Be The One (Crave #2) Page 2

  Rockstars.

  Why the hell did I let my heart rule me instead of listening to my mind? It was hard enough doing this with Lennon. I’m not sure how I’m going to cope this time around. But I know I couldn’t walk away now even if I wanted to.

  Jett’s got me under his spell.

  Completely.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Erin’s gone home, and I’m three more cocktails in. My veins are buzzing with alcohol and lust, and Jett’s doing his best to drive me wild. The man has one dirty mouth and I’ve been listening to it for hours, and I’m way past ready for that mouth to do more than whisper dirty promises in my ear.

  “You ready for me to take you home and fuck you again?” he asks gruffly, his voice so goddam sexy and inviting.

  “You ask that like there’s an answer other than yes,” I say, moving off his lap where I’ve been sitting for the past couple of hours.

  He stands and takes hold of my hand.

  “Are you leaving?” Van interrupts us and we both turn our gaze to him.

  “Yeah,” Jett answers.

  Van pushes the girl off his lap and stands to walk over to us. “You’re gonna be there tomorrow morning, right?” His tone is almost angry and I wonder what is going on between the two of them.

  Jett scowls. “Don’t fucking push this, Van. I told you where I stand on this album.”

  “And what if the rest of us don’t stand with you?” His body is tense, like he’s ready to fight this out.

  “Just leave it. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.” Jett’s tone is forceful and it’s clear to me that he’s ready for whatever fight Van wants to bring.

  Van shakes his head and snaps, “Yeah, we fucking will, and don’t think that just because you’ve always gotten your way, you’ll get it this time. I’m sick of this shit.”

  They glare at each other for a moment until Van stalks out of the VIP section. I watch him until I can’t see him in the crowd anymore and then turn back to Jett. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing. That was Van being an asshole. He’ll get over it,” he mutters.

  I’ve no idea what any of that means, and I don’t really want to get involved, so I leave it and wave at Hunter and West to say goodbye. West jerks his chin and grins at me as the girl he’s with grabs his attention back, and Hunter mouths his goodbye. It’s been a great night and I’m sure it’s just about to get even better.

  I follow Jett out of the club and we wait on the footpath for his driver to bring the car around. We’ve got one of his security guys with us but there’s hardly anyone around so he’s not really needed.

  “Do you mind if I check my phone, babe? I’ve got some messages to answer,” he says, surprising the hell out of me.

  Smiling at him, I say, “Your parents really did raise you well, didn’t they?”

  His brows knit together in confusion. “Why do you say that?”

  He has no idea, and I love that even more. “I have never had someone I’m dating ask me if I minded if they went on their phone.”

  A grin flits across his face. “You’ve scored well with me, baby,” he says, full of cheek, but it’s the wink he gives me that sets the butterflies off in my tummy again.

  I playfully smack him. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get tickets on yourself.” I shoo him away. “Go and check your messages, Mr. Rockstar.”

  He laughs and does as I say, and a moment later, he’s engrossed in his messages. In turn, I’m engrossed in watching him, so much so that I don’t realise when a group of guys exit the club and wait near us for a taxi. Their drunken banter jolts me back into the present and I turn to smile at them. It seems like they’ve had a great night from the laughter and joking taking place.

  “You had a good night?” one of them asks me, his friendly smile lighting up his face.

  Nodding, I answer, “Yes, and you?”

  “Yeah, I’ve had a great night. It’s my birthday so we’ve hit a few clubs celebrating.”

  “Happy birthday. How old?” I ask, enjoying the conversation while Jett’s still busy on his phone.

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Wow, I would have thought you were older.”

  He grins at me and before he can say anything else, one of his drunken friends interrupts quite loudly. “Don’t let his age fool you, darlin’, he’s got enough experience and knows how to fuck. All you gotta do is say the word.”

  Strong hands suddenly grasp my arms and move me backwards. Jett’s angry face flashes past me as he steps forward. “What the fuck did you just say?” he fumes at the guy who just spoke, his body tensed.

  “I said that my friend here knows how to - ”

  Jett cuts him off. “I fucking know what you said, dickhead. What I’m actually wondering is why the fuck you would say that.”

  Shit, he’s wound tight, and as far as I’m concerned, the guy doesn’t deserve his attention. “Jett, he’s drunk. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying.” I try to pull him away but he doesn’t budge an inch.

  The guy holds his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t mean anything, man. I was just having some fun.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t appreciate you having fun with my woman. Be careful who you say that shit to in the future,” Jett continues his tirade and I realise where this is coming from.

  He’s jealous.

  Well, fuck. If there’s one thing I hate in a partner, it’s jealousy. Jett has always seemed so level headed and secure to me that I didn’t think we’d have a problem with this. Hopefully, it’s a once off because I’m not sure I’ll cope well if it isn’t.

  The guy backs off and steers his group away from Jett, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Jett watches them go and then turns to me. “Are you okay?”

  He seems genuinely concerned that I’m okay and I wonder if I’ve misunderstood. Perhaps it wasn’t jealousy at all. I give him a smile and nod my head. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  A long, hard breath escapes his lips. “Good. I can’t fucking stand assholes like that who think they can say that kind of shit to women.” He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss to my forehead.

