Say It Strong (Say You Love Me Book 2) (15 page)

That was what I rarely witnessed, a girl who guarded herself as carefully as Abby did about to lose it. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way she swayed, her muscles tightening around my cock.

“What about now, Abby?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she panted.

“Are you having fun now? Do you like me fucking you?”

Her eyes closed, her legs tightened against my sides, and she made the kind of sound that only came with a really intense orgasm. Her contractions gripped me, soaked me, and that was it for me, too. My breaths came faster, choppier, until I moaned aloud, and then I came hard, spilling into her, wanting her body enveloping me forever. Her eyes pierced mine, our foreheads pressed together. She kissed me again, open-mouthed and gasping for air.

Holy shhh…

“Amazing.” I reveled in the aftershocks.

Abby collapsed on top of me. We lay there a long time, listening to the driving rain and tree branches scraping against the siding. The words,
I love you, Abby
, filtered into my head. I knew it was crazy. I hadn’t known her long at all, and I’d been playing a ping-pong tournament in my head as far as my feelings for her were concerned. But that didn’t stop the words from forming in my mind. Maybe it was wrong to feel that way, but I needed to try the words out, see how they settled in my brain. Not surprisingly, I loved the way they felt. Of course, I did. I’d waited my whole life to say them.

But I couldn’t deny that, as much as I wanted to, as much as I rejoiced at the idea of loving Abby, a small part of me feared it.

Abby

Nightfall came and went, and when I finally woke up, it was morning, and the rain had finally moved on. Had we really just spent the night together? Lying next to a sleeping Liam, checking out his strange, symbolic tattoos on his arms and back—a tribal design with some words elaborately written in cursive, I thought about what I’d done. I’d never, in the four years I’d been having sex, made love like that. Samuel was the only other man I’d ever been with, and I’d always had to either fake it, tell him it wasn’t going to happen, or take care of it myself later.

What made Liam so different?

It might have been his energy, his passion for life, for music, and for me that made the difference. Samuel, a junior accountant, was passionate about numbers, order, logic, and old episodes of
Mystery Science Theater
. Though he did have a sense of humor, there was no vigor in anything he did. Not that I was a wild woman, but…I could be.

It just took the right person to pull it out of me, apparently. Who knew?

I was positive my phone was in another room somewhere, its battery dead. There would probably be a hundred texts and phone calls waiting on it, too. We hadn’t told anyone where we were going, as far as I knew, since I hadn’t seen Liam use his phone all day yesterday other than to look at his maps.

Next to me, he stirred. In just a minute, upon his waking up, everything would be different. One way or another—whether we were now a “couple,” or whether we went back to our regularly scheduled programs—things would never be the same. I’d had sex with Liam Collier. I’d slept with a famous man, my arm over his shoulder for most of the night. Would he regret it, or would he smile? Even though I had no right to him, I had to admit I would be horribly disappointed if he returned to just being a rock star and a womanizer, no more, no less. It would be painful to see him backstage, going in and out of buses, or anywhere else we might cross paths.

Maybe I should have thought that through a little more before I let my body do the thinking for me. Gazing at his back, tracing the lines of the swirling design and thorns, I followed the curve of the scripted letters—
Veni, Vidi, Vici.

I’d heard of
Vici
before. Somewhere.

Suddenly, Liam’s phone started ringing from the floor. He mumbled, stirred, then sat upright in bed. “Shit,” he said, and my heart sank. This beautiful dream was about to end. Perhaps I should’ve woken him last night and insisted we get back. He dove to the floor, and I averted my eyes so as to not look directly at his naked body. What was the big deal? I’d just seen him completely naked last night, hadn’t I? Still, it was one thing when you were in the middle of making love and quite another when a guy was bending over searching for his phone.

He found it and pressed it to his ear. “Yeah…” He listened, running a hand through his hair. I could hear someone’s exasperated lecturing on the other line. “I know. I know, I know, trust me, I know. Okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up.

I’m
on my way. Not we’re.

“Is everything okay?”

“Robbie’s pissed.”

“Because you’re not there?”

“Because I hadn’t checked in.”

“I can understand that. Can’t have a show if the front man isn’t there, can you?”

He shrugged, picking up his jeans and shirt. “I guess, but he had no reason to worry. I’m always there.”

“I should have woken you last night. I’m sorry,” I said, covering myself with the sheet. “I just didn’t…”

He faced me, dropped the clothes on the bed, and took my hands. “No, you didn’t have to do anything. I loved spending time with you. It was beautiful and perfect.
You’re
perfect. It’s just that we have to go now. They’re probably looking for you, too.”

He was right, though I didn’t want to leave the serenity of this isolated, empty house.

“Before we go, though…” He held up his phone.

I arched a brow. “You want another video?”

His eyes widened, and he burst out laughing. “Uh…definitely a topic to discuss another time. But right now, with you looking so sweet and gorgeous and rumpled, I’d like a selfie. You okay with that?”

Hesitantly, I nodded, but I clutched the sheet tighter to me. With a grin, he just leaned in to me, touched his face close to mine, and extended his arm with the orientation of the camera flipped so we could see ourselves on the screen. My breath caught at our image. Tousled. Intimate. Warm. Then he snapped the picture and showed it to me for my approval.

My heart tightened as I stared at it. We looked…right. We looked happy.

I blinked rapidly as tears filled my eyes, and to cover, I gave him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek then quickly rose, tugging the sheet with me. “We better get going,” I said, hoping he didn’t notice how husky with emotion my voice sounded.

