Raw Need

  “You’re not alone,” he told her, then smiled at her slight consternation. “Have a good night.”

  * * *

  You’re not alone.

  It made sense as she lay in bed later, eyes closed, earphones in, listening to the slow throbbing heart of the song he’d suggested, the smoky, seductive Turkish influences soothing her until she hovered on the edge of sleep. For some reason, with the rich sound lulling her and the passion behind it pulling her in, she didn’t feel quite so alone even with the melancholy notes. That was the power of music. This was what Zane turned to, perhaps, when he was feeling at odds with the world. And he’d shared it with her.

  It was a song you could listen to while you made love. She couldn’t think of Tommy, though, when those feelings slid through her veins . . . that wound was still too raw and bleeding. But the need was there. The longing. She missed the physical connection, the pleasure. She missed kisses in the middle of the night slowly seducing her awake, even if she was sure one such sweet, sleepy interlude a couple of weeks before Tommy’s fateful fight had resulted in her current predicament.

  No, she couldn’t go there. But Zane had awoken desires when he’d kissed her, whether she wanted them or not, whether they were right or not. Talking to him tonight had shown her they were still burning beneath the heartache of everything else. Maybe she couldn’t ever act on those desires, but she could indulge the fantasy, couldn’t she? The fantasy of a world without pain, where she was happy, where she could laugh as hard as she had tonight without feeling guilty later, where she had a love that would never die, would never leave her.

  Rowan couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched herself, but she found her hand sliding over her rounded belly and down into her panties, where she was wet and aching. A few tentative strokes. Her mind wandered, but it never wandered far from Zane. That was fine. He was safe. He was safe because no matter what, no matter how high those fires roared, no matter how much they talked and laughed, he was impossible, and he would remain so.

  But that face. That grin that always had a hint of wickedness behind it. The song on her phone changed to one of August on Fire’s latest hits, one that had a profoundly sexy grind to it. And God help her, she found it irresistibly hot when she could hear Zane take a breath before singing a powerful line. It was so . . . intimate. Everything about his voice took her back to that description. It was as if he were singing just for her.

  Insane, of course, but insanity was all right here. She thought she’d earned the right to be a little crazy. Rowan spread her legs wider and let her building pleasure sweep her away. It was a release she needed, and it cleaned out some of the muck in her soul, leaving her with a pleasant exhaustion as she floated back down to earth.

  Blowing out a breath, she had a nice, long stretch, chuckled to herself, and wondered if Zane had known this would happen when he’d suggested such a sexy song to her. An aftershock shivered through her at the thought that maybe he’d imagined her here just like this.

  Yeah, insane.

  But it didn’t end there.

  The following afternoon, an incoming text pinged her when she was folding and putting away the baby clothes Regina had brought the other day. She picked up the phone, a little thrill going through her when she saw Zane’s name.

  Try “The Niles Edge” by VAST. That entire album, actually, Visual Audio Sensory Theater. SO. FUCKING. GOOD.

  It’s like you’re giving me homework assignments!

  Exactly. You’ll be graded on it later.

  Hey now. I don’t know about that.

  What did you think about last night’s?

  Hmm. She bit her lip, wondering if she should tell him exactly how much she’d enjoyed it. No. That was more insanity waiting to happen. But damn, she felt so much better today. More orgasms were definitely in order.

  I really, really liked it. Really.

  Good.

  Did you guys finally get some work done?

  We worked until almost three this morning. I showed them what I had in mind for your song. They liked it. It might just make the album.

  Was he frigging kidding? And I haven’t even heard it!

  Guess this means you might eventually.

  What a scoundrel. I can’t believe you teased me with this knowledge and now you’re holding out on me.

  He took a while responding, and she wondered if she was guilting him too hard. Sure, she was dying to hear what he’d written, but it was his art, and he didn’t have to share it if he wasn’t ready to. I’m only kidding, she told him after some time had passed and she had finished putting away the clothes. He was still at least fifteen minutes replying.

  Sorry. Talking to our producer.

  It was nice to see that some people in the world were truly living their dreams. Hers was so very, very simple, yet so very hard for her to achieve for some reason. She guessed she was old-fashioned; first and foremost she wanted a happy marriage and kids. She’d never expected to lose one just as she learned she was getting the other. Her business degree had only been put to use in helping out with Tommy’s career, and she’d enjoyed it, but that was over now.

  As long as she had a roof over her head, food on her table, and a healthy baby on the way, though, she knew she should be grateful. Damn, it was hard sometimes.

  That’s okay. I was thinking how neat it is you get to do what you love for a living.

  Some days I hate it.

  Why would you ever hate it?

  Not the music. I never hate making music. But the business side of it will suck you dry. Dims the joy at times.

  I’m sorry.

  Nature of the beast. You know, I feel like we always end up talking about me.

  Rowan didn’t know what to say to that for a moment. You’re the one with the exciting life, she said at last, with a winky face.

  It’s you that I’m interested in.

  Interested? Interested as in vaguely curious? Or interested as in . . . interested?

  Why? she asked, in place of the thousand questions she wanted to ask. Again, he was a little while in answering. By then, Rowan sat cross-legged against the nursery dresser, eagerly watching the message screen.

