Taming the Storm Page 7

  His lips curl. “Well, that’s not entirely true.” His eyes give my body a lazy perusal.

  I hate that my body lights up like the Fourth of fucking July under his heated gaze.

  “I definitely like your tight, little body, that flat stomach just begging me to lick it, and your rack—fuck, Firecracker,” he says, his voice gruff, and so completely hot.

  I can practically feel his words on my body, like he’s touching me with each one.

  He steps closer. He’s a breath away from me, and now, I’m finding that I can’t seem to catch my own.

  “And your face…gorgeous, really gorgeous.” His minty hot breath blows over my face. “I can honestly say, the only thing I don’t like about you…is your no-filter, ball-busting mouth!”

  “Ugh!” I shove him hard in the chest. “Screw you!”

  “Please do. It would make my fucking year to see you riding my cock,” he says with a masculine groan, smirking at me.

  “Ah! You’re a nightmare! Don’t you ever stop?”

  “When it comes to you, Firecracker, I’ll never stop. Never.”

  Flustered and turned-on and angry and confused, I press my thighs together trying to keep my virginia in check, and I wrap my arms across my chest. All the while, I’m firing daggers from my eyes straight into Tom’s.

  He stares right back. His chest is heaving up and down.

  Then, my anger suddenly deflates, and I’m just left feeling flat.

  Way to kick off the first show of the tour.

  I rub my nose. “It’s only been one day, Tom, and we’re already yelling at each other. It’s not good—at all. And what you just pulled back there…Jesus, that was way out of line.” Disappointment drags my voice down.

  Tom lifts his eyes to mine. In this moment, I see a shade of real in them that I don’t think I’ve ever seen in him before.

  “Okay,” he exhales. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  I can’t imagine that Tom Carter apologizes to many people, if any, so I take the fact that he just apologized to me as he really means it.

  “I crossed the line. I didn’t exactly dissuade Shannon of her assumption that you and I were sleeping together. In my defense though, technically, I didn’t actually say anything.”

  I unfurl my arms, stretching them out in his direction. “But that’s worse!”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know!” I say, flustered. “It just is!” I shove my hands through my hair. “I don’t get you, Tom. Why would you even want Shannon to think that you and I are seeing each other?”

  He shifts his stance and shoves his hands into his pockets. He actually looks uncomfortable.

  Interesting.

  “Because I don’t want to have sex with Shannon. If you didn’t gather, she doesn’t take no for an answer, but she’s a good girl, and I’ve known her for a long time. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and I knew the only way she would back off was if she thought I was seeing someone.”

  Ah…

  I actually soften to him.

  I know. I could slap myself, too.

  “But you could have said you were seeing someone else. It didn’t have to be me.”

  He gives me a confused look. “But you were the only other person in the room.”

  I let out a laugh. “Tom, for you to be seeing a woman doesn’t mean that she has to be in the room at the time. If you made up a name, I’m pretty sure that would have been good enough for Shannon.”

  He shrugs, his lips pressed into a grin. “Kinda didn’t occur to me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, just make sure it does next time, okay?” I lean against the wall, eyeing him. “Do you do that often?”

  Mirroring me, he rests his back against the opposite wall. “Do I do what often?”

  “Create imaginary girlfriends to dodge having sex with women? You could just tell them no, you know.”

  “I’ve never dodged having sex with a woman who has laid it out for me—before today.”

  I don’t like the way his admission makes me feel.

  “So, why dodge this time? Why not just have sex with her? I thought that was your thing.”

  He pushes off the wall and comes close to me again. “Sex is my thing. It just…” He pushes a hand through his hair. “Things just change is all.”

  I stare up into his eyes. My mouth is suddenly dry, and my brain is fogged up with the clean scent of his cologne.

  “I’ll make sure Shannon knows that we’re not seeing each other.”

  His words lift me out of my fog.

  “Good.” I straighten my back and step away from him. “And make sure you do it soon. I don’t want Shannon telling other people that you and I are together.”

