Delaney
I stared at Shane for a beat, not believing my ears. Not wanting to believe that Shane meant what he was saying. “So don’t. Don’t be that guy. Prove me wrong.” Fight for me.
“Prove you wrong?” An incredulous expression twisted his features. “How can I when the truth is—I think you’re fucking right? What if that guy is who I really am? I’m doing you a favor, Delaney.”
I set my hand against the wall, needing to lean against something solid because it felt as if Shane were ripping the ground from beneath my feet. “I don’t need any favors. What if all I need is—”
An ugly sound ripped from his throat. “Don’t even say it. I was just using you, all right? Using you to pretend I’m someone I’m not. But the show’s over.”
“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t.” The hurt clenching my heart made my voice quiver, like I was asking a question rather than stating a fact.
Shane only shook his head and turned away. I considered going after him, but I needed a moment, some time to pull myself together before I lost the only man I’d ever wanted. Time to figure out how to convince him that learning to trust each other was a process and that we needed to cut each other some slack. Sure it would take a bit of effort, but Shane Hawthorne was worth it.
And damn it, so was I.
I trudged upstairs, my heartbeat loud and sluggish as I struggled to breathe through the cage enclosing my lungs and absorb everything Shane had just said. He was right. I had thought the worst of him at every turn. Singing Ken doll. Blackmailing asshole. Publicity (man)whore. Why would he want to have me around?
The only problem was—I didn’t want to leave.
Shane wasn’t the man I thought he was. Maybe he wasn’t even the man he thought he was.
And I wanted to scrape off the layers of paint and pretense and get to know the guy who’d offered to sing me a lullaby like he meant it. The guy who’d hit rock bottom, flamed out, and then rose from the ashes like a damned phoenix. The guy whose songs made me ache inside.
Opening the door to my bedroom, I stared out the window as if I could find answers in the tide. Why did I feel so lost? After only one week, Shane was giving me all the incentives he’d promised at the end of our six-month contract. I should pack my bag and get the hell out of his million-dollar beach house and back to my crappy little L.A. apartment where I belonged. But I didn’t want to go.
Sure, it wasn’t long ago that I’d crushed on Shane Hawthorne: the untouchable, unattainable rock star. But the guy I’d spent the past few days with—Shane—he was guarded and vulnerable, intuitive and volatile. The jury was still out on attainable. But touchable…hell to the yes. I liked Shane. A lot. So what if the circumstances we’d met under were a little unconventional? It didn’t mean that our relationship had to be tainted. Did it?
Or had it already been tainted by my deception?
By the secrets I was still clutching to my chest like a shield. As if they could protect me. Hardly. They were a wall between us. One I didn’t know how to knock down. At least, not until I trusted Shane completely. I wasn’t there, not yet.
And if I left tonight, I never would be.
A breeze wafted in through the open window, carrying all my doubts and extinguishing the tiny flicker of hope within me. What relationship was I trying to save? The fake one created by Travis?
A groan rumbled past my quivering lips and I jerked my suitcase onto the bed, throwing in the few items I’d bothered to unpack and zipping it closed. Blinking away tears, I dragged it downstairs, the wheels battering each step, announcing my exodus with the restraint of a twenty-one-gun salute.
Shane was on the couch, quietly strumming his guitar, an open can of Sprite on the side table. He eyed my suitcase, regret etched into the planes of his famous face. “Ready to go?”
I’d packed while my mind fumbled for a way to salvage the mess I’d made. But I wasn’t ready to leave, and I didn’t want to go. Wiping at my wet eyes, I launched myself at Shane, straddling his strong thighs and wrapping my arms around his neck, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging. “No.”
Shane remained still as a statue, barely breathing. As if I scared him. “Why not?”
A part of me cleaved open and the truth slipped out. “Because I want to stay.”
There was movement behind those golden eyes, a softening. I plowed on, desperate to get through to him. “I want to stay with you, Shane. Because of you. Only you.”
“You’re a fool.”
“No.” I brought my hands to his face, my thumbs on the sweep of his cheekbones. “But if I let you throw me away, I will be. You said you needed me by your side, remember? Well, I need you, too.”
Shane’s hands waited a terrifyingly long time before coming around me. But they did, pulling me close. “You sure, Delaney?” His voice was a roughened husk, stoking the fire between us.
I’d never been more sure of anything in my life. “Yes, I’m sure.” With barely an inch between our mouths, I could feel his desire burning as hot as mine, the proof of it throbbing against me. And I was done waiting. I wanted to feel him inside me now. “Shane.” I planted two tiny kisses, one on each side of his lips, before whispering in his ear, “Make me yours.”
He made a noise that was somewhere between a bark and a growl. And then his hands were gliding up my spine, tangling in my hair, his lips teasing mine. When Shane stood, I clung to him like a monkey. He carried me up the stairs and deposited me on the bed gently, reverently. I caught a glimpse of the emotions fighting for space on his handsome face, wanting to reach out my hand, gently trace each plane and angle. Absorb all the need and want and hunger through my fingertips. And I would have. But then my eyes locked on his, and the air left my lungs in a dizzying whoosh. What I saw was piercing, primal. Shane Hawthorne was no pretty-boy, Auto-Tuned boy-bander. He was flawed and fierce. And I wanted to submit to the lust pulsing between us, to be swallowed up in it.