  Thank God. He’s not jealous; he’s just concerned.

  2

  Jett

  “Best. Sex. Ever.” Presley declares as I collapse onto the bed next to her.

  “I try my best, sweetheart,” I say as I roll onto my side, prop myself up on my elbow and place my hand on her stomach. I don’t tell her it’s also the best sex I’ve ever had. She already knows how whipped I am; she doesn’t need further reinforcement. Hell, at this point, she could rip my heart apart with how open I’ve been about my feelings.

  Her gaze travels down my body and I enjoy the fuck out of her eyes on me. It’s almost as good as her hands on me. I trace my fingers over her stomach while she’s busy taking in my body. Her skin feels so damn good. I could happily stay like this all day – her eyes on me, my hands on her.

  Eventually, she catches my gaze again and asks, “What does this tattoo mean?”

  She’s placed her hand on the tattoo on my chest. Out of all the tattoos I have, this one has the most meaning and while I never hide anything from her, this one hurts to think about sometimes. I reach for her hand and take hold of it. Dipping my face to hers, I say, “It’s a reminder.”

  “Of what?” She’s watching me closely, waiting for my reply.

  I squeeze her hand softly. “Not to let life pass by while I’m dealing with shit. To dance in the rain during the storm.”

  “Tell me about it. Why did you choose those images?” she asks, her voice breathy as if she’s holding her breath a little.

  Sadness pierces my heart.

  Fuck.

  I try not to think about this time in my life too often. It might have been fourteen years ago, but the memories lie just beneath the surface and the pain is all too real.

  My tattoo is a collage that consists of a dragonfly, a tree, a crown and a scroll that runs through the i
mages that says ‘Dance In The Rain’. I take a breath and begin to tell the story, because she’s going to want it, not some superficial explanation to explain the design. “Dragonflies are a symbol of living in the moment. The adult dragonfly only lives a few months usually and lives those months to the max – like we should. The tree is the tree of life.” I abruptly stop talking. The pain is too much as the memories flood my mind, and I don’t want to go on. I don’t want to remember what we almost lost, but I know Presley is going to push me there.

  Her eyes search mine. It’s like she’s hesitant to ask me more but it’s also clear she’s going to. I can see it written on her face. “What does the crown represent?” Her voice is wrapped in care and I let it help me press on.

  I shift onto my back and take a moment. And then I let the words spill from my lips. “The crown is my sister, Claudia . . .”

  My voice catches in my throat and I gulp back the painful memories.

  This never gets any easier.

  Presley rolls so she can lay her head against my chest and drapes her arm over my body. Her touch is comforting and I hold her, taking strength from her tenderness. “What happened to her?” She says the words so quietly I almost don’t hear them, perhaps because I’ve retreated into my thoughts.

  Away from the world.

  From the harshness of what it can sometimes serve up.

  Her words draw me back and I’m surprised at her ability to read me so well. Or maybe it’s not that she’s able to read me so easily compared to other women I’ve been with. Maybe it’s just because I’ve never been with a woman who actually cared enough to ask.

  I force out a breath. “It was fucking awful . . . she was so sick growing up . . . I thought we were going to lose her.”

  “What did she have?”

  “Leukaemia. She was diagnosed when she was eight and her treatment lasted for about three years.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was thirteen.”

  Too young.

  Claudia was too fucking young.

  The memories assault me and I’m helpless; all I can do is let them come.

  I might have to relive them, but fuck if I’ll let them bury me.

  Snapping back to the moment, I roll, taking Presley with me and pinning her underneath me. I stare down at her, taking in her beauty and her concern. I think about how fucking amazing she is. Even though I’ve only known her a short time, I know she’s too good for me and I know that makes me a lucky asshole. “Life’s too short not to dance in the rain, sweetheart. It’s why I’m here with you, and it’s why I’ll always fight for what I want. Even when life throws shit at me, I refuse to shut down and stop living life to the fullest. Claudia taught me that.”

  She blesses me with a beautiful smile. “She sounds amazing.”

  “Yeah, she is. She was the one dealing with being sick, and yet she was the one who kept our family together when I thought for sure we weren’t going to make it. And she still goes out of her way to keep us close.”

  A frown creases her face. “What do you mean?”

  “The financial stress it put on my parents was enormous because Mum had to stop working so she could look after Claudia. They went through all their savings and we almost lost our home when they struggled to pay the mortgage. I don’t know for sure, but I think their marriage took a hit also, but they always kept that part away from us. Honestly, I don’t know how they survived it all, but I do know that Claudia helped a lot. She was always finding ways for our family to bond . . . you know, family dinners, picnics, trips to the movies and stuff like that . . . I really believe that kept us together in the end.”

  She smiles. She’s so goddamn beautiful when she smiles. Hell, who am I kidding? She’d be fucking beautiful even if she was glaring at me and telling me what a fucking asshole I was. “She taught you guys to dance in the rain,” she murmurs, and I fucking love that she gets it. I’ve never told anyone the significance of my tattoo before. A lot of women have asked but I fobbed them off with some bullshit story, and the fact they bought that shit without a doubt speaks volumes about what they wanted from me. It sure as fuck wasn’t my heart and soul they were after.

