Chapter Five

Brandon

Pretty pink lips pull downward into a frown and when she leans into me, I press her to my side. Her scent, something flowery with vanilla hits me and I breathe her in. My body hums, my senses heightening with every second of me not touching her. Devouring her.

I take a shallow breath, willing my body to slow down. Despite my own building tension, I know this isn’t what Maria needs right now.

She curves into me, trusting me to take care of her after she’s exposed her vulnerabilities.

“You’re doing a damn good job,” I say. “I hope you know that.”

Again, she laughs and it sounds hopeless and dead and makes me hurt more than anything before. “Is that why I can’t pay for a babysitter?” She peers up at me, her eyes asking more than her words. “Is that why you had to buy us groceries? Is that why my brother’s always stealing and getting into trouble? Mr. Mendes is going to shoot him one day, and then what? What am I going to do when I fail my brother?”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“You think he’ll listen to you, Rock God?” she teases, but her voice… it’s void of anything but her sadness that spreads over me and tangles through my limbs and into my soul.

“Do you think it’ll hurt if I try?” I counter.

She’s quiet for a moment before she replies, “I guess not. You always such a hero?”

“Yeah.” I chuckle and am relieved to hear her melodic laugh when she joins me. “I play the role well, huh?”

She kisses my chin and murmurs in agreement. With my arm still holding her tight, I trace my hand over the soft skin of her shoulder.

“What did you want to go to school for?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter, Brandon.”

My name coming from her lips is like a form of ecstasy. A crazy addiction. And I want to hear it over and over again, knowing I’ll never grow tired of it.

“Yeah, it matters,” I reply. When she stays quiet, I squeeze her shoulder and add, “Humor me.”

She takes a deep inhale, and her breast rubs against my side at the motion. “A photographer.”

Surprised, my fingers stop moving for a couple beats before I again dance my fingertips over her delicious skin.

“You any good?” I ask.

She pinches my side. “Of course, I am.” She holds her head up and levels me with a confident stare. “I’m the god of photography.”

Taking the tips of her jet-black hair between my fingers, I give it a little tug. The pulse on her throat quickens and satisfaction thrums throughout my body.

“Yeah, Photo God?” I quip. “Let’s see what you got.”

She trails a hand over my tattooed arm, across my throat and through my short dark hair. Her face comes within inches of mine and I stagger out a breath. “I don’t proclaim anything that isn’t the truth.”

My jaw ticks and I run a hand over the stubble on my chin. “So modest. Show me what you have,” I challenge.

Beside me, she shifts and grabs her phone to unlock it. After a few swipes, she hands it to me. Without saying anything, I scroll through her photographs. While the scenic pictures are breathtaking, it’s the candid shots of people that I’m most impressed with.

“You took these with your phone?” I ask, my voice thickened with disbelief.

“Most of them.” She takes the phone away from me and when I protest, she holds up a single digit. After going through more pictures, she hands it back to me. “I took these with a professional camera my parents gave me for my seventeenth birthday.”

A lump forms in the base of my throat and although I’m pretty sure I know the answer, I ask, “What happened to it?”

She swallows hard and turns from me. I take her chin in my hand and force her to look at me.

“What happened to your camera?”

“We ran out of money when Mom left.” Her leg bounces beside me and although I squeeze her knee, she doesn’t seem to notice. “I thought Gabe had stolen it for cash, but,” she shakes her head.

“Your dad did it?”

“He didn’t even do it to feed us, but his addiction.”

I lean into her and swallow her unshed tears with a tender kiss. Her arms encircle my neck so I take advantage of her position and slide her onto my lap. She follows willingly. I try to soothe away her pain with my touch as she hides her heartache in my embrace.

I glide my hand beneath the thin material of her shirt and skim my fingers over her skin. She shudders, sucking in my bottom lip and biting it gently. I moan, pulling her further down as I push my pelvis up, and the friction –the delicious friction of her core over my hard length feeds the growing hunger.

We kiss and kiss and kiss some more.

Her fingers rake through my short hair and bite into my scalp. Gently, my fingers lap over her stomach and the edge of her bra with a patience I didn’t know I had.

She trembles from my touch and while I want to take everything she offers, I know what we have – what we’re starting is more than lust, more than a one-night stand.

With controlled restraint, I pull her away and kiss her temple. Her eyes darken, the black iris taking over and encompassing the brown hue.

“We need to slow down,” I breathe out heavily.

Her brows knit together and I rub my finger between them. I place a quick kiss over her swollen lips and then kiss them again.

Was I really that stupid to think one kiss would ever be enough?

I skirt my nose over her throat and whisper, “Tell me something else. Where’d you grow up?”

“What?” she asks, her voice raw with desire.

“Where’d you grow up? What’s your favorite birthday memory?”

She rests her head on the crook of my neck and lets out a content sigh. “I’d rather hear about the great Brandon Wright.”

