The Stars Will Shine (18 page)

“Okay,” he starts, picking at a thread on the bedspread. “I guess I’d have to say that mine are probably Led Zeppelin, The Cure, Fleetwood Mac.” He pauses, and I can practically hear melodies sliding through his mind as he ponders over the last two. “Damien Rice and The Tallest Man On Earth.”

“Folk and classic rock,” I note back. “Also fantastic choices.” His eyes search mine as we lie there, and we’re quiet for at least half a minute. When he looks at me like that, I can never find enough air; I can feel myself breathing in, but instead of going to my lungs, the air passes right through me.

“Do you play any instruments?” he asks, his voice quietly attentive. There’s a flash of a memory: the feel of my fingers gliding over the keys of our family’s grand piano and softly releasing the final C6 note; the utter silence that followed and the feeling of fullness in my heart; my father’s claps from the hallway, from where I didn’t realized he was watching my private performance with pride.

“No,” I answer, “I don’t.”

Aiden looks me over for a few seconds, and I can’t quite read his expression, but as I watch him study my face, I know a part of him doesn’t believe me.

“I could teach you guitar,” he offers as he trails his fingers down my arm again. “If you’ve ever wanted to learn.”

My heart surges. He’s looking down, watching his fingertips trace my pale skin. I do the same and can’t help but notice the artistic allure in the spectacle of his golden brown skin on mine. Like something a poet would write about in a love letter, an artist would paint in sentimental colors, a pianist would conceive a nostalgic melody from.

As if on cue, music starts up from Dylan’s room, and it’s exactly the kind of melody I’m thinking about. He’s playing “New American Classic” on his acoustic guitar, and as I stare at Aiden, it’s one of the most beautiful moments I’ve ever experienced. The sound floats softly through our adjoining wall, and I breathe out slowly.

Aiden’s hand moves to my cheek. I lean into it, closing my eyes. He shifts so that he’s lying on his side, facing me. The fingertips of his other hand graze my other cheekbone almost with wonder, and I release the barest of breaths with the sensation. Opening my eyes, I find him looking upon me so tenderly that the specks of gold in his dark eyes shine like stars in the blackest part of the night.

The bed dips a little as he leans in, and helplessly, I’m pulled toward his magnetism, my heart pounding relentlessly. We pause just millimeters from each other, our breaths mingling, the heat of his sending warmth pooling low in my stomach. His thumbs move softly on my cheeks while the rest of his hands cup my face and the sides of my neck. With my eyes closed, I feel everything—his proximity, his touch, his breaths—magnified tenfold. He runs the tip of his nose along the side of mine, and I practically melt.

Slowly losing myself, unable to stand the tension any long, I whisper, “Kiss me, Aiden.”

And he doesn’t wait a second longer.

Our kiss starts out as just a whisper of his lips across mine. His top lip softly passes over my bottom one from left to right and sends electricity skittering through my nerves. The barest of whimpers in the back of my throat seems to daze him for a moment because he pulls back a little, his eyes dark and hooded, and then suddenly he’s back on me, pressing his lips harder to mine, consuming me with his desire. One hand drops to my waist, where his fingertips dig into my skin. I grip the front of his shirt to pull him harder against me.

When he rolls over me and traps me with his hands against the bed, we break for just a moment. His hair hangs forward over his eyes as they peruse my body, from my face, down my neck, to the small swell of my breasts, which rise and fall fast with my quiet panting. Slowly, he shakes his head with a smile then scoops me to him and finds my lips with his once more.

A groan slips from him as I move my hips upward into his and slide my hands under his shirt to grasp his back. As he trails kisses along my jaw, I wrap my legs around his waist and take in the scent of his shampoo, something earthy and manly that drives my senses wild.

And then the song Dylan is playing in his room changes to something soul-unfolding, a reverbed electric blues solo that is pure yearning.

