Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(56)

His phone buzzed yet again and he cursed under his breath. “I need to go. The guys have been blowing up my text messages all morning.”

“Do you want me to call them? Tell them you’re having a rough day—”

“No. That’s the last thing they need to hear right now.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then pulled away. “I’ll call them.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to go.”

“I do…I do have to go. I need to think.”

“I know, but—” She stopped, not wanting it to sound like she was doubting him. Because she wasn’t, not really. But she was worried. Shit, after what he’d told her she wanted a drink and it wasn’t even her f*cking story. She could only imagine how he felt right now.

His eyes clouded over. “I’m not going to use, Poppy.”

“I know that.” She made sure her voice rang with conviction.

“Do you?” he asked.

“I do, Wyatt. I trust you.”

He shook his head, laughed a little bitterly. “I don’t know why.”

“Because you deserve it.”

“I don’t. I—” His phone buzzed again and this time he pulled it out and fired off a text before shoving it back in his pocket.

“You could just put them out of their misery and tell them you aren’t quitting the band. They’d probably leave you alone then.” He raised his brows at her and she just shrugged, grinned sheepishly. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“I guess not.” He didn’t sound impressed.

“Look, I know you have a lot to think about. I know I forced you to talk about things you’d rather just forget. But this band thing—you need to understand how important you are to Shaken Dirty. Jared might be the leader of the band, Quinn might be the heart, and Ryder might be the soul, but you, Wyatt, you are the backbone of this band. You give them their shape, their sound, you hold all of them together. If you break, they all break.”

When she finished, he didn’t say anything, didn’t respond at all. Just stared at her as the seconds slowly ticked by.

She let the silence stretch out as long as she could, but it was dark and brooding and awkward, and she wanted to make it stop. She wanted to make all of his pain stop.

“Wyatt, please—” She reached a hand out to him, but he didn’t take it.

“I have to go.” He started for the door.

She followed him. “Like that? You don’t even have a shirt on.”

He shrugged, kept walking. “I’ve gone out in less.”

She could only imagine. Rock stars, man. Rock stars. “Still, here. Take this.” She pulled off his shirt, held it out to him.

He froze, his eyes darkening to nearly black as they swept over her now naked body from head to toe and back again. Then he was grabbing her, pulling her full against him as his mouth devoured hers.

Seconds passed, minutes, decades maybe, as he kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. Kissed her like she was the only woman in the world. Kissed her like she was the only thing that stood between him and utter destruction. It was desperate and devastating, sexy and sensual, a full-on sensory assault that she barely knew how to deal with. Barely knew how to control even after everything that had happened between them.

So she didn’t try. Instead, she gave herself up to it—to him—her hands clinging to his shoulders, her body wrapped around his like a vine, her soul and heart and mind yielding to him in a way they never had for anyone else. And still he took and took and took, and gave and gave and gave, until they were both breathless. Exposed. Broken wide open.

That’s when he pulled away, staring at her with eyes as wild and devastating as the storm-tossed Pacific. She waited for him to speak, waited for him to pull her into his arms and make love to her right there in the middle of the living room.

He didn’t do that, though. In fact, he didn’t touch her at all. Instead, he yanked the shirt over his head and all but ran from the apartment. And she was left standing there, watching him flee and wondering at the panicked, fluttery, desperate feeling deep inside of her.

Love or lust? she wondered, more than a little terrified.

Infatuation or something deeper, something more real?

As the door slammed behind him, Poppy lifted a trembling hand to her mouth and prayed it was just infatuation. Because if it was love…if it was love, then she was totally f*cked.





Chapter Seventeen


Wyatt slammed out of Poppy’s apartment then slammed down the fifteen flights of stairs to the lobby because the idea of being trapped in an elevator right now made him feel like his head was going to blow apart. Well, that and he’d been hoping the extended time in the stairwell would help him get his raging hard-on under control. Turned out hope wasn’t the only thing that sprung eternal, at least when he was around Poppy.

Fuck.

Fuck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

What the hell was he doing? With her, with the band, with his whole f*cking life? He didn’t have a clue and he was damn sick of flying blind. Damn sick of giving control of his life over to something or somebody else. For too long, that thing had been heroin. And now, now he was letting Bill Germaine pull his strings like the man was some kind of evil puppet master.