Love Lust (11 page)

“Guess who that was,” she said, beaming.

Though I knew she couldn’t mean who I hoped, and pretty much anyone could earn such a reaction from her, my stomach jumped in hope. I tugged off my jacket. “Justin?”

She had the grace to lower her enthusiasm one notch. “No. I’m sorry. But, almost as good.”

I slumped into the sofa and kicked off my shoes. My polo shirt itched my skin. I ran my hands over my face. They smelled like wax. “Who?” I finally asked.

“Seth!”

I wrinkled my forehead up. “Why is Seth calling you and how is that anywhere near as good?” Did she really have no idea what I was going through after all the tailspins she’d been through?

Paula scooted up next to me. Love in her eyes, she tucked a tendril of my hair behind my ear. “Liv, I hate seeing you suffer. You know that, don’t you?”

Tears welled in my eyes. I nodded and when she held out her arms, I fell into them. What I thought would be a heavy sigh, came out a sob. A deep, heaving one. Snot and sorrow all at once. “It’s bad, Paula. You were right. I was scared. I was scared he’d reject me. I was scared of losing control. Now, I’m royally screwed.”

“Shh. Listen. It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t. It will hurt more and more and even if I find someone who can feed me, even if I go scrounging through the sexual garbage out there to satisfy my need, I can feel it that I will always want him. Nothing will sate my lust for him, except him. And then there’s my heart.” I leaned back, holding my chest, trying to show her how much I ached. “My frickin’ heart feels hollowed out with a dull spoon. Like the rind is all that’s left. I want my heart back.”

Tears shone in Paula’s eyes, too. She smiled at me. I was sure she didn’t get it. Or didn’t care. I stood up, dizzy.

“Seth’s coming over. It was supposed to be a surprise. That’s why he called me. So, act surprised.”

“He can’t feed me, anymore. It won’t work.” I groaned my way to the bathroom. I wiped my nose with quilted toilet paper. “Call him back. Tell him not today.”

“Sorry. Can’t. He’s pulling up now.”

“Paula! What is this? Can’t you see what a freaking mess I am?” I snagged the apron I’d accidentally worn home in emphasis. “I have been there for you. I’ve wiped the puke and snot up and you call my ex?”

She giggled. “You’re a total mess and I’m so sorry I’m laughing. It’s just really hard not to be happy for you when I know it’s about to end.”

“It’s not going to end. It’s going to get worse. I can’t go back to Seth, Paula. My hunger no longer wants him. Which is good because I was this close to turning him into a brainless drooling lapdog. And he met someone. So, whatever relief you think you’ve orchestrated on my behalf is actually a bomb about to blow. Get it?”

She covered her mouth. She was laughing that hard?

“This isn’t funny!”

The sound of a solid fist on our apartment door almost sent me into hysterics. The throw-the-dishes-against-the-wall or strangle-your-best-friend kind. I exhaled out my nostrils, adrenaline roaring through me. “I am not answering that. Fix it.”

“Come in,” Paula called.

Seth walked in, wet from the rain. I stood halfway to my bedroom, steaming mad.

“Hey, I can’t stay long. Joy’s running late for her second shift and I’m her ride.”

“Of course,” Paula said and grabbed what he’d handed her. “Thanks.”

“See ya.” And he was gone as quickly as he’d come.

Relief that I’d assumed wrong warred, stupidly, with disappointment. “I don’t understand,” I said, feeling like Paula’s beaming face should make some kind of sense. “What’d he give you?”

She popped her hand open and let the badge fall, dangling from a long band strung around two fingers. “I had a hunch Seth could hook me up with a pass.”

A backstage pass? “How?”

“That open mic night, leading to another, leading to networking, leading to whatever. I was wrong, though. Seth’s poetry apparently doesn’t garner connections per se.”

“Then how?” I approached the pass cautiously. I let it lay on my palm and read the less than artistic text. The name my mind and body yearned for.

“Justin Sharpe.” Right below “John Mayer.”

I let it drop. “I can’t,” I said, shaking my head.

“You have to,” Paula said, shoving the thing at me. “You love him.”

“I hardly know him.”

“Fine. You could love him.”