  He follows me forward, closing the gap between us again. “Why is the thought of being with me so bad?”

  It’s my turn to lift an eyebrow. “Really? I thought that would be plainly obvious. One”—I tick off on my finger—“this is my first tour, and you’re my tour manager. I don’t want to get a reputation in the industry as someone who tries to sleep her way to the top. Two, you’re my tour manager! And three, I hate beards!”

  I don’t actually know why I said that last bit because I don’t really hate beards. I do kind of like the way Tom looks with his.

  His expression is wounded as he runs a hand over the growth covering his chin. The sound of his coarse hair scratching against his rough fingers brings a shiver to my body.

  “Come on, Firecracker, don’t hate on the beard. I’m going for the roadie look. Don’t you think it’s working for me?”

  “No. You look like a hobo.”

  He throws back his head and roars out a laugh.

  The sound hits me like rapid fire. I feel it in every one of my censored hot spots.

  I bite my lip to stop the giggle that wants to escape. “Your hair is okay though. I like it longer.”

  “Whoa there, Firecracker. Was that a compliment?”

  “No.” My eyes catch his smiling ones.

  “So, if I get rid of the beard but keep the hair, would you pretend to be my girlfriend to save me from the Shannons of this tour?”

  “Um…” I rub my forehead in thought. “No.”

  “Damn.” He chuckles.

  I start walking again, and Tom follows.

  When we reach the stage door, I turn to him. I’m keen to push the question again, so I can try to get a real answer this time. “Why would you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend to put women off anyway? I thought banging lots of women was your favorite pastime.”

  “Like I said, things change.” He shrugs as he averts his eyes, looking down the hallway. “I thought I was the last perfect man.”

  “What?”

  His face comes back to mine, and he nods down at my shirt.

  “Oh, right.” I let out a laugh, smoothing my hand over the picture of Homer. “Nope, not a chance. Homer wins out every time over any man. He’s the ideal.” I flash a cheeky grin.

  “Big guts and big butts are your ideal—duly noted. Makes sense to me now why you kept turning me down. Thank fuck that’s cleared up. My ego is now fully restored.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re such a guy.”

  “I fucking hope so, Firecracker. With the size of my junk, I’d worry if I wasn’t.”

  “Oh my God!” I laugh. “You just can’t help yourself.”

  He gives a boyish grin followed by a chuckle and a shrug of his shoulders. I feel that chuckle like a whispered breath over my skin.

  Lord, help me.

  “You know, Lyla,” he says, his voice lowered, “Henry looks a bit like Homer Simpson. I bet if you stripped him down to his tighty whities, you’d have your ideal man right there.”

  I sputter out a laugh, which turns into me choking on my own spit.

  Classy, Lyla. Real classy.

  “Easy there, tiger.” Tom leans over and pats my back while I hack out a cough. “With it being the first show of the tour and all
, we need your vocals in good shape for tonight.”

  I rub at my chest, trying to right myself, while taking deep breaths.

  “You okay?” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder.

  He’s not even touching my skin directly, but the gentle grip of his fingertips sears through the cotton of my T-shirt and burns into my skin, branding me.

  My heart starts to hammer in my chest.

  His hand on me feels right…too right.

  The air is suddenly thick with something—

  No.

  I drop my shoulder, quickly pulling from his touch.

  “So, what is it with you and cartoon T-shirts anyway?” Tom asks, talking past that moment “That’s the third one I’ve seen you wear in two days.”

  He’s keeping count?

  I wore my blue My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic T-shirt teamed with my blue pajama shorts for bed last night.

  Yes, Tom saw me in my pajamas. He was climbing in his bunk as I was exiting the bathroom.

  “I love cartoons.” I shrug, leaving out the fact that I collect cartoon T-shirts because of my mom.

