Page 1 of Collide

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GAGE

I fell in love with Ivy Carrigan the moment I collided with her.

And she instantly hated me.

“Ow,” I huff as a waif of a girl knocks into me.

“Excuse me,” she snaps as she slams into me.

The collision forces our bodies to twist away from each other and then spin to face one another. It’s almost like a small motion dance. I expect her to instantly recognize me—I’m Gage Everly. Instead, she glares.

“Watch where you’re going,” she glowers, rubbing the shoulder that knocked into my chest. She’s like a little steam engine, puffing as she rolls the sore shoulder.

“You’re the one in a rush, gorgeous. Pay attention.” The endearment sets her off even more, but it’s true—she’s gorgeous with a capital G. Blonde waves cascade around her elf-like face. Blue saucers for eyes and pinkish lips begging for a kiss or wanting to chew me out.

“Don’t you gorgeous me, slick. Where’s Tommy?” Okay, chew me up it is. Of course, for just a second, I think she called me a dick, and I imagine her gnawing at the particularly eager body part, wanting those lips wrapped around it. Then I register the name.

“Tommy?” Who the fuck is he, and why does he get a chance with this girl? Then again, she looks hell-bent on skewering him, too.

“Lawson Colt to you, I suppose. Uncle Tommy to me.” Her emphasis on the relationship label uncle has me straightening, ignoring both the strain in my jeans and the sting at my sternum where she ran into me.

“Uncle?”

“Yes, where is my uncle?” She speaks slower as if I’m an imbecile. As if I don’t understand how this chestnut, clearly roasting on a fire, can be related to Lawson Colt, the legendary guitar man. His sound, along with Kit Carrigan’s smoky female voice, arrests a crowd like no one I’ve heard. I stare down at her blue eyes, bright as sapphires but sparking like the flames of a Bunsen burner. She’s looking to torch me.

“Is that what the girls call him? Not daddy?” Some of these pretty young things have daddy issues, calling guys old enough to be their father by the moniker to fulfill their sexual fetishes. She can’t be more than twenty. Too bad she’s into old guys almost twice her age. I’d like to be into her.

She flinches at my comment, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re disgusting.”

Whoa. I’ve been insulted plenty in my life. Even have my own daddy issues from the very thing. More like mommy issues as my dad left, and Meredith raised me. But this girl, and the way she slings her insult, wounds me. My hand clenches at my chest.

“That hurts,” I pout, sticking out my lower lip while wondering what a nip of hers would taste like. I like a girl with a little sass. Without thinking, I step forward, and she steps back in the hallway of the Microsoft Theatre in Los Angeles. My band is the opening act for tonight’s sold-out performance of Kit Carrigan and her band, Chrome Teardrops.

“If I don’t find my uncle, you’ll have more to contend with than a chest wound.” Her eyes dip to said chest and stares. I’m wearing a threadbare T-shirt hanging loose on my lean body. I’ve been drinking too much lately, searching for my muse. I write songs, and my mental inspiration has escaped me. With the way this chick looks at me, I want to contend with her. I could use a little fight, a spar of some tongue, and then a jab into her sweet center. Her back hits the wall behind her, and I raise my arm above her head. More equal playing field, I decide as I tower over her a bit.

“Let’s talk about contending.” My voice dips as do my eyes. In this position, I can see straight down her open shirt to the swell of her tanned breasts. Her chest heaves, and her breath hitches. I think she’s going to give into me when her mouth opens.

“I’d rather discuss castrating.” With that comment, I’m pushed back by two small but forceful hands. The motion catches me off guard, and I stumble back. My hands reach for her upper arms to steady myself, and then I take it one step further and tug her against me. My mouth lands on hers. Hard.

She bites me.

I deserve it, I realize with shock, and pull back. “You b—” I don’t finish my thought as her mouth collides with mine, soothing the harsh snap of her teeth. Her lips soften but move over mine with a sense of urgency. She’s devouring me as though she wants to swallow me whole, like she wants to bring me inside her.

“Slow down,” I mumble against lips refusing to release mine.

“Not slow.” She struggles to speak, her lips still pressed to mine. My back thumps against the wall behind me, and her tight little body leans along the length of mine. I don’t know what she’s doing to me. I mean, I do. I’m not opposed to wall sex, backstage sex, or even spur-of-the-moment sex, but this is crazy out in the open. With this girl’s mouth on mine, I’ve lost my mind. I’m not thinking straight as I spin her. I’m not conscious of us taking the three short steps to a door. I’m not coherent of falling through the door, then slamming her against it, and locking the knob. Her mouth hasn’t left mine.

Sweet God, this girl can kiss.

And the moment darkness envelops us, her hands roam. My shirt rises against my chest, exposing my skin to the heat of her palms.

“Quick,” she mutters, and I follow her lead. My fingers reach for her jeans and unbutton them. She kicks off her shoes as the tight denim slides to her ankles. I’d like to take some time with her. Smell the heady scent of her sweet pussy suddenly filling the air in this small space. My mouth wants more than her lips; it wants a taste of that spicy core, which my fingers briefly discover drip for attention.

“No time for that,” she groans, giving into my momentary foreplay until she has my jeans at my hips. My mouth sucks at her neck as she gives my dick a sharp tug. My knees bend, and I’m at her entrance. She’s climbing up my body, securing her legs around my hips, and I pin her to the door.

“Condom,” I grunt, feeling myself spinning out of control. What are we doing in here? I don’t even know her name.