Halo (Fallen Angel, #1)(62)

“If you change your mind, you know where to find us.” With a wave, Killian and the others left, leaving Viper and me alone in the vast studio. Located in the basement of the mansion, the studio was decked out in all the latest technology—perfect for the producers who were set to join us next week, though they wouldn’t be staying here with us.

“Well, well, well.” Viper strummed his guitar. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

Without the others, the large space suddenly seemed intimate. When Viper stood up to come closer, I held my hand up.

“Stay over there or we won’t get anything done.” I knew that to be the truth as much as my next breath; Viper’s final words to me last night had been “Tomorrow, you’re mine,” and even though that sent a thrill shooting straight to my cock, I needed to focus on the song. The pressure from all those damn articles waiting for our album weighed on my shoulders, and I wasn’t going to be the one to let them down.

“Okay, Angel.” Viper settled back down in the recliner, laying his guitar across his lap. “You’ve got one hour.”

“Might take longer than that.”

He shrugged. “One hour.”

“And then what? Bikinis?”

Viper snorted out a laugh that only drew my attention to his full lips, the ones that had pulled from me my sleeping fantasy like a confession, and when he saw where my eyes were focused, his tongue came out to swipe along his lower lip.

“If you want that hour, you better stop lookin’ at me the way you are right now, Angel.”

Fuck, how was I supposed to concentrate now that his sexy-as-hell release from last night was all I could hear? There had to be a way to get that in a song, because it was the hottest thing I’d ever heard.

“What I wouldn’t give to be inside that head of yours to see what you’re thinking,” Viper murmured when I didn’t look away.

“I was thinking of the way you sounded last night. How I’ve heard you but I’ve never seen you come.”

“Fuckin’ Christ. Are you shitting me right now?” Viper’s hand disappeared under his guitar like he had to adjust himself, and then he growled as his head fell back. “Read off the last goddamn line or we’re leaving.”

His reaction had me grinning, because who wouldn’t be proud of affecting Viper to the point of torture? Might have to do that more often…

But later. Because right now, there were words to write. “Smacked down…they’ve got you right where they want you. Hands bound…” I scratched through the next line. “I don’t like what we had after that, so let’s start there.”

With his head still back and his eyes squeezed shut, Viper said, “What do you suggest?”

“Um.” I chewed on the end of my pen as I ran threw a few options in my head, but none of them seemed to fit just right. Tomorrow, you’re mine. Gah, fuck. Get out of my damn head, Viper.

Viper opened one eye. “What was that?”

“Uh, nothing.” I glanced down at the lyrics again, tapping my pen along the notebook to the beat, hoping the perfect line would appear out of thin air. “Something tumbling, tumbling…”

As we sat in silence, the quiet was deafening, especially with the others not humming along or cracking a joke or messing around on the keyboard.

“It’s too quiet in here,” I said, sighing.

“I can fix that.” Viper sat up, and as he began to play the song, I sang along with what we had down so far, but then stumbled over that damn fourth line. I cursed, which only made Viper chuckle. “You’re too hard on yourself. You don’t have to be perfect in here.”

“Yes, I do.”

“This is the place for mistakes. Just throw out whatever you’ve got.”

“I don’t have anything. That’s the problem.”

“Then you’re thinking too hard.”

I glared at him. “I don’t see you coming up with anything over there.”

Viper cocked his head to the side, and then began to play:

“That Angel, what a tease,

But damn he loves me on my knees,

Makin’ him say more, Viper. More, please.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“You mean fuckin’ talented. You can say it. ‘Viper, you’re a talented motherfucker.’”

“Because you can churn out inappropriate Seussicals? Hardly.”

“I wasn’t talking about my songwriting skills,” he said, running his hands through his hair, and though it wasn’t his intention, I found my gaze following those strong hands as they landed back on the guitar, one wrapping around the neck of the instrument and sliding its way down, just like he had with my cock—

Ugh, hell, this was not working today, or maybe it was just that I could no longer work one-on-one with Viper without thinking of him outside the band. Like in my kitchen…in Viper’s living room…in…me.

Ever since I’d watched the recording of the two of us in my apartment, the one where I’d straddled Viper and he’d teased my ass with those talented fingers, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have him go further.

And why did he have to look so damn tempting all the time? I’d gone from never noticing a guy before to being laser focused on everything about Viper. He wore ripped jeans today, a pair so faded it looked like he’d had them for years, and every time he stood up, they rode so low on his hips that I knew if I put my fingers through his belt loops and tugged, they’d fall right off. And damn, wasn’t that a delicious thought.