Idol (VIP, #1)(37)

“You have the music—”

He cuts me off with a fierce look. “I don’t want to walk out that door feeling like the second it closes it’s the end of us. Because I won’t do it, Liberty. As far as I’m concerned, we just started. No f*cking way will I—”

I wrap my arms around his neck and tug him down to me. His words end in a muffled grunt as I kiss his lips. But he doesn’t resist. He leans into me, opening my mouth with his, slipping his tongue in deep for a taste. With a moan, he grabs my butt and hauls me up. I wrap my legs around him and cling as he walks us backward, kissing me as we go.

We end up on the couch, Killian kneading my ass. He breathes into me, his lips sliding down to my neck, and a shudder runs over his big body. “Libby.” Soft lips nuzzle that spot behind my ear that makes my body tighten. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

I kiss the crest of his cheek, the corner of his eye. “How did you picture it?”

He rubs my back as he continues to explore my neck and shoulder with his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually.”

“You have?” I try to pull back to face him, but he won’t let me.

His hands drift back to my butt and squeeze. With a sigh, I rest my head on his shoulder, and he gives my cheek a kiss. “Yeah, I have.” For a long moment he stills, just cradling me against him as if he’s reveling in the act. And I do too. He’s strong and warm, his heart a comforting beat in my ear.

Its rhythm picks up as he takes a deep breath. “Libs… Come with me.”

“What?” I sit up straight.

Killian’s hands fall to my thighs, slowly rubbing them as he meets my gaze head-on. “Come with me on tour.”

“No.”

“No?” His short laugh is incredulous. “Not even a moment’s thought? Just no?”

“You’re reuniting with your band after a year. No way in hell am I showing up on your arm like some countrified Yoko.”

He laughs again, this time with more humor, though his expression is strained. “You know, the whole Yoko thing was wildly exaggerated. The Beatles were already drifting apart.”

“The fact that you called it a ‘Yoko thing’ proves my point. Truth doesn’t really matter. Perception does. And your bandmates will not appreciate me showing up in tow.”

His fingers grip my thighs. Not hard, but firmly enough to show his agitation. “You don’t know that. You haven’t even met them.”

“I know people.” Using his shoulders as leverage, I rise off him and sit on the couch at his side. “Mr. Scott looks at me like I’m a problem he needs to take care of.”

“Call him Scottie, and he looks at everyone like that.” Killian turns to face me. “Besides, I don’t want you to come with me as arm candy. I want you to play with me.”

I think my mouth falls open then. I know I can’t do anything more than gurgle like a fish out of water as I stare back at Killian’s expectant face. It takes me a minute to find my voice, and it’s a pathetic squeak when I do. “Play? As in, go on stage with you?”

“Of course.” A wrinkle forms between his straight brows. “What else would I be talking about? I’ve been writing those songs for us.”

“Killian…I’m not…” I lift my arms, searching for the words. “Were you even listening when I told you about my spectacular failures? I am a stage fright queen.”

“Lots of people have stage fright.” He doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. “And if I hadn’t seen the regret in your eyes when you told me those stories, I might be inclined to let it go.”

I ball my fists, wanting to stomp my foot. “Never mind I’m an amateur. I play music on my porch in my underwear, not in front of eighty-thousand people. People,” I add, when he tries to talk, “who wouldn’t be there to see me anyway.”

Killian crosses his arms over his chest. It isn’t fair that he hasn’t put a shirt on. All that raw strength ripples under his golden skin and makes me want to cave just so I can touch him again.

“Are you finished?” he asks.

Ogling him? Never. But I realize he means my rant. I give him a sour look, which he returns with a raised brow.

“First,” he says, “if you played in your underwear, eighty-thousand people would definitely be watching you.”

He ignores my eye roll.

“Second, this is rock. All of our success is part talent, part luck, and crazy determination.” His lip curls. “Jax used to joke that we’re all amateurs up there. Lucky-ass dilettantes.”

A sigh leaves me, and I slump against the couch. Outside, Brenna is marching around, ordering moving men. Scottie stands on the porch across the way, his gaze on my house. I know he can’t see me, but it feels like he can. It’s a matter of time before he comes back over here.

Killian’s deep voice is low, persuasive, pulling me back to him. “All I’m asking for is three songs: ‘Broken Door’, ‘In Deep’, and ‘Outlier’.”

The songs I’ve worked on with him. They’re beautiful, relying on harmony and vocals over power. And they’re nothing like Kill John’s usual sound.

“How do you know the band will even like those songs?”