Heat, mixed with pleasure, coils in my core, and I go at Aiden like he’s the oasis in a desert, flipping him over and soaking him up with my entire body. The muscles in his torso move beneath me, flexing against my own with every heated breath he takes, with every exploratory movement of his hands over my body, the feeling as if they’re everywhere at once, pulling me to him, admiring me, wanting me, needing me.

I break away with a sudden realization, and Aiden stares up at me with a breathlessly perplexed look. I’m breathing hard, but I manage a small groan. Aiden sits up beneath me and softly takes hold of my arms.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Are we moving too fast or—”

I shake my head, my heart still pounding. “I just
really
don’t like seducing you to the sex soundtrack my oblivious cousin
is providing.”

Aiden’s eyes are still wide, his eyebrows stitched with genuine concern, but then I see my words register with him.

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, a smile now playing on his lips, and says, “I knew you were the one with the ulterior motives.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure
that’s
been clear from the start,” I reply. I don’t say it, but I think it:
This is all we’ll ever be, though.

One of his hands runs up the side of my torso to the back of my neck, where he entangles his fingers in my hair and gently tilts my head to the side. His lips graze the exposed skin there, his kisses so soft that I feel the fluttering of his breath even more profoundly than his lips. It’s tantalizing, giving rise to a new wave of currents shooting through my spine.

“Delilah.” He whispers my name against my neck, and I close my eyes, drawing in air. His kisses travel lower, down the front of my neck to my collar bone. His fingers find their way just underneath the hem of my shirt and press into my waist there. When I unconsciously start to move against him, I hear his sharp intake of air, and he stills, peeking up at me with hooded eyes.

“We should slow down,” he murmurs, his voice so low I almost don’t catch the words. I close my eyes in defiance and move against him again. Pleasure strikes like a match within me when I hear his breath catch, feel his fingers tighten on my waist.

“Delilah.” He breathes my name like it’s full of regret. “I have to stop.” His forehead presses lightly against mine and his hand comes up to rest against my cheek.

I pull back a little and ask quietly, “Have you done this before?” I’m suddenly taken aback by the fact that I might be about to take the guy’s virginity. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

He nods silently. Then with a sheepish laugh, adds, “Two or three times.” He squints his eyes. “Maybe a few more times than that…”

“Are you clean?” I ask.

“Yes.”

That’s all I need to know. We’ve both got our pasts.

“Me, too. So, what’s the problem?”

“I just…I have to stop.” He won’t quite look at me now.

“But we want this,” I say.
Isn’t that why you’re here?

“Another time,” he says.

I press closer to him and in my most seductive whisper, I say, “But you come across as the type of guy that likes to live in the moment.”

Aiden appraises me for a long time, his only movements the subtle focusing and unfocusing of his eyes as they gaze everywhere upon my face.

Then he laughs, a husky sound that makes me want to shove him onto his back again and have my way with him.

“You think you know how to push me, don’t you?” he says. Suddenly his hands grip my upper arms hard and pull my chest against his. I’m panting, gasping for air when his lips trace my ear and tickle the sensitive skin there. I squirm further into his lap just to feel more of him against me. Lightly, his teeth graze my earlobe, and a shiver rolls through me.

“But I’m so much stronger-willed than you think.” He pulls away from me and easily lifts me off him to deposit me on the bed, a foot away from him. I make a move for him again, but he stands and smiles down at me with his hands on his hips.

“You’ve laid down a lot of rules lately,” he says. “But we’re not only going to do things your way.” His eyes burn into mine, taunting me, pinning me to my bed. “You want a physical relationship with me, I’ll give you one.” Pleasure swells deep within me when I look into his eyes, hot like simmering coals. “But, oh Delilah,” he says, shaking his head with a quiet laugh, “I’m going to take my sweet, slow time savoring you.”

Before I can even muster up a coherent thought to riposte, he’s gone, and I’m left paralyzed by shock and disbelief, with one repeating thought:
What the
fuck
just happened here?

