Ice Steam (Loving All Wrong #3) (9 page)

“I like that.” I so didn’t like that.

You hurt one, you hurt all
…Saskia’s words came back to me.

I could see all the signs of a disaster flickering in my periphery, all the little warnings to turn back and avoid a metal-bending collision. But obstinately fixing my eyes on an unattainable goal, I ignored the warnings, hit the accelerator, and sped straight ahead.

N
inety Miles’ villa was like a mini beach-side college campus—actually called ‘Ninety Miles Villa’.

From a cozy looking hut at the front of the residence, a hulk-like security guard gave us access through the stately gates.

Upon entering, I saw a small park area of lush green grass and trees, swing benches, hammocks, picnic tables and a clear water pond with big, colorful fish.

Xavier drove around the complex to familiarize me with the place, pointing and informing me what building was what. There were four separate houses—aside from amenity buildings—on the complex.

“We’re in this one,” Xavier told me. “Six beds. We call it Beach Rock ‘cause there are a ton giant rocks below the deck on the beach front. Some hollowed out like caves.”

Beach Rock was sprawling and huge, the only house on the complex with a beach view. Not far from it was a gymnasium, which Xavier apprised me had everything from a swimming pool to a basketball court inside.

Next was the second house, not as big as Beach Rock but still huge.

“Guest Rest. Four beds. Currently unoccupied.”

All the buildings were stark white with contemporary designs.

Making a right turn, he showed me the third house, which was larger and more futuristic than the previous one. “Eye Spy. Five beds. Glasses aren’t one-way—hence the name. Ice Steam’s in this one.”

A lump—no, a thick fist was in my throat, punching the air back down my windpipe, denying me the permission to breathe. I was…right outside the building Davian was in. So close. So, so close.

My fingers curled into girly fists as I battled with the urge to bolt from the jeep and go pounding on the door, demanding he come back to San Francisco with me. Because
I
did this.
I
sent him off to be a rock star.
I
gave him to someone else.

I looked at the building. Eye Spy was two stories, glass through and through with intermittent stark white columns. While blinds were drawn on all the windows to shut out prying eyes, one particular room on the second floor didn’t follow suit.

The blinds were drawn open, the posterior of a nude woman pressed up against the glass, a tattoo of two ripe cherries visible on her bare ass, sheeny auburn spilling to the side as her male lover buried his face in her neck while he pounded her further and further up the glass, so rough I could almost hear the squeaking sound of her ass against the glass in my head.

When Xavier caught me gaping at the scene, he chuckled and offered, “Jess and Davi. They’re the only ones who stab with the blinds open. Don’t care. Even when there are guests.”

Xavier was looking up at the exhibitionists, chuckling, but I was withering. Inside. Like a flower cruelly planted in dry earth with no sun exposure, I was…dying. It felt as though the glass the couple were screwing on above had busted into huge, pointy shards and descended like falling arrows straight into my chest, to my heart, puncturing, slicing, shredding.

Of the million ways I’d imagined seeing Davian again, this wasn’t one of them; seeing him screw another woman against a transparent glass.

“Chino? You okay?” Xavier was watching me closely now. I was positive I looked pale and dehydrated. “This kinda thing bothers you?”

“Not at all,” I answered in an embarrassingly high-pitched tone. “Rock stars will be rock stars, right?”

His gaze was skeptical, but he let it slide. As he started to creep off from Eye Spy, I chanced another quick glance up the building. Jessica was now facing forward, fingers splayed on the glass, full breasts swaying back and forth as Jacob’s father rammed her from behind.

On a deep breath, I tore my gaze from the scene, not wanting to make Xavier suspicious. As far as he was concerned, Davian had been a neighbor I barely communicated with. The last thing I wanted was for him to start questioning the verity of
that claim.

Xavier drove on showing me the rest of the property, but his voice became warped and tinny like sounds through a defective ear-bud as my thoughts remained stuck on the naked, sweaty couple back at Eye Spy.