I wanted to confess, too.
Not yet. Soon maybe. But not tonight.
Tonight I wanted to give myself over to reality and fantasy until I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.
Tonight I wanted to chase the rapture Shane had promised with every kiss, every look, every touch.
I wanted to be his, and I wanted to make him mine.
Shane
I let my eyes linger on the sight of Delaney in the middle of my bed, a river of dark hair tumbling onto her shoulders, her lithe legs and soft curves barely denting the mattress, wide eyes shooting sparks at me. I wanted to pounce, to maul her, to swallow her whole. But it was her eyes that stopped me. If I saw another tear fall out of them, it might just kill me.
“Delaney, is this really what you want?” I grabbed at the hem of my shirt, whipping it up and off and into a corner of the room, resisting the urge to close the distance between us.
Delaney’s response was to do the same, her breasts quivering in a barely there lace confection. She was sitting now, kneeling with her feet tucked beneath her perfect ass. My heartbeat tripped as she reached behind her back and unclasped the band of her bra, letting each silken strap fall down her arms while she held the cups to her skin.
“I do. But if you want this,” she whispered, tossing a nervous grin my way just before casting her bra to the floor, “you’re going to have to come a little closer.”
Goddamn, Delaney was beautiful. My eyes soaked up every inch of perfection, stomach lurching as I let myself believe she was all mine. Lust buoyed the air between us, energized oxygen crackling along my spine. “I want,” I growled, ripping at the buttons on my fly, shucking off my jeans and briefs in one smooth movement. Finally free, my dick bobbed, straining toward her.
Delaney’s breath hiccupped. “Good.”
I crossed the remaining steps to the bed, setting one knee on the mattress, then the other, sliding my way toward Delaney until I had a leg on either side of her thighs and her head was in my hands, piles of dark chestnut silk covering my forearms.
Her hands slipped between us, fingertips delicately tracing the ink tattooed into my skin. Her movements were slow and steady, and completely foreign. I was used to grasping and clinging. Women who wanted what I so freely offered—meaningless sex and bragging rights. Everything about Delaney’s touch rang of intention and poise.
Steeling myself, I watched the play of emotions on Delaney’s face as she sat rigidly upright, studying every inch of my chest. Bleeding crucifixes, weeping angels, vengeful demons. My torso and arms were a visual rejection of everything I’d learned from the fire-and-brimstone preacher I’d been forced to listen to every Sunday—and the man who’d dragged me there. Scattered between was a tombstone for Caleb, a monster chasing after two boys, and the Nothing but Trouble logo. Holding myself still, I sucked in a harsh breath as her gaze scraped along the surface of my skin, leaving a trail of need in its wake. “This is your story,” she breathed. “Like a graphic memoir.”
My hands lifted, fisting Delaney’s hair with one, fingertips of the other grazing her collarbone. Her skin was so smooth. Flawless. No ink or scars to mar her pale flesh, just a heat that rose from her blood to burn my fingertips. I let go of her hair, cupping her breasts in my hands, thumbs sweeping across her peaked nipples, thrilling at her quick intake of breath, the way she leaned into my hands.
Delaney’s palms slid up my chest, her head tilting back to look into my eyes. What I saw in them had me spinning. Falling. So hard, so fast I was dizzy. “You should know that no contract could ever make me do this,” she said in a throaty whisper. Those little hands of hers continued up my shoulders, up my neck, finding purchase on either side of my face. “I want to stay.”
It was exactly what I needed to hear. Not because I’d ever had a single qualm about fucking any of my fake girlfriends. But because I’d had a dozen qualms about doing anything to make Delaney doubt me. Doubt us. Tonight, right now, there was only one thing I knew for sure. Delaney and I, we were linked by something I didn’t quite understand yet, but I already cherished.
I’d never had sex with someone who owned my heart. Did Delaney have mine? I didn’t know, not yet. But she had more of me than I’d ever given anyone.
“Delaney.” My voice quaked on her name. Unable to say anything else, I swooped down, finding her lips. Words were entirely inadequate to express the depth of what I was feeling right now.
Delaney
Shane swallowed my sigh of pleasure, his tongue running along the porcelain tracks of my teeth, teasing the corners of my mouth. Tasting. Savoring.
Lustful shivers charged down my spine as he kissed and licked his way down my neck. His hands were everywhere, coiled in my hair, wrapped around my waist, cupping my ass as his cock throbbed against my belly.
“Shane.” I offered his name as a plea, clinging to his shoulders. More. Now. Please.
Quick as lightning, Shane had me flat on my back, palms skimming along my rib cage. He tugged at my white jeans and lace thong until they were just a discarded memory on his floor. Then he fell on me, recapturing my mouth, his knees nudging my thighs apart until he was cradled between them. My head spun with the intensity of my need. It was like a living, pulsing current inside my bloodstream, an undeniable craving for the man on top of me.