  You have a forlorn glamour about you. I can see the person you were. The person you are, the person you’ll be. But you’re in a cocoon.

  She lifted her eyes to the bright, happy room around her, done in neutral pastels, which seemed to be just waiting for its new little occupant. A cocoon. That was how it felt, as if there were a gray veil between her and this nursery, between her and the rest of the world, between her and happiness, and she was paralyzed on the wrong side of it. I want out, she told him.

  You know how that works.

  How?

  No one can help you, or you won’t build the strength you need to live. You have to fight your way out all on your own. It takes time. I know. But I also know you’ll make it.

  I don’t know who I’ll be, she admitted.

  You’ll be the butterfly.

  Or the old ugly gray moth.

  Never. Not possible. You’ll be bright and beautiful and no net will ever be able to catch you again.

  Oh, God, she longed for that day. It seemed so far out of her reach. Like you, she typed.

  Nah, I’m the ugly gray moth.

  What are you talking about? Look at everything you’ve accomplished. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but it has made you who you are and . . . Rowan stopped typing, staring at the words without sending them. She wanted to say more than she probably should. What she wanted to tell him was how much she admired him, respected him, but those words would ring hollow. Not only was she certain he heard them all the time, but they weren’t adequate to express how much he’d done for her through his music well before they had even met.

  Before she could decide how to end her sentiment, he began typing again. I want to see you again. Soon. The message popped up on her screen and stole the breath from her lungs.

 
Rowan leaned her head back against the dresser with a thud, staring up at the ceiling. Uncertainty roiled through her, setting off a flutter in her belly. She wanted that, so much. But Savannah’s warning rang in her mind, along with the memory of her face when Rowan had confessed that Zane kissed her on their date.

  If she kept seeing him, would it even be possible to stop her heart from getting attached? God only knew what sort of disaster lay in that direction. It would destroy her. Maybe she was safe in her cocoon of grief right now, safe with that gauzy, translucent separation from the rest of the world. If she let Zane, or anyone, try to peel it back too soon, she would die. I can’t let you try to free me, remember?

  I’ll be whatever you need me to be, Rowan, do whatever you need me to do. I’ll be your friend, confidant, shoulder to cry on . . . I can’t help it. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.

  Wow. Wow. This couldn’t be real.

  Can I call? he asked.

  Yes. Please.

  When that call came through, she simply held the phone to her ear, almost too breathless to speak. Thank goodness, he spoke first, his voice so welcome she closed her eyes against the relief it brought. “I thought maybe this conversation was one that should be had when I can hear you,” he said. In all her attempts to avoid the people in her life, she realized, he was the only one she wanted to let in.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she told him, feeling the phone shake in her hand.

  “What do you want to do? Because that’s all that matters.”

  “But it isn’t. I can’t do everything I want to do. There are consequences.”

  “Here’s my offer. We have a festival coming up and a string of dates afterward. You’re more than welcome to come with me. I know you love the band, and you would have all-access, of course, and someone assigned to get you anything you need.”

  Her jaw was practically hanging in her lap. “Like . . . go on tour with you? Seriously?”

  “Absolutely. See how we really live.” Zane chuckled lasciviously.

  “Where would I . . . I mean . . . I don’t even know what to ask!”

  “It would go however you want it to go. You can ride the bus with me, or I’ll get you your own private driver. You’ll have the best hotel rooms when we have a day off, I’ll see to it. All the shopping you want, all the restaurants you can handle, anything and everything. And, of course, side stage to watch us every night as my very special guest.”

  It was absolutely every rock-and-roll fantasy she’d ever had. Every one of them, being offered to her on a platter. But at what cost? “You’re the devil,” she said, putting a hand to her mouth.

  “I just might be,” he said with a wicked inflection that curled her toes in her Sperrys. “Think about it. I’ll come back around and ask you if you’re ready to sign your soul over to me at a later time.”

  “Do I have to use a drop of blood?”

  “Blood and whatever else you’re willing to offer.”

  Fucking. Hell. Those flutters in her belly wouldn’t stop.

  “What I’m afraid you’ll discover, though, is that it’s nowhere near as glamorous as you think it is.”

  “You aren’t seeing it through fresh eyes,” she said, certain she’d figured out the problem. “You’re jaded. You need me there to help you remember the excitement of it all.”

  He chuckled. “Is that what it is? And is that you saying yes?”

  She sighed, feeling the euphoric bubble in her chest pop as she remembered reality. Responsibilities. “Zane, I couldn’t.”

  “No, no, no, wait. I said I would get a decision later. You can’t shoot me down yet. I won’t accept any answer you give me today. Think about it for a few days.”

  “You were about to accept me saying yes, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, but . . . that was yes. That’s easier to accept.”

  “You don’t need me cramping your rock-star style.” If all this trip would consist of was knowing he was banging a groupie or two every night, she couldn’t handle it. That would be a knife in the heart and the fastest way to get her on a plane back home.

