Sweet Temptation (13 page)

This is heart wrenching. I take her face in my hand, forcing her eyes to look straight into mine to make her understand. “We can never be just friends, Anna. Get it through your head now. There can be
nothing
.”

I let her go and get out of the car, but she doesn't follow. So I approach the counter and get her boarding pass. Then I open the door to let her out. I want her to leave without another word. This is maddening, and I'm drained. She climbs
out slowly and stands before me. I take out the cash and push it into her pocket, thrilled by the small touch.

When she leans her forehead against my sternum I nearly pull her back to my SUV and drive us away. It would mean our doom, but we might have a few more days of fulfilling enjoyment before we were found and brutally killed.

I clench my fists at my sides and resist the urge to touch her. “It's time for you to go.”

“Wait.” She gazes up at me with those brown eyes. “Remember at the beginning of the trip, when you said you always know right away what you'd have to do to get a girl into bed . . . even me?”

Ah, shite. I don't like where this is going. I bury my hot hands in my pockets and give a tight nod.

“What would you have to do? For me?”

This is dangerous territory. “Let's not go there,” I warn.

“Tell me. Please.”

I look into her sweet face, at that freckle at the corner of her mouth, and I clench my jaw. Perhaps it will be good if she knows the truth about my plan to seduce her. It will be better if she doesn't know how I feel. It will make it easier for her to get over me and move on. It's bad enough that I know what I'm going to be missing. She doesn't need to know it, too.

“I'd have to make you believe I loved you.”

Her eyes drift closed and her face scrunches in pain. Knowing I've hurt her makes me want to gouge out my own eye.

“I wish, just once, that I could see your colors,” she whispers.

My sweet and lovely little Ann. This is good-bye.

I swallow hard. “Well, I'm glad you can't. And I wish I'd never seen yours.”

What Anna does next fills me with pride at her strength, and as much as it stings, it gives me hope that she'll be okay. She simply picks up her bag, and without a backward glance, she walks away.

“Do you still consider me . . . the boy you laughed with or that you learned to live without?

. . . You wouldn't get me on the phone, and you couldn't make me not alone.”

—“Logan to Government Center” by Brand New

I
am obsessed. I believe this is what they call “getting a taste of one's own medicine,” and it's a bitter flavor.

I didn't work on the way home from Los Angeles. I drove like a zombie with hardly a wink of sleep. It wrecked me to see Anna's number calling my mobile and not be able to answer.

That was over a week ago. Since being back in Atlanta I've thrown myself into work with a flourish, determined to get her off my mind. Surely another person's body will make these thoughts of her go away.

No?

Right then, two people.

Three . . . ? New bodies day and night. Different smiles on different lips. Different arses, different hips. I've even been writing songs, much to Michael's bloody delight.

Music, sex, pot, bourbon. Vast quantities of all of the above at once.

Nothing. Fucking. Works.

I get into trouble when school starts, which pisses Father off, as if I'm some human boy who gives a shit about his senior year and his future. He just doesn't want to play nice with the humans when they call with their concerns. It's not high on Father's to-do list to pretend to care for his troubled son who comes to school with bloodshot eyes and sleeps through history lessons.

Although he has seemed otherwise impressed with my performance outside of school. Good on me.

Because not one bit of this makes Anna go away. In fact, with each girl I abandon and each arsehole thing I say and do, I'm filled with shame. I see her face at every party. In every car I pass. She is everywhere, but I cannot have her. I'm constantly surrounded by people, but I've never been more alone.

I'm not sure how long I can sustain this level of self-abuse, but I cannot stand to be sober, and the more I fuel my lust, the more I seem to need. I am a disgusting disaster, but there's an apparent “tortured soul” appeal about me, because chicks have never been so keen to have me. I'm getting more action than James Fucking Bond. My bandmates joke that I'm a god.

And yet, I've never been less fulfilled.

Each time Father leaves I listen to Anna's voice mail
messages. I shouldn't. It's stupid for many reasons, but what can I say? I have become an idiot. Like that time this week when I called Marna, blasted out of my mind, and mentioned I'd met a new Neph named Anna, daughter of Belial. I figured word would have spread about her from Father by now, but Marna was obviously shocked and overly interested. Gin was in the background shouting questions.

“What's she like? Why haven't we met her? How old is she?”

“Erm, she's a year younger than me. Father asked me to help train her up.”

