Never Enough(43)

We've decided we're done pretending, no matter what Valerie says, no matter what the headlines are. It's real. It's happening. Sooner or later Rockstar Goes on Normal Date With Normal Girlfriend will stop being headline news, contract or no contract.

He pulls into his driveway, closes the gate, and we get out of his car.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Gavin says.

It's not that humble. It's not a crazy monstrosity, but it's sure not humble.

Perched in the Hollywood Hills, Gavin's rental house is one of those boxy, cement-and-wood numbers that's very sleek and modern, basically the only thing anyone is building in Los Angeles right now. The front yard is filled with succulents and gravel, and over the roof and garage I can see the glimmer of the lights of Los Angeles, though I can't see anything yet. 

"It's not what I'd have chosen to buy," he admits as we walk toward the door, mounting the concrete steps. "But I was in the market for a furnished rental with a gate, this was available, and now here I am."

Gavin holds the door open and I enter, my footsteps echoing. There are no lights on, but between the half moon and the glow of Los Angeles through the wall of windows at the back of the house, I can make out a huge room with a cathedral ceiling, a couch, a TV, a big fireplace, some chairs, and a coffee table. I guess it's a living room, except it's about three times the size of most living rooms.

Halfway to the ceiling is a railing and a balcony. I guess it's the second floor. Gavin flips the lights on, and I blink.

It's nice. It's obviously new, all the corners still sharp, everything still shiny and new-looking. Well, except the plywood covering part of the big wall of windows to the back yard. But somehow, even that doesn't look bad.

"Wow," I say, taking it all in. "Explain to me again why it was better to be at my apartment than your house?"

"Your flat's cozy," he says.

"Do you like that the bathroom door hits the couch if you open it too wide?"

Gavin grins, tossing his keys onto a side table next to a stack of junk mail.

"It's got your stuff in it," he says, shrugging. "It feels like home, whereas this is one of those American houses built with the idea that someone might need to run a herd of buffalo through it, so better make it large and empty enough."

"Maybe you do live in a gross van and you only rented this place for a night to impress me," I tease.

"Don't insult the shaggin' wagon," he says. "I paid a lot of money for that tasteful airbrushed painting of a dragon making love to a woman."

I crinkle my nose, even though I'm laughing.

"If that's the face you're going to make then you'll never get to ride in it," Gavin teases. "Do you want the tour or what?"

"Are there secret passageways?"

"It's not a castle."

"Is there at least a bookshelf that turns around to a secret room?"

"Well, now I don't want to give you a tour because you're clearly going to be disappointed."

I kiss him on the shoulder, through his shirt, because that's the part of him I can reach.

"I promise not to be disappointed," I say, and raise one eyebrow. "As long as you show me where the magic happens."

Gavin waves one arm at the room we're in.

"Well, this is the living room," he says. "The room for watching telly and, I don't know, lounging about? That window is the one that-"

He pauses for just a second, like he's remembering something.

"- that someone broke before bleeding on a couch, so it's been removed and still not replaced. Something about the insurance."

"Even high-end landlords are shitty," I say. "Celebrities, they're just like us."

Gavin shows me around. There's a dining room with an expensive-looking modern table, a gourmet kitchen with a breakfast nook, a deck overlooking a back yard, a room with a built-in desk he says is the study, and two bathrooms - all on the main floor. It's all very clean-looking and sterile, because he obviously barely uses most of the rooms here.

I'm a little jealous. I'd use so many of these rooms. I swear I'd have an entire room only for paper and plastic bags, just because I could.



       
         
       
        

"That's it for the main floor," Gavin says, and hits a switch, lighting up the second story.

"Is that where the magic happens?" I ask.

"The magic happens wherever I say it does," he says, his voice lowering, a smile tugging at his lips. "Now come the fuck on and let me finish this tour before the magic happens on the floor for the second time this week."

Point taken. He takes my hand and pulls me up the staircase to the second-floor balcony, looking down at where we just were.