A few minutes ago Shane had stared at me as if I were not just in the center of his bed, but the center of his world.
And I fell a little more under his spell.
But then he paused, and my heart lurched in panic. I was afraid Shane would change his mind, walk out the door. “You still sure, sweetheart?”
Something about his face, the gorgeous combination of his tanned skin and piercing gaze, made me want to comfort him, tell him everything was going to be okay because I would make sure of it.
But it wasn’t Shane’s face or his body that made me want to give myself to him. It was the wounded soul inside of him, the one he kept hidden from the public. The one he’d shown me on the beach.
The connection between us was powerful, and it ran deeper now than it had the other night. Where our trajectory would lead, I had no idea. But in this moment, and for the first time in three years, I was exactly where I wanted to be. In Shane’s arms.
Hope fluttered on tentative wings as I realized Shane wasn’t hesitating because he had doubts of his own. Shane was holding back because he was worried about my doubts.
And I fell just a little further.
My head was cluttered, filled with turmoil. But not a single regret. “Yes. God, yes,” I rasped, energy spiking as I roughed my fingers through his hair, pulling his face down to mine once more.
His eyes locked onto mine, fiery and fierce. “I didn’t wanna give you up. It would have killed me.” He covered my mouth with his own, and I could taste his smile.
It slipped beneath my skin, teasing and taunting. So delicious.
Moments later, a moan bubbled up from my throat as Shane tore his lips from mine, a moan that became a hiss as he toyed with my breasts. Licking, sucking, biting, soothing—Jesus, the man knew how to use his tongue. And he was moving south at a determined pace. My hips bucked upward, and Shane pulled at my knees, nibbling the tender skin inside my thighs, sending explosions of pleasure zinging everywhere. My body was an arcade game with a dozen balls shooting every which way. He wasn’t just winning; he was setting the bar so high, the only one who would ever have any chance of breaking it would be him.
Bells, whistles, lights—Shane knew how to play.
I wanted to beg, to plead, but I wasn’t capable of speech. Not when his hands were gliding down my legs, kneading my insteps, and then back up to the part of me that was on fire. Braving the flames, he slipped a finger inside of me. I arched up, choking on my own breath, my pulse pounding against my eardrums. I was a needy, naked, trembling mess of nerve endings and body parts, every single cell in my body wanting whatever Shane was willing to give. I wasn’t a crazy stalker fan. I was worse. I was a beggar.
And I didn’t care.
Because that tongue…Fuuuck. That tongue of his slipped inside my wet center, swirling around my throbbing bundle of nerves with just the right pressure, just the right speed. Just. The. Right. Everything.
My muscles clamped down on Shane’s fingers, ground zero of the orgasm roaring through me. I twisted the sheet into my palms, needing to hold on to something, anything.
When the tremors finally subsided, Shane lifted his head, laying it along my thigh as he dragged his fingers out of me, tracing my own wetness on the skin of my belly. “Wow,” I breathed, knowing I sounded awestruck. Knowing I was awestruck.
A low chuckle flew from Shane’s mouth as he rose, centering himself above me. “Don’t be too impressed by the opening act, Delaney. The headliner’s just getting started.” There was a grin lifting his lips, but his eyes were serious, roiling with an emotion I couldn’t read.
Swallowing the knot in my throat, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Your opening act might have just stolen the show.”
His grunt was proud, defiant. “I’ve never shied away from a challenge, Delaney. Definitely not going to start tonight.” Reaching between my legs, he guided the head of his cock until it nudged my opening, and I was suddenly grateful for the birth control clause I’d initially found so objectionable. I didn’t want anything between us, not even the thinnest of latex barriers.
With one hand tangled in Shane’s hair, I brought my other between us, holding it flat against his chest until I could feel his heart hammering against my palm. “Give it your best shot, Shane.”
The look on his face would have brought me to my knees if I weren’t already lying down. Like the North Star, Shane beamed with a light that was so bright, so full of promise, I would follow it anywhere. He pushed into me, slow and steady. When I thought he couldn’t possibly go any further, there was still more of him to take. His eyes locked on mine as I squirmed in his grasp. “You okay?” His muscles rippled beneath my hands as he reined himself in, holding back out of concern for me.
I’d had sex only once in my life and it was years ago. Adjusting to him was…well, an adjustment. But I didn’t care if he broke me in two. I wanted everything Shane Hawthorne had to give. I wrapped my legs around his back and jerked my hips upward in a quick, purposeful movement. The brief twinge was immediately smoothed by the look of pleasure that overtook Shane’s face. “Now it is,” I answered.
“You’re fucking amazing,” he muttered, pulling out gently and then sliding back in, filling a part of me I hadn’t known was vacant. Over and over and over again. Each thrust adding fuel to the flames threatening to consume me and leave Shane holding a pile of ash.
I was mindless, breathless. “Don’t stop, Shane,” I begged. “Please—don’t ever stop.”