“Train her up?” Marna asked. “What for? Isn't she trained and working already?”

“I meant, we work together. Or something.”

“Or something?” she asked incredulously.

Even in my drunken state I knew enough to cut the conversation short.

Today, I make another idiotic phone call. This time to the band's manager.

“Ay, it's Kai,” I say.

“Rowe! What's up?”

“Couple months ago this bloke called Jay gave you a CD of his songs. Think I can come by an' give 'em a listen?” Cripe, I'm drunk. Hope I'm not slurring.

“Hold on, let me look.” I hear him shuffling around through his things. “Is it Jay Thompson from Cartersville?”

My heart rate spikes. “Yeah, that's him.”

“Haven't listened to this one. He a friend of yours?”

“Just an acquaintance. Can't make any promises.”

“No problem. Come in when you can. Oh, and did Michael tell you the news about L.A.?”

Bile rises in my throat at the thought of my L.A. memories, but we're only going there to make a record.

“Bloody brilliant news, mate,” I say.

I give the alcohol twenty minutes to burn off, then hop in my car.

It turns out one of Jay's songs is incredible. Upon my urging, our manager gets on the phone to see about allowing permissions for a cover. When Jay says yes, my manager claps me on the back, probably thinking I'm grinning about discovering a new song, but all I can think is that when we cover it, Anna will be there to support him.

Bloody hell.

Now who's playing with fire?

We learn Jay's song in record time, excited to have new material for our next gig. When the night comes I down three shots of Jack to calm my nerves in the half hour preceding the show. The house is packed. When we take the stage I find Jay straightaway in the front row. He's with that curly-headed bloke who wrote the songs with him. My heart feels like it's slipped off a ledge. I look all around the dim room and cannot find her.

Why isn't she here? Has something happened?

After the show I head backstage, knowing Jay will come. I'm immediately bombarded by fans, but I can't focus on a single one of them. When Jay comes in I go straight for him. I try to be polite, because for once Jay is not smiling at me. I hold
out a hand and he's slow to take it. His aura is orange underneath, probably leftover excitement from the show, but it's gray with his misgivings for me on top. I wonder how much Anna told him.

“Nice work on the song, mate,” I say. A bit of the gray fades.

“Thanks, man. You guys freaking rocked it. I mean, holy wow, dude!”

I grin. “So, uh . . . where's Anna?”

The gray is back, full force, when he says, “She's at home.”

“Oh.” I hadn't expected her not to come. There's a clenching and churning as I wonder if she's over me already. “How is she?”

“Well, she's been better, man.” The way he says it is a harsh jab to the ribs. All I can do is nod. And for the first time since I returned to Atlanta, I head home without a substance in my system or another body at my side. I've only bitter disappointment to keep me company.

I lose track of days and have lost all sense of time. I'm damned lucky our manager texts group updates when we have practices and gigs.

When a reminder about tonight's gig sounds, I have to untangle my naked body from the silky sheets where I've been passed out hard. Someone rings when I'm in the shower. When I get out, toweling off my hair, I call my voice mail and freeze at Ginger's words in the message. . . .

“Oy! Arse-face! We're at your little girl Anna's house. Ring me back straightaway.”

My pulse goes ballistic. What the hell are they doing at Anna's house? The thought of her with the other Neph is like
my two worlds colliding. I cannot imagine them together. What are they saying about me to Anna? Gin's probably scaring the ever-loving shite out of her.

I ring her back, on edge. I don't think Father bothers listening to my telephone conversations, but you never know. He's right bloody upstairs. Granted, he's gathering his things to leave for the weekend, but I won't relax until he's long gone.

“Is Pharzy home?” Ginger asks in a fake nice voice that raises the hair on my neck.

“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Drats. We'll stay here for now, then.”

“What do you think you're doing?” I ask.

I must come off sounding defensive, because she says, “Don't worry. We haven't tortured the poor girl. She's the one trying to torture us with American iced tea.”

Damn it, Gin. She needs to be more careful what she says. Obviously she hasn't taken to Anna or she wouldn't talk about her
at all
knowing Father is home and could easily listen.

“Don't think you can weasel out of seeing us,” she says when I don't respond.

“I'm busy. I have a gig at a club called Double Doors.”

“When, tonight? Hold on.”

