Play Your Heart Out: A Rock Star Romance (Sinful Serenade Book 4) (11 page)

Uh...

He clears his throat. "Jess. You're imagining me again. I'm right here. If you want me, take me."

I want him very much, but I'm not sure I'm ready for bondage restraints. I clear my throat. "After we finish the tour."

He nods and leads me to the balcony. It's beautiful—a perfect view of the backyard and beyond that the sprawling hills. I can already imagine a nice life here—lounging by the pool with my morning coffee, poring over my Kindle under the stars, sprawling out on the couch for a
Gilmore Girls
marathon.

But I imagine things I can't have—him joining me on the couch with a smile, pulling me onto his lap during the commercial break and whispering sweet promises about love and forever in my ears.

Damn. It
is
quiet. I can hear my heartbeat. I can hear his breath. I turn so I can get a good look at him. It's hard to make out Pete's expression in the starlight. There are still hints of sadness in his eyes.

"Mind if I use your shower before we... go again?" I ask.

His lips curl into a smile. "You're still shy."

"Compared to you, maybe."

"Try saying it."

"Saying what exactly?"

"Mind if I use your shower before you throw me on the bed, rip off my towel, and fuck me until I'm screaming your name."

A flutter builds below my belly. There's no way I'm saying that. Even half that.

"Not gonna try?" he asks.

"Later."

He nods and leads me back inside, to the bathroom in the hallway.

It's even more tempting than the pool. The faucets are shiny and clean. And the bathtub, goodness, that bathtub. It's big and deep with jets and a digital thermometer.

I point to the tub. "Can I?"

"California's in a drought," he teases.

"You could join me."

He cocks a brow. "To save water?"

I nod. It's a very plausible story.

"Don't like baths." He sits on the side of the tub and turns the faucet. He tests the temperature of the running water then looks back to me. "You can join me when you're done."

"Okay."

"You want anything else?"

I want too many things. It's confusing. I shake my head in the hopes of regaining some hint of sense.

His touch is gentle as he helps me out of my clothes. We don't talk, but still, I feel free and light. Like nothing else in the world can hurt me.

When the tub is full, I dip a toe to test the temperature. It's tolerably hot.

I slip inside. It's not like the tub I have back home. I can practically swim in this thing. I rest my chin on the side and stare back at Pete.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me?" I ask.

"You gonna touch yourself?"

My cheeks flush. "You'd want to watch that?"

His brow furrows with confusion. "Of course. You wouldn't?"

"Watch myself? No."

He nods to the mirror opposite the tub. "You should try it."

"Maybe."

He kneels on the tile next to me. His eyes meet mine. They're wide with enthusiasm. "Wouldn't you want to watch me?"

"Uh..." Delicious images fill my head. I nod frantically.

"Jess, if you want something, you should ask for it." He pushes himself to his feet and takes a step backwards. "I'm gonna leave. Unless you want something."

I'm tongue tied.

He cocks a brow. "Last chance."

My lips refuse to part.

He takes another step backwards. His voice is a dare, his expression intense. "I'll be in my room. When you figure out what you want."

He steps into the hallway, leaving the door half-open. The bath is still perfectly luscious. The house is still gorgeous. The moon is still shining through the window.

But I don't feel light and free anymore.

I already miss his presence.

I know what I want. It's the one thing I can't have—his heart.

***

T
he bath is a marvel, really. The water stays warm for all thirty minutes of my soak. My muscles relax but I'm still lacking the feeling of lightness I have around him.

When I'm finished, I towel dry and find Pete's room across the hall.

He's lying in bed, in his boxers, sound asleep.

Mmm. It's probably wrong, gawking at a man who isn't conscious, but the starlight falls over his chiseled torso just so. With him on his side, I get an amazing view of his shoulders, arms, stomach, back. I can even see the tattoo on his hip—roses in a mix of grey, black, and red.

My fingers brush the curving lines of the tattoo. His skin is soft, his muscles hard, his hipbone harder. I pull my hand back to my waist. It's definitely wrong, touching a man who isn't conscious.

