Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(34)

“Who are you calling a hotheaded idiot? Bill Germaine or me?”

“Both of you! That whole fight in the kitchen was ridiculous, and I’m sure your manager and lawyer will tell you that.”

“I’m sure my manager and my lawyers will be glad to see the back of me. I’m a f*ck-up—”

“I really wish you’d stop saying that!” She huffed in exasperation. “It’s—”

“True,” he told her, dropping another kiss on her too-tempting mouth. “It’s true, and wishing it wasn’t isn’t going to change anything.” He pulled out his phone. “Now, give me your number and I’ll call you later after I calm the other guys down. Maybe we can get ice cream or something.”

She lifted a brow. “Ice cream?”

“Well, it’s not like I can take you for a drink. And dinner seemed a little too presumptuous.”

“Seriously? Your dick was in my mouth less than fifteen minutes ago and you think dinner is too presumptuous?”

God, she sounded hot as f*ck when she talked about blowing him. “Well, maybe not dinner. But definitely the fact that I’d like my dick to be in your mouth or some other part of your body again very soon…”

“Yeah, well, I don’t sleep with unemployed musicians, no matter how talented they are. So if you want to put your cock anywhere near me tonight—”

“You don’t actually think that’s going to work, do you?”

“Hey, I’m just stating the facts.”

“Are you now?” He fisted a hand in her shirt and yanked, hard. She tumbled forward, straight into his arms. “Something tells me I can change your mind.”

She let him kiss her again, and this time it was her tongue tracing his lips. Her tongue sneaking inside to stroke along his cheek, the roof of his mouth.

The kiss lasted longer than he’d originally intended, but seeing as how she was clinging to him, her body soft and sweet and pliant, he sure as shit wasn’t going to step away. Not when just the feel of her pressed against him brought him more pleasure than he’d had in a long, long time.

When she finally broke away, she didn’t go far. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “I want you to fix this,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged, blew her words off because if he let himself imagine it, let himself feel how much it hurt to just think about leaving Shaken Dirty, he’d never get out the door. “Not going to happen.”

“Wyatt, please—”

“I’ll try.” He said it more to placate her than anything else, and he could tell by the twist of her mouth that she knew it. Before she could get herself wound up again, he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Now, on to more important things. What’s your number?”

She stared at him for long seconds, her gaze so fierce that he couldn’t help feeling like she was trying to see inside of him. He was about to look away, to break off this unwitting battle of wills, but she did it first, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe he was real. But she rattled off her cell phone number, so he counted it as a win.

Before either of them could say anything else, he heard gravel crunch on the trail behind him. He didn’t need to look up to know it was Jared who had come after him. He was the impatient one, after all…

“I’ll be there in a minute, Jare,” he said without ever taking his eyes off of Poppy.

There was a disgruntled silence—Jared was also really good at speaking without uttering a word—but eventually he heard footsteps retreating, and they were alone again.

“How did you know it was Jared?” she asked.

“Because I know him and the other guys better than they know themselves.”

She looked surprised, but all she said was, “And they know you the same way?”

He’d walked into that question like an idiot, but that didn’t mean he had to answer it. Didn’t mean he had to tell her anything he didn’t want to, no matter how perceptive she was. Or how much he wanted her.

When he just shrugged, she looked like she was going to say more. But if it was about the label or the band or how he should deal with Bill Germaine, he didn’t want to hear it. Not right then and maybe not ever. Some things really were better left unsaid.

And so he kissed her one last time, making it count, making sure she felt it from her sex to the soles of her feet. Then he helped her into her car before she even knew that was what he was doing.

For long moments, she just sat there in the driver’s seat like she’d forgotten how to operate a vehicle. But eventually she turned it on, turned it around, and headed back down Quinn’s long, winding driveway to the isolated street that led off the island.

And he was left staring after her, wondering what the f*ck he’d just done.





Chapter Twelve


When he finally made it back into the studio—ten minutes after the five he’d allotted himself—Wyatt found his bandmates waiting for him. And if he’d thought they’d looked pissed before, it was nothing compared to what this latest wait had done to them.

Ryder was pacing, hands yanking at his too long hair. Quinn was muttering to himself as he scrolled through his phone like a madman. And Jared…well, Jared was glaring at the door like he was waiting for Satan himself to walk through it. And the second Wyatt did, the guitarist was out of his chair and across the kitchen.