“Why?”
“Let me tell you a little secret,” I say. “Getting your guy is mostly about what you don’t say. Do you follow his every movement with your eyes? When you’re walking together, are your steps in sync? When you come into a room, do his eyes go straight to you, even with beautiful women all around him? If the answer is no to any of those, then you’re fucked. You can’t change chemistry, and no amount of hair removal or fake boobs can create it. It just . . . is. Attraction is magic, and you can’t find it in a book.”
She seems to find my words fascinating. “What makes you the expert on love?”
I wave her off—not even going there. “And your lips . . . they’re perfect. That little indention you have right at the bottom is pure sex, but if you don’t know how to use it properly . . .” My voice trails off.
“Okay.”
“Okay, okay?” I arch a brow. “Is that a yes?” Is she going to let me kiss her?
She nods, and before she can finish the movement, I take her necklace, tug her face to mine, and lay one on her.
And this is the weird part: I haven’t kissed a girl on the lips in a long time, but I go at it with her like I’m starving.
Her lips immediately part under mine, as if she’s been waiting for this too. She tastes like sun-ripened cherries, and I delve deeper, exploring her. After a tentative few seconds, she gives it back, her tongue finding mine and tangling. It’s gentle, but hot as hell. Cupping her face, I groan as I line her mouth with small feathery kisses, letting my teeth nip lightly on her bottom lip as I pull away.
“Spider,” she says softly, her chest rising rapidly.
My dick’s harder than I can ever remember, and all I want to do is kiss her again.
She moves closer to me, her tits pressing against my chest. My hand slips down to her neck and I graze the soft skin there, caressing her as I picture my lips sucking on her throat. I imagine my tongue playing with her nipples. Fuck. I want her.
“I want you,” I say, my voice heavy with lust.
“Kiss me again,” she says as I gaze into her eyes.
Damn. There’s something about her— A pocket of turbulence shakes the plane out of nowhere, and several passengers gasp and cry out.
I forget about kissing as fear flickers over her face and she clutches her seat once again. “Was that normal?”
“Just turbulence. The pilot will probably take us higher to get out of it,” I say as the jarring continues.
Ding! The light to put on our seat belts comes on.
She closes her eyes, her voice high and reedy. “We’re going to crash, aren’t we? We’re going to die.”
“Hey.” I grab her hand and lace our fingers together, wanting to comfort her. “It’s going to be fine, I promise.”
She looks down at our hands in surprise just as another bump sends a passenger stumbling on his way back from the bathroom.
She turns green as she folds herself into my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Rose.”
When I get scared, my throat gets dry, so I look around for a flight attendant to get her some water. However, they’ve disappeared, probably buckling themselves in. I unclip my seat belt even though I’m not supposed to and stand to dig a bottle of water from my backpack, hanging on to the overhead so I don’t fall. Once I find it, I quickly sit back down and hand it over to her.
“Thousands of planes take off and land every day,” I say as she turns the bottle up.
“You’re a musician, not an aerospace engineer.” Her voice is a bit snappy.
I get it—she’s terrified.
I understand that. I have my own hang-ups: I don’t let people close to me.
“I happen to not like flying either. I just hide it very well.” I take her hand again, intertwining our fingers.
She peeks over at me. “Really?”
I nod. “You know what else I’m scared of? Opening shower curtains in every single hotel I stay in. I’m convinced there’s going to be a knife-wielding psycho who looks like Dolly Parton waiting for me. Maybe it’s the giant boobs, maybe it’s the wig, but something about her scares me. Also, roaches with wings. I know I’m a grown man, but what if I try to kill the bugger and miss and then it comes back with all its friends at night and then crawls in my ear and messes with my brain?”
She smiles, just a hint. “Your imagination is limitless.”
“Don’t even get me started on zombies. I mean, what the hell is up with Americans and scary shows? Don’t they know that someday scientists are going to reanimate people, and then what are we going to do? Send those walking skeletons to Mars?”
“I love The Walking Dead,” she murmurs.
“You’re a zombie-lover, just perfect.”
“If we crash, let’s come back as zombies.”
“As long as we can be together, it’s on, love.” I raise a brow and watch as a slow blush starts at her neck and works its way up her face.
Something shifts between us, becoming softer and more intimate—even more so than the kiss. It feels fucking good. Relaxing for the first time in what seems like weeks of being on the road and doing shows, I lean my head back against the seat and stare at her, picking her features apart and trying to figure out which part I like the most.
Has to be the lips.
Or the red highlights in her hair.
No, it’s definitely the way she looks at me with her eyes up and her chin slightly down, as if she doesn’t quite know what to make of me.
“The turbulence stopped,” she says, her eyes brightening as she straightens in her seat and looks around the cabin.
I nod. “It stopped a few minutes ago while we were talking.”
“Thank you for distracting me.” She looks at the spider tattoo on my neck. “You have to tell me . . . how did you get a name like Spider?”
Her question sends me spinning in a whole new direction, careening toward darkness, but I push it back and focus on a happy memory. “It was my twin sister’s name for me. Believe it or not, my natural hair color is almost black, and when I was young, I was super skinny with long legs and arms, plus I loved to climb everything. I’d do this thing where I’d hide and jump out at her. Once I sat on the top shelf of her bedroom closet for two hours waiting for her to get home from a play date. She opened the door and—boom—I popped down and landed right at her feet.” I remember Cate’s angry face and how she chased me out of her room. “She said I looked like a spider. The next morning, she called me Spider to make me mad, but I liked it, and it just kinda stuck.” I pause, staring down at our hands. “She died when we were thirteen.”
Her face falls. “God, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“It’s not something I talk about.”
She nods, her face earnest. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”
I nod and look away. There’s no way in hell I can tell her the truth—that I’m the reason my sister is gone.