I find an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, an extra t-shirt and boxers in his dresser, and I climb into bed with him.

He stirs, murmuring something incomprehensible and pulling my body into his.

This isn't forever.

But, for now, it's really fucking nice.

***

I
wake up cold and stiff. I don't need to open my eyes to know I'm alone. I can feel it all around me.

After I brush my teeth, I make my way downstairs. Worry threatens to overwhelm me—
why hasn't Dad returned any of my calls? Will Madison tell me if something is wrong?
—but it evaporates the moment I see Pete.

He's standing in the kitchen, one hand pressed against the counter, the other holding his cell to his ear. His posture is tense, strained. He taps his nails against the tile with an uncharacteristic franticness.

"Yeah, I know," he says into the phone.

His jaw clenches as he listens to the reply.

I take a few more steps towards the kitchen.

He looks at me. His voice softens some. "Hey. You want coffee?"

"Sure."

"Yeah, that's her. Give me a second." He sets his phone on the counter and turns to me. "How do you take it?"

"I can fix it. You should finish your phone call."

He nods to the full carafe in the coffee maker then picks up his phone. "Yeah." His shoulders tense. "Of course. You're right." He barely manages to keep his voice even. "It's a great idea. Don't know why I didn't think about it. But... I don't want this in the way of her life. I like her."

He's talking about me, telling someone—must be Aiden, the awful manager—that he likes me. The way he says it, like it's an unarguable fact, makes my stomach flutter.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and fix it with plenty of milk and sugar. Pete steps aside to finish his phone call. When he's done, he drops his cell on the table. His hands curl into fists.

"Was that about me?" I ask.

He nods and turns towards me. "Aiden."

"He really gets under your skin, huh?"

Pete rolls his shoulders. Some of the frustration falls off his face as he takes a long sip of his coffee. "Yeah."

I move closer. There are still three feet between us. But I'm close enough I can make out every detail of his bare chest. "What does he want?" I drag my eyes up his torso until they connect with his.

"Wants us to land on a few gossip sites, so everyone knows I have a nice, blond girlfriend." His brow furrows. He shakes it off then takes another sip of coffee.

"Does the blond part matter?"

"To him, probably."

"Is it your type, blonde?" I ask.

"Can't say I've ever given it thought." His eyes pass over me. His voice shifts, teasing. "I like you blond. Looks natural. Even with the inch of roots."

His lips curl into the tiniest of smiles. Already, the room feels warmer and lighter.

"Are they really that noticeable?" I tease back.

"Need a view of the top of your head to answer that."

Oh. My cheeks flush.

His smile stretches over his cheeks. He takes another step towards me. "You fluster easy."

"You underestimate yourself." I take another step towards him.

He cocks a brow.

"The way you say things like that is really sexy. I can't imagine anyone else pulling it off. Hell, if any other guy said that to me, I'd run the other direction."

"Other guys are suggesting you suck them off? Do I need to kick somebody's ass?" He slides his hand around my waist and pulls my body into his. "Fuck, you're making Aiden's idea seem reasonable."

"Would that really make you jealous?" I set my cup of coffee on the counter then do the same with his. It means I can move a little closer to him.

He nods. "Of course."

"But we're not really... I mean. We're not exactly together."

He stares back at me. "You're only with me. I'm only with you." His brow furrows. "That a problem all of a sudden?"

"No. Of course not."

"Good." His frown fades. He looks down at me, running his fingers through my messy hair. "You game for the gossip mission?"

"Depends what I have to do."

He plays with my hair as he thinks. He looks cute thinking, his brow knotted with concentration, his gaze drifting off some place.

"Fuck. Tom's good at this shit." His voice drops. "Wish I could ask him."

"Maybe you can."

Pete pulls his hands to his sides and takes a step backwards. He shakes his head. "I know a few places. You doing anything today?"

"Nope. Quit my job yesterday."

"Yeah?" His lips curl into a smile.

"Yeah." Which means I'm totally reliant on him. That's still scary.

"I'll transfer some spending cash into your account," he says.

Damn, he's a mind reader. I object out of habit. "You don't have to do that."

