Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(56)

“Every time I touch you, I hate that f*cker more because I want to kiss you so much.” He looks up. “When your mouth is better, I’m going to kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

He obviously misses my current struggle with breathing around him. “Suffocation doesn’t sounds pleasant, Jem.”

He laughs. “No, I mean the effect it’ll have on you. I’m a f-ucking awesome kisser.”

“I remember.” He smirks. “Actually, no. It was crap.”

Jem rests his head back on the chair. “Oh, really? I don’t believe you.”

“I’m sure your expertise in all things umm… physical is admirable, Jem, but there’s a difference. You can kiss me like you mean it, or not at all.”

Jem cups my chin in his long fingers. “I’ll mean it, Ruby Tuesday.”

His brown eyes tell me he already does and I ache with the frustration of wanting him to show me now. Instead, I shift around, curl into Jem and rest my head on his shoulder. He runs his fingers along my arm and strokes as we listen to the music in the peace we’ve created. I wait for him to be Jem Jones, to continue the path he started to something sexual but he doesn’t. This is Jem, intuitive about the Hell I found myself in last night, and understanding how tender is the road to where he wants to go.





Chapter Twenty-Four



Jem



We bunker down in my house for a few days. I tell myself it’s because I can’t be f*cked facing the media, but it’s not. Even though Ruby pretends she’s okay, the attack has shaken her badly. She doesn’t want to leave the house, tells me it’s because of her face but the larger part is she’s traumatised. Ruby hates being weak, needing protection, and I don’t want to be the one who craves to keep her safe. But I do, and I’m going to, whether or not she likes.

Opening up and sharing shit I’ve never told anyone scares me, but the pressure from keeping everything in built too much. I never knew saying the words to somebody else could help relieve some of that. Ruby is the person who pushed me to do this without realising, and all because she shared her own. She took the risk I never could.

She’s under my skin, burrowing into my heart and soul, and I want her. The frustration is killing me. I catch Ruby watching me when she thinks I’m unaware; the confusion and desire reflected in her eyes. I hate people in my personal space; can’t stand anyone touching anything that belongs to me. Hell, some days I don’t want to share oxygen with people.

Ruby belongs here.

I have no explanation or experience of this, but I crave her. Not just the naked Ruby who’s spent the last couple of months living in my fantasies, the one I’ll get into my bed as soon as she’s ready, but the comfort of her presence and understanding.

No longer hiding in bedrooms as we did last time she stayed, we spend hours together talking about music, life, everything but the past. We’re in the world we were trapped in alone, but now we’re there together. Secretly, I’ll touch Ruby’s hand, run my fingers along her arm, and we’ve even gone as far as cuddling up on the sofa watching TV like an old married couple.

Natural. Safe.

And f-ucking frustrating.

After the other night when I held her fragile figure to me, I’ve tried to touch her in the same way again but she stiffens. Ruby explains she won’t do anything unless I kiss her, but she doesn’t say why. I examine her lips twenty times a day, watching the split heal. When Ruby tells me she has a way to speed up the healing, pulling creams from her bag to apply, the anger seethes again. This has happened before, more than once, and Ruby deals with it as if she has a reoccurring medical condition.

Following a third restless night fighting against asking Ruby to get into my bed, I wander downstairs and find her sitting on a stool in the kitchen, long, naked legs crossed. She’s dressed in a short black summer dress covered in a pink skull pattern. With no make-up to hide behind, the bruises visible on her face yellow. I watch as she slowly eats cereal, focused on her phone.

My heart is gripped by the inexplicable joy of seeing her in my space, relaxed as if it were her space too, although her brows are tugged together in consternation.

“Hey,” I say.

She looks up. “Jax wants to know when we’re back into studio time.”

“Jeez, that guy. I’ve told him next week, about ten times.”

“I think he’s worried you’re going to change your mind because of the… complications.”

Unable to resist, I cross and kiss her soft hair. “You’re not a complication.”

“What am I then?” Her question is loaded and I step back, watching her warily. “What are we?”

“Whoa. Ruby. This is a bit left-field.”

“Sorry.”

She takes another mouthful of cereal.

“Friends?” I suggest.

She huffs. “Liar. You don’t want to f-uck your friends.”

Actually, I have done. Often. “I don’t want to f-uck you.”

“Liar,” she repeats with a small laugh.

“Your mouth.”

“Because I used the word f-uck?”

“No.” I move mine close to hers. “It’s not sore anymore, is it?”

Ruby’s breath rushes out, then she attempts to disguise the reaction. “Yeah, feeling better, thanks.”