Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(66)

“Sheesh. Thanks!”

“You know what I mean!” Jem hugs me to him and kisses the top of my head. “You count for more than you know.”

When Jem told me he’d found a place to stay for a few days, he wouldn’t tell me where. We flew to Barcelona and picked up a car before arriving a couple of hours later at the small estate in the Catalonia countryside. The huge building is expensively renovated with numerous bedrooms and luxuries I doubt the original owners had - swimming pool, terraced gardens, and even a tennis court.

Not the normal holiday destination of Jem Jones.

The house belongs to Steve and he brings his family here every summer. The rooms show evidence of children - shelves of books, kids’ DVDs, and bikes in the converted barn adjacent to the house.

Jem and me take a downstairs bedroom with doors that open out onto a private terrace, overlooking the pool; and as I acclimatise to the surreal world I’m pushed into, and after weeks of stress and fear, the calm takes hold instead.

This is our second day lost in a place out of time. We’ve spent days together in Jem’s London house, wrapped up away from the outside world, but this is a step further removed. The drive to the nearest village is twenty minutes but the small Spanish settlement only has a couple of shops and a bar. Real civilisation is several hours away.

“Here is so weird after London,” I say.

“Life has taken on a lot of weird the last few months. There’s you…”

“Weird?” I interrupt with a laugh. “The pot calling the kettle black much?”

“No! Everything. Being sober, no Blue Phoenix, meeting a crazy girl who stole my heart. Shit, I doubt life could be any more opposite than a year ago.”

“Don’t, Jem.” I squeeze his hand.

“I hardly remember a year ago, but I do remember things were going downhill for everyone in the band; and in the middle of it all, I was lashing out in every direction, hurting people.”

I softly place my lips on his. “Haven’t you read my tattoo recently? Yesterday’s gone. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Hmm… maybe I should take a look to remind myself?” Jem’s eyes glint in the fading light as he slides a hand beneath my loose t-shirt.

I’m bra-less and he closes his hand over my breast, gently rubbing my nipple. I shift; whenever he touches me, it’s as if Jem has a magic ability to trigger a hardwired need for more. As he slides his other hand teasingly across my skin, the spreading desire for him shifts downwards. The knowing smile he gives shows how aware he is of the effect he has with barely a touch.

“Plus, I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to wear t-shirts with other band names on them.” He pushes the t-shirt upwards. “I feel as if you’re cheating on me with Queens of the Stone Age.”

I giggle at him as he pulls the black t-shirt over my head and dumps it on the floor next to us, then digs his fingers into the back of my hair, and pulls my face to his. I move my head back. “Go and grab me a Blue Phoenix shirt, then.”

“If you want to be covered by something Blue Phoenix, I can do that job,” he whispers.

Jem runs his tongue slowly along my bottom lip. My lips part in anticipation of one of Jem’s kisses that empty my mind of anything but us. The communication of his kiss fills the gaps of what he refuses to say - what we both refuse to admit - that we belong together as much as any other couple, other couples who spend their days telling the world they’re in love. We gradually piece together our shattered pieces; the kisses and touches, the times in bed melding our bodies is the glue that holds us together. We’re still fragile and the mended parts could easily come apart again but every day the bond strengthens.

Sometimes the gentle isn’t enough and Jem’s awareness of my past means he holds back until I make it clear I don’t want him to. I hold his head, our mouths moving together. He tastes of the sweetness of orange juice, and of Jem.

Jem pulls his t-shirt off too and lifts me onto his lap, his eyes level with the inked words. He runs a finger along the tattoo on my side, and up to the quote beneath my right breast. “Oh, you’re right. I remember now.” He circles my nipple with his tongue.

I grip his hair, and he runs his hand over my bare legs, squeezing my ass in both hands. “You drive me f-ucking mad the way you do that.” He pulls away and looks up at me. “Always wearing just t-shirts and nothing but panties. I deserve a medal for the self-control I have every time you walk past me.”

Holding his face, I kiss his cheeks across to his ear. “I know.” I nip his earlobe.

He inhales sharply. “Why do you do it?”

“Because I feel comfortable around you, and it’s comfy for me.”

Jem holds my hips firmly and pushes against me, his arousal pressing between his jeans and my lace panties. “Quite often it’s not very comfortable for me.”

I smirk and wriggle against him a little more so he groans. “Sorry.”

“Ruby…” he warns.

“Yes?”

“You know how you said this morning I didn’t have to be so cautious about what I did to you?”

I run my fingers lightly up and down Jem’s back, pushing myself closer so his mouth almost touches my breast. “I did.”

“If you don’t stop teasing me, I’m not going to be cautious.” Jem presses his hot mouth to my skin.