It’s meant as a tease. Still I flinch, as if she’s thrown a blade straight through my heart and the desire for her to know me as more than some Rockstar burns a gaping hole in my gut.

“How old are you?” she asks. “What’s your favorite birthday memory? When did you learn to play guitar? So many questions.” She hums into my neck and it sends sweet shivers down my spine.

I tangle my fingers in her thick hair and pull back, “You mean as my super-fan you don’t already know this?”

She lowers her eyes to my lips and wets her own. I grunt, shifting uncomfortably beneath her. She wiggles on top of me, pressing down on my growing erection.

“I’m twenty-three,” I grunt out and focus all of my attention on my words. “My dad got me a guitar for my tenth birthday. That day, he took out his guitar and taught me a few strings. We played together all day until I thought my fingers would bleed.” I laugh. “That’s my favorite birthday memory.”

With a wry smile, she reaches her hand between us and runs it over my arousal. I jerk and it presses harder against my pants. My tongue flicks out and I close my eyes.

“Ask me something else,” I groan out.

She closes the small distance between us and kisses my jawline. Needing to touch her again, to feel her warm satin skin on my fingertips, my hand sneaks under her shirt. She shudders at my touch and I glide my hand over her stomach to her breast. I cup it, flicking a nipple with my thumb. She moans my name and that’s my unraveling.

I want more. More of this and more of something else.

I can’t explain it. This hold – it’s too fast, too much, but it’s there.

“Why Sava Effect?” she asks.

Removing my hand, I lean back, sinking into the sofa as she curls deeper on top of me. I hate that she keeps asking about the band. It’s like that’s all I am, everything about me can be summed up with just the band name.

“Isaac, our drummer,” I offer.

“I know who Isaac is, Super-fan, remember?” She smirks.

“It’s his girl’s last name. She suggested the name so that when we made it big, he’d always carry her with him. It just kind of fit. We didn’t know how big we’d get, but even then we wanted to remember we were just a couple regular guys lucky enough to be doing what we love with friends who always felt more like family.”

Her brows draw together and I drop my smile and hope she sees me for me.

“That’s sweet, Brandon, but you’re never going to be some regular guy. Not to me at least.”

An ache nestles in my gut and spreads.

“Don’t you see?” she asks, her voice small, her smile wistful. “You’re so much more than that. And when you leave and I have nothing but your memory, I’m going to remember the Brandon Wright that made my family happy, even if it was just for one day. I’m gonna remember you as this beautiful, incredible man that made me laugh when I didn’t have all that much to smile for. I’m going to remember your kiss,” she touches her lips, “and I’m going to dream about it every day until I drive myself crazy craving it and you.”

That delicious mouth of hers presses against mine and I relish her taste, her touch, her smell. I reach around her and bring her closer to me.

“More talking,” I grunt into our shared kiss. “Tell me something else about you.”

She leans back and looks at me through defenseless eyes. “Why?” she asks, her voice small and uncertain.

“Because I want to get to know you first. When the show’s over, I have to leave, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have more. I want to date you and do all the stuff normal people do when they start a relationship.”

“Start a relationship?” She squirms off my lap and stands before me with her hands on her hips. “Date? We’re not starting anything. I told you I wasn’t inviting you over for sex. Turns out, I lied.” She arches her lips up into a devious smile.

I stand in front of her and kiss the smirk off her beautiful face.

“We’ll get there and, Maria, I can’t wait to hear you scream my name. But not tonight.”

After another chaste kiss, I walk to her kitchen. On the counter, I grab a paper and pen and scribble out my number.

“I need you to call me tomorrow,” I say from over my shoulder. It takes everything in me to not press her against the wall and give her exactly what her body wants. “Our photographer had an emergency and we have a show in two nights. We need a photographer.”

“Listen here.” She jabs a finger into my chest when I turn to face her. “I’m not a good deed or charity case. You bought my family groceries and I’m in your debt. A debt I will pay. But to come here and kiss me,” she touches her lips, “to kiss me and make me think you want more and then dismiss me, only to offer me a job. You don’t get to do that, Brandon. I’m better than that.”

Taking her face in my hands, I lock eyes with her. “You are better than that. You’re better than any girl I’ve met. You’re beautiful, like crazy beautiful and I can’t keep my eyes or hands off you. I can’t stop kissing you and, fuck me, I want exactly what you want, but I also want more with you.”

She balks at my words so I take another step to her, invading her space so all she knows in this moment is me.

“I want more with you.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

I drop my chin to my chest. “And the job?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Afraid you’re gonna see me onstage and not be able to keep your hands off me?”

One side of her lips kick up and she runs a hand over my arm. “I already seem to have that problem.”

I take her hand in mine and guide it to my lips. “Take the job. Unless you don’t think you’re qualified.”

She pulls her hand away from my grasp and squares her shoulders. “What the hell is that? You know I’m qualified or you wouldn’t have asked me.”

“Exactly.” I smirk.

She puts her hands on her hips, she fake glares at me. “My brother was right when he called you an asshole.”