Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars #1)(80)

“Okay.” I started to head for the hall that led to the floor.

Before I got a foot away, Leif grabbed me by the hand, pulled me back, and spun me around.

His fingers drove into my hair.

He kissed me.

Kissed me long and slow and impossibly.

His tongue a lash of soft possession. Rigid, terrified devotion. He curled his hands around my head, twisting my hair up in a mess of need, the harsh rake of his breaths panted into my mouth.

I was gasping by the time he pulled back, clinging to his shirt, unable to stand.

A small smirk ticked up at one side of his delicious mouth, his thumb coming to brush across my swollen lips. “Told you I was going to kiss that lipstick off later.”

I inched back. Inhaled a shaky breath. Grabbed the tube of it that was in my pocket and smeared it across the tingling flesh. “In case you want to give it another try later.”

Then I moved around him, caressing my fingertips over the raging in his chest as I passed by, unable to stand there for a second longer without completely losing myself.

Could feel his groan clamoring after me. My mouth tugged at a grin, but I didn’t look back, just swung my hips back and forth as I headed for the hall.

So maybe I wanted to play.

Watch the way his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened with a raw, desperate hunger.

Affect him a little the way he was affecting me.

The second I slipped around the corner, I beelined down the hall, practically running toward the door that let out to the floor. Too eager for my own good. I knew it. Knew I was teetering on a razor-sharp edge.

But right then, I was savoring this reprieve.

The grief would always be there, the fear of what was to come lingering at the back of my mind.

But Leif reminded me there was light in the darkness.

Hope in the destitution.

My fingers itched.

Colors flashed behind my eyes. Breath stolen with the compulsion to find a paintbrush.

It was Leif. It was Leif.

I pushed through the door, edging by the giant bouncer guarding the back, and shouldered my way through the crowd that vied to get a spot up close to the base of the stage.

Begging for attention. To feel a part of that energy that rippled through the air.

Something acute and extraordinary.

Potent and persuasive.

Like you were watching the sky. Waiting on something magnificent to happen.

I weaved my way through, unable to stop the magnet that pulled me forward.

It was Leif. It was Leif.

The lights flashed, and the crowd stirred, a crush of bodies that swelled toward the foot of the stage.

Pressed so tight you could hardly move.

But the vibe was different than a Sunder show.

Tonight, it was missing that raw, savage intensity that pulsed and throbbed and threatened to break loose. The mood hinged on chaos that was getting ready to crack.

Here, it was nothing but excited shouts that echoed from the walls, falling from the lofts that housed the specialty tickets and booths, whistles zinging and boots clattering on the hardwood floors.

The lights flashed again, dimming before a single teal spotlight blazed through the night.

Drumsticks lifted in the air, and Leif drummed them together over his head, a crack, crack, crack that reverberated through the atmosphere, that striking jaw clenched and his head bobbing with the beat.

My heart stampeded.

It was Leif. It was Leif.

The lights flashed again, dimming before springing to life in a bright ray of yellow to reveal Rhys taking his spot. He threw a fist in the air to a round of hoots and hollers and stamping feet.

Another strobe, this one red, and Richard was there, strapping his guitar over his shoulder.

A riot of voices lifted into the dense, heated air.

Blackness spread out over the mass.

A beat.

A breath.

Hushed anticipation.

A moment later, a strobe streaked through the mote-laden air, lighting Emily where she stood at the mic.

She curled her hand around the stand and leaned in. The drumbeat rose in a slow, ascending beat just as the bass began to thrum.

Richard moved forward and began to strum a melodic, mesmerizing chord.

Then Emily leaned in and she started to sing.

I thought the entire crowd was going to lose their minds.

Leif hadn’t been exaggerating.

Emily’s voice had to be one of the most unforgettable things that I would ever hear.

A silky, whiskey-laden lullaby.

Enthralling.

Spellbinding.

Their sound was so different than I’d expected.

This mesh of country and rock that whispered of seduction and rang with inspiration.

Lyrics riddled with pain and faith and family.

My body swayed and the music played and my broken heart raced out ahead to the beat of the drums.

Lifted.

Risen.

Taken.

Giving myself over to the rush of emotion, moisture gathered in my eyes, and I tipped my head back to the soaring ceiling where the strains and the melody danced. Vapors of ghosts and whispers of angels that swirled in the abyss that lifted above.

Shimmers of light that shined through the vast, endless black.

My eyes peeled open, drawn, following the tether I could feel stretching me thin until I was looking at the man who was watching me through the blinding flashes of light.

Like I was the only thing he could see.