Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(55)

Jem strokes my hair, the sensation tingling my scalp. “How is your hair so soft when you kill it with hair dye?”

I chuckle and he rests his chin on my shoulder. “What’s funny?”

“Should we discuss hair care products? Which do you find gives you the best body and shine?”

“I don’t use…” He pauses. “Ha-ha. Play.”

I set the guitar down. “No.” I want to twist around to look into his face, communicate without words.

He misreads my tension and closes his hand over mine. “Fine, I’ll put the music back on but my choice since you’re refusing my simple request.”

I place a hand on the floor, preparing to shift away from him but Jem curls his arms around my waist.

“Sit with me. Relax. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”

I let go of the tension and allow myself to sink back against his chest and rest my head against his neck.

Jem Jones. Blue Phoenix bad boy, man-whore, and ex-addict is sitting on the floor with me and holding my hand. If there’s one thing I would never have thought possible, this is it. But he’s right; there’s a little bit of us in each other. The music, our personalities, the past, and the understanding. Could this be more? We’ve formed a shaky friendship built on those foundations. But can either of us give more at the moment?

Jem nudges the hollow of my neck with his nose, shooting an unexpected warmth through me. Of course, I’m attracted to him; I have been since I was a teen Blue Phoenix fan, but the hormonal reaction annoyed me because I didn’t like what I read about the man himself. Jem’s lips touch my skin and I inhale at the gentleness. The times I imagined getting physical with Jem, gentle wasn’t on the agenda.

When I allow him to trail small kisses along my collarbone, he slides a hand to my side, rubbing the edge of my waist with his fingers through the material of my shirt. I will him to touch my naked skin with the same softness, but when he slides his fingers beneath my shirt, placing his palm on my side, I can’t help tensing.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Not yet.

“No, but be careful. My ribs…” After all this time waiting for his touch, and I can’t let Jem hold me without it causing the pain I want him to take away.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he says in a low voice, pushing images of his mouth on mine back in where I’ve blocked them out.

“The same.”

“I’ll stick to kissing you other places.” The first hints of a move from tender to sexual catches me by surprise. He misreads my breathy reaction. “But only if that’s okay with you.”

“Like my neck?”

“I was thinking other places, but neck is good.” The sensation of his mouth and body surrounding me triggers a rush of heat, spreading arousal through. His heart beating against my back speeds up as I shift against his hips.

“Can I ask you a question?”

I tense. “I might not answer it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Fine.” Jem entwines his fingers with mine. “Who named you Ruby? You?”

Now I know why we’re sitting like this. Without eye contact, we can tell secrets. “My brother, when I was ten and some kids at school teased me about my stupid name. Quinn began calling me Ruby Tuesday, told me it was a cool name. When I was outside the house, that’s who I was. I made everyone call me Ruby - friends, teachers, everyone. I refused to respond if they called me Tuesday. Quinn played me the song and I’d listen to it on repeat when he was away. My song. Since he died, I can’t listen to it anymore.”

“Sorry for playing it to you.” His lips move against my skin as he speaks, not helping with the desire for his hands to move to other parts of my body.

“You didn’t know.”

“But it is you. So much you.”

“I have a line from the song tattooed on my ribs, about how yesterday doesn’t matter because it’s gone. I wish I’d never done that.”

“You tried to show me once,” he whispers into my hair.

“What? When?”

Jem laughs. “You were drunk. I didn’t see much, don’t worry.”

My cheeks heat and blushing isn’t something I do. I grasp at a memory triggered by his words. The kitchen. Offering myself. Jem saying no. I’m surprised when tears spring to my eyes. Why? Because he said no? No, because he treated me with the respect I didn’t have for myself.

I shift from his embrace and twist to look at him. “I’ve never met a man like you.”

“A lot of people say that,” he says with a smile.

Jem’s face has lost the pallor he had when we first met, the lines softened. He looks at my mouth and then turns his darkened eyes to mine. Is he going to kiss me again? I want my mouth on his; but it would hurt, and my lip twinges in annoyance. I touch Jem’s face, tracing the contours of his defined cheekbones, rubbing my fingertips along his scruff. Is he holding his breath?

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“You’re looking at me in a way nobody has for a while.”

“And how’s that?”

“Like I matter.”

“Jem…” I press my lips against his, briefly, gently, and then withdraw before he kisses me properly. Jem’s lips move across my uninjured cheek before he buries his face in my hair.