“How will he forgive me? I walked away. He’d wanted me to stay, he’d wanted to see how far it would go,
and I walked out on him.”

“Would you rather find someone new?” She tossed me the badge.

I automatically caught it, along with my breath over the very idea of never seeing him again. I’d vowed if there was the remotest chance, I’d take it. I’d prayed for this opportunity. “When’s the show?”

“Now, and it’s one night only.” Paula grabbed a pile from the couch that I hadn’t noticed in my misery. “Here. Jeans, sweater. Your boots are by the door. The cab will be here any minute. Well, don’t just stand there, Liv!”

Her screech got me moving and the twenty-minute cab ride raced by. Before I let myself think too much, I tipped the cabbie and headed for The Hard Rock’s, “The Joint.” I got stopped at the box office. No ticket—no show. “But, I have a backstage pass.”

“Then you can wait backstage.”

While I’d never been a groupie, back in my headbanger and eyeliner days, I knew one when I saw one—or thirty. Either that or I’d been led behind stage at a New York runway show. I was overdressed. Particularly in the belly and thigh areas. Fuck me.

And back stage apparently did not mean behind stage. I barely heard music over the chatter. Or the hissing stares. Apparently runway model music fans ran in packs of two and three and had a two silicone-job minimum.

I wished I had one of my skirts on. Damn it. Paula should have dressed me better. Now what? Pick off the picked fruit plate? I squared my shoulders and cocked a hip out as though I owned the narrow room. I told myself the worst that could happen was he’d choose one of these women instead of me. I’d hate it, I would probably beg and try to take what I needed, but might understand.

“Liv?”

I spun on one heel. Christ, he looked good. Glistening from a sheen of perspiration on his face, filling my mind with memories of his sweaty body flexed over mine. Sweat my mouth remembered the taste of. I swallowed. “Hi.”

His gaze remained guarded. “What are you doing here?”

The clutch of women seemed to swell toward us. My whole being purred at the nearness of him. It just needed a moment or two alone with him. My mind clamored, fighting back the lust. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” I’d keep hands off. I had to if I wanted more than a last, quick fix.

A long-legged, tawny blonde emerged from a nearby cluster and draped an arm around Justin’s waist. “Amazing show, Justin. You killed it. Who’s this?”

“This is Liv,” he said. His eyes were unreadable and all I could look at was his luscious mouth, anyway.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She held out a limp hand. I shook it. “I’m Stella,” she said, then turned to Justin. “You ready?”

He pushed his attention her way. “Uh, yeah.” He faced me again, the intensity in his eyes making me forget to breathe. “We have this thing. The press.” He thumbed the direction of the exit, then slowly left for it, Stella pulling him by the hand.

I’d barely managed a nod and couldn’t manage a single coherent thought outside of “no.” They reached the door. My panic kicked into overdrive. I hardly saw the smirks surrounding me and what I did notice, didn’t affect me.

Finding my breath and voice, I rushed after him. “Justin, I was wrong.”

He turned at the door. He looked at me. After mumbling something to Stella, he met me halfway. “Liv, what are you trying to say?”

“I was wrong,” I said. “I should have stayed.” My heart slammed in my chest. “I was scared. Scared of how I feel about you. Scared of what that means, of how much I could get hurt.”

He looked down. My lust shifted higher. My eyes involuntarily darted to his hands, his mouth, his shoulders, his groin. Memories flashed unbidden. His plump cock in my mouth. His head thrown back in ecstasy. His face between my thighs, tongue delving into my—. “I can’t say I love you. Not yet. I don’t want to. That’s too much for me without at least knowing, or getting to know who you are.”

I stepped closer and put my hand on his chest. My body screamed for me to lean in and create as much contact as possible. It was all I could do to stay standing. “And I don’t mean I don’t know now. I mean the details. The bad habit, dirty secret, favorite color kind of things that are supposed to come before your heart decides.”

He raised his head and his eyes searched mine. They shone with emotion.

“I’ll beg. If that’s what redemption requires, I will. I was wrong to leave. To not try.”

“Stop,” he said.

“I can’t.”