I hold my breath as Ginger and Anna converse and Anna refuses to agree to go with them. And then a deep voice rumbles through the phone.

“Come,”
he says, and my blood slows. What is Kopano doing there? I would've thought he'd be too busy at Harvard to take a bloody break. Has he talked with Anna? I can't help but wonder what she thinks of him.

“Please,”
Marna pleads.

There's a long pause and then Anna whispers,
“Okay.”

I am buzzing when we hang up. I'd like to think Anna agreed to come because she likes Marna, and she wants to see
me
, not because Kope has seduced her with his smooth voice and good-boy charm. The very thought makes me want to rage.

I'm
the one she loves, I remind myself. She'll see me again tonight and remember that.

I dig through my dresser until I find the red T-shirt Anna wore home that night after she met my father. She was so bloody sexy in it.

At the sound of Father's footsteps coming down the basement stairs, I drop the shirt and wipe any sentimental look from my face.

He barges into my room in a tan suit, looking around and sniffing the air before coming to me.

“I'm leaving for New York.”

“Enjoy yourself, sir.”

He nods. “I always do. What are your plans?”

“Gig tonight, then work the backstage crowd.”

“You've been busy lately.” He says it with an ounce of pride and takes my bare shoulder in his hand. Then he runs the back of his finger along the small patch of hair at my sternum. “We should have this lasered off. Doesn't your generation prefer less body hair?”

“Yes, sir,” I tell him, though I definitely haven't received any complaints.

He gives my bicep a squeeze, and his eyes slide down to my stomach, studying my body. “You could stand a bit of bulking
up, as well. Abs could use more definition. Time to hit the gym harder, yeah? Make the girls resent those paunchy men of theirs.”

He laughs and pretends to punch me in the abs, so I play along, bending with an “oof,” and I laugh, as well. Gotta love quality father-son time.

I'm immensely relieved when he leaves.

Just like at the last show, I have to take three shots of Jack to calm my nerves. This time I know Anna will be here, and I'm in knots. Before we go onstage I bounce on the balls of my feet, shaking out my arms and loosening my neck. Raj looks at me like I'm crazy, because I'm usually leaned against the wall at this point, calm.

Thing is, I've been listening to Anna's voice since she arrived at the club. Hearing her after several weeks has pumped me full of the angel voodoo that makes me go a bit insane. I even feel like smiling.

We take the stage and I look straight up, hungry for eye contact, but she's not looking.

SHE'S NOT LOOKING.

I'm consumed by paranoia—is she over me so quickly? Has she fallen for another? Is she still mad at me? I shake my head at my own questions and grab my crotch to remind myself I'm a man. The goods are still there. I need to chill the hell out.

Her attention is on Jay as we start his song, and I force myself to focus on the drums. She's being supportive of her best mate, 'cause that's how she is. That's all. I'm not going to look again.

During the brief guitar instrumental where I have to pause
a measure, I totally look up again. This time she's staring right at me. It's as if the entire room goes silent and disappears. Her eyes are warm. It's all still there between us.

Marna pulls her away just as it's time for me to pick up in the song. I feel relieved enough to focus on the music now. Anna seems to be getting on well with the others. I lose myself in the next song, feeling a bit of enjoyment for the first time in weeks.

And then the song ends and I look up again, like a fool.

Anna and Kope are facing each other, leaning against the rail, looking bashful. I shoot my hearing up to them.

“. . . very much like to know your story,”
Kopano is saying.

Oh, I bet he would like to know her “story.” On the outside, Kope is a smooth-talking picture of perfection, but I know what he's like on the inside with his rare double curse. He's bound by both lust
and
wrath. I'll just bet he's thinking he's finally met his flawless match and he'd love to unleash all that withheld aggression on her.

When they stare at each other, standing far too close, and she doesn't move away, I am overcome with deranged jealousy. Naturally she looks down at me at that very moment and I'm unable to school the expression from my face.

She sucks in a breath and looks down at her hands. My eyes move to Kopano as he looks at me, and I glare back. Disappointment seems to flash across his face as he catches my “back off” vibes.

That's right, mate. Back. Off.

I'm all too keen to get to the party after the gig so I can stake my claim. Before I get out of my car I pull a fifth of Jack from
under my seat and drink a healthy bit to hide any bond Marna and Ginger might see between Anna and me. It's none of their business, and I don't want to hear any ribbing.