She rests her hand on my leg. “Xander, you can tell me anything. You can talk to me.”
I wait a beat before answering. My pulse is racing, but I’m not sure if it’s from our contact or the conversation. “Let’s talk about you and what I’ve been working on.”
She pulls her hand to her lap and smiles automatically. It’s a cross between forced and genuine—one I’ve never seen before. “Okay. Spill it,” she says, her tone neutral.
I’m not sure if she’s relieved or offended. I take a breath to steady my voice. “I want to make a video. Take a song like ‘Last Time’ and maybe add percussion, strings, and then I want you to chant over them.”
Her eyes go wide and a huge, genuine smile crosses her face. “You want me to be the girl being sung about in the song, don’t you?”
I nod.
“That’s brilliant,” she responds. Full of enthusiasm, she takes my guitar. “Here, let me show you. Something like this, right?”
She plays a few chords and I get caught up in her movements—the way her fingers dance over the strings, the ease with which she moves her body to the rhythm. This is the real Ivy—the one not putting on a show. The girl who loves music like I do. The reason I fell in love with her to begin with.
She points her finger at me. “You missed your cue.”
I laugh. “You want me to sing the song?”
“Yes. Just take the lead and I’ll interject,” she directs me and starts playing again, tapping her foot.
I have to stop myself from watching her, from thinking this is what we could have been doing together for years. I sing the first verse, but I’m not a singer, so I’d say I talked the first line.
We can’t keep doing this going back and forth thing that we do.
You get mad at me and then slam the door.
I apologize and you open it back up.
But, baby, we keep doing it, and this time it’s the last time.
Ivy bobs her head and closes her eyes, letting the words just flow out.
I know we’re so dysfunctional that it can’t be any good.
Sometimes love just isn’t enough.
But for us it should be, because two wrongs can only make a right.
So, baby, let’s keep this and make every time the first time.
She stops and opens her eyes. My thoughts are racing. The words she can create off the cuff blow me away. And her talent—the way she blends sadness, tenderness, and passion, making them feel like one emotion with just a change in her tone, is why she is the singer that she is. I’m so lost in my awe of her I don’t even notice that she’s set the guitar down until her hands are on my face and her lips are on mine. With a sharp intake of breath I feel their softness, their familiarity. She tastes like peppermint and smells like heaven. My head spins with raw need—a need to devour her, consume her, own her, and make her mine, this time forever. I pull her onto my lap, my hands cupping her ass, placing her right where I need her. I want to touch all of her at once. My fingers slide under her shirt and dig into her flesh, then around to feel her perfect nipples. She wraps her legs around me and my cock throbs so much it hurts. All I can think about is stripping off her clothes, being inside her, and fucking her for days.
“Um, Ivy, sorry to interrupt, but Damon’s on the phone and he says it’s urgent,” Leif says in a rather uncomfortable tone.
She jumps off my lap immediately. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right there.”
Leif leaves the galley and I grasp her wrist and tug her back to me, but she resists.
“Ignore the call,” I tell her, standing up and stepping closer to her.
She backs toward the door.
I put a hand on the wall next to her head. “Ivy, don’t leave.”
“I’m sorry, Xander. I shouldn’t have done that. I just can’t be that close to you.”
I look down at her. “Why not? I’ve gone along with the friends thing, but clearly we both want more.”
Her voice cracks as she whispers, “Because, Xander, my body might want you but my heart doesn’t.”
The pain in her voice collapses everything I am, everything I have to give. She turns and walks out without a single backward glance . . . leaving my good mood shattered and a knife twisting in my gut.
? ? ?
It’s a rainy, miserable day when we arrive in Jersey, and the weather does nothing to improve my mood. The heat and humidity are unbearable and the rain just fucking sucks. We’re late and rush into the stadium. We do a quick sound check and head backstage.
“Are you as sweaty as I am?” Ivy asks Leif.
“My balls are sitting in a puddle of water. Does that answer your question?” He grins at her.
Leif directs his gaze my way and asks, “What’s with the air in the building?”
“How the fuck would I know? Do I look like the maintenance man?” I snap. His response to Ivy got under my skin, but really I’m pissed that he interrupted us this afternoon for her to take a call from that prick.