BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (110 page)

—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

I LOVED HIM
. These past weeks without him had been torture.

Did that mean I was willing to accept us when he didn’t feel the same way?

Maybe.

He caressed my face. “We can sit out here all night and talk, but I’m dying to sink into you. You owe me, you know,” he said huskily.

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to make you pay for dancing with those guys,” he said as he stripped off my slinky shirt, easing the fabric off and tossing it on the ground. He kissed my neck and then nibbled gently on my ear. “I keep picturing you in that swing with your legs spread for me.”

I moaned. “Me, too.”

“Strip for me, V.” He took a step back from me, a need so visceral in his gaze that I shivered.

“Out here on the patio? Do you have something against bedrooms?”

“It’s where we started,” he said.

I unzipped my skirt and stood before him in nothing but my heels.

His face reddened. “What the fuck? No bra and no panties tonight?” His hands clenched.

I bit my lip. “I took the panties off when I pulled up to the house.”

“Oh, you’re a naughty girl.” He sat back on a chair, eyes at half-mast, a smoldering expression on his face. “I want you to play for me just like that, V. I want to see your body when you let go with music.”

Need knifed through me. “What do you want me to play?”

“Play how you feel about me,” he said softly. “I took the liberty of getting your violin for you already. It’s on the table.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You had this planned?”

“No, I just wanted to hear you play, but this is even better.” He bit his lower lip and groaned, watching me as I sashayed over to the violin. I made a show of it, leaning over the table to pick it up and placing it in the crook of my neck. I don’t know if it looked sexy or not, but he seemed to like it.

I took a deep breath.

How could I choose the song that conveyed the depth of how I felt? That I felt like we’d known each other our entire lives even though it had only been a short time?

In the end, I went with “Truly Madly Deeply” by Savage Garden.

I poured my heart into my sound, and when his voice chimed in on the chorus, I adjusted to his cadence. I closed my eyes when his hands cupped my breasts, his mouth not far behind. I raised my elbows to give him room, and my music faltered.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered in my ear. “I want you while you break free.”

I played on, stretching into the melody, drawing out the low notes as they reverberated between us. My body was under his spell, and I let it all go, my head going back, embracing us. For so long I’d believed that the price of love was too high, but now, with him, I saw a glimmer of the future, of us playing music, laughing, loving.

“Incandescent,” he murmured, and fell to his knees, his hands on my waist. He nudged my legs apart, his fingers skimming my wet core like little brushes of electricity. I shivered.

“Sebastian,” I groaned as his tongue snaked in and found my clit. I abruptly stopped playing.

“Need you now, V,” he growled, his voice rough.

I set my violin down even as he tugged his shirt over his head. His pants and underwear and shoes were next. I took in his tall frame, the toned biceps, the cut abs—the big cock. I pulled him to me and kissed him hard, my tongue tangling with his.

“You going all alpha on me? I like it,” he chuckled.

I laughed and we kissed, his hands molding to my ass, sliding me against him. He groaned and pulled back, breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against mine.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s just, the
feels
for you are so intense, so crazy, it’s got me worked up and I wanna say all this stuff and do all these erotic things to you—dirty things—and then I want to worship you, too. That night on the swing, I was rough.” He swallowed. “I’m just trying to reel myself back a notch or two.”

“Are you kidding me? I like you like that.
I need it
. It reminds me that I’m alive, Sebastian.”

He leaned into me. “V, I l—”

“What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “I—I need you. Now.”

And then his mouth hit mine and thinking was over. We collapsed down on a patio lounge chair, and I straddled him, working his thickness inside me.

He cupped my face and showed me how he felt without words, by kissing me like he needed me to breathe. He showed me love in his own way, and we went there together, over the edge.

“My life had followed a strict plan for five years. Until V.”

—Sebastian Tate

AROUND THREE IN the morning, we collapsed in V’s bed while Tater rested in her basket next to us, grunting and snoring. V did her own fair share of snoring, her body curled into mine. To be honest, I’d have slept much better in my own damn bed, but when it came to V, sleep was not on my list of priorities.

I couldn’t seem to close my eyes anyway, too keyed up about us. I had to figure out a way to get her used to the press, because they would be after us. Sure, we could stay inside all the time, but I didn’t want a life like that.

