“This studio is soundproof. Make sure you scream when you come.”



Chapter 23


QUINLAN

Stretching my legs out, the sheets slide over my bare skin that still carries Hawkin’s scent from the incredible sex we had last night. Incredible? That’s an understatement. How about the kind of sex that I’ll forever think of as the time that ruined me for anyone else?

The man is definitely creative with his instruments. Damn. He brought me to the brink and denied me so many times that when he finally granted me my orgasm, I willingly drowned in the wash of pleasure that felt like it lasted forever.

And if I didn’t know the answer before, I sure as hell know it now; Hawkin most definitely lives up to his last name and the rumor.

I let my mind wander over everything that happened between us last night. Watching their jam session was incredible but when Hawke started singing, it was almost like watching him purge the emotion he doesn’t think he has the right to feel or express otherwise. His lyrics were a confession, a trace of the tumult he feels on a daily basis. From the continuous glances shared between the guys when Hawke left his head hung low and eyes closed, I could tell that him baring his demons like that was unusual. And of course when he was finished with the song, I could tell he was just as surprised by his lyrical confession as the guys were.

So I did the only thing I could do. I let him gather himself for a moment before using humor to dispel the unease in those gray eyes of his. And then once I got him to laugh, I let him use my body to help him forget. Little did I know that Hawkin’s way of forgetting was by working me up into such a frenzy that I would have begged, pleaded, or borrowed for one more kiss, one more touch, one more look at him as he hovered over me before sinking into me.

I may not believe in the fairy-tale ending, but who cares? I’d challenge anyone to prove to me that Prince Charming can turn a woman out better than Hawkin Play did to me last night.

Bracing myself, I brave the bright light of the bedroom and open my eyes to find the bed empty beside me. I groan with disappointment but then notice the guitar pick placed on his pillow. My smile is automatic as is the ache stirring awake inside me at the little reminder he’s left me—although there’s no chance I’ll be forgetting last night anytime soon.

Lost in that thought, I roll back over to notice that it’s eleven o’clock. A cat ate the canary grin spreads on my lips because I’m an early riser, so the fact Hawke sexed me up so good I slept this late is a testament to just how fantastic last night really was.

And as much as I want to snuggle back under the covers, I want Hawkin more. I rise from the bed, muscles stiff from being oversexed, and I grab Hawke’s Pink Floyd shirt draped over a chair. It’s long on me and with my boy-short panties, I’m comfortable enough to cruise the house and look for him even with the other guys around.

After brushing my teeth and pulling up my hair in a messy ponytail, I open the bedroom door and pad down the hallway. Music plays near Gizmo’s room and Rocket’s distinctive laugh startles me from a room past the staircase. As I descend, I catch snippets of conversation floating up the stairs mixed with the clink of silverware against dishes from the kitchen below.

I must be crazy because I suddenly have butterflies over the idea of seeing Hawke. It’s ridiculous and silly but I love it because a man who gives you butterflies is definitely a man you can lose yourself in.

“Dude, sugar does not equal breakfast.” Vince’s comment has the smile spreading across my lips.

“To me it does. Now get back to what you were ragging on me about. Please. Nothing is better than a lecture after a great night of sex,” Hawkin says sarcastically.

“Look, I haven’t seen you like this about a chick in a long-ass time. If ever.” Vince’s words cause my feet to falter, the rational side of my brain and the curious side in an instantaneous war whether to announce my presence or eavesdrop.

Curiosity wins.

“What business is it of Quin’s? She’s my life, my responsibility.” My ears quirk up at the same time a sinking feeling clips the butterflies of their wings. “I still love her. Regardless of everything … I can’t not.” The resignation and pain in Hawke’s voice tug at my compassion while the actual words make my head spin with a slow, uneasy discord.

“Look, I like Quin a lot too. Think she brings out a side of you that I’ve never seen before … I just think she has a right to know that Helen comes first. And always will. That you’re going to leave at the drop of a dime when you get the call.”

Helen? Calm down. There has to be a reasonable explanation here.

“I know—it’s a fucked-up situation….” Hawke says and then the clatter of dishes drowns out the rest.