He pulled me to him. Stella’s throat cleared meaningfully from behind him. I buried my face into his shoulder, inhaling the delectable aroma of him. My entire being prayed and craved for him to say yes.

“Shh,” he said, and stroked my hair. “Hey. Look at me.” He cupped my face. Gold shimmered over the surface of his lips. “I leave my clothes on the floor. Wet towels, too.”

The ache inside me eased back.

“I once stole money from my grandma’s purse. A dollar for the ice cream truck and to this day, I wish I hadn’t.”

I half sobbed, half laughed. He kissed my nose. The room of people around us—hanging on our every word—disappeared.

“The favorite
color changes. Red for a corvette. Black for electric guitars. Green for the flecks in your eyes.” He kissed me firmly on the mouth. Relief flooded through my limbs and joy surged into my soul. “I have to do this right now. But, if you’ll wait, I promise, I’ll come back.”

I opened my mouth to object, a part of me terrified to let him go, but the sound fell flat. A slow smile crept up my cheeks. “Okay. I’ll wait.”

As though he hadn’t been certain until that moment, he brought me into his arms, crushing his lips to mine. He kissed me again and again. Salty and sweet. I realized tears were coursing down my face. Then he stopped. And he left.

I waited for hours. The last stragglers were nearly gone. Adjusting my weight in the thinly stuffed chair, I checked my watch again. It was nearly two in the morning. Maybe I should go home.

I must have fallen asleep because I didn’t sense him back until he wound his arms under mine and scooped me up.

He carried me out a side door to a waiting car. Once inside he stopped kissing me long enough to ask the driver to get out. Realizing we’d be alone, my lust swiftly awoke. I needed to feel his skin on mine, to hear words from his lips to prove he was no dream.

“Liv, you are mine,” he said to me, looking me in the eye.

The fierceness in his voice drove me wild. “Justin,” I said, getting my hands under his shirt. He felt so good. “I want you. Please, don’t let go.”

“I won’t, baby.” He pulled my shirt over my head. “I promise I won’t go. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

His hands were hot on my skin. My hunger sucked each sensation in. The tickle of his hair, the graze of his teeth on my nape. He pulled off his sweatshirt and returned to me, holding me close. Soon, we were both undressed. I wrapped my limbs around him.

Justin buried his face into my hair. I could feel his heart beating against me. At once I wanted to stay exactly as we were and drown into him. His erection pressed at my sex then slowly eased into me. Fully sheathed, he paused.

I groaned in sweet agony. I was so swollen and slick. So ready. I forced myself to wait. To trust.

He kissed the spot behind my ear. “I love you, Liv,” he whispered.

Everything inside of me shifted. The hunger of my curse, my heart, my soul. I already knew. I knew the day I walked away that he loved me then. But I’d denied it.

He loved me.

Raindrops pelted the car’s roof. New car smell mingled with his musk and citrus. Kiss by tender kiss, he showed me. “I love you,” he said, laying me onto my back, looking at me in that heavy lidded, potent way of his.

And I never, in all my curse and in all my life, never had I felt more like me. Whole and safe. Complete. My body leapt over the precipice of my need and as he gently undulated into me, I climaxed in short, heady waves. “I love you, too,” I said, then closed my eyes and gave in to the wondrous bliss that was Justin.

Chapter Twelve

“Told him yet?” Paula said low, the first minute we were alone on the sofa.

“Told him what?” I asked. It was her favorite question these days. I’d only seen her every few weeks, between cities on Justin’s tour, which was leaving me tired, but blissfully content. We’d found our own normal. I could hear Justin opening the wine in the kitchen. The three of us were going to have a nice dinner in.

Paula didn’t buy my feigned ignorance, though. “Alejandro says—“

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Justin called from the kitchen. “Merlot or Shiraz, Paula?”

“Shiraz, please!” She eyed me. “Liv. He’ll still love you. You know that, don’t you?” She brushed invisible lint from my shirt, but emotion shone in her eyes. “How could he not?”

I took her hand in mine. “I know he loves me.” He loved me in a way I still found breathtaking and wondrous. I’d never known such peace. Not as a human, not as a psychic vampire, the good doctor’s new favorite term for a succubus.