She circles her arms around my neck and hangs on to me. "What are you doing?" she whispers.

"Being good."

My lips land on hers again, shutting her up before she can protest. All I want is a few uninterrupted minutes of just kissing her and losing myself to her. It seems like every time our feelings start to take over we stop or have a fight of some sort or I'm just trying to tease her into wanting me. This time, I'm not letting it happen.

I kiss her deeper, pressing my body against hers until I feel her relax and give in, her hands gently tugging my hair, her thighs tightening around my waist. Her lips are so incredibly soft, and she always tastes so sweet it's like kissing candy. I move my lips down to suck the delicate flesh of her throat, fisting her hair and pulling her head back so I can run my tongue from the base of her neck, back to her lips, then slowly nibbling down to her shoulder. Her entire body practically goes limp in my arms, and all I'm doing is kissing her lips and neck. If she would just let the walls down, I know I could make her feel so damn good and drive her wild for me. I move my lips down farther, delving into the V-neck of her shirt while slowly sliding my hands up to cup her breasts. Instantly her hands grab mine, pulling them off her.

"What's wrong?" I try to kiss her mouth, but she turns away, and immediately, I know what the problem is. My comments about her body have made her completely insecure with me touching her. I don't even think she realized she grabbed my hands and pulled away; it seemed like an involuntary reaction that surprised even her, which is a pretty bad sign.

Lukas was right. I did some major damage here.

I rescue her from the uncomfortable silence that is thick enough to choke on and grab her bouquet off the table. "Let's go put these in a vase and have dinner. It smells great."

She nods and hops off the table, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. It's just long enough for me to see the gratefulness in her glance—for letting her go.

I can't shake the feeling this is a premonition that someday, the best thing I'm going to be able to do for this girl is to let her go.

Chapter 18

Asia

Mrs. Valentine

The experimental wife of a rock star stares at me, as I stare back at her. She spent the day at a spa recommended by Evie, had her nails done for the very first time in a French manicure with a lavender hue to match her eyes, which are perfectly lined with smoky kohl liner and framed with thick black lashes. Her long, jet-black hair flows down her back and over her shoulders, shining like liquid silk, the light catching the amethyst tint and matching random purple streaks. Her makeup is flawless, her lips dewy with a black cherry matte suggested by the gal at the spa, who handed her a pretty little black bag filled with every product she needed to replicate this look.

She's wearing tight skinny jeans with a perfect fade over the thighs, a low-cut white silk blouse, and black ankle boots with little metal chains hanging over them. A stack of silver bangles mixed with black leather cord cascades down each arm.

This girl looks confident, trendy and beautiful, the perfect partner to be on the arm of a sexy rock star.

I didn't know this girl was in me.

"Whoa," he says when I return home. He stands up from the couch and just stares at me for a moment, grinning like an imp, then closes the space between us and takes both my hands in his. "You look drop-dead fucking amazing, Aze."

I look down at myself, still feeling a little awkward and not quite used to the hours just spent with someone going over practically every inch of my body with scissors, creams, waxes, and lacquers. I feel totally new.

"Thank you," I reply, swallowing nervously. I really, really want him to see me as sexy and not just as the cute little puppy. Judging from his reaction and the expression on his face, all this effort was worth it.

He spins me around in a full circle, taking me in from all angles. "I knew your hair would look bangin' that color." He touches it softly and smooths it over my shoulder. "I love it."

"I do too. Thank you for letting me do all this."

"Don't thank me, baby. You can go to the salon anytime you want. Every week, every month, go and get yourself prettied up whenever you want to. You ain't gonna hear me arguing about it."

"We'll see," I reply, smiling.

His arms go around my waist. "I'm not sure I can keep my hands off you."

"Well, you're gonna have to if you plan to play tonight. I can't wait to see you and the guys on stage."

"Fuck that. I kinda want to stay here and just keep you to myself."

"That's very sweet in a stalkery way, Tal." I grin up at him.

"It's true." He stares down into my face. "Your eyes look even more amazing. I swear you could hypnotize me."

"You're getting sleeeepy…" I tease, swaying back in forth in front of him, widening my eyes.

"Sleepy is definitely not what I'm getting." His face leans down toward mine and stops an inch away from my lips. "Can I kiss you? Or are you gonna get mad if I wreck your lipstick?"

