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Chelsea screams with her release and I groan into her shoulder, filling her with my own, my muscles all turning to liquid at the force. Luckily, the water’s there to hold us up. We’re clinging to each other, neither of us anywhere close to cold anymore, the warm sun beating down on us, the ripples of our lovemaking still sending water sloshing over the pool’s edge.
“Fuck,” she groans, clinging to me with her arms wrapped around my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist, her face buried in my chest.
I stroke her back, enjoying the shivers and aftershocks rippling through her before I finally pull out.
“I think that was even better than the first time,” she says, her voice awed, but also with a twinge of something else in it.
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I tease, kissing the top of her head as I move us back over to the stairs.
“I’m not… It’s just…” She’s nibbling her bottom lip like she always does when there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t know how. Then it hits me.
“It would be way easier for you if it was a fluke the first time and you could write it off and forget me,” I say, bitterness creeping in.
“Ian… That’s not what I mean.”
“It is, and it’s okay. I know I’m not exactly the kind of guy you wanna bring home to the folks.”
Chelsea looks at me, her eyes searching mine and then her hand comes up to cup my jaw and she kisses me softly, her eyes shining when she pulls back.
“I don’t want to dwell on that stuff… Besides, I think you promised me some world-famous French toast and I seem to have worked up an appetite somehow…”
“I wonder how,” I muse, teasing her. I know she’s trying to cover up her doubts, but I know they’re still there. I know they’re always going to be there, driving a wedge between us. But if today’s taught me anything, it’s that I want to enjoy the time I have with Chelsea while I have it. Before she can think better of it or her manager can convince her to cut me off. If today and now is all I’ll ever have with her, I’m going to make the most of it.
Chapter 12
Chelsea
“That’s a wrap!” Rosa says cheerfully, finally relaxing for the first time since this whole thing started. “That new song is going to soar off the charts!”
I force a smile and nod. Rosa should know my fake smile by now, but if she notices it, she doesn’t let on. Our last day in the studio… My last day recording with Ian. How did it get here so fast? It seems like only yesterday I didn’t have a clue who I was going on stage with and now…
I suck in a sigh. I’m not going to dwell on whatever it’s become. Because it’s over now.
And I know that’s why Rosa’s finally relaxing. It’s not because the album is over or because she’s happy with our work. It’s not even because she trusts my judgment—it’s definitely not that—it’s because she thinks I’m not ever going to see Ian Monroe again. In her expert opinion, that is the best thing for me and my career.
I know she’s got my best interests at heart. I know Rosa’s just doing her job, being my manager, managing my career and my image and the press surrounding them both. But still, I’m not sixteen anymore. I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t need someone telling me who I can and can’t date. I’m a grown woman and I can make my own decisions even if my manager disagrees.
“It’s a hell of an album,” Merrill says, grinning. “If we’re lucky, the label will like it and we’ll have a tour coming up!”
A flash of panic goes through Rosa’s eyes, but her grinning mask never falters. That’s gotta be conflicting for her. She’d love for me to be back on tour, but with Ian? I don’t know if she’ll go for it. Not that she gets the final say.
“Wait, if we’re lucky?” Ian says, his whole body rigid. “You mean the tour’s not already a done deal?” His voice has a dark, threatening edge to it and I know I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it, but Merrill doesn’t flinch.
“I told you that it was a possibility,” Merrill says patiently. “Nothing’s ever written in stone with these record labels, you know that.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ian growls. “We’re supposed to have tour dates already lined up. I thought that’s what this was all about. Now you’re giving me maybes and possibilities? What the hell do I pay you for?”
Now Merrill’s eyes are narrowing and I can’t just sit here waiting for them to blow up at each other. I step forward and place a hand on Ian’s arm. He jumps automatically, coiled tight and tense like he’s ready for a fight, but then he looks over to me and relaxes a little.
“We’ve got a damn good album here,” I say. “Pelican would have to be made up of fools that hate money if they don’t want to do a tour. With all the proceeds from the album going to charity, the only way they’re going to make any money is with a tour, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
He deflates, slumping forward, but there’s still something in his eyes, something hurt and lost that I want to fix, but I don’t know what to do about it. If there’s anything I can do about it.
“You’re probably right,” he says softly, swallowing thickly.
“Of course she is. Chelsea’s a pro. She knows this business as well as anyone else. Don’t worry about it, Ian, you’re in good hands,” Merrill says brightly, shoving their tense standoff under the rug.
Ian’s looking at me with this unreadable mix of emotio