Sucking in a shaky breath, I wagged my head to clear it and tried to focus on the hot-as-sin rocker next to me.

“…was a mind-blowing gift, you know.”

As the haunting image left my mind, Xavier’s voice slowly gained clarity.

Focus on Xavi. Focus on Xavi.
“Come again?”

“This villa,” he said. “It was a gift.”

“Really?”

“Seven years back we had a die-hard fan in Europe. Sixteen. Succumbing to cancer. Docs estimated he had less than two months of life. Birthday was coming up in those two months and he wished for Ninety Miles to play for him on that day. Boy’s dad, some big-time bazillionaire, tried to book us to fly to Europe for his son.

“But we were on tour, scheduled, booked up and couldn’t afford a detour, so we turned the father down around three different times. Two and a half months later, boy’s dad contacted us again, desperate. Kid was still
alive
, in pain. Swore to God he wasn’t dying until we got there and played for him. That hit us hard. Little dude’s strength, his courage. So we postponed all else and immediately flew out to Europe. Played for the kid in his room on his deathbed and didn’t take a dime from his dad. Considered it an honor, you know. Next day, kid’s dad called us in tears to let us know that two hours after we’d left, his son went out peacefully, smiling.

“We carried on being rock stars. Two years later we came back to L.A. for a three-month hiatus and found this waiting for us. The dad’s appreciation gift. He’d secretly bought the land and constructed this villa for us while we were touring.”

Genuinely stunned, I whispered, “Wow.”

Ninety Miles had been around since they were pubescent fifteen year olds. They started out as talented school buddies all holding the same passion for music, hanging out till late hours in their music class after school, playing music simply for the love of it.

When their music teacher died, he was supplanted by a retired music producer, who was also a long-time friend of Benny Stucco. This new music teacher would stay late after school with them, giving free lessons and tips, shaping them, preparing the unwitting boy band.

After honing them to what he deemed perfect and knowledgeable in the music industry, he gave them the biggest gift of their life: Benny Stucco.

By the time they hit eighteen, they were rotten rich, world-wide super stars. Ninety Miles is the only set of musicians out there who never fluctuated in their success, who never lost their adulation, who never lost their title as “matchless”, “incontestable”, “inimitable”. Only musicians to tour the world on a constant loop and never had a single event that wasn’t sold out.

“Yeah. Four houses meant one for each of us. But as you can see, they’re all different designs. Beach Rock’s the best with a beach view bonus. So we had this huge fight over who gets Beach Rock. Everyone wanted it, no one was backing down. Till we decided we’d all just move in and wait for the first man to throw in the towel and move out. Last man standing, Beach Rock is his. ”

I cracked up at the sheer ludicrousness of it all. “Any luck yet?”

“Nope.”

“Y’all are whacked.”

Outside Beach Rock, he eased into the only available of the five parking spaces, between an Aston Martin and a Lamborghini. Oh yeah, I was in rock star land.

“Are you sure you want to introduce me as your girl to your band mates?” I asked him as I freed myself from the seatbelt.

In all honestly, I was all for keeping us on the down low. Xavier was wholeheartedly into this with me, and I didn’t know how to suggest he kept us quiet without offending him. I did like him, but I was also in love with someone else. The less people knew about us, the easier it would be when the time came to break it off with him. Had I known beforehand his plans were taking me here, I would’ve found an excuse out of it. But by the time I’d bothered to inquire I was already in his jeep en route to the villa.

“There’s always Groupie, Hangover Pussy, Warm-up Pussy, Recovery Pussy…choose one.”

I blinked at him, waiting for a “gotcha” laugh. None came. He was serious-to-God waiting for me to choose, not a glint of humor on his face.

“Okay,” I dragged out the word. “I’m familiar with Groupie, but what
the hell
is Hangover, Warm-up and Recovery?”

