Libby

Tomorrow is the day.

The day we leave for the tour.

And I’m one nervous as hell woman.

I’m almost done packing when my phone beeps. I grab it from my nightstand and read the text.

Knox: Your bags packed and ready to go?

Me: About to zip up my suitcase.

Knox: Did you do what I said?

Me: No, it’s not necessary for you to buy me shit to take on tour.

Knox: I was only trying to help you out. If you don’t need anything, it’s cool.

Why do I feel like a bitch for not accepting his offer of using his credit card to buy my necessities for the tour? I did have to take a chunk of the money I’ve been saving up to purchase everything I need, but the pay raise Knox promised will pay that back and more.

My phone vibrates in my hand again before I have the chance to reply to him.

Knox: When are you going to be here to help me pack?

Help him pack? That’s not in my job description.

Me: Don’t you have people who do that for you?

Knox: Yes, you.

Me: Fine, I’ll be there in an hour.

* * *

This will be my first time seeing Knox since the whole backseat-fingering situation I got myself into – or better yet when he got himself into me. I want to blame it on the champagne, but my raging hormones were the culprit. I haven’t been laid in six months.

How is he going to act?

Will he bring it up or sweep it under the rug so shit doesn’t get awkward?

I have my fingers crossed on the rug sweeping.

Shit. Fingers.

That only reminds me of how well he knows how to work his.

He brought me to a harder orgasm than I’ve had in awhile.

I hit the garage door opener and park the Jeep inside. I find Knox lounging on the couch, shirtless, with his feet resting on the coffee table. I try to hold back from focusing my eyes on the water dripping from the top of his chest onto his lap, but I can’t.

Please heart, do not let me catch feelings for this man … and if I have already, please help me rid of them.

The sooner, the better.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” I ask when I finish eye fucking him. I keep my distance, casually leaning against the arm of a chair. My nerves are going crazy.

He grins, amused at my reaction. “Relax, boss woman. I finished my swim a few minutes ago.” He points to his swim trunks. “My dick is covered.” He lowers his voice. “Although from the way you’re looking at me, I think that might be why you’re so upset.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “You can pretend you’re annoyed with me all you want, sunshine, but you can’t pretend that I didn’t make you come the other night.”

Tingles sweep up the back of my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was faking it so you wouldn’t feel bad.”

He scoffs. “Oh please. You were soaked, your pussy clenching against my fingers, begging for more. It was sexy as fuck, by the way.” He gets up from the couch. “But I can tell talking about how great I played with your pussy makes you uncomfortable, so I’ll cut it out. Let me know when you’re ready for seconds.” He walks towards the foyer and looks back at me. “Now come on, we have to get my shit packed.”

I start following him up the stairs. “Is this some scheme to get me into your bedroom?” I call out.

He turns around and winks. “Something like that, sunshine. Will it work?”

“Definitely not.”

“You take the fun out of everything, Graves.” He holds his hands up and wiggles his fingers. “I promise I’ll keep these bad boys to myself.”

“You better, or I’ll bite them off.”

“Why? So you can use them to pleasure yourself without having to deal with me? That’s some twisted shit.”

“You’re seriously incorrigible.”

“And you’re seriously slacking at your job. Come on.”

I groan and curse with every step up. I’m being overly dramatic, but the more he talks about what happened in the backseat, the more I want it to happen again. I need to keep my distance from this man, which is going to be completely unrealistic considering I’ll be with him everyday for months.

He waits until I meet him at the last door down the long hallway and pulls out a key to unlock it, gesturing for me to go in first.

The bedroom is huge with an expensive bed taking up most of the space. The bed is black and covered with dark bedding. The walls are painted a light grey, giving it some brightness to the dark furniture, and a big screen TV hangs on the wall across from his bed with a dresser underneath it.

It screams masculinity from every angle. The pleasant scent of mint and pine drifts through the air.

Five platinum records are hung up on one wall with a guitar that looks like it’s seen better days below it.

“Is that the guitar? I ask, walking over to it.

I know my fair share about guitars from being around my dad’s band so much, and this guitar isn’t expensive. It’s cheap, beat up, and the only reason someone would keep something in this terrible of condition is if it means something to them.

He looks from the guitar to me and nods. “That’s the guitar that changed my life.”

I want to reach out and touch it because of the sentimental value it holds to him but hold myself back, feeling like he’s the only one allowed to do that. I’m not sure if he catches onto my hesitation, but I tense up when he walks over to me. He slowly drags his hand over the face of the guitar back and forth slowly.

“I will keep this for the rest of my life. I have guitars that are worth thousands and thousands of dollars, but this is my most prized possession.”

The look in his eyes when he talks about this guitar is hypnotic. You can’t help but fall in love with it too. The passion. The love. This cheap piece of wood is what gave him the life he has now.

I suck in a breath before gaining the courage to slowly run my fingers over it, feeling all of the chipped pieces and wear and tear from over the years. I wonder how many other music lovers learned to play their favorite songs on this instrument.

I look over at him when I feel his finger slowly graze the side of my hand. He’s staring at me in a way I’ve never seen before. There’s no cockiness. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it reminds me of a mixture of nostalgia and tranquility.

His large hand folds over my slender one before he weaves our fingers together. The air in the room goes heavy, and the scent of fresh chlorine hits me as he guides our connection over the strings.

Warmth rushes through my body when he starts to play using the tips of our fingers. The strings feel coarse against my skin. Our eyes are locked, and I can’t force myself to look away.

“This is the first song I learned to play,” he says quietly.

He starts to sing, and I swear if his hands weren’t on mine I would lose my concentration on what we’re doing.

