Halo (Fallen Angel, #1)(34)

For a couple of hours we played around with the song, changing up melodies for the chorus once we reached it. We had Halo try different notes on certain words—adding more emphasis or taking it away—but by the start of the third hour, I was done.

Something was missing here. I’d heard the song so clearly in my head, known exactly the way it needed to sound, and while it was okay, better than it had been when we’d started, it still wasn’t packing the punch I knew it could.

“How about we call it for the day?” I sighed as I looked at the rest of the guys. “I’m tired, didn’t get much sleep last night, and something’s not working here.”

Everyone but Halo nodded. Slade and Jagger headed out to Killian’s kitchen for some food, as Halo picked up the bottle of water at his feet and took a few chugs.

Killian came over. “You okay?”

A frown pulled between my brows. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Killian lowered his voice. “Not sleeping. Not fucking. Writing lyrics titled ‘Hard.’” Killian glanced over his shoulder to where Halo was sitting on a couch with the lyrics and a pen in his hand. “I’m not blind, V.”

“You don’t say.” I shut my guitar case and picked it up.

“Look, the song’s killer. But don’t think for a minute I don’t know who it’s about.” Killian ran a hand through his hair. “Tread carefully there. Give him a chance to get it right. He’s good, but this is…a lot of song.”

“Got it,” I said. “Can I go now, sir?”

“Fuck you.”

“If only you were my type.”

I stepped around Killian and headed out of the rehearsal room, saying my goodbyes to everyone as I went for the front door. As I made my way to the elevator and pushed the button, I heard someone call out my name, and was more than a little shocked to see that Halo had stepped out into the hallway with his jacket and backpack in place.

“Yeah? What is it, Angel?”

As he walked down the hall, I noticed he still clutched the lyrics in his fist like he was afraid he might lose them. “Are you angry with me?”

Angry? Why would I—

“Because I’m not getting this?” he said, holding up the paper.

“You’re getting it. It’s just taking a moment.”

Halo looked down to the words and shook his head, and when all that blond hair shifted around his face, the scent of his shampoo filled my head and lungs. Fucking delicious.

“I’m not. I can’t put my finger on why this is so hard for me.”

When Halo raised his eyes to mine, a smirk crossed my lips. “Pun intended?”

“Wh— Oh,” Halo said. “I guess. But something’s not working, and I know you’re disappointed. Do you think…” Halo chewed his lower lip. “Look, I don’t want to be the reason this doesn’t work out. Do you think you could maybe help me? Show me what you want?”

I eyed him for a beat, wondering if he even realized what he’d just said, and when the elevator door opened, I said, “I can show you exactly what I want, Angel. Let’s go.”





Twenty-Three





Halo





AS SOON AS the doors of the private elevator that led into Viper’s condo opened, I realized my mistake.

When I’d asked for Viper’s help in working out where I was going wrong with the song, it didn’t occur to me that we’d end up at his place…alone. But as my eyes caught the floor-to-ceiling view of Central Park covered in a golden haze from the setting sun, I froze. With that view straight ahead, the lyrics in my hand, and Viper’s close proximity, I was so screwed.

“I know the elevator has killer acoustics, but if you want my help, you should come inside,” Viper said over his shoulder.

As the doors began to close, I stopped them with my arm and then stepped inside Viper’s place.

Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad. Viper strolled ahead of me, shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it over the back of his couch, and then he turned to face me as he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt.

He doesn’t know about what you did last night. Just work on the song and get out. No big deal.

Viper crooked his finger for me to come closer, and I pushed aside my hesitation and walked forward into the living room—though as I looked around, I saw that, like Killian, he had an open floor plan, with a bar separating his living and dining areas. The walls on the side were glass, and the thought popped into my head that maybe his bedroom was too.

What the hell? I don’t care about his bedroom. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to think about it. Now I was lying to myself.

“Would you like a tour?” Viper asked, once again like he could read my damn mind.

I held up the lyric sheet. “I think we should work on this.”

“Gotcha.” He crossed to an electric-blue armchair and lounged back onto it. “Go on, then.”

And now I had to sing these fucking words. Great idea, Halo. Really. Brilliant.

I cleared my throat and looked down at the lines Viper had written. It’d been hard enough getting through the song in front of the other guys, but now? With only Viper as my audience? Something about it felt too intimate, or maybe it was the fact that every time I looked at him, I could still feel the epic orgasm that had come from watching him.