The sun peeked in through the window, illuminating her face. She looked like a rock and roll angel, her purple hair spilling out over my arm, long lashes resting on pale cheeks. I curved my hand around her hip and inhaled her scent. Rightness filled me.
This
. And for a moment I got a glimpse of what our future might be, countless mornings of us waking up together, nights wrapped in each other’s arms.

She stretched her luscious body and then turned to me, eyes sleepy.

I smoothed the hair out of her face. “I don’t know who snored louder, you or Tater.”

“Ladies don’t snore.”

“My love, you are no lady. Not after the things we did last night.”

“Oh, yeah?” She bit her full lips. “Then what am I? A groupie who bagged the lead singer?”

I kissed my way up her neck, paying special attention to her collarbone. “All you got to know is this …
you’re mine
,” I growled, lifting her leg over my hip, positioning myself to take her. Own her.

I pushed the word
love
out of my head.

I COOKED V breakfast in her huge kitchen while she told me about her parents.

“I didn’t have a normal childhood. I mean, yeah, we were rich, but they didn’t focus on that. So when I moved out here, it was to run away, but in the back of my mind, I was planning the orphanage as a way to honor them. To show them that I could carry on their work in a small way.”

I planted a kiss on her lips. I loved how she thought of others. “I still get goosebumps when I think that we might have been at the orphanage at the same time.”

“Yeah. I met this great kid there. Kevin. You need to play for him. I can tell he’s special.”

She smiled as I slid a cheese omelet to her. I even went to her pantry, found her cheese puffs and sprinkled some on the side. “You can have some of these, but now that I’m here, you need to start eating better.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t give me grief. Her mouth was already stuffed with food.

Spider and Mila showed up at the back door, and I ended up cooking for the entire crew. Even Tater got a piece of bacon.

Spider watched me quizzically as he nibbled on a piece of toast. “What I can’t understand is why you bought her a dog. Isn’t Monster enough of a handful?”

“Practically an engagement ring from a fecking Tate man,” Mila chimed in.

I laughed nervously and glanced at Mila, and maybe it was the ring statement that got to me, but mostly I noticed that Mila didn’t look like herself. Her normal cheerful banter seemed faked and her headband slightly askew. It worried me.

And the day went downhill from there.

Later that morning, I was on my way out the door, back to V’s after my shower, when a messenger dropped off a package from Blair. I stared down at the brown manila envelope.

A script? A love letter? Not likely.

I tore the envelope open and what was there made my heart bang in my chest.

Photos of me and V—photos of me and Blair.

With growing horror, I flipped through pictures obviously taken last night of V playing for me in the nude and us making love. Lastly, there were pictures of me and Blair in my bed—selfie style—taken by Blair as was obvious from the angle from which she’d held her cell phone. The tops of her boobs were visible, and I appeared asleep, my head turned to the side on the pillow.

I pulled out my phone and checked to see if I’d even drunk dialed her that night.

No record of it.

Feeling like I might pass out, I sat down.

A note was taped to one of the selfies.

I jerked up and called her and got nada but her voicemail.

Bitch!
I called again. And again, working myself up to a fever pitch until my head pounded.

Finally, I called Harry’s office to talk to him—anybody—but his secretary said he was out of the office. I lost it. I told her to tell him that his ass was fired. If I could manage my own band, I sure as hell could find my own damn movies.

V.

Had to warn her of the shitstorm that was coming.

I gathered the photos up, my fingers hesitating over the ones of Blair and me.
Fuck!
I dreaded V seeing me with her, but it had to be done. I tucked them under my arm and went to her house. When she didn’t answer the front door, I eased around to the back and went in through the patio, calling her name.

Nothing but silence. Weird.

Hearing the soft rumble of her voice through her bedroom door, I tapped lightly and entered. I found her sitting on her bed. Her head was dripping wet and a towel was wrapped around her. Whoever called her had been important enough to pull her out of the shower.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, my voice tight.

She nodded and held her hand up to indicate “just a minute.”

I exhaled heavily.

“Okay,” she said to the person on the line, putting her back to me as she fished around in her dresser for clothes. She stood and slipped on a pair or red lacy underwear and a tank. “Look, I need to go now. Someone’s here.”