If that happened, he would be as guilty as the people on the other end of her.
He would cut this shit from his life, if he had any sense. He would be the one to step away, let her be. He didn’t need it. She was breaking him, too, and he didn’t think she realized how much. With every breath he took, he wanted her more and more.
For the rest of the day, he gave her space, sending Jase to check on her every so often. Jase would always report back to say she was closed up in the bedroom, but he managed to talk her into opening the door so he could bring her something to eat.
Since when had his fucking bodyguard’s job description included taking care of distraught women on his bus? The big guy seemed to take it all in stride, but he could see it in his eyes too. Nobody needed this shit. Rowan didn’t need it, he didn’t need it.
Thirty minutes before showtime, she came to his dressing room, her face pale and drawn. She looked tiny and defeated, wearing a yellow sundress that clung to her big round belly—the only big part of her. He faced his mirror, watching her reflection as she came in, moving with a fluid, aloof grace, and perched on one of the couches against the wall. Everyone fell silent. Deke had been strumming some chords; Jase was sprawled on the love seat on the opposite wall from her, looking like a bear. Holden twirled a drumstick between his fingers.
“You okay?” Zane asked her. She nodded, but didn’t reply.
Fuck. He didn’t play this silent treatment bullshit, especially when he hadn’t done a damn thing. Especially when he was getting a little tired of asking her that.
“I’m okay too,” he said pointedly. “Thanks for asking.”
Her eyes darted over to meet his in the mirror. “I didn’t.”
At that, he turned around. She glared daggers at him, right there in front of everyone, and something in him snapped.
* * *
Rowan could hear her pulse in her ears as they stared at each other across the room, dead silence from the people all around them. Deke’s eyes were like saucers. Holden’s drumstick froze between his fingers. Jase began to slowly sit up, as if he thought he might have to jump between them.
“Out,” Zane commanded suddenly, making her jump when she thought for a split second that he meant her. But he was talking to the others, herding the group toward the door amid their protests. “Out, out. Get the fuck out.”
“But . . .” someone said.
“Out. Stay out there and wait. If one motherfucker knocks on this door, I’m busting fucking heads.”
“Dude, they’re waiting—” Zane slammed the door on Deke’s words and locked it, then turned on Rowan with a look she might have run from if she cared anymore. She’d already been hurt more than she could possibly imagine; what could he do in comparison?
“You wanna fuck with me?” he ground out, stalking toward her while she got to her feet and crossed her arms, meeting his look with a challenge of her own though she trembled on the inside.
Oh, there was plenty he could do.
“Maybe I do.”
His hand caught her chin, not roughly but gently, even though his words were hard as granite. “What the fuck is your problem today?”
If only she could tell him. But she couldn’t make herself say it. She couldn’t even admit the words Regina had spoken to her, couldn’t let him in on that horror. He wouldn’t understand, anyway. They would only have the same argument . . . she was a puppet dancing on their strings.
“Zane,” she whispered, wanting him so much right then her entire body quaked.
It was the moment she knew without a shadow of a doubt she had to go, and she had to break his heart when she did it, if he had one to break. Because if he followed her . . .
A furrow appeared between his eyebrows, his eyes full of shadowy fire. Whatever he was seeing in her expression, it was breaking him down. His mouth descended on hers, hard and hungry, his body taut and shuddering against hers. God, that she did this to him . . .
“I’ll make those motherfuckers wait,” he growled, breaking from her and stabbing one finger toward the general direction of the audience. “I’ll go out there right now in front of ten thousand people with the scent of your pussy all over my face if you’d let me. Let me.” Both hands caught her face; he was so close that his eyes filled her field of vision. “Fucking let me.”
Oh, God! This man was driving her insane. And before she could get a grip on her rushing, needy thoughts, he let her go and fell to his knees in front of her, his fingertips biting into her hips with the strength of his grip, and he stayed like that, gazing up at her in supplication and desperation.
All her thoughts hit a brick wall. The moment she began gathering her long dress in one hand, he was pushing and shoving the fabric too, bunching it around her waist, giving her panties a vicious yank. The room whirled and suddenly she was sprawled on the couch behind her, bare from the waist down with his hands pushing her legs apart, framing her where she was so hot and so, so fucking ready.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groaned, and his face lowered, disappearing beyond her rounded belly. There was no room for shock or embarrassment; a million sensations shot through her, a million reasons to stop, a million reasons to keep going, but his tongue swept up her center and she wasn’t here anymore. Her body was all that remained, her heart skipping beats in her chest. I’m going to die . . .
He was like a starving man set loose upon a feast he’d been teased with for years. Tongue, lips, teeth. Fingers. She clenched on emptiness and he filled it for her, sinking first one finger inside and then two, slow thrusts that stirred the liquid ache inside.
Her hands flew to his dark head, clenching in his hair. “Zane,” she cried out, pleading . . . for what, she had no idea. For him to let her go, for him to make her come. Whatever he deciphered, he only shoved her legs wider, stroking her oversensitive, overheated flesh with long, delectable sweeps of his tongue. He had to go, he had an arena full of people waiting. But then he sucked on her clit, and she decided they could damn well wait.