  It started when Mom had to go to Paris for a show. I couldn’t go with her, and she felt guilty, so she went to Disneyland and brought me home a bucket load of toys and clothes to make up for it. Out of everything she got me, the thing I loved most was a Little Mermaid T-shirt. I had a serious love for Prince Eric. I wore that T-shirt all the time, even for bed. Apparently, I drove her nuts with it. So, to get me wearing something different, the next trip she took, she bought me a new cartoon shirt with Beauty and the Beast. Of course, I loved it. I wore it in rotation with my Little Mermaid shirt.

  After that, it became our thing. Every time she took a trip, I would get a new cartoon T-shirt.

  Mom is out of town permanently now, so in her homage, I buy myself a new shirt whenever I travel. I’m going to have to carve out time to buy a new shirt in every town we hit on tour—well, at least one in each state.

  I hear the soothing sound of guitars firing up through the door behind me. My bandmates are gearing up for tonight. Then, Sonny start banging on the drums, drumming a beat I’m all too familiar with. It spreads warmth throughout me.

  Smiling, I say, “I should get onstage.” I reach for the door handle.

  “Lyla?”

  I turn back.

  “I am sorry…about before. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good.” I give him a curt nod and yank open the door, hurrying onto the stage to join my boys, leaving Tom where he stands.

  The Next Day—Tour Bus, en route to Boise

  I awake with the feeling of last night’s show still buzzing in my veins.

  For the first show and considering the level of nerves we were all feeling, it went amazingly. Afterward, we had a few drinks backstage with some of the other bands.

  Tom was noticeably absent.

  Tom had been there when we came offstage, but he’d disappeared soon after. I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him, not that I needed to speak to him. I guess it just would have been nice to hear what he thought of our first show.

  But when we had come offstage, he had been talking to a woman, a stunning brunette. And the way her body had been leaning into his, it’d seemed pretty certain what her intentions were with him, and he hadn’t seemed to be pushing her off.

  His gaze had hit mine and then slid down my body. His eyes had widened and flared when he took in my breasts that were fitted into the black corset top, which was actually easier to breathe in than it looked. I could see his gaze soaking up my skin-tight black jeans, the ones that had been shredded with a pair of scissors by Shannon. She’d cut into them, giving the impression of rips, starting at the tops of my thighs and going down to my ankles. Then, his lips curved into the sexiest smile I’d ever seen at the silver stilettos on my feet.

  Heat had spread throughout my body at his blatant perusal.

  My thick hair had been set in loose waves down my back, and my makeup was smoky while my lips were glossy.

  I’d known I looked hot, and I would be lying if I didn’t say I’d liked the fact that Tom was affected by the way I looked.

  Then, the brunette bombshell had pressed her body into his. She’d whispered something in his ear, and that had been when I looked away, telling Cale I was heading to the bathroom.

  By the time I’d returned, Tom had been gone, and so had the brunette.

  I’d known Tom left to do…whatever with her.

  And I’d ignored the sick feeling I got at the thought of the whatever.

  So, I drank with my boys, not wanting to go back to the bus and possibly walk in on Tom and the brunette.

  I made sure to have fun, and I watched with mild amusement as Shannon and her assistant, Ashlee, flirted their way around my boys.

  Ashlee is a pretty blonde who wears her skirts too short and her tops way too low. Understated is not a word Ashlee appears to know.

  I’d met her before the show while she and Shannon had gotten us ready. Shannon had focused on me—my hair, makeup, and clothes—while Ashlee had prepared Van, Sonny, and Cale. They hadn’t needed much help.

  They all have that annoying man thing. No matter what they wear, they look hot—whereas I, as most women, have to work to look good.

  I’m not bad with clothes. I just don’t really bother to dress up. I’m happiest in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Sure, I know how to dress for shows. I’ve been dressing myself for those for a long time now. But Shannon’s ideas of clothes are different than mine, and I’ve got to say, I actually like her idea of clothes—the ones she puts on me anyway. She seems to know what will work perfectly on me.

  After the time I’ve spent with Shannon, I’m actually starting to really like her. She’s funny when she’s not hitting on guys in front of me—well, mainly Tom. Thankfully, she didn’t mention him or what had happened earlier. I’m guessing he straightened things out with her.