“Warm-up, chick you call in before a performance, kick-start the adrenaline. Recovery, chick who shows up after a performance, helps kick
out
the adrenaline. Hangover, chick on speed dial for when you wake up with a brain-mashing hangover and wanna get the bad feeling sucked outta you. Each has a different style of stabbing. Reason they’re positioned accordingly.”

More blinking. “Uh…”

“Tell you what,” he said, irritation clouding him, “How ‘bout I introduce you as Nothing? Not like we’re stabbing anyway, right?”

He got out of the jeep and slammed the door. Hard.

Seizing my handbag, I jumped out and followed him, grabbing his thick arm to stop him. “Are we fighting?”

As though I were a germ spec he needed a magnifying glass to see, he squinted down at me. “Look, boys suggested I bring you over so they could meet the chick doing my head in. We can go in, get this shit over with and I drop you home. Or, we can forget it and I drop you home. Don’t give a shit either way right now.”

Taking a calm breath, I tentatively reached the tips of my fingers up to the side of his face and trailed them along the sharp lining of jaw. Right now he was just a big, pissed-off beast that needed to be rubbed between the ears and soothed.

Without moving his head, his eyes slid sideward to my fingers on his face, then back to me. “What’re you doing?”

“I love your lips.”

“Yeah, everyone does,” he gruffly responded, un-
placated.

“I know that.” I moved in closer to him and tipped my face up, imploring him to lower his mouth to mine. “But
I
love your lips.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something?”

Still playing tough alright, but I could see the anger leaving him in soft steams.

“You know you wanna kiss me, Xavi.” I smiled, he didn’t. “So just shut up and do it.”

He scowled, knocked my hand away.

I sagged, accepting defeat, but then he cupped my face with his big hands and kissed me with a dissolute fierceness.

He kissed me with fervor and explosion. Kissed me with the heat of a bullet piercing through gravity. He kissed me with the avid passion of virgin honeymooners. Kissed me with the urgent desperation of secret lovers in an alcove.

He kissed me. And I savored every second of it.

An obnoxious harrumph tore us apart.

Xavier stared over my head, and when I turned I wasn’t sure if I were to scowl or smile.

Lighting up a cigarette with a smirk on his face was Zach, the drummer for Ice Steam. He’d built some muscle since I’d last seen him. Spiky dark hair, tattoos galore, and an average face.

When recognition hit him, he froze, lighter paused mid-air, cigarette hanging from his lips. Taking a step toward me, he removed the cigarette from his mouth and looked closer.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “
Ally
?”

As he moved in to hug me, I stiffened. I couldn’t be all gay and ‘
long time no see
’ with him, or any of Ice Steam’s band members for that matter, lest Xavier picks up on my fib.

Zach stopped, taking umbrage. “The hell, Ally? Why’re you being so weird? We used to be cool.”

“Hi, Zach,” I returned, stiff and curt, bracing back into Xavier, who possessively swung an arm around my middle from behind. “Nice seeing you again. You’ve…grown.”

Zach’s face skimmed through a myriad of expressions before settling on bewilderment.

Before he could expose me for the fraud I was, I turned in Xavier’s arm and asked, “You ready?”

His glance went over my head to Zach again, then returned accompanied by a nod.

He might not have commented on the strange exchange between me and Zach, but I knew better than to think he was a bucket of dirt.

Leaving Zach gaping after us, we made our way inside the house, and I tried not
to think about the fact that Zach would run straight to Davian and blab about seeing me, not just in L.A., but in Ninety Miles Villa, sucking face with
the
Xavier Xander.

Xavier removed his arm from around me once we were inside, I guess because he was unclear of my stance on ‘us’ where his band-mates were concerned.

The house was strangely quiet and a little too kempt for a rock star palace. Wide, airy, with many different layers and cool spots, all white, glass and steel.

A huge glass case displayed all their awards and trophies, and on the white walls were blown-up photos of The Rolling Stones, Guns & Roses, Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Linkin Park, Pink Floyd, Kings of Leon, Bob Marley, The Beatles, Michael Jackson and Nirvana.