The next afternoon, I’m sitting behind the checkout counter at Miles of Vinyls, idly flipping through a year-old issue of
Rolling Stone
magazine, when Aiden walks through the door with a wide grin on his face. He lifts his hand, and that’s when I see the wicker basket he holds, covered nicely with a red and white checkered cloth. I eye the basket dubiously as he comes over and sets it on the counter.

I flip a page of the magazine. “Uh, what is this?” I nod at the basket but keep my eyes skimming a paragraph with zero attentiveness.

“A picnic basket.”

No shit.

Aiden plucks the magazine from my hands and reads the page I’ve been pretending to read. He cocks an eyebrow, and I’m suddenly wondering what the hell was on that page.

“What for?” I ask distractedly, rubbing my earlobe and glancing about the store.

Aiden snaps his gaze to my face. “We’re going to have a picnic.” By the way he says it, you’d think it should’ve been obvious.

“Aiden,” I say, exasperated, “I can’t leave the store. I’m kind of working right now, and Amber and Trevyn don’t get back from Yosemite until Sunday night.”

“I know.” Aiden laughs as he tosses the magazine onto the counter and comes around to stand behind me. When his hands begin to knead the muscles of my shoulders and neck, I find myself moaning against my will. My head rolls forward and Aiden brings his mouth close to my ear, to that sensitive spot the jackass has discovered makes me tremble with want.

“We’re going to do it in here,” he whispers. His lips smile against me when I quiver, heat flooding my body. “By ‘it’,” he goes on, releasing me, “I mean the picnic.” With a knowing smile, he adds, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Delilah.”

I want to punch him—I really do—if just to wipe the smug grin off his face. I think he’s toying with me, determined to punish me for the whole “just sex” thing. I want to tell him that leaving me wound up last night was not cool, but, determined to not let him rile me up, I clear my throat and wipe every emotion from my face.

“I know what you’re doing,” I say as I fix my unblinking gaze on his. He shrugs innocently. “You’re intent on making me feel something for you.”

Aiden shakes his head slowly. “Just as friends. Nothing more.” The fingers of one hand lightly tap the wrist of his other. “But I’m not willing to provide the benefits without the friendship. So, I guess the choice is up to you. Are you, Delilah Swan, willing to picnic with me—
as friends
—to get what you want?” His eyes glimmer darkly. He knows I’m not one to back away, but he also knows I don’t want this picnic to turn into something that could be construed as a date, of all things.

“Fine,” I snap, followed by a multitude of threats under my breath. He doesn’t even try to hide his smile.

So that’s how I find myself sitting cross-legged on the floor with Aiden stretched out completely at ease beside me. We’re in the stock room, hiding, and we’ve got a blanket beneath us and an open basket packed full of food the scheming bastard must have spent half an hour putting together. I grab a bunch of grapes off the top and begin plucking them off and popping them into my mouth, chewing hard and avoiding his eyes.

I can hear the amusement in Aiden’s voice when he looks up at me from his side-prone position, takes a large bite of his turkey sandwich, and asks, “You’re determined to not enjoy this, aren’t you?”

I sigh. “Can we just skip to the making out part?”

Aiden laughs and takes another bite of his sandwich, shaking his head.

“If you could time travel back to any decade in U.S. history, which would you choose?”

I glare at the thin metal shelves of the stock room, packed full of our surplus vinyls on one side and rolled up band posters on the other. Why of all things is he asking me this?

The lighting is so dim in here that the tanned skin of Aiden’s arms takes on more of a bronzed tone, and his hair and eyes appear even darker.

“C’mon,” he says with a laugh. “Which would you choose? I really want to know.”

Aiden seems like an analyzer, the type of person who, like me, internally scrutinizes everything—people’s facial expressions, how they show their emotions, what they say and how they say it. Even a person’s simple response to this question. If I choose the 60’s, which in truth is my answer, he’ll know it’s because of my desire to witness the evolution of so many musical genres and prominent musicians, and experience all the amazing concerts and festivals for which I wasn’t yet alive. Keeping my face indecipherable, I decide to throw him for a loop.