“That’s exactly the problem though, Hawke. If this plays out, Quin deserves to come first … and she won’t. Dude, I get the hold she has over you but fuck man, you gotta live your life and quit beating yourself up over what’s happened.” I can sense Vince’s aggravation, can hear it in his tone, and my mind wanders to what they can possibly be talking about. I try to fill in the missing pieces that the kitchen clatter drowns out. “If Quin sticks around like she looks like she will, she’s gonna find out sooner or later; it’s going to be best if you tell her about everything.”

“Ben’s been able to keep my past zipped up so that no one knows about her, about any of it unless I want them to.”

My mind connects the dots, and understanding dawns about why even though I researched him, his father’s death was never mentioned. Somehow, some way, his boyhood friend used legal means to secure his past. Privacy about his father’s suicide I can understand, but what the hell are they talking about now?

Once again I find myself in the dark surrounded by the secrets Hawkin keeps. And I’m not a fan of secrets or the dark.

“But there’s always Hunter now, isn’t there?” Vince says, the room falling silent.

My mind reels and imagination runs wild. Does Hawke have a child? Has he been married? Was he in an accident and his girlfriend was injured and now he feels he owes her? What could possibly be so stressful that he can’t tell me?

My stomach churns with the possibilities and I’m not fond of any of them. Do I stay or do I leave undetected? I’d rather find out what is so horrible now before I fall even harder for Hawke than I already have. The best way to face it is head-on so I enter the kitchen just as Hawkin says, “The constant wild card in my life.”

“Good morning.” Vince and Hawkin’s bodies jolt at the sound of my voice.

“Morning,” Vince nods cautiously before shooting Hawkin a knowing glance and walking out of the kitchen.

“Sorry, was I interrupting?” I ask as I meet his eyes, hoping my eavesdropping isn’t given away in them.

His answer is to tug on the hem of his shirt I’m wearing and pull me into the V between his thighs. He wraps his arms around my waist and with the height difference of him sitting and me standing, he buries his face into my chest and holds me tight.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath seeping through my shirt and into the sensitized skin of my breasts. And there’s something so sexy about a man when he’s willing to cuddle in broad daylight. It’s that combination of rough and soft at the same time. The notion that he’s willing to be caught by the other band members.

I wrap my arms around him in kind and try not to let the confusion over the conversation I just walked in on ruin the moment. I press a kiss into the top of his head. “Morning. Everything okay?”

I almost don’t want him to answer, to ruin this, because this feels so normal, so right that I don’t want to worry about tomorrows or what most likely won’t be for us. If he says yes, everything is okay, I know despite last night, he’s still keeping secrets, and if he says no, then I fear he’ll tell me something I don’t want to deal with right now that might push me away.

The conundrum is we haven’t known each other long enough for me to feel like I deserve to know the answer to the question, and yet my feelings have grown strong enough for him that I want to know.

He sighs and I can feel the tension in his shoulders. “Yes. No. Just shit I don’t want to deal with right now,” he says, giving me an all of the above answer that allows our ambiguous state to remain. “I know what would make me feel better, though.” He looks up at me, eyes warm and inviting as his grin spreads slowly, the I’m-a-rock-god-bow-before-me one that I can’t resist.

“I’m sure you do.” Damn, just a few words and he already has that slow burn of desire simmering in my core.

“What instrument should we play today?” The amusement in his tone mixes with the lift of an eyebrow that has me laughing out loud.

“Oh, I’m sensing a new theme here. Working our way through the instruments now, are we?”

He slides his hands down to cup my ass, fingers sweeping ever so softly over the thin fabric of my panties between my thighs. “By the time I’m done with you, we’ll have played a rock band’s worth of instruments.”

He keeps his hands on my backside and pulls me into him, his forehead to my midchest. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, confusion lingering within me over things I know I can’t control: his secrets or my feelings. I tell myself that I need to take a step back from this paradox of a man.

I’m getting wrapped up too fast with him. And yes I think he feels similarly, but I also know there are way too many truths left untold. While I don’t feel that he owes it to me to throw his soul and secrets on the table at this juncture, I know I’ve been completely open, and that scares me. Unfortunately I’ve been on the receiving end before of situations when you fall and there’s no one there to catch you.