Placing a gentle hand between tense shoulders, I murmur to Zeke, “You should go.”
Pivoting to face me, his eyes search mine for a long moment. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, so I have no idea if he finds it, but eventually he growls, “We’re not done here.”
I shiver. The anticipation of what’s to come sends my nerve endings haywire. Then I blink, remembering exactly what we did and what it could mean. Shaking my head, I mutter, “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have—”
“But you did.”
“It was a bad idea.”
Turning his back on Drake, he lifts my chin until our gazes clash. “Never said it wasn’t.”
“Zeke,” I whimper.
“It’s happening.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He kisses me. His touch sears, and I pull him closer, craving the burn. Damn him and his delectable mouth. Damn his lips and their ability to render me stupid. Damn everything about this man that has me throwing logic out the window and ushering insanity inside.
Breaking away, his lips swollen and pink, Zeke stares at me. His chest heaves, and mine does the same. After giving my mouth a final nip, he releases it from between his teeth and strides from the room.
Well, then.
The second the door clicks shut, Drake throws his hands in the air, incredulous. “What the fuck, Wil? What the actual fuck?” Advancing to where I lean precariously against the marble benchtop, he jabs his temple with an index finger. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t hook up with the producer. Have you any idea—Wait. What?”
“I said, yes. I’ve lost my mind.” Dragging my sorry ass to the couch, I collapse onto it. “This whole situation is so confusing. What am I going to do, Drake?”
“You’re gonna keep your tits to yourself, that’s what you’re gonna fucking do.”
Burying my head in a cushion, I groan. “Can’t believe you saw that.”
“You’ve got a luscious rack, Wil, there’s no doubt about it. But fuck, don’t share it with Zeke. Another guy, maybe. After some rigorous vetting by yours truly, you can give the lucky dude a peek at some side boob, but that’s it.”
I groan again.
The sofa dips as Drake sits next to me. He rubs my back in soothing circles. “Look, I’m the first to admit Zeke’s a genius in the studio. He knows his shit, no question about it.”
“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?” I mumble into the cushion.
“But,” he draws out the word, “how well do you really know him?”
Straightening, I wiggle until I’m facing him. “What do you mean?”
He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “Promise not to put a spell on me, okay?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? Yes, I like natural remedies and alternative therapy. Yes, Mom taught me about pagan gods. No, it doesn’t make me Wiccan or a witch.” Rolling my eyes, I grumble. “Ignoramus.”
“Whatever. I want to keep my balls where they are, that’s all.”
“What is it with men and their balls?”
“Hang on, did Zeke—” Drake holds up one hand. “Forget it, I don’t want to know.”
“What do you want to know, then? You’re not making any sense.”
He takes a deep breath. “Like I was saying before, how well do you know Zeke? I hate to break it to you, but he could do this shit all the time. We’ve only been around the guy three days. What’s to say he hasn’t tapped other chicks who record with him? What’s to say he doesn’t do it for special favors?”
“Special favors?” My stomach hollows. “Like what?”
“Fuck, I don’t know.” Drake scratches his jaw. “Better sound quality, meet-and-greet opportunities, nominations for music awards. Want me to go on?”
“Not really.”
“Look, this is our band’s first big break, yeah?” I nod. “And this record is going to open a lot of doors for us.” I nod again. “How do you think it will look if people find out you’re fucking the producer?”
I’m going to be sick. Right here, all over Drake’s lap. He’s going to hate me.
“Well?”
With effort, I swallow. “It’ll look like I’ve whored my way to the top.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh my God.” Eyes wide, I scramble from the couch. “I’m not a whore! I’ve worked my ass off to get this far. We all have.” The room is swallowed up by my pacing.
“You don’t have to convince me. And everyone who knows you knows you’d never flash your girls for more exposure.” He smirks. “Pun intended.”
But I’m in no mood for jokes. Instead, I pace some more. “What am I going to do? I can’t have our reputation ruined because Zeke thinks I’m easy. There’s too much riding on our album’s success.”
“I’ve already told you. Keep your tits to yourself.”
“But I have to work with the guy,” I exclaim, spinning on my heel to face him. “How the hell am I going to do that?”
“Unless you’re planning on playing guitar topless, I don’t see a problem.”
“For God’s sake,” I shriek. “You’re not helping.”
Standing, he walks to where I’m freaking the hell out. After giving me a gentle shake, Drake adopts his most soothing voice. “Wil, calm down. We’ll sort it out, okay?” Removing his hand, he taps his chin. After a moment, his face lights up. “Right, this is what you’re gonna do.” He counts each idea off a finger. “You’re gonna stay focused, keep it professional, and always stick to group situations. No alone time with Zeke, you hear me?”
“Stay focused, keep it professional, no alone time,” I repeat, nodding. “Got it.”
“And whatever connection,” he rolls his eyes, “you thought you had no longer exists. It’s dead. Buried. Gone. Capisce?”
“I’m screwed,” I mumble.
“Huh?”