She felt full of air, floating. Only his mouth kept her anchored to earth, only his head clenched between her hands, silky hair sliding between her fingers. “Yes,” she pleaded, “oh God, yes.”
“You’re so fucking sweet,” he murmured, his hot breath gusting against her before he dove back in and her hips surged up to meet him. She managed to catch one of his hands and bring it to her breast, needing him on all her aching parts at once. He squeezed and kneaded there as he sucked and kissed and licked her to a heart-shattering orgasm. There was no being quiet, not even when she sank her teeth into the knuckle of her index finger, trying to keep her cries from ringing out beyond the closed door. They rang out anyway, and he didn’t stop, his groans mingling with hers as she clenched rhythmically around his fingers.
At last, the spasms abated, leaving her cold and empty. She felt Zane gently tug her dress down over her wet, spent center. Then he surged up to give her one brief, hard kiss, so that she did taste herself, smell her own arousal, all over him.
“I have to go,” he said, his voice as harsh as his breathing. “Pull up your panties, wait until the show starts, and go to the bus.”
“But . . .”
“Go to the bus.”
“Why?”
“Because you look like you just came all over my face, that’s why.” She licked her swollen, tingling lips, realizing she wasn’t satisfied. She wanted more. And she could only imagine what he meant; her face must be red, her hair demolished. The scent of her arousal, her climax, was all over them both.
“Okay,” she said.
With one final, searching look into her eyes, he got to his feet and adjusted his shirt over the evidence of his erection. She pulled her legs together, hoping they would support her when she stood. But by the time she reached down for the panties dangling on one ankle, he was striding toward the door, and a second later, it slammed and he was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
She didn’t like missing
a show. The shows were supposed to be the reason she was here. But after waiting a good fifteen minutes she did as he’d commanded, hearing the thunder of their set as she slipped from the dressing room, the ringing majesty of his voice as he tore through “Incensed” for an ecstatic audience.
The bed could’ve been full of rocks for how comfortable it felt beneath her beat-up body. The wetness of his mouth was still between her legs, reminding her of every delectable trick of his tongue. She tried to watch a movie, but couldn’t get into it. As the closing credits began to scroll up the screen, she heard him coming. It sounded like he had a small entourage with him. They congregated up front, talking and laughing, while random music played. Finally, she dozed, but she was awakened by the bus pulling away from the venue, rocking gently.
That was when the door opened and Zane came in. She only looked at him as he undressed and crawled into the bed beside her, and she could only try to guess what hid behind his shuttered expression. Pain. Darkness. Need. Undeterred, she watched him slip under the covers and settle on his side, facing her. They lay like that for a long moment, just looking at each other, but she finally broke the painful silence.
“I’ve never been with anyone but my husband,” she confessed softly.
He blinked. Something in his face softened. When she closed her eyes to let the gentle hum from the road soothe her for a moment, she almost didn’t feel his light touch as he stroked her hair. “Sorry,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes. “For what?”
“I’ve been an asshole. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Rowan. Thing is . . .” Rolling over to his back, he directed his gaze at the ceiling while she bit her lip and thought he was so beautiful it broke her heart. “Thing is, if you’re around me, I’m going to push you. I want you that much, and I can’t stop.”
She was quiet for a moment, watching him breathe, and a tear spread onto the pillow underneath her cheek. “I want you too. I have from the start. Surely you realize that.”
He looked at her again, nodding against the pillow. “I know. Which is probably why I push so hard.”
Despite the unexpected whirlwind of emotions this trip had taken her on, she loved being close to him, visiting cities she might never have otherwise seen, watching him perform night after night. Watching him work, listening to him talk, hearing him laugh.
But it was going to end soon anyway, wasn’t it? The tour would wrap up; the band had an album to finish. She had to go home, prepare to be a mother, find some direction her daughter could be proud of, think about what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
The baby took that moment to stir in her belly. She slid a hand beneath her tank top, pressing gently to see if she could feel the movement with her fingers.
Zane’s eyes followed her hand. “Is she moving?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He shifted up to his elbow, and she saw the question in his eyes, even if he didn’t want to ask. “I don’t know if you can feel her yet,” she said, reaching to pull his hand over to where the flutters were strongest, just to the left of her navel. “But you can try.”
His palm was warm against her bare stomach, somehow comforting. It must have comforted the baby, too, because she immediately settled down. “Hmm,” Rowan said, teasingly sending him an accusing look after seconds ticked past with no movement. “You put her back to sleep.”
Zane’s thumb stroked over her skin, and the breath he exhaled was a little ragged. He leaned over and, moving his hand, placed a kiss where it had rested, where she still felt the imprint of his fingers.
Stunned, she stroked his hair, sinking her fingers through the dark strands as his mouth lingered, pressing tiny kisses here, and there, and there, and . . . oh, God . . .
“Zane,” she said weakly, his kisses reminding her of his mouth between her legs with startling detail. The magnitude of that orgasm should have shaken any further desires right out of her for a time. It hadn’t. Her breasts filled with need; her nipples pulled tight and chafed against her shirt. Beneath his mouth, still tracing its delectable paths along her stomach, she went liquid.
