When I saw Crystal giving that TV interview, something inside me had shifted. And when I noticed the three-carat diamond was no longer on her finger, I had become obsessed. Obsessed with what she'd made of herself. Obsessed with seeing her. Talking to her. Touching her.
Getting her back, in my life, in my arms, in my bed.
Rock hard, I squeezed her ass and lifted her off her feet, shoving her back into the wall hard enough to make the framed photos shake and rattle in place. Her soft moan drove me on and I shifted, pushed the hard ridge of my cock to the vee between her legs, rubbed up and down as I plundered her mouth.
Not one single thing had felt this good, not in ten fucking years.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Crystal gasped and tore her mouth from mine to look over my shoulder at the door. Reese’s voice came through clear as a bell. “Yo! Come on man! What are you doing in there? Jerking your meat? We’re on in five. Let’s go!”
Bang! Bang!
The last two blasts of sound from Reese’s fist hitting the door made Crystal jerk in my arms and I knew the moment was over. I was a coward. A fucking coward. I couldn’t do it, couldn’t look down into those expressive blue eyes and see hate, or regret. Or pain.
Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against hers and relocated both of my hands to the relative safety at her waist. “I have to go.”
“I know.”
“Don’t go anywhere, kitten. Promise me.” I kissed her again, once, hard and fast. “Stay. I need to talk to you.”
“Is this what you call talking?” Her voice washed over me and I absorbed the moment, the feel of her in my arms, of her legs wrapped around my waist, her taste on my lips. But I knew this woman, knew her better than anyone else ever would. She was too damn smart for her own good. I’d managed to shut off that phenomenal mind of hers for a few minutes. But as soon as her body cooled, she’d be right back where she started.
Hating me.
“We'll talk, then we'll do more of this. Wait for me.”
I couldn't stand there and hear her say no. Hell, I was about to go on stage in front of eight thousand people. If she turned me down, I'd be worthless out there. So I kissed her forehead, then stepped back. Away. Knowing she might be gone when the concert was over.
”Wait for me.”
Crystal
I'd had five minutes to pull myself together after Kit walked out. It had been just enough to catch my breath, adjust my bra, fix my lip gloss and make sure my hair didn't have the almost-fucked look to it.
God, Kit had just pushed me up against the wall and kissed me. No, he'd almost-fucked me. If his bandmate hadn't pounded on the door, there was no doubt Kit would have banged me. I'd have let him, too. The chemistry between us had always been off the charts and after ten years, it hadn't diminished.
With his uniform of low slung jeans, his tight-fitting t-shirt, dark boots, he was gorgeous. Rock star gorgeous. But that was what he wanted everyone to see. I saw the look in his dark eyes, the intensity, the need. The rasp of his voice, the way he'd called me kitten again. He hadn't wanted any woman, he'd wanted me.
I'd had my legs around his waist like a monkey climbing a tree. What the hell was wrong with me? He'd cheated on me once. He'd do it again. Kit Kaswell was a player. The king of players. Hell, he'd written the playbook for players. I was just another notch. Getting the nerdy virgin in high school then bagging her again a decade later. I should have walked away. Gone to the hotel and had that glass of wine and peace and quiet I'd longed for before Kit had reappeared. Now, I wanted the hotel and Kit. Naked.
“I'm too excited to get the details of your relationship with the fucking lead singer of the hottest band. For now.” Tia dragged me down the hall as some tech guy with a big headset led us backstage. He told us to stand in the wing and he pointed to the stage. Not that we could have missed seeing the band. The crowd was yelling, applauding, whistling. Screaming. Reese Keeland was talking, saying something, but I wasn't paying him any attention. I was ogling Kit.
His head was down as he tuned his guitar, adjusted the strap on his shoulder.
The drummer moved into place. I knew all of them by name, not because I was a rabid fan like Tia, but because of all the online stalking I'd done about Kit. I felt like I knew them all. They were all hot in that pheromone dripping, tattoo covered bad boy way. But I only wanted Kit.
Crap. Not wanted as in now. I'd wanted him in the past. As in a decade ago.
Tia grabbed my arm and jumped up and down like a tween at her first concert.
“I see that look,” she shouted as the band hit a few notes, revving up the crowd. “This isn't just a crush, is it?”
I kept my eyes on the stage when I shook my head.