“Damn. Wil, that’s fucking fine.”
My fingers pause on the instrument. Glancing up, I see my bandmates, Drake and Reid, lounging in the studio doorway. I grin. Lead singer Drake could pass as a model, there’s no doubt about it. With his tall stature, inky-black hair, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes, the guy is gifted in the looks department. He’s charismatic too, a trait that gets him both in and out of trouble on a regular basis—particularly with women. Beside him is Reid. His wavy, shoulder-length blond hair is pulled into a bun, day-old scruff peppers his chin, and those penetrating gray eyes dart between Zeke and me. He misses nothing.
Blessedly, he remains silent.
“You’re late.” Zeke finishes adjusting the microphone near the snare drum and stands, massive arms crossing a broad chest.
Drake grimaces. “Sorry, boss, but you have to admit, we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“We’re outside of Malibu.”
“On a cliff face,” Drake counters. “My GPS needed a GPS to find this place.”
Zeke grunts, unimpressed.
Stepping into the studio, Drake scans the room. He whistles. “Fuck, Bradley wasn’t kidding when he said you had a stellar setup.”
I smile at the memory of Bradley Reading. The famous music scout presented our band with the Rising Star Talent Quest award a month ago. And Drake’s not wrong, Zeke’s studio is out of this world. On the rear wall, a heavy, red felt curtain is pulled to one side. It exposes over one hundred rectangular pieces of wood, each a different size. Rather than sit horizontally, they jut into the room at alternate lengths, dispelling sound. The other two walls are also made of wood, each with a curtain draped in front of it. There are muted pendant lights hanging from the ceiling, casting a soft glow that reflects off the honey oak flooring. All in all, very fancy.
Drake’s gaze lands on a small piece of equipment near my guitar. “Is that the latest DI box?” He steps forward, crouching over it.
Grudgingly, Zeke nods.
A wide smile lights up Drake’s handsome face. “With brand-new gear, our record is gonna sound tight.”
“Need to hear you sing first, see what I’m working with.” Zeke turns to Reid. “And once he’s done, I want you on drums. Show me what you’ve got.”
Reid dips his chin. “Done.”
“After that, I want to hear your originals.” Zeke stares at each of us. When his gaze meets mine, he blinks and looks away. I’m too busy riding high from my guitar solo to care. “Then we’ll talk about what you want out of this album.”
“That’s easy, boss.” Drake’s grin is mischievous. “Fame, fortune, and a fuck-ton of women.” He winks at me. “Present company excluded.”
Reid smacks him upside the head.
“Ouch.” Drake scowls at our drummer while smoothing down his ruffled hair. “The fuck, man?”
“You’re being a dick.”
“Wrong. I’m thinking with my dick. Totally different.”
“Not where you’re concerned it’s not.”
After a short pause, Drake nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I’m so thankful we never hooked up,” I murmur.
Zeke stills.
“You’re like a sis to me, Wil.” Drake’s tone is serious. “Can’t go bumping uglies with family, can I?”
“Firstly,” I hold up one finger, “that’s so freaking gross I can’t even.” Another finger waves in the air. “And secondly, you take the role of overprotective brother way too seriously. You ruin every date I have.”
Drake snorts. “Not my fault those assholes aren’t brave enough to stake a claim on you. You need better taste in men.”
“I need better friends,” I mumble, embarrassed by the truth of his words. Despite losing my virginity at a music festival a few years ago, it’s been hard—pun intended—meeting a guy with enough balls not to be intimidated by my bandmates.
Zeke runs tense fingers through his close-cropped hair. “Can we get back on topic already?” He sighs, dropping his hand. “I meant what direction you want your sound to take. What’s your vision, and is it feasible with our timeframe.”
“Oh.” Then, shrugging one shoulder, Drake saunters over to the mic. “Well, let’s get started then. Prepare yourselves, ladies. You’re gonna cream your panties.”
Shuddering, I put my guitar back on its stand.
After some vocal warm-ups, Drake cradles the microphone between two hands, opens his mouth, and sings.
The remainder of the day is spent showing Zeke our material and discussing what we want out of the next two weeks. For some reason, he seems to have it in for me more than the guys. He’s abrupt, rude, and intolerant of idleness. I promise myself to behave professionally, despite him being a sexy-as-sin douchebag. At times he moves into the production room, using the console desk to adjust levels and map the tempo of our songs, while at others he stands in certain parts of the room, silent, observant, and so freaking attractive it’s hard to focus on my guitar. But I manage to. Just.
Nine hours later, I am exhausted. My fingers hurt and my body aches, but I’ve never felt happier. Building a life from music has been my dream ever since Mom first taught me how to hold a guitar. So, for her sake as well as mine, I refuse to complain. Instead, I’m going to take this opportunity and run with it. No matter how long the days are.
Zeke strolls out of the production room looking as fresh as he did this morning. “That’s enough for today. We’ll start tracking first thing tomorrow.”
Drake and Reid fist pump, while I summon the energy to smile.
“Leave your gear here. I’ll lock up, then show you where you’re staying upstairs.”
“I’m heading back home.”
Concerned, I search Reid’s face. “You sure? It’s a long drive and it’s dark out.”
His silver eyes soften. “I’ll be fine. Need to get back to my woman.”
Of course, he does. After working through a hell of a lot of issues, Shiloh and Reid are even more in love than when they were kids. Not only is Shiloh a top chick and one of my closest friends, she’s got a killer voice too. I have no doubt the three-piece rock band she fronts is going to be a force to be reckoned with in the near future.
