down onto the mattress, and she straddled him.

Before he could stop her, she stood and pulled her dress over her head. Her skin was the perfect shade of golden in the glow of the lamp that was on in the room. He sat up so he could get the full view of her beautiful body.

And motherfucking son of every cussword he could think of. She was standing there in a white lace bra and a matching scrap of fabric that wasn’t substantial enough to be called underwear. And boots. She still had those damn boots on.

In all of his fantasies about her—and he’d had plenty—none of them were this fucking hot.

He knew it would take one finger, one sharp tug at the flimsy string, and her panties would be history. His throbbing dick begged him to do it, to remove that tiny barrier and let her wet heat slide over him.

But then she opened her eyes, and he could see the lack of focus in them. She was drunk. Maybe not wasted, but not sober enough to think straight, to make the kind of life-altering decision she was about to.

Clumsily, she began unbuttoning his shirt. She leaned down and brushed her lips against his. Her right leg came up and he grabbed her inner thigh to stop her forward progress.

If he felt that part of her, that warm, pulsating part he knew would be ready for him, against his dick again, he’d be done for.

“Dammit, Kylie. Stop.” His deep tenor echoed off the bedroom walls.

A sharp stabbing pang hit his lower stomach the moment she obeyed.

She flinched back and her eyes went wide as if he’d slapped her.

They had a problem. A big one.

He wanted to drink, wanted to pour caramel-colored bourbon down her entire body and lick it off every part of her.

He had his answer. She wasn’t a trigger, wasn’t a temptation. She was
the
temptation. The old him, the one who got drunk and said to hell with consequence, had room service bring up the bourbon and spent all night fucking her. Long and hard and only stopping when he could no longer remain conscious.

But somewhere along the line, she’d changed him. And that look, the trusting weight of it, was what had sealed his fate.

“You’ve been drinking, baby. I can taste it on you. We can’t do this. Not like this.”

Her lower lip trembled, and the cold fear in her expression nearly froze him in place. Her gaze retreated away from him so quickly he could practically hear her reconstructing the walls she’d let down temporarily.

“You’re serious,” she said tentatively, as if to make sure.

He considered smiling and pulling her back onto him. He could play it off like a joke. Act like he’d been testing her to make sure she wanted to go through with it.

“I am.”

“Oh, God.” She began to wilt right before his very eyes. Her chest caved, like someone had deflated her.

I was broken, dead inside. You made me feel alive.

And now he was doing the exact opposite.

He watched helplessly as she began scrambling to scoop her dress up off the floor.

“Whoa. Hey. Slow down.” He stood and wrapped his arms around her. Her entire body shook violently. Her slender arms came up against his expansive chest and attempted a weak shove.

“Let me go,” she begged.

“Wait. Just wait a damn second.”

Trace made quick work of pulling off his shirt and wrapping it around her. Her eyes met his as he buttoned the few middle buttons for her. The wounded expression in them nearly broke him. But he knew one of them had to be strong. Tonight it would have to be him.

“Kylie Lou, I want you more than you can even imagine. But we need to talk and we need to slow the hell down. Because the absolute last thing I want is for you to wake up tomorrow and wish this hadn’t happened.”

She let out a small huff of air. “Well I can pretty much guarantee I’m going to wake up tomorrow wishing
this
hadn’t happened.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I walked away, sorry that I hurt you, and sorry that this is going to be something you regret. But I’d take you regretting throwing yourself at me over you regretting me being inside you any day.”

She shivered. He tightened his grip around her. He could feel her heart racing like a frightened animal’s.

“Tell me you don’t regret it. I need to hear it.”

She was quiet for a few long seconds.

He gave her a small squeeze. “I need to know, Kylie Lou. Before anything else happens between us. I need to know if you regret anything. Being with me, giving me your virginity, touring with me, any of it.”

He thought his head might fucking explode while he waited for her response. Finally her chest pressed against him. He felt the sob before he heard it.

“Oh, baby, no. Please don’t cry.”

“No,” she said with a surprisingly even voice. “No, I don’t regret any of it.” Her body went slack against his under the weight of her confession.

“You had a big day. Ambulances and canceled shows and all that. Let’s get you to bed.”

Trace scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the head of the bed. After tucking her in, he sat in a nearby chair.

“You’re not coming?” she asked quietly, her voice thick with exhaustion. Or intoxication—he wasn’t sure.

Apparently not.
“I’m good right here. You need to get your rest. Doctor’s orders.” He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his head on his fist. “If I get in that bed, you won’t get a bit of sleep and we’ll just have to cancel tomorrow’s show too.” He winked at her and leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead before resuming his position.

Her eyes blinked slowly when she turned on her side to face him. “I was looking for you because...because I wanted tell you something. I needed to tell you something.”

He was tempted to make a joke. To pretend what had just happened wasn’t as monumental as it actually was. But the sexy-as-hell sleepy-eyed look she was giving him and the raw vulnerability she was exuding were compounding the hell his dick was giving him for not giving her what she’d wanted. What they both wanted. And all the blood was still residing south of his brain so he couldn’t even think of a good joke anyway.

“What is it, pretty girl?”

“I tried so hard to stop but…but I couldn’t.” She wrapped her arms around the pillow beneath her and yawned.