"Kiss me. I'll just put more on." I grab the back of his neck and pull his lips to mine, and he kisses me long and soft while his hand slowly moves down to give my ass a little squeeze. He's been different the past few days, kissing me more, longer, sometimes softer, and now we sleep either spooning or he pulls my head onto his chest and wraps his arms around me. That's become my favorite part of the day—just being in his arms at night in our bed. He's still hard to read, and I hang on to every sweet moment, every caring gesture and word, replaying it in my mind when I'm alone and hoping it means he's starting to have real feelings for me, like I'm starting to have for him.

Pulling away slowly, he smiles at me and I giggle at the lipstick that's now on his lips. "You look good in black cherry," I say, wiping my finger across his lips.

"Not half as good as you do. I better go get ready. The limo will be here soon to take us to the club."

"Okay."

Right before reaching the stairway, he turns around. "Don't run away and find a better husband while I'm upstairs," he says, taking a few backward steps.

"Not a chance, Tarzan. Keep your hands off yourself while you're in there. We don't want to be late," I tease back.

"Good one!" he calls as he jogs up the stairs.

While he's upstairs, I fix my makeup and hair, nervousness about tonight starting to poke at me. So many new experiences happened today. I drove my car for the first time by myself to get to the salon, which was a little scary after not driving for so long. But I didn't get lost, crash into anything, or get a speeding ticket, so all went well and I'm proud of myself.

Going to the club tonight for the VIP grand opening sounds exciting but also overwhelming. Evie said celebrities and other famous bands will be there and to prepare myself for photos to be taken that will show up on social media and the band's website, warning me that people might leave nasty remarks about me and I should ignore them.

Seriously, people sit behind a computer or on a cell phone and make nasty comments about others they don't even know? Why? That is definitely not something I'm going to deal well with at all, and I'm already having an inner freak-out over it.

My thoughts are disrupted by Princess Pixie rubbing on my ankles and pulling the little chains on my new boots.

"Come on, Pixie, let's go check your food dish before Mommy leaves." Pixie is one of those cats that will have a tiny tantrum if her food dish is not filled to the top at all times. Half full is not acceptable. Sure enough, when I check her dish in the kitchen, it's not filled to the very top. I grab her food from the cabinet and fill her dish, then give her fresh water. I laugh as she promptly walks away, her mission accomplished.

I look up to see Talon coming into the kitchen, and my attraction for him shifts into overdrive. He looks smoking hot, his hair blown-dry and wavy, and I see a faint trace of light, smoky guyliner under his eyes, which actually makes him look sexy. I'm married to a man who wears makeup.

Grinning, he extends both arms out wide and bows.

"Baby, these clothes are fuckin' epic. I can't believe you made all this."

I beam at his compliment and walk over to check out his outfit closer, pleased to see everything fits him perfectly.

"Do I look hot or what?" he asks.

"You do. You've reached a level of hotness I didn't think was possible."

"Fuck yeah, I have."

He's wearing an old pair of his jeans that I sewed a bunch of cool, aged leather and random suede patches all over, and I shredded the bottom leg hems so short, stray frays hang over his black boots. I also frayed the waistband because I thought it would look sexy against his abs—and, lordy, it does—and made him a black, aged leather belt I stitched big, crooked white X's into because he likes them. The shirt I made him is a black sleeveless that I ripped in places and then stitched back together with the same thick white thread as the belt, and I also sewed up some random parts with hardware like rivets and eyelets. I cut the front of the shirt out like an inverted V to show off just a hint of his abs. He's also wearing the scarf I gave him the first day we spent together, just like he said he would.

"These clothes are sick, baby. We're gonna talk about more of this over the weekend."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "More of this?"

"Hell yeah, more clothes. Lots more. Who knew I married a chick who could make me awesome stage clothes? The guys are gonna go crazy." His hand grabs my waist in excitement. "Give us a kiss. I'm totally stoked about this."

The smile on my face is so big that we bang teeth when he kisses me, making him laugh.

"That was the worst kiss ever, babe. But I'll take it."

He releases me suddenly to pull his phone out of his back pocket. "Limo's here. The driver just texted me. You ready?"

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. "I think so. Do you need to bring your guitar or anything?"