"Yeah. I do. Let's skip the part where you try to talk me out of it, cause it's not happening. I know you're gonna be a lawyer, so you need to practice arguing, but I'd rather save my energy for later." His eyes meet mine, his expression intensifying. "Deal?"

"I..."

"Jess, you're not taking advantage. I need you." He takes a step closer. "Agree."

I nod. "Okay, we have a deal."

His gaze turns to the backyard. Already, it's awash in bright light. The pool shimmers with reflections of the big yellow sun.

He keeps his gaze on the backyard. "That thing, yesterday, your friends emailing you. That's nothing. We go through with this, your life is gonna change in ways you can't imagine now. You sure you're in?"

Maybe. I think so. "Yes." My voice is far from confident.

"Need to know you aren't gonna back out." His voice wavers. "Need you to be sure."

"Can I sleep on it?"

"Yeah. But I need an answer soon." He shakes his head, shaking off his frustration. Finally, his eyes meet mine. "You have anything to wear?"

"At my place."

"Okay. Let's stop by your place on the way to brunch."

"You eat brunch?"

He laughs. "It's more about being seen at the right places." He bites his lip. "You sure you're okay with this?"

I nod. I'm as sure as I can be.

––––––––

T
he waitress giggles as she introduces herself. I barely manage to fight a glare. Who the hell does she think she is looking at Pete like she knows him?

I scoot my chair closer to his and slide my arm around his waist. This does nothing to wipe the flirty look off her face. No, apparently, it doesn't matter that he's my boyfriend.

Fake boyfriend, but she doesn't know that.

I order my vegetable omelet and latte through clenched teeth. She keeps her eyes on Pete the entire time, punctuating her questions with giggles.

When she goes on to her next table, he chuckles.

His lips curl into a smile. "You're jealous."

"No." Maybe. Absolutely. "A little."

"Didn't take much."

His smile goes ear to ear. He's enjoying teasing me. I don't take the bait. But I do scoot a little closer. In case any other woman has designs on taking him home.

I look at him. "How does this work, being seen?"

"Basically this. We'll spend the day hitting a few popular spots. Should get someone snapping pics—a fan or a paparazzi. Something will make its way to a gossip blog. Just have to give it time."

"People really take pictures of you eating brunch?"

He leans in closer. "Yeah. Most people are too shy to say hi. But they like having that story
once I saw this b-list celebrity at breakfast
. Picture helps sell it."

"Seeing a guy at breakfast is a pretty shitty story."

His lips curl into a smile. "What about, saw him causing a scene, making out with his girlfriend at breakfast?"

"Better."

He cocks a brow. "Saw him fingering his girlfriend under the table at breakfast?"

I swallow hard so I won't scream
yes, right now.
"You're going to get me into trouble."

He nods and motions
come here
.

I lean closer. Until I can smell his breath. A hint of coffee. And spearmint.

He presses his lips against mine.

Mmm. He tastes good. My lips part to make way for his tongue. Is this real or pretend? I don't know. I only know how much I like his lips on mine.

My hands slide into his hair. My hips shift, begging me to climb into his lap. Damn, I want to say yes.

We're in plain view of anyone who walks by.

His eyes bore into mine when he pulls back. His voice is clear and confident. "You want me to do it."

"Isn't that bad for your nice, blond girlfriend image?"

"Probably. Still do it if you ask."

"That's not a good idea." I take a long sip of my water then look back to him. "I still can't believe you go to brunch."

"Cause brunch is for girls? Expect better from you. That kinda thinking is retrograde." He shakes his head with mock outrage.

"What do you do most mornings?"

"Cereal." He takes a long sip of his coffee. "Can't cook to save my life."

"Really?" I'm so focused on his deep brown eyes that I stir extra sugar into my coffee.

He chuckles. "Set grilled cheese on fire once."

"You did not."

He nods.

"But you're good at everything."

"Not cooking."

I study his expression. He's actually sheepish. It's incredibly endearing.

"I can teach you," I offer. "At home, I always cooked for my sister and my dad."