He brushed the strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes out of her face.

“Couldn’t stop what, Kylie Lou?”

“Loving you,” she breathed, effectively sucking all the air from his lungs with the strength of an industrial vacuum. A tiny smile lifted one corner of her mouth as her eyes fell closed. “I still love you, Trace. And it’s exhausting pretending that I don’t. I thought you should know.”

Before he had time to say it back—to tell her that he’d never be worthy of her love, but that he’d gladly take it and try to be—she was asleep.

T
RACE WOKE
up with one hell of a crick in his neck. He winced when he tried to turn his head only to find the sun glaring in his face.

He couldn’t remember why he’d slept in a chair instead of his bed. He blinked several times and the room came into focus.

It was a hotel room. An empty hotel room.

The previous night’s events came rushing back to him all at once. His eyes landed on the empty bed.

Where the hell is she?

He let himself hope that maybe she was in the bathroom and now that she was sober and rested, they could talk. He could tell her that he loved her, was in love with her. He was ready to do all that mushy shit he’d swore he never would. Tell her every detail of the moment he fell in love with her and why. Discuss the next step in their relationship. And then he could give her what she’d come to him for last night. If she still wanted it. God, he hoped she still wanted it.

He was still smiling at the memory of her in his arms, of their hot-as-hell encounter in the hotel elevator.

Until he saw the note she’d left on his pillow. It was written on the hotel stationery.

Thanks for not taking advantage last night. Sorry for throwing myself at you. Won’t happen again.

-K

“Dammit,” he shouted into the empty room. His open palm smacked the wall above the headboard, sending a jolt of pain screaming up his arm in response.

He lowered himself onto the bed. Which was a huge fucking mistake. Because it smelled like Kylie Ryans and bourbon.

He didn’t even care anymore. He would drink when he fucking wanted to drink. Because it didn’t even matter.

He’d taken the high road, tried to do what was best for her, and he’d still screwed up somehow.

And the cruel joke that was his life, he’d gotten his girl back for what felt like mere seconds. Only to lose her. Again.

Because he wasn’t just a fuck-up. He was a
champion first-class
fuck-up. A regular fuck-up would have lost her. But no, not him. He hadn’t just lost her.

He’d lost her twice.

“M
Y HEAD
is killing me. Please, please, if you care about me at all, stop shouting.”

Kylie pressed her fingers as hard as she could against her throbbing temples. After rubbing them for a solid minute, she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes to relieve the pressure.

“I think you’re overreacting,” Lulu practically whispered, which Kylie appreciated. “He did the right thing. When I said tell him how you feel, I meant when you weren’t drunk. I also meant tell him with, you know, words. As opposed to with your vagina.”

“Nice,” Kylie muttered. Bile rose in her throat at the memory. She was grateful she was in the bathroom of her hotel room incase her stomach decided it wasn’t going to hang on to the bagel she’d choked down. “Now you tell me.”

Last night seemed like a blurry fever dream-turned-nightmare in her head. But no, the way she’d woken up, half-naked and sprawled out in his bed, confirmed what she’d pretty much known. It was real. And real humiliating.

She’d taken half a dozen shots of bourbon, despite Lulu’s and Mike’s protests, and thrown herself at Trace. Only to have him turn her on and then turn her slap down. Her head pounded so hard it felt like it was vibrating. It was as if her heart had relocated itself to her skull and was super angry that she’d exposed it last night.

“Where the hell is Hannah? I need something for this headache. Soundcheck is in an hour.”

Her friend sighed and sat her makeup brush down on the bathroom sink.

“Look, I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry things went the way they did. But I don’t think he did what he did because he doesn’t want you or care about you. I think it’s because he
does
.”

“Thank you, Dr. Love.” Kylie lifted her head and squinted at the torturous florescent lights in the bathroom as Lulu applied her makeup. “But it was a mistake—one I won’t be making again. Trace Corbin made his choice a long time ago, and there are obviously some side effects of dehydration that no one bothered to tell me about. Like clinical insanity.”

Lulu rubbed something under her eyes and then grunted her disapproval as she surveyed her work. “The dark circles under your eyes are lighter, but as far as making them go away, you might have to take a nap after soundcheck.”

“Sounds like a fantastic idea. Actually, I think I might need to go lie down right now.”

“Go,” Lulu said, dismissing her with an eye roll. “I’ve done all I can do for now.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Kylie was drifting in and out of consciousness on her bed when Hannah arrived with her pain pills and a bottle of water.

“How about I tell them you’re going to sit soundcheck out due to side effects of yesterday’s episode?” her assistant asked.

Lulu snorted from across the room.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

She would take a nap and pray that she woke up in a different life. Or maybe a different universe.

Preferably one where she hadn’t made a complete ass out of herself.

K
YLIE WOKE
up feeling much better than she had the first time.

“You know, now that I’m not hungover and I’ve had time to think about it, Trace did what was best for both of us.”

“Agreed,” Lulu mumbled as she gave Kylie’s hair one last spray with something that smelled like rubbing alcohol and fruit. “As I was saying, it’s probably better to talk about—”

“Because really, how much of a nightmare would it have been to wake up knowing we’d done it?” She shuddered.