The Lonely Kings: Hard Rock Arrangement Part 20

I just shook my head. "Thanks," I said. There was a weird stinging in my eyes. I was going to cry.

"Don't insult me with thanks," Sonya said. "I'll f.u.c.k up any man who tries to lie to me, especially about another woman. And don't f.u.c.king cry, it makes me itch."

"Right," I said. "Sorry."

"Ugh, just order a f.u.c.king drink."

I did, but I didn't drink most of it, and fifteen minutes later I left Sonya and Manny beatboxing on the bar and entertaining the late-night business crowd, well on their way to really good hangovers.

The elevator carried me up to the fifth floor, and I walked to the room I shared with Carter, lost in thought, but when I reached it I heard something.

From the room next to mine came the soft strumming of a guitar. Kent's room.

Come talk to me if you want.

I shouldn't. But I did want to.

Turning to the door of the room I shared with Carter I leaned in, pressing my ear against it. No sounds came from inside. Carter was asleep.

The tinkling strains of music from Kent's room plucked at me, calling me toward them.

What could it hurt? I asked myself, and as though in a dream I drifted toward the door, lifted my hand, and knocked.

The music stopped, breaking the spell. A flash of panic streaked across my brain, and then I didn't have time for any other thoughts because Kent opened the door.

He looked down at me. He reached out and took my hand. He pulled me inside.

When the door shut behind me, it was like the door of the past closing forever.

Chapter Thirteen.

The room was dim, lit only by a small lamp on the end table next to the couch. Kent dropped my hand almost immediately, moving back to the couch where he'd been sitting. He picked up the guitar there-Carter's guitar, he must have borrowed it-and began to pluck at it again.

I didn't bother to wait for an invitation. I sat down next to him, propped my arm on the back of the couch, and listened.

For a long time, neither of us said anything. I just sat and listened, and he played. He was right-he wasn't the musician that Carter was, but he certainly wasn't bad. I listened as he picked out first one tune and then another, wandering from melody to melody, and each melody was a subtle variation on the one before, like flowers blooming-first a seed, then a root, then a shoot and a stalk and leaves and finally blossoms. I let the music dance over me as he plucked away at his guitar, until finally he seemed done. With a sigh, he set the guitar down on the floor.

He wore only a white t-s.h.i.+rt and his jeans and I had to stop myself from licking my lips as I watched the muscles of his back ripple against each other. It was definitely the sort of back that made you think about s.e.x-wide through the shoulders, tapered through the waist. A good waist, a waist you could wrap your legs around, broad shoulders you could cling to. I had to force myself to look at his face instead of his body as he sat back.

His legs splayed and he threw his tattooed arms over the couch back and arm, leaning into the corner as he regarded me thoughtfully.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he replied.

The silence came in again, creeping between us until I swallowed and looked away. "So, um." I cast about for something to say. Why did he make me so tongue-tied? "How's life?"

He inhaled and I had the impression that he was actually thinking about the question. "I suppose it isn't awful," he said at last, and he sounded actually surprised by that admission. I gave him a look.

He held up his hands. "And for you? How is life for you?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I'm... I'm not sure how to feel about things."

"What sort of things?"

"My ex-boyfriend getting dragged through the lobby of a hotel in the most humiliating way possible?"

"I'd think you'd be feeling pretty good about that."

My lips twisted. "Yeah, but why was he here in the first place? Do you know?"

Kent grimaced. "I do. Would you like me to tell you what was on those voice mails?"

I nodded.

Running his hand through his hair-why wasn't I the one running fingers through that hair?-he shrugged. "Your ex-" he said it with disgust, "was calling to tell you that you needed to help him with his band. That you now had contacts in the industry. That it was the least you could do for him after years of abusing his trust and stealing to feed your addictions."

Anger sparked. "But I never-"

Kent held up his hand. "And that he would tell the band everything you'd done if you didn't. He was quite insistent about it."

I stared at him. "But you didn't know I hadn't done anything wrong," I said.

One dark brow raised almost into his hair. "Excuse me?" he said. "I lived with you for a month. I think I would have known if you were doing drugs and stealing from us. And besides, you could never have helped Carter off the drug carousel if you were a user yourself. It was obvious he was lying in those voice mails. It's called gas lighting-someone tries to convince you that something did or didn't happen or that you're crazy." He shrugged. "He didn't make any physical threats, so I thought it was best just to keep those voice mails in case we needed them."

My mouth twisted, and I wasn't sure if I was trying to smile or frown. "Are we more or less likely to need them now that Sonya's punished him, so to speak?"