We gathered up our things, packed away the cello, which I’d left out all night with this humidity, and ran to the car. Giving the house one last look, in case I never came here again, I climbed into the Porsche, and Liam showed me what the car could do, swerving and flying all the way back to downtown Seattle. He held my hand and stole looks at me often. That was a good sign. He didn’t avoid me and was still being sweet. Not an act. I didn’t know why I had expected anything otherwise.

I just hoped we didn’t get stopped for speeding and end up being even more late. Watching the scenery go by, I was keenly aware of one thing—I was grinning from ear to ear. When we were one block from the hotel, about to turn the corner to part ways, he pulled to the curb, tucked his hand under my hair, and gave me a long, sweet kiss. “Can I see you tonight?” he asked. “Offstage, that is?”

“Are you sure, Liam?” I asked nervously. “Neither of us can make promises at this point. That’s what we said back at the house.”

“I know.” He nodded. “But like I said before, I want to make you promises. And I haven’t felt that way in a very, very long time.” He pressed his lips to each of my cheeks and then my forehead. “Let’s meet later and decide where to go from here.” He smiled big as well, and my stomach turned into a thousand knots.

“Okay,” I said, against my better judgment. He was returning to his normal life after a day with me. Anything could happen, that was true—but I couldn’t be afraid of the
what ifs.

Or rather, I couldn’t let my fear of
what if
s stop me.

No, if I wanted a chance at fulfilling the good
what ifs
—the ones that meant I’d see Liam’s house again and be in his arms again—I had to face head on the potentially bad ones with the potentially good.

*

Robbie hadn’t killed Liam too badly, just gave him a lengthy tongue lashing when we pulled into the hotel’s back driveway. Rosemary got over her worries quickly when I told her what happened and where I’d been, and when I divulged all in our hotel room, she squealed like a little girl. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe you fucked Liam Collier! You little tart!” She laughed.

I laughed, too, albeit weakly. I immediately wanted to correct her. Tell her we’d
made love
, not fucked. But of course I couldn’t say that. I was nuts to even think it.

“Abby, you just did what women the world over only dream of doing! So, please kiss and tell. Was it…any good?” She gave me a hopeful shoulder shrug.

“Well, not like I have a wealth of experience, but yes. He…did it for me,” I said, blushing and covering my face from pure embarrassment.

“Of course he did!” Rosemary cried, throwing a pillow at me. “Oh, my God, I AM SO JEALOUS!” She screamed until the people next door knocked on our wall to shut us up.

*

Our second Seattle show was
on fire!
As Liam would say.

It was a brilliant, clear night for a rock concert. The crowd ate up all of Liam’s antics, which seemed to include more energy, more wildness, more of everything. They sang along to all the songs, which fed his enthusiasm even more. And I got a wonderful response from the audience at the end of my solo for
Save Me Tonight
. Liam had faced me onstage, bowed to me, and blown me a kiss with a wink right in front of everyone. Rosemary even turned in her seat to give me an all-knowing look.

Had us being together last night brought something out in me? I felt like I’d woken up from a long, dark sleep, as if all was right with the world, and Liam was the reason. My mind knew better than to attribute all success and happiness to one person, but I really did feel on top of my game tonight, like everything had changed for the better. Whereas before I was here just for a paycheck, now I was here because I wanted to be—the song was starting to mean a lot more to me. Had I “saved” Liam last night, after he told me he had some darkness in his past? Had he written that song while desperately longing for someone to save his soul?

I loved to think I was that person, but all dreams must come to an end.

After the second set, before the encore, Rosemary felt the need to warn me backstage. “You know, we’re going to Vancouver next,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“And?”

“And that’s where his ex-girlfriend is—Giselle Vici, the model.”

The name stopped me. Sure, I’d heard it before, but this time, it sent lead into the pit of my stomach.
Vici
was part of his tattoo. Was she the reason it was there?

Rosemary prattled on. “I’ve heard people talking about it. They’re wondering if he’s going to go see her or if she’ll show up. Basically, they’re placing bets to see if they’ll hook up again.”

Her words were like little daggers to my heart. I wanted to foolishly believe that being with me had changed all that, that Liam wouldn’t be interested in anybody but me at this point, that I’d at least keep him from seeing his ex-girlfriend tomorrow, but I wasn’t so sure.

And while he’d said he wanted to make promises to me, he hadn’t made any.

“Although…” Rosemary shrugged. “I’m sure it’s not going to happen. I mean, now that he has you.” She smiled and rubbed at a smudge on her violin case.

Yeah, not very reassuring, I could tell you that much. I had to face it. I was now in direct competition with a world-class supermodel, not to mention women more sexually experienced than I in every city. Well, I’d done my best. I’d been open and natural and myself, and hopefully, he appreciated that last night. It was the best I could do. If I wasn’t good enough for him—so be it.

*

After the show, it was time to wrap things up and get ready to leave for Vancouver. But Liam and I had agreed to meet backstage, so I should at least show up. He’d warned me about backstage activities during our car ride through Seattle. Beyond that, I’d already seen some of it. I knew to take whatever I saw with a grain of salt. If we were ever going to be together, I would have to learn to trust him.
If
we were going to be together.

Rosemary and I hovered closer to the backstage private rooms where some of the male members of our string section were invited in. Outside the door, girls in skimpy clothes waited. Some of them looked barely old enough to drive, though they were all ID’d by the security guard manning the door.

What would make them clamor to be let into this VIP room? The chance to say, “I gave Tucker Benning oral sex?” Why was that worth bragging rights? How would one brag about it in the first place, by putting a plaque on their wall that read: “Best Blow Job – Point Break –
Feel the Burn Tour
”? I didn’t understand it and never would.

“If he invites you into the room, are you gonna go?” Rosemary asked, nervously scanning our increasingly party-atmosphere surroundings.