  At our after-show drinks, Ashlee was all over Cale. But I knew he wasn’t interested.

  I know Cale’s type, and she isn’t it. Cale always goes for brunettes or redheads. I’ve never seen him with a blonde.

  When Ashlee figured out that he wasn’t interested, she turned her attention to Van, who was more than happy to entertain her.

  I’m pretty sure he entertained her in the restroom for a short while.

  Shannon and Sonny spent a long time talking to each other. I got the distinct impression that she was interested in him. And I know Sonny. A hot woman shows interest in him, and he’s on her like white on rice. Shannon is considerably older than Sonny, him only being twenty-four, but I know that wouldn’t bother him. From the way I’d seen Shannon acting with Tom—cue upchuck moment—and with knowing how Sonny is, I was surprised that he and Shannon didn’t hook up. As far as I know, they didn’t because Sonny left with me, Cale, and Van—after Van was done with Ashlee—and we all went back to the bus together.

  When we arrived, the bus was set in darkness. Tom was already in his bunk, sleeping, with his curtain drawn. He was probably tired from doing whatever with the brunette.

  I scrubbed the makeup from my face and pulled on a pajama tank and shorts before getting into bed. I was out before my head hit the pillow.

  Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I reach over and get my cell from the bedside cabinet. I check the time—ten o’clock.

  Hungry, thirsty, and in dire need of the bathroom, I climb out of bed and steady myself from the motion of the moving bus.

  Cracking open my door, I hear someone moving about in the kitchen, so I slip straight into the bathroom.

  It’s all steamy in here. Someone’s been awake for a while and already had a shower. Knowing my boys, they wouldn’t be up early, so it had to be Tom.

  My stomach does a stupid little flip at the idea of him showering in here.

  Wiping the image of Tom wet in the shower, from my mind, I pee, brush my teeth, and tie my hair up into a messy knot.

  Exi
ting the bathroom, I see that the curtain to Tom’s bunk is open.

  My stomach fizzes from just knowing he’s out here—which is crazy.

  What am I? Twelve?

  Pushing my attraction for Tom out of my mind, I brace myself to see him.

  Ignoring my attraction for him lasts about three seconds until I see him sitting at the table, and my hormones go into overdrive from the sight of him. With still damp hair, he’s wearing an ancient-looking Clash Rock the Casbah T-shirt and ripped blue jeans. There’s a cup of coffee in front of him and an empty cereal bowl, a box of Froot Loops, and a carton of milk off to the side. He has a newspaper in his hands.

  But one thing is noticeably gone—his beard. He’s clean-shaven.

  Did he do that because of me? Because of what I said about hating his beard?

  Don’t be so conceited, Lyla.

  Taking a deep breath, I push my shoulders back and walk toward him.

  His eyes lift from the paper to me. His gaze almost burns a hole in my panties.

  “Mornin’, Firecracker,” he drawls. His voice sounds all deep and throaty.

  Smoking hot.

  I ignore the Firecracker nickname. I figure there’s no point in arguing it because he’d get a rise out of it.

  I smile and force a neutral tone into my voice as I say, “Good morning.”

  Deciding to join Tom in eating kid cereal, I head straight to the cupboard. I reach up onto my tiptoes and get a bowl, and then I grab a spoon from the drawer. I take a seat across from him, pour myself some Froot Loops, and drown them in milk.

  When I glance across at Tom, I see his eyes are on my chest, and his greens are on fire. Jade is almost burning blue.

  It’s then I realize I’m not wearing a bra.

  Shit.

  And this is the exact moment that my nipples decide to stand to attention under Tom’s heated gaze.

  Fuckity fucking shit.

  Okay, so I’ve got one of two choices. One, I can get embarrassed, run to my room and put on a bra, but I know if I do that, it will only give him future ammo to tease me. Or two, I can act cool.

  Cool it is.

  Raising my arms above my head, I pretend to stretch, which of course pushes my girls out and in his direction.

  I have to stifle a giggle at the look on his face. His eyes are as wide as saucers.