Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(68)

As the other guys moved back, she called Wyatt’s name and then launched herself around his drum kit and straight into his arms.

He caught her, just like she knew he would. And then he was doing what he always seemed to do when she was in his arms—backing her up against the nearest wall as his mouth crushed down on hers.

Vaguely she was aware of the other guys laughing behind them, of Ryder saying maybe this was a good time to break for food.

And still Wyatt kissed her.

He kissed her as Jared put down his guitar and Quinn turned off his keyboard.

As Ryder hit the light switch near the door and plunged the room into an inky kind of twilight.

As someone opened the door and they all started to file out into the night.

He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, until Quinn called, “Don’t f*ck on the couch, man.”

Wyatt pulled his lips from hers then, but only long enough to say, “You can’t tell me that you and Elise never f*cked on that couch.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my damn couch.”

The door slammed closed behind them on that warning and then she and Wyatt were finally alone.

“I love your song,” she whispered into the darkness as her hands slid down to cup his ass through his well-worn jeans.

“Oh, yeah?” His mouth was on her collarbone.

“Yeah. No one’s ever written a song for me before.”

As soon as the words were out, she wanted to take them back. Wanted, even more, for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Thinking he’d written the song about her was one thing. Saying it, though, was a hell of an assumption. Especially after how they’d left things that morning.

She waited for him to freeze, to shut her out. But all he did was press closer as his bruised and battered hands worked at the small buttons on the front of her blouse.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmured as he dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, her shoulder, the tops of her breasts. “Considering I’ve never written a song for a woman before.”

“You haven’t?” she asked, holding her breath because she didn’t want the answer to matter but it did. It really did.

“I haven’t,” he told her as he started moving her gently across the room.

“Wait,” she said, and he stopped right away.

“You okay?” he asked, brows raised inquiringly.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He nodded, his jaw working. “I don’t know. But I’m trying to be. I’m trying to listen to what you said, trying to think it through. That’s going to have to be enough for now.”

“It is,” she told him softly. “It’s more than enough.”

“Good.” He grinned wickedly, started walking her backward again.

“Where are we going?” she asked, breathless now with all the feelings churning inside of her. Love, lust, fear, hope…so much hope that she felt like her whole body was lit up with the stuff. “Quinn says the couch is off-limits.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a wicked grin, “but he didn’t say anything about his favorite chair…”





Chapter Nineteen


“Well, you certainly look happy,” Jamison observed as Wyatt walked into the kitchen a little over an hour later. “And well-exercised.” The grin she shot him was amused, and he knew the guys hadn’t exactly been discreet about what he and Poppy were getting up to in the studio.

Which had been quite a lot, and right now he didn’t care if the whole world knew it. He’d just walked Poppy to her car after making her come half a dozen times. If it had been up to him, she would have stayed and he would have made her come half a dozen more before the evening was over. The sounds she made as she went over the edge were rapidly becoming his favorite addiction—as was the taste of her against his lips. Add in the fact that she’d let him f*ck her—twice—on Quinn’s favorite chair, and he was feeling pretty good all the way around. But she’d insisted he and the guys needed to talk, and she was probably right. So he’d let her go and was now trying really hard not to regret that fact.

“Exercise is good for the soul,” he told Jamison as he walked over to the drinks fridge. A cursory look at the contents told him all the alcohol had been removed from here, too—which normally would have bothered the hell out of him. But right now he was in too good a mood to get messed up by the fact that his friends were afraid to trust him. Besides, maybe Poppy was right—maybe they really were just trying to help.

He grabbed a bottle of cranberry juice, then walked over to the center island and snitched a slice of cucumber from the vegetables Jamison was cutting up for dinner.

“Take a seat,” she told him, nodding at the kitchen table, where pretty much every important discussion happened while at Quinn’s house.

He followed directions, brows raised questioningly. Jamison was pretty much his best friend on the planet, and if she wanted to talk, he would talk. Even if doing so felt a little like opening a vein.

She didn’t answer his silent inquiry right away. Instead, she made up a plate of cheese and crackers along with some grapes and a handful of salad vegetables and slid it onto the table in front of him.

“Eat.”

He rolled his eyes. “What is it about the women in my life that makes them keep trying to feed me health food?”