“I said, I’m screwed. The other stuff I can do, but ignoring the—” Hands flail about me as I search for the word. “—the pull he has on me?” I shake my head, bewildered. “There’s no way I can do it. You might as well tell me to stop breathing.”
“A bit melodramatic, don’t you think? You gonna start listening to emo music next? How ’bout you write some shitty poetry while you’re at it?” When I don’t respond, Drake crosses his arms. “Wil, how the fuck can you be attracted to Zeke? He never opens his mouth unless it’s to bark orders.”
“I know.”
“He has no social skills.”
“I know.”
“And he’s angry all the damn time.”
My smile is soft. “I know.”
Drake considers me. “Is this a fiery redhead thing? Are you an angry sex kind of girl? Because I’m at a fucking loss otherwise.”
Threading fingers through my hair, I hold the strands up to the light. “It’s auburn, not red.”
“Babe, it’s flaming red. You’ve even got freckles to match.” When he registers my scowl, he winks. “It’s cute as hell.”
Stomping my foot, I growl, “I’m not cute. And don’t call me babe.”
Drake throws his head back, laughing.
When I consider my actions from his perspective, I stop. “Crap. I am, aren’t I?”
“Yep.” He ruffles my hair so I swat his arm away. “Probably why Zeke can’t keep it in his pants around you. He’s gone all caveman, wants to protect you and shit.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong. The only person Zeke wants to protect is himself. Can you believe he told me he never wants to fall in love?”
“Sad.”
“Says the man who’s slept with 98 percent of the female population.”
“Hey, when I meet my woman, I’m never letting her go. Gonna show her in every way a man can that she’s it for me.” He resettles himself on the couch. Throwing one arm over the back of it, he points in my direction. “And since your shenanigans cock-blocked me tonight, you owe me a cooked meal.”
Rolling my eyes, I head to the kitchen. “If by cooked meal you mean nachos, then sure.”
“Hell yes.”
“Vegetarian nachos.”
He groans, I chuckle, and for a brief moment I forget about Zeke.
It doesn’t last.
Despite Drake doing his level best to distract me, and a surprisingly restful sleep, I wake the next morning with sordid images of Zeke fresh in my mind—growling Zeke, dirty-talking Zeke, naked Zeke. Shaking my head, I pad to the shower, adjusting the temperature so it’s colder than usual.
After dressing and collecting Jeanette’s gift, I step into the lift twenty minutes early. Sadly, it’s not early enough. When I enter the garage it’s to witness Zeke bent over the engine of my car.
I blink.
Never have I seen an ass so fine. Never have I seen stronger arms or a broader back. The way his deltoids ripple beneath the material of his T-shirt is ridiculous, and the way his thighs own those jeans is insane. How the hell am I going to keep my distance when he looks so freaking hot? I bite back a groan.
Reminding myself of everything I have to lose if I let hormones dictate logic, I take a steadying breath and walk over to where he’s grumbling obscenities at my Honda.
“Hi. Um, what are you doing?”
The grease-streaked hand pressed against the engine stills. The other hand, the one holding a cap of some description, tightens. Yep, his knuckles are white. Never a good sign.
“Zeke?”
Straightening to his full height, he glowers at me. “Brake fluid’s empty.”
“It is?” I peer under the hood, then realize I have no idea what I’m looking for, so I straighten again. “But the brakes worked fine last night.”
His jaw ticks. “Last night?”
I shrug. “Yeah. I drove it to the gas station to buy coolant. Since my car wouldn’t turn on without overheating, I coasted downhill in neutral.” Zeke’s gaze narrows. “I didn’t have any trouble stopping.”
After carefully placing the cap back on the reservoir, closing the hood, and wiping his hands on a rag tucked in his jeans pocket, he stalks away from me.
Weird.
When he reaches the other side of the garage, Zeke pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. After that, he exhales, clasps both hands behind his neck, and stares at the ceiling. And stares. And stares. Heavy breaths fill the silence.
“Are you okay?”
Wrenching his hands away, he glares at me. “Your spark plugs are fried.” He steps toward me. “Radiator hose has two holes in it.” Step. “Valve spring is broken.” Step. “Oil hasn’t been changed in years.” Step. “Fan belt’s disintegrating.” Zeke stops, his chest almost flush with mine. I bite my bottom lip, trying desperately not to inhale his scent. “And you think it’s a good idea to coast,” he mocks the heck out of my word choice, “downhill on less than a tablespoon of brake fluid?”
I swallow. “Yes?”
He mutters the most creative use of the word fuck I’ve ever heard. Once finished, he storms to his Challenger, opens the passenger door, and with a curt nod gestures inside. “Get in.”
“I don’t think that’s—”
“What part of get in don’t you understand? Is it the three-letter word or the two?”
Planting fisted hands on my hips, I glare at him. “Now you’re being plain rude.” Zeke tries to speak, but I raise my hand, stopping him. “No, it’s my turn.” I shift to where he is glowering beside the vehicle. He crosses his arms and I blink, momentarily stunned by powerful forearms.
I shake my head.