“I know you’re still thinking you should leave,” he said, glancing up her body with his feverish dark eyes. “I see it all over your face when things get bad. Don’t.” It sounded more like a command than a request, the tone of a man used to getting what he wanted. “Let me take care of you.”
“You can’t,” she told him, desperately trying to resist the urge to undulate against him. “This can never be . . . oh.” The tips of his fingers were trailing up her outer thigh, beneath the hem of her sleep shorts. Every nerve in her body was alive and on fire.
Rowan glanced nervously at the closed door, thinking of the people on the other side of it. She still heard voices out there; some of them must be crashing on his bus. “The others . . .”
“It’s sweet that you think they care. But if it bothers you, I can be quiet if you can.”
She didn’t know if she could. She hadn’t been able to in his dressing room. He still hovered over her midsection, waiting, looking at her, oh God, a look she would have died to see so long ago, but now . . .
Seconds stretched out into eternity. Rowan closed her eyes.
“Say it,” he murmured, his voice floating to her as if from far away. His finger drew a tantalizing circle on her thigh, but didn’t quest any farther. “Say yes. Tell me.”
Her family and the baby and Tommy, and she had to go, she had to . . . it all seemed so distant right now, but he was here, and he felt like heaven beside her when she’d charted so much of hell.
“I’m not in this to hurt you,” he said. “I’m not here to break your heart. I only want to try to put it back together for you, Rowan. Let me try.”
He could try, maybe he could even succeed. She wasn’t sure the heart he rebuilt for her would look or feel anything like the one she’d had before. All she wanted was her life back, but it was gone, it was a rotting wasteland, and the new landscape he offered scared the shit out of her.
Tomorrow scared the shit out of her.
“Please.” His breath as he exhaled the word tickled her skin.
She opened her eyes to find him looking directly into them. A passing streetlight flashed briefly through a cracked curtain, highlighting the planes of his face, deepening the shadows. God, she wanted him. She’d been fighting it for so long.
One night. Only one to fulfill the fantasy he’d offered her. She’d wanted it so badly.
“Yes.”
The relief was evident in his entire body as he dropped his mouth back to her skin and kissed her swollen belly, the touch so gentle and sweet it set her hands trembling as she touched his dark head.
She should be petrified. Here was a man who had surely gone to bed with the most beautiful women in the world, and he was about to see all of her . . . when all of her felt swollen and awkward and unappealing. It was beyond her comprehension, but here he was, trailing his hands and his lips up her body to slide her tank top up, uncovering her breasts to the cool air circulating in the room.
His lips caught one peaked nipple, and only then did she realize how much she ached there for him. Her arms fell useless at her sides as he stroked her with his tongue, showered kisses, sucked gently.
“Oh,” she whispered, and his eyes flicked up to hers with a longing in their depths that was her undoing. Without letting her flee his gaze, he moved to the other nipple, which had grown as hard and needy as the damp, thoroughly aroused one he’d left in his wake.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and she couldn’t stifle her cry when his mouth locked on her.
“Zane!”
“Shh, remember?”
She would never make it. Hell, she would never survive. Already, her panties were soaked. But there wasn’t room here for any doubts or insecurities. There was only blinding need.
“Touch me,” she pleaded, taking one of his hands and guiding it to her center, where the merest brush of hi
s fingers sent shockwaves through her. He stayed there only a moment before he pulled her shorts and panties off, then divested her completely of her top, leaving her naked and shaking beneath him as his hungry gaze discovered every previously hidden inch of her.
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life,” he murmured, tracing her curves with the tips of his fingers.
How could he say that? He had to be lying. “Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t say that. I know you can’t mean it.”
“Rowan, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
She leaned up to kiss him, pushing him over onto his back as she did so. He grinned beneath her lips as he lay back beneath her. He’d seen her. Now she wanted to see him. At last.
Easy enough for her; he wore only pajama pants. Straddling his thighs, she caught his eye, watched his tattooed chest rise and fall, then slowly pulled the waistband of his pants down. And down. He lifted his hips to help her, not one ounce of apprehension or insecurity in his dark eyes, and a second later, she understood why.
He was magnificent. Long, thick. Beautifully built, standing tall with an upward curve that promised the utmost pleasure. Only when she wrapped her fingers around him did he close his eyes, his head rolling back on the pillow. It became a fascinating game for her, watching his expression every time she moved her hand along him, finding the places that made him groan, made his body shudder and jerk. Even when she dropped her mouth to him and licked along his shaft, she studied him. He was exquisite in his arousal, growing ever harder in her grip as she kissed his crown and gently took it between her lips.
“Oh, fuck,” he growled, hips lifting. “Yes, baby, more, take more.”
She took him until he pressed against the back of her throat, using her hand to stroke where her lips couldn’t reach, her hair spilling across his flat stomach. He buried his hands in it, fists clenching, tugging pleasurably against her scalp. “Fuck, Rowan . . .”