  “I’ve been there, done that, Rowan. I’ve lived the life. Let me be real with you; if it can be swallowed, snorted, smoked, or shot, I’ve tried it. If it can be fucked, I’ve fucked it. That isn’t the appeal for me anymore. It isn’t the appeal for the rest of the guys, either. We’re in it for the music, for the live shows, for the fans, and that’s all.”

  “Well, I appreciate your honesty,” she said, wishing she felt more reassured than she did. The thought of all his excesses and debauchery left a sour taste, even if he’d left it in the past, even if it was no less than she expected. Having it confirmed made it real, adding truth to what had only before been bitter speculation. Had she expected him to be a noble rock star, especially in his younger days? That was laughable. He’d only been living the dream. “That’s part of it that I really wouldn’t want to be around.”

  “Now, if you find yourself interacting with any other bands at the festival, you’ll definitely be around it. The groupies are there. The drugs are there. Hang with me, and you’ll be fine. They all pretty much know not to come at me with that bullshit anymore.”

  “I don’t know how I would work it out with my family. My mother-in-law drops by all the time. She would know I’m gone. Savannah and Mike . . . what would they think?”

  “Tell you what, let me handle Mike. I don’t know shit about dealing with mothers-in-law, though, sorry. So that’s on you.”

  “She would absolutely freak out about this.”

  “Well . . . she’s not your mother, right? And you’re an adult, or do I need to ask for some ID?” he teased.

  “It’s way, way more complicated than that. I’m carrying her son’s child.”

  “I get that, but still. It’s your life and you have to live it. For you.”

  “I have to live it for this baby, too.”

  “It’s not as if you’re going to be drinking or drugging or getting your freak on with random dudes. At least I hope not, or I might have something to say about it.” She kind of liked the possessive note that crept into his voice when he said that. “You’ll be hanging out with your favorite band and watching the shows every night. That’s it. If you get corrupted, it’ll only be through the music.”

  She chuckled. “Your argument is sound, Zane. And I agree. But you don’t know her. She’s done so much for me, and I love her, don’t get me wrong. But that’s part of the problem. I owe her everything.”

  “All right. You know my position. I’ll give you time to figure out yours.”

  “I’ll have an answer for you soon,” she promised. “When do you leave?”

  “Not until next month, so you have plenty of time.”

  In another month, she would be almost six months pregnant. God. What business did she have running away with a rock tour?

  And why the hell was it such a temptation?

  “I have to warn you, though,” he said. “I can be very persuasive.”

  She’d begun to suspect, but now she knew it was true. Zane Larson was the devil.

  Chapter Six

  “Okay, this shouldn’t be cold.” The ultrasound tech, an auburn-haired girl who looked barely older than college age, smiled as she squeezed the tube of gel. It squirted on Rowan’s round belly, warm and gooey. “Are you excited?”

  She should be. In a few minutes, if all went well, she should find out whether she was having a boy or a girl. Finally Regina could know whether to buy pink or blue on her shopping sprees. Other than that . . .

  “I am,” Rowan said, injecting as much happiness into the words as she could. Because that’s what the other women in the room wanted to hear, Savannah and Regina, and even the tech. That’s what Rowan wanted to hear herself.

  Truth was, that veil still hung so heavily it was almost visible, and the rest of the world existed so far beyond it she felt she needed to shout to be heard. She was a breath away from bursting into
tears, but every time, she managed to take that breath and force the tears back where they belonged. Behind her eyes, hidden.

  “Here we go,” the tech said brightly, then settled the ultrasound wand into the dollop of gel on her stomach. She rolled it around, watching the shifting images on the screen, but Rowan watched her in-laws. Both women stared at the monitor, breath held. Savannah gently bit her lip, twirling a long swath of dark hair around her finger.

  “Aren’t you going to look?” the tech asked with a laugh. Obviously, she didn’t know the situation, the bittersweetness of this moment. Rowan blinked and forced her gaze to the screen, her bottom lip trembling at the sight of a perfect little profile above a tiny, rapidly fluttering heart. Her baby. Tommy’s baby.

  “What a sweet little face,” Regina said, and by her voice, Rowan knew the tears had begun. She drew a deep breath, willing her own emotions to be still. Savannah’s hand closed around hers, warm and comforting, as the tech tapped buttons and took pictures. Rowan gazed at the little face and wondered. Tommy’s eyes? His nose? Maybe his mouth? How much of him would come back to haunt her every time she looked at his child? The tech moved the wand around, finding a little waving hand.

  “I’ve been feeling him. Or her,” Rowan told them, having realized a couple of days ago the tiny sensations that kept flitting though her belly weren’t butterflies or nerves, but fetal movement.

  “You do want to know the sex, right?” the tech asked.

  “I do,” Rowan said quickly. She wanted the guessing over with.

  “Let’s see here . . .” More adjustments, the wand pressing a little more firmly into Rowan’s stomach. “What we’re looking at here is the baby’s bottom. Imagine the baby is sitting on a plane of glass and we’re looking up from underneath.”

  Once Rowan made sense of the black and gray image in front of her, she saw the U shape clearly. There was certainly no little protrusion there between the baby’s legs. “A girl?” she and Savannah asked at the same time. Regina sucked in a breath, pressing a bejeweled hand to her chest.