Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(19)

His admission stabbed like a stake to the heart.

For him.

For me.

Could we really be so much the same?

“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.” My attempt at a joke fell flat, the words as wispy as they were dry. I struggled to remain aloof, to grasp onto the bratty bitch who cared about nothing. To align myself with the same kind of indifference usually given by this man.

But right then, he was giving me more.

Is that what I wanted? Is that why my skin tingled and my heart hammered every time he was near?

God, it was foolish.

But I wanted to give it, too.

He huffed. “Take the apology however you like. Just know they’re rare and chances are there won’t be another one where that came from. But we have to do this wedding thing, and I don’t see much use in the two of us wanting to kill the other.”

I forced a playful smile, pretending as if I didn’t feel little pieces inside unraveling.

Coming undone.

“Are you asking for a truce?”

“I guess I am.”

“Then I’m sorry for the drink.”

He quirked a brow. “Are you really?”

“No.” I felt the smirk taking hold, this one not so feigned. “Not at all. You totally deserved it.”

“Guess I probably did, didn’t I?”

That deadly smile reemerged.

My insides shook.

It had to be my favorite kind.

“You’re a dangerous woman, Tamar King.”

“Only to those who are a threat.”

I plucked a wrinkled black tee hanging from the back of a chair and tossed it his direction. “Here. If we’re going to be friends, you need to put on a damned shirt.”

He snatched it out of the air. “You know, when I suggested we be friends, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. How about you take off yours and we’ll call it even?”

I tapped my foot. “Sounds like someone’s gettin’ thirsty. Do you need me to whip you up another drink?”

He tossed his head back and laughed.

Gone was the sorrow I heard at night. For once, his expression was totally carefree. He looked back at me with a smile that threatened to shatter my stringent little world.

Because just for a little while, I wanted to fall into his.

To know this other side of him. This irresistibly sexy badass rocker who baked cakes.

He pulled the tee over his head. The tight material stretched across all those perfectly cut ridges and planes, doing nothing but accentuating just how perfect he was.

He roughed his hands through his mussed-up hair in an attempt to tame it. “I think I’ll stick to my regular, thank you very much. Don’t think I’m up for any more surprises from the likes of you.”

“Oh, come on, you’re a big boy. You can handle it.”

He grabbed the pastry bag, and I focused on the way his fingers curled around it. A large red rose covered the back of one hand and a skull covered the other.

But it was the words sing my soul tattooed across his knuckles that twisted me somewhere inside. Without reason or doubt, I knew this beautiful man sang from his soul. Knew there was something greater than the shallow surface he showed.

As if I got an inch deeper, I’d be in a different plane. In a place where emotion reigned and shut down the superficial.

“Nah, I doubt it,” he said as he went back to work. “Might not look like it, but I’m a routine kind of guy. Same drink. Same friends. Same kind of easy lay. Write some music, hit the studio before I hit the road. Rinse and repeat.”

“That sounds horribly boring.” Sarcasm dripped free as I made myself at home and walked toward the table.

“Sounds stupid, right? But it all becomes mundane. Predictable.”

I glanced at the cake sitting between us.

“And baking. You can’t forget baking.”

He laughed. “Right?”

Then his expression shifted into something soft as he stared across at me.

And again, that rigid place inside softened.

Apparently I’d launched myself into a perfect swan dive, right into a downward spiral. Dipping my toes into dangerous territory. Immersing myself in the realm of new. For a few ignorant seconds, giving into that feeling of being free and uninhibited and spontaneous.

Needing a breath, I turned away from him, my feet searching for safer ground. I began to snoop through the things strewn around the living room.

We were friends, after all.

“Seriously, what are you doing, Lyrik?” I asked with my back to him. “I have to admit when I broke into your house, this was not what I expected.”

A lumbering sigh filtered through the air, and I could sense the severity of his hesitation. He barely glanced my way when I peeked over my shoulder at him. He shifted, waging what to say. “My mom…”

My heart clenched at the sudden shift in his tone. At the bald affection that infiltrated it and the expression of love that flickered fast across his face, the fleeting vulnerability woven in between.

On a self-conscious laugh, he dropped his eyes back to the cake. “Jesus…why am I telling you any of this?”

I realized I was holding my breath. “Because I asked.”

“My mom…” The words tightened, coming thick and heavy from his mouth when he finally began to speak. “She always told me ‘make it if you want it to matter’.”