Drawing me in for a hug, Reid murmurs, “Don’t let Zeke get to you.” Breaking away again, he gives me a look. I feign obliviousness even though it’s clear what he’s implying.
After man-hugging it out with Drake and giving Zeke a firm handshake, he leaves.
Drake wiggles his eyebrows. “Guess it’s just you and me, pretty lady.”
“Cool it, lover boy. Never gonna happen.”
He throws his head back, laughing. “You’re out of my league anyway.” I snort. “You need a good man, not an asshole like me.”
Zeke is silent.
Glancing at the broody music producer, I say nothing.
When Drake throws an arm over my shoulders, Zeke’s hands clench at his sides.
“Let’s go,” Zeke growls over one shoulder, marching toward the door.
We collect our duffel bags from a storage room off the studio and move into the hallway. Zeke sets the alarm system, then leads us into an elevator. It’s all marble, chrome, and mirrors, strange considering the muscular alpha standing as far away from me as possible. He doesn’t seem the type.
The doors open and we are led down a long, tiled corridor. At the end are two doors, one leading to the left, the other to the right. He enters the code and then unlocks the door on the right.
Zeke hits the lights.
“Holy shit.”
I nod in agreement with Drake. The room is huge. A state-of-the-art kitchen opens onto a sunken living area. Bespoke furniture fills the room, each piece functional yet arresting. And white. Everywhere I look is white.
“Are the bedrooms down there?”
Zeke nods at Drake’s question.
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Go for it.”
“Thanks, man.” He disappears down a hallway.
My gaze, however, is drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking what I’m guessing is the ocean. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m in front of the glass, my mouth agape. When I speak, my voice is soft, reverent. “I always dreamed of living near the water.”
“Here.”
I jump with a start. Beside me, Zeke presses a button and the door slides open. When I step onto the balcony, cold air hits me. I throw my head back, relishing the icy sting. Tousled hair whips my face and sticks to my lips. I don’t bother warming myself or removing the wayward strands. I want to experience the brutality of the moment just as it is.
Wild.
Untamed.
Real.
I move to the handrail, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal. Then, because a particularly harsh wind whips off the ocean, I let go, stretching my arms wide. My T-shirt buffets about me and my shorts are pinned to my upper thighs. Goose bumps break out on my skin, and if I stay much longer my mouth will turn blue. But I don’t care.
I scan the coastline. Since there’s heavy fog in the night sky, it’s hard to make out any but the brightest of stars. I can hear the ocean though; the roar of the waves is deafening.
I love it.
Dropping my arms, I turn to Zeke. “It’s beautiful.”
He remains in the doorway, the light from the living room casting his face in shadow. Despite the howling wind and not being able to see his expression, I’m certain he hears me. His body stills.
Moving back to where he stands, I peer into his face. Strong jawline, day-old beard, wide cheekbones, straight nose, and full lips. If only I could coax a smile from those lips, if only the tightness around his mouth would soften. He’d be breathtaking. My gaze journeys further north. His short hair is ruffled, as though the wind teased it with its fingers, and those eyes… expressive yet detached. The ultimate paradox.
My smile is genuine. “Thank you. This is exactly what I needed.”
He watches me for a long moment. The light illuminates golden flecks blanketing dark pupils, and I realize, not for the first time, that I could get lost in his gaze. Then, because I’m a sucker, I try to picture what he sees when he looks at me. Windswept hair, flushed cheeks, jade eyes sparkling with exhilaration. Pretty sure the dimple on my cheek is making an appearance, along with pebbled nipples from the frigid temperature. Does he like what he sees? Is a dark part of him drawn to me like I am to him?
Growling, he turns and storms back inside.
Guess not.
Shaking my head, I follow.
Drake meets me in the living room. “This place is awesome.” He nudges my shoulder. “You should see the view from your room.”
“You’ve already chosen yours, then?”
He grins, wrapping a long arm around my shoulder. “Yep. My bed’s bigger. But never fear, they’ve both got en suite bathrooms, so you don’t have to worry about walking in on me in the shower.” His pitch lowers. “Unless you want to.”
I pinch his side. With a yelp, he jumps away, laughing.
“Food’s in the fridge.”
Drake and I both turn in the direction of the deep voice. Zeke’s standing by the front door, muscular arms crossed and legs shoulder-width apart. He is formidable, intimidating, annoyed.
Confused, I give a half smile. “Thanks. We’ll restock it before we leave.”
But he ignores me and instead glares at Drake. “We’re starting tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
With a final clench of his jaw, he leaves, the door slamming shut behind him.
Once he’s gone, Drake raises an eyebrow. “Not much of a talker, is he?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “No, he’s really not.” Walking into the kitchen, I call over one shoulder, “Hungry?”
With a loud groan, Drake flops onto the sofa. “Starved. Cook me some food, woman.”
“Talk to me like that and I’ll spit in it.”
He scrambles to his knees, hands clasped together in front of him, begging. “Please, oh magnificent one, can you cook me some delicious food? For you are perfect, brighter than the sun on a cloudless day.”
Rolling my eyes, I open the fridge. “Idiot.”
“You love me.”
“You’re lucky I do.”
Plopping back onto the lounge, he finds the remote and turns on the TV. “Don’t I know it. Like I keep saying, you’re too good for me, Wil. You’re too good for all of us.”
“Yeah, maybe.” However, as I go about making dinner, and even when I lie in bed later that night, I’m haunted by whiskey-colored eyes that think I’m not good enough.