He smiled back at me. "Less likely," he said. He hesitated. "Do you feel like sharing the story with me?"

I looked into his blue-green eyes and sighed. "I do. But you're going to think I'm stupid."

"Maybe you should just tell me and let me decide if I think you're stupid or not."

"That's...that's not as rea.s.suring as you think it is."

He smirked at me. "It wasn't meant to be rea.s.suring. Tell me."

I chewed on my lip for a second and I saw his eyes flick to my mouth, watching my teeth worry the tender flesh of my mouth, and I thought: What the h.e.l.l? No pain, no gain.

So I told him the story, the same one I'd told Carter. It didn't take long-this time the telling was easy, as if telling the story the first time had been the hard part. Now I was able to tell him all the things Jason used to say to me, like how I needed to lose weight or how I must be slacking off at the bar since I didn't get enough tips and a hundred other horrible things. And I'd tried to do every single one, as if I were somehow obligated to do whatever he told me to do. The more I listened to the story, the dumber I felt, until finally I trailed off into silence.

"And...?" Kent prompted me after a moment.

"And that's it," I said. "I'm an idiot."

He leaned forward and studied my face. "No," he said after a moment. "I don't think so.

I hadn't known how much I needed to hear those words until he said them. "You don't?"

He tilted his head. Locks of dark hair fell against his face as he studied me. "Rebecca, when you auditioned for this job, what did you do?"

I swallowed. "What you told me to?"

He shook his head. "That, but you went above and beyond what I told you to do. It just came naturally to you to work hard and try hard. It's just your nature to channel all of yourself toward productive things. It shows up in the cleaning, in how you take care of Carter, in how you speak to the people around you. You didn't flinch from the task, didn't act like it was beneath you or anything like that. Do you know how hard it is to find someone like that?"

My brow furrowed. "No?" I said. "It's just the sort of thing... you know, that you're supposed to do."

"And yet so few people do it."

My frown deepened. "I don't get it."

He leaned back. "As far as I see, you just chose the wrong person to use your gifts on," he said. "The support of a beautiful, hard-working woman should have been enough to vault him into the stratosphere if that was where he was destined to go. Instead he just wasted it. He wasted everything you gave him. Now that you're not with a s.h.i.+thead like him, you are finally able to see that your gifts are valuable."

I stared at him. "You think I have gifts?" I said at last.

His relaxed pose stiffened as he sat up and leaned forward. His incredible face drew close to mine and he searched my eyes with his. I felt as though he were peeling me back layer by layer. "Rebecca," he said suddenly, and his voice was serious, "do you know how long I expected you to last in your position?"

Swallowing, I shook my head.

"Two days. That was the average for Carter's babysitters. Actually probably not even the average. Some of them quit in twenty-four hours, and there was one guy who lasted a whole four days, but I expected you to be out of here within a few days. But you weren't. You stuck around. And you did your job."

He looked away. "You helped my baby brother when I couldn't. I can rely on you, Rebecca. Do you know how long it's been since I've known anyone I can rely on?"

There was a tiny hitch in his voice, and I realized that this had far more significance than just me being a good employee.

"No," I said quietly.

He gave a bitter little laugh. "Never. I don't think I've ever had anyone I could rely on." He stared at his guitar. "No one but myself."

I couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Not really. I had my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters. I knew that Kent and Carter had their dad, but he'd already let slip that his father couldn't have cared less about them...

Reaching out, I touched him gently on the arm. His skin burned against my fingertips and I had to suppress the delicious s.h.i.+ver that ran up my spine. This was not the right time to get turned on. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Then he s.h.i.+fted and his hand was in my hair, his face drawing close.

I went utterly still, like a mouse cornered by a snake.

Kent kissed me.

It took my breath away to feel his lips against mine. Softly he ma.s.saged my mouth with his before sweetly sucking my lower lip between his teeth and biting down, nibbling as though I were a delicate morsel. My blood rushed in my veins flooded my ears, overwhelmed me with heat.

Then he pulled away, but not very far. "No," he said, "I don't think I do want to talk about it. Just know I'm glad I can count on you."

I swallowed. "I know."

"Good." Then his mouth was on mine again, hungry, seeking, obliterating any questions that might still linger in my head. There would be time enough for questions after.

The tenderness begun on the cliff continued here in his room-where before he had been venting his frustrations, looking only for physical pleasure, now something was different. His defenses were falling, and I was falling with them.