“Look, I admit driving to the gas station was reckless.” He raises a sardonic brow. It’s frustratingly sexy. “And I guess I should thank you for telling me about the other issues.” Dollar signs flash before my eyes. “But my Honda’s never given me problems before, and I don’t think driving to Bayside and back will do any more damage.”
“To who? You?” His hand fists my hair. I bite back a pleasure-filled moan as his lips come perilously close to mine. “The next time you get in that shitbox could be your last.”
Blindly, I reach for his T-shirt, crushing the fabric between my fingers.
“Your car’s getting serviced.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
My eyes narrow. “Not everyone lives in a cliffside studio, Zeke.”
He pulls back. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the service is going to have to wait until after the record is finished. I’m not exactly flush with cash right now.”
Pause. “I’ll sort it out.”
I try to shake my head but can’t; his grip is too tight. “Oh no. I won’t be indebted to you. There’s no way you’re paying for anything of mine, I won’t let you.”
Dipping his head, he skims his nose along my jawline. My eyelids flutter closed. “What makes you think you’ve got a choice?” He nips my earlobe, and I shiver. “I call the shots, not you. You’d best get used to it, little girl.”
My grip on his shirt tightens.
“Tell me,” Zeke continues, oblivious to how close I am to ripping his shirt off. “What would happen to your band, your mom, if you were stupid enough to get behind the wheel?”
All the blood drains from my face.
“You really want to risk it all when I’m offering you a free ride?”
I try to disentangle myself, but Zeke’s hold is resolute. “Wait. How did you—”
“Overheard you talking to Reid and Drake yesterday.”
Visions of the boys distraught over their dreams turning to ash filter into my brain. However, it’s the mental image of Mom, helpless and abandoned, that really gets to me. She would have no one. No one to pay for her care, no one to visit her, no one to remind her of a daughter who loved her more than life itself. She would be completely alone.
Zeke must notice the moment reality sinks in because he loosens his hold. “Get in the damn car.”
Sighing, I stare at the empty seat and then slip inside. After shutting the door, Zeke moves to the other side and folds himself into the driver seat. I don’t know how he does it, but the cabin feels small, too small with him beside me. It’s like he sucks all the air out until there is nothing left but him.
So much for my promise to keep my distance. And remain focused. It’s impossible to think of anything except Zeke’s smell, the way his thigh flexes whenever he changes gear, and those masterful hands gripping the steering wheel. They’re the same hands that made me come harder than I ever have before.
I shift in my seat.
Determined to remain silent, I distract myself with the scenery flashing past. Drake’s warning about Zeke maybe being a player, a man who hooks up with musicians in return for special favors, circles my brain. Could Drake be right? Is Zeke going to use my car as blackmail? It’s true I don’t know him well, but is he really that much of an asshole?
He’s your producer.
Shut up.
And wants to sleep with you.
Not helpful.
What’s to say—
A large hand clamps down on my thigh. “Stop it.”
I yelp. “Stop what?”
“Thinking. I can hear you from here.”
“You can hear me thinking?”
“Fucking annoying.”
“Of course, it is.” I roll my eyes and remove his hand from my leg. I need to think of something, anything other than how his touch sets my body alight. I fix my attention to the window. A blur of greens, browns, and blues fill my vision. I lose myself in the distorted image of trees against sky. And it works, until a gravelly voice interrupts my reverie.
“You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
He grips my thigh again. I want to clamp my legs shut, imprisoning his fingers. Then I want to smack myself upside the head. “Too bad. I want to know.”
I sigh. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Please let go of me.”
He removes his hand. The car creeps along the uneven driveway before Zeke pulls into an empty parking spot and turns off the engine. The silence is palpable.
“Is this about last night?”
“No.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I swallow. “Yes.”
He swallows too. “Do you regret it?”
Zeke’s question makes me pause. In truth, no, I don’t regret kissing him. We share chemistry that’s impossible to ignore. And yes, it’s based on attraction, but there’s more simmering beneath. It’s undeniable, elemental, real. Not that any of it makes our actions right, but it doesn’t make them entirely wrong either. Seems the lines blur when it comes to Zeke.
Hair falls about my shoulders as I shake my head. “I don’t regret it. Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again, though.”
His gaze narrows.
“I’m not the type of girl to do this sort of thing.”
Leaning forward, his face a hairsbreadth away from mine, he rumbles, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Those eyes.
My hands have a life of their own. They caress his face, tracing the furrowed brow, wide cheekbones, and soft, full lips. It hurts knowing I’ll never kiss them again. The muscles in his jaw tighten. “I’m talking about you, me, this situation. It’s impossible. I’m not going to put my band’s reputation on the line for a fling. I’m sorry, but it’s not worth it.”
He stills. “Not worth it.” Jerking his head away, he stares out the front window, his jaw ticking. The distance between us grows larger by the second.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Heard you the first time.”
Collecting my oversized handbag, I open the car door. “I’ll find my own way back.”
He spins to face me. “The fuck you will. You’ll call me and I’ll be here. End of fucking story.”
“Zeke—”
“End. Of. Fucking. Story.”
Heated glares.
Hastened breathing.
Erratic heartbeats.
Blinking, I scramble from the car.