  I return her smile. “Yeah, she sure did.” My lips brush hers and I say, “How the fuck did we get onto that topic? That’s too deep for this time of morning.”

  “Something tells me you’re a very deep man, Mr Vaughn,” she says with a grin as I push up off the bed.

  Shaking my head at her and grinning, I walk into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I hear someone knocking on the front door and Presley padding on the carpet to answer it. I’m less than fucking impressed when I make out the voice of her husband. I’ve no idea if she’s heard from him since the charity dinner because I never asked her, and she never said anything else about him after that night. Thinking about him twists my gut with both anger and jealousy. I’m angry that someone like him treated Presley so bad, and jealous because he’s still in her life. And while I believe she’s done with him, that doesn’t cure it.

  Fucking jealousy.

  I’ve never suffered with it in my life. Ever. And I fucking hate that I am now. When that dickhead spoke to Presley last night outside the club, I was angry someone would talk to her that way, but, more than anything, I was jealous. And fuck if that didn’t rile me up even more.

  I finish in the bathroom, pull on some jeans, and slowly make my way to the front door. My desire to give Presley her space leads me to wait in the hallway for her, but my insane possessiveness over her means I can’t drag myself away from their conversation.

  “What are you doing here, Lennon? I thought I made it clear yesterday that I didn’t want to see you again.” The hurt in Presley’s voice is evident and that twists me up. I ball my fists and clench them as I think about her pain.

  “I need to explain something to you. Something I think you may have misunderstood the other night,” Lennon replies.

  “I’ll listen, but it won’t change anything between us.”

  He sighs. “Can I at least come in?”

  I have to restrain myself from joining their conversation and telling him to stay the fuck out of her home.

  “No,” she says, and I almost sag in relief.

  “I didn’t sleep with Van’s fiancé while you and I were still together. That happened after you left.” When Presley doesn’t reply, he adds, “You’ve gotta believe me, baby.”

  That’s fucking it.

  Stalking the short distance from the hallway to the front door, I make my way to where Presley is and I slide my arms around her and pull her tight against me. Glaring at Lennon, I growl, “That’s the last time you’ll call her that.”

  Lennon’s gaze flicks me and his face hardens. “I’ll call her whatever the fuck I want to call her. She is my wife, after all.”

  I fight the desire to punch the motherfucker. I want to, but I don’t. More for Presley’s sake than any other reason.

  Presley shakes her head and mutters, “I told you yesterday that I’m only your wife on paper. And not to call me that anymore. Now, you’ve said what you came to say, so you can leave. I don’t really care when you slept with that woman because it doesn’t change the fact you were a bad husband.”

  My hold on her tightens and I take a step back, pulling her with me. “Don’t come back here. In fact, don’t come near Presley again. She’s made it clear what she wants.”

  Lennon opens his mouth to say something further but I silence him. “Save it, Lennon, she’s not interested.”

  Presley turns in my embrace and whispers, “Thank you,” before shrugging out of my hold and walking back into the house, leaving me alone with Lennon.

  I continue glaring at him, waiting for him to try and make another move on her. My fists are itching to get to work, and I won’t hesitate if he keeps at it.

  We face off for a good few minutes before he finally says, “You’re an asshole, Jett, and she’s gonna figure that out soon enough, an
d then she’ll come straight back to me.” As soon as he has the words out, he turns and stalks away, leaving me standing there fuming. But it’s good to see the back of him.

  He’s wrong, though.

  I’m going to make damn sure Presley never goes back to him.

  I shut the door and go to find her. She’s back in her bedroom, her back to me, and I put my arms around her and pull her to me. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” The anger and jealousy has been replaced with concern. I’d do anything to make sure she’s okay.

  Turning, she gives me a smile. Even though it’s a weak one, I’m glad to see it on her lips. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you for that.”

  I kiss her, and the moment our lips meet, I feel the energy flow between us. She gives herself over to me, and I put everything into the kiss. I need her to know I’m here for her and that I’m ready to be the man she needs.

  When I end the kiss, her eyes tell me she felt everything I felt in that moment.

  We don’t need words.

  I love that because sometimes words fail me.

  “What are your plans for today?” I ask, not letting her go.

  “I’ve still got some photos from your concert to edit. How about you? Are you working?”

  “Nope, not working today so I’m all yours. Any ideas for what we could do?”

  Laughter escapes from her lips and my dick jerks. God, I want her again. She pushes me away playfully and says, “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas for what we could do, but only one idea for what I will be doing. I won’t bore you with the details of what you’ll be missing out on, though.” She winks and turns to walk out of the bedroom.

  A second later, I lift her from behind, carry her back into the bedroom and throw her onto the bed. Climbing on top of her, I bend my face to hers and growl, “How about I tell you what you’d be missing out on then?”

  My phone rings, interrupting the fuck out of us, and I’m annoyed to see it’s Tom, my manager. “What’s up?” I ask as I answer it. I’m straddling Presley and I slide my spare hand under her t-shirt to find her breast. I’ve no intention of being on the phone for very long.