The view's even better from up here. Gavin points at a couple of closed doors across the way.

"Bedrooms with nothing in them and that one's a linen closet," he says, walking me along a hallway.

He stops in front of a double door, turns to face me, and grins. My heart speeds up, because we both know perfectly well what's behind that door.

"This," Gavin says, turning the knob behind himself. "Is where the magic happens."

It's his bedroom, obviously, but the first thing I notice isn't the huge bed, the fireplace or the strategically-low lighting, it's the view. The south-facing wall is almost entirely made of glass, and from it I can see even more of Los Angeles than from downstairs, all lit up at night.

It's gorgeous. I'm a sucker for views, and this one is incredible.

"We're never going to my apartment again," I say, just staring out the window.

Gavin slides his arms around my waist and pulls my body against his.

"I admit I didn't even know it was here until I moved in," he says. "And then I kept the curtains closed for another month or so afterward without realizing."

I lean my head back against his shoulder and look up at him.

"You're killing me here," I tease.

He laughs, arms tightening.

"What I mean is, when I got out of rehab and needed a place I had a feeling that sooner or later I'd fall head over heels for a girl who really enjoyed scenic overlooks, so when I saw this I knew I had to have it," he says.

Head over heels. I get butterflies.

"So I'm glad you like it, because I absolutely got it with you in mind and not at all by accident," he goes on, laughing.

I lean against his shoulder, look up at him, and slide a hand through his hair.

"I should ask you for lotto numbers," I tease.

Gavin leans in and kisses me. He does it slowly, so slow it's almost toe-curling, then pulls back, millimeters between our lips, so I close the gap and kiss him back.

He turns me around in his arms until I'm facing him, then snakes his fingers through my hair, his other hand still on my waist. Our tongues wind together. I bite his lower lip gently when he pulls back, and he growls so softly I barely hear it. 

My body is pure electricity, snapping and crackling. All I want to do is push him to the floor and let him have me there, like we did Friday night. It's unbelievable how much I want him, all the time - at restaurants, in the car, when we walk around the city together.

But especially right now, desire humming through my veins, a hollow ache that I can only fill one way. Gavin's forehead is against mine and he digs his fingers into my spine, his other hand cupping my chin, one thumb stroking my cheekbone.

"I'm completely fucking mad for you," he murmurs, and kisses me again, pushing me up against the cool window.

I close my fingers around his shirt, his tongue in my mouth. He slides one hand up my outer thigh slowly, finding the hem of my dress and pushing his fingers underneath it, letting his palm rasp against my skin. The leather bracelets on that wrist tickle as he moves higher and higher, and our mouths unlock.

"And for two days now, the only thing I've thought about is you, saying my name as you come," he goes on.

He hooks one finger under the side of my thong and then snaps it. I gasp, and he smiles.

"That's actually not true," he admits, his voice still low and gravelly.

He kisses my lips, kisses my jaw, kisses the spot in front of my ear.

"I also gave some thought to you telling me harder," he says, his lips against my ear. "I quite liked that as well."

I can tell that I'm bright red, but I swallow hard and take a deep breath.

"I quite liked... what you were doing," I say.

I'm not great at talking dirty, but Gavin laughs softly into my ear and twists the side of my thong around his fingers, teasing me and pulling it tight.

"I'm glad, because I've got every intention of doing it again, and very soon," he says, a smile in his voice as he kisses my neck below my ear.

He moves his other hand to my neck, then the pad of his thumb to the hollow of my throat before tracing my collarbone with his fingers, sliding them down my chest and underneath the very first button on my shirtdress, then over each button, all the way down.

I'm biting my lip, and my eyes go half-closed, heat spreading outward over my skin from the path his finger's traced.

"You drive me crazy," I whisper.

"Good," he murmurs back.

I lock eyes with Gavin, his fingers still under the band of my thong, and undo the top button on my dress, dragging my fingers through the opening to undo the second button. I undo the third and now he's watching me, pure hunger lighting his eyes as I lean against the window, undressing for him slowly.