It’s no lie that he can sing, and he does it so beautifully I get myself caught up in his spell. It’s sensual and masculine and runs through my veins like silk. I could stand here and listen to it all day, especially when he’s giving me my own private show.

“The House of the Rising Sun?” I ask.

He squeezes my hand. “It was my mother’s favorite song. She’d listen to it on repeat, and somehow I ended up catching onto the beat. It’s not perfect, but it’s what shaped me into who I am. The lyrics hit pretty close to home.”

He starts to sing again, and I never want him to stop. I can’t take my eyes off him. I feel like he’s giving me something he’s never given anyone else. Or maybe I’m hoping that’s true – that he’s never opened up himself like this to anyone but me. I want to be the only woman he’s given this incredibly personal show for.

“Wow,” I whisper when he finishes. “It still has it.”

Our hands are still enveloped, and my fingertips slowly slide along the strings.

“It always will,” he says, slowly releasing my hand from his. He takes a step back, and we stare at each other in silence.

What is going on?

I came here to help him pack, not to eye fuck him and develop an even bigger attraction.

He closes in on the small space that’s separating us, and I know in this second, it’s going to lead somewhere if I don’t stop it.

I fake a laugh and distance myself. “We better start packing before it gets too late. I have a feeling you’re going to be high maintenance,” I say.

I’m trying to joke, but there’s no confusion in what I stopped.

He forces out a chuckle, shaking his head, and points to the French doors on the opposite side of the room. “Closet and bathroom are over there.”

I start to move in that direction while keeping my head down. Please don’t let him see the blush rising along my face.

“And Libby.” I turn around at the sound of his voice and look at him, even though I’m terrified to. “I might be high maintenance, but I can tell you that’s not the case in the bedroom. I make sure I take care of her before me.”

I gulp before answering him. “Thanks for the info.” He says things that make my imagination run wild. Why am I thinking about his hands on me? He’s the last person I should want touching me.

“From the sexual tension that just happened, I’d like you to be well informed.”

Oh my fucking God!

I turn around and stumble a bit on my way into the bathroom. The room is as incredible as the rest of the house, and my favorite part is the claw foot bathtub that I know would be amazing to soak in. It’s my dream tub. I walk through the bathroom and straight into the closet.

Yes, I lived a pretty privileged life growing up, but there is no doubt that Knox has more money than my father did … or he spends it more wisely and doesn’t pour it into women and drugs.

I walk back into the bathroom and poke my head out the door. “Do you have your packing list?” I ask.

“Shit, it’s downstairs. I emailed it to you, do you have your copy?”

“It’s in my purse. I’ll grab it.” I go back into the bedroom and rummage through my bag. I start to separate the papers folded together until I find it. “Here it is.”

I don’t get the chance to stop him before he grabs a fallen paper from the bed. “Is this yours?” he asks, his eyes trailing down my itemized list.

Oh. My. God. I want to die, like I’m seriously debating walking over to his balcony and jumping off.

I dart forward and try to snatch it from him, but he sprints across the room, grinning.

“Vibrator is number ten and underlined multiple times,” he says. “Damn, I’m traveling with a bad girl.”

How do I lie my way out of this? “I didn’t write that. Mia did.”

“It’s in your handwriting.” I want to smack the smug smile off his face. He’s eating this up.

I decide to just admit to it so we can move on. “Oh shut up, a girl has to release herself sometimes.”

“Why can’t you use me as your release? I guarantee you I’m better than any toy you can buy. Don’t pleasure yourself with plastic.” He looks down at his swim trunk covered cock. “The real thing is always better.”

“I don’t want the real thing.” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I’m so pissed at myself that I was stupid enough to let that get out. I should’ve thrown it away when I finished packing.

The amusement of my humiliation is still evident on his face. “So you’re saying you prefer artificial stimulation? I can tell you one thing for sure, there’s no way I’d prefer artificial pussy.”

“Have you ever even tried artificial pussy?” And why the fuck are we saying artificial pussy?

“Fuck no. Never have. Never will.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“I think you’d look at me completely different if you walked in on me fucking a fake pussy.”

He does have a point there. “Probably, but I prefer using a vibrator because I don’t have to worry about my vibrator giving me the clap or any other venereal disease. I stay clean with my orgasm machine.”

“Did you just say orgasm machine?”

“It’s better than saying artificial cock!”

“I’m traveling across the country with a pervert.”

I scoff. “No buddy, I think it’s the other way around.”

He throws his head back and groans. “Do you know how bad it’s going to kill me to know you’re in the hotel room next door pleasuring your pretty little pussy with some cheap imitation? Let’s make a deal.”

“Let’s not.”

“If you feel like you’re in need of an orgasm, you call me. You won’t even have to worry about taking care of me. I promise. I’ll come in, do my job, and then leave.” The excitement on his face as he talks about pleasuring me is mesmerizing, and I can feel myself getting wet between my legs.

“How about no.”

“I swear if I see said vibrator, I’m burning that sucker.”

We need to move on from this conversation. “Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

“No, but I have been told I’m phenomenal in bed, much better than some ridiculous vibrator.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll steal your batteries and you’ll get desperate enough to come knocking on my door.”

He’s so wrapped up in our conversation that I catch him off guard when I snatch the paper from his hand. “We need to get to packing because I can’t stay long.”

“Why? Do you have a date with your vibrator?”

“Say vibrator again and I’m leaving.”

“Fine.” He laughs. “One more thing, though.”

“What?”

“We haven’t done our secret of the day yet.”

I roll my eyes. “This is the wrong time for that discussion. We have packing to get done.”

“My secret is that I’m positive I’ll be up all night thinking about you pleasuring yourself.”

“My secret is that I’ve changed my mind and the vibrator is staying home,” I lie.

“Looks like you may be in need of my services after all.”