Gently, he cradled my face in his hands, heat rippling under my skin where we touched, and he teased my mouth open with his tongue, delving inside, tasting, testing. I reached out and found his shoulders with my hands and his skin burned through the thin cotton of his t-s.h.i.+rt. Flattening my palms against his chest I felt the muscles there leap at my touch.

He groaned into my mouth and then his fingers were in my hair, tangling, pulling, drawing me closer.

"Kent," I breathed, and he smiled into me before pulling away just a little. His hands abandoned my hair, raking down my back, then around my hips and under my a.s.s, scooping me up without warning, lifting me, pulling me to him and spreading my thighs as I slid into his lap. The shock stole my breath as I settled against him, the hard lump of his arousal pressed into the s.p.a.ce between my thighs. We both wore jeans, but even through the thick denim I thought I could feel every inch of him.

His hands spread out over my hips, his fingers ma.s.saging me as I nudged his groin with my pelvis. "You feel good," he murmured. "G.o.d, Rebecca, you feel so G.o.dd.a.m.n good."

Fingers skated up my spine, and then his hand was on my throat, splayed out as he cupped my neck and held it to his mouth, devouring me as though I were the first fruit of the season. His long, messy hair tickled me, the barest of caresses.

Then his other hand was at the hem of my s.h.i.+rt, tugging it up over my head, and I lifted my arms. The cotton swept over my skin and then I was bared to him, only the lace of my bra between his roaming mouth and my sensitive flesh.

I watched, transfixed, as he bent his head to my breast and bit my nipple through the lace of my bra.

A mewling sound slipped from my lips and I squirmed in his lap, my core stroking over him as I did so, sending delicious sensations rippling up my spine and down my legs. Quickly, softly, he nipped at me, one hand coming up to cup my breast as he lavished attention on it-heated, obsessive attention, dulled by the barrier between us.

"Kent, please," I whimpered as he opened his mouth wide and sucked me into his mouth, his tongue driving into my nipple, sc.r.a.ping the lace over it. He looked up at me, a wicked, smiling glance of those blue-green eyes before he lifted one hand and gently, carefully, slipped the strap of my bra down my arm. Slowly the lace peeled away until at last the air hit me and my hard, pebbled nipple was exposed to his gaze.

His thumb flicked over the tip of my breast before he lowered his head again, and when the hot cavern of his mouth closed over me I felt as though he were swallowing me alive. Everything became his hands on me, his mouth on me, his body against mine.

Blindly I reached out and tugged at his s.h.i.+rt, and he released me just long enough to slip it up over his head, finally exposing the torso that I'd only felt through his clothes.

Oh, he was amazing. His whole body was sculpted, wiry and lean and strong. Running my hands over his chest, I swept them up into his hair, letting his dark locks flow through my fingers like water, and then he reached around me, unhooked my bra and leaned in for another kiss. His chest pressed against my soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and I let a shuddering breath out into his mouth.

He was on fire. Every inch of his skin on mine heated me, warmed me up through and through, chasing away the last of the cold left behind in the wake of finding Jason here in my new life.

I broke away this time, trailing kisses down his jaw to the beautiful tattoos adorning his neck. I let my tongue drag over each pattern, and he groaned and rolled his hips into mine, sending me flying.

Without warning he tipped me backwards, spilling me onto the couch. He loomed over me, tall and imposing, and I shuddered with delight at the thought of all that power, that will, driving between my thighs, throwing his whole being into me, as he did with everything. My hands found the fastenings of his jeans as his hands found mine.

Fingers fumbled, frantic and eager, and when I unzipped his fly I found that Kent Hudson went commando. His c.o.c.k, thick and heavy, sprung into my hand, as though it had been waiting for me, and I gave it a soft, experimental stroke.

"Jesus," Kent growled. His eyes closed and his head lolled on his neck, thrusting into my hand, and I reveled in the velvety feel of his erection against my palm. A bead of prec.u.m shone at the tip, and I squeezed, hoping to wring more from him.

His hips stuttered and then he was on me, working my jeans and my panties off over my hips, throwing them to the ground as he opened his mouth against my ear.

"You're going to make me come, Rebecca," he murmured, and his voice was like velvet on my brain. "Let's not get this party over with too quickly."

I didn't have any words left. I just arched into him, the rough fabric of his jeans abrading the tender skin on the inside of my thighs as I ran my hands over his muscular arms, feeling every rise and fall of him, every hill and valley of his painted terrain.

Then he pulled back. I started to protest, but when I saw where he was going the protest died in my throat. Seconds later his tongue stroked my p.u.s.s.y and I s.h.i.+vered.