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But Sparks might not realize that. He probably hadn’t paid much attention to their rehearsals before. Maybe he hadn’t paid much to this one either, just come in at the end to see Michael with his arm around her.
And playfully kissing her.
God, everything was so new between the three of them. The rules hadn’t really been delineated. It wasn’t as if they’d talked about exclusivity, or even what was going on beyond sex.
Was anything going on beyond sex? That area kind of overshadowed everything else when it was that frigging good.
In any case, she should explain. She needed to tell Sparks it was just about having a good time—
She mumbled an excuse to Michael and detangled herself from him. Gripping the neck of her guitar, she rushed forward, skirting an amp. And then she was flying through the air, and coming down hard on her ass.
Her guitar hit the floor with a thud and pain sung through her hip. Fuck. She shook her head to clear it. What the hell had happened?
“Baby, you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
She sat up dizzily and stared into Sparks’s concerned face. “Aww, am I still your baby?”
She’d meant it as a joke, but um, she so had not used her indoor voice. Worse, her bandmates were crowding closer and Sparks was cupping her thigh in a manner befitting a man who knew his way around her body without benefit of a map.
Shit, damn, fuck.
“Let’s give her—them—some space. She’ll be fine. Just a little bruise, I’m sure.” West’s voice was stupidly chipper as he patted her on the back like she needed a Band-Aid. Or a lollipop.
Or something else in her mouth to keep her from saying things that made an already difficult situation even worse.
Secret threesome, remember? Try being secretive for a change of pace.
“Sorry, yeah, I don’t even know why I fell. I tripped over something. Probably my own shoe. Dammit, my guitar.” She started to scramble toward her bass guitar, stopping when Sparks laid a gentle hand on her knee and moved over to pick it up for her.
She watched, dumbfounded, as he ran his hands over it as carefully as he touched her before the passion that sprung to life so readily between them—between all three of them—took over. “Looks okay to me.” He gave her a quick smile before holding the guitar out to her. “Just added another scratch or two, but that only adds character.”
“Yeah.” She ran her fingers over the minute dings and dents of the wood of her most treasured Fender bass guitar. She had a couple she used for shows, and others she played on occasion, but this one held special memories.
Everything went back to Paris, in one way or another.
When Sparks held out his hand, she gave him back the guitar and he turned to set it on a stand. Then he shifted back to her and crouched to pick her up as if they were completely alone.
And she let him, because hell if she hadn’t begun to love how he and Tris manhandled her in the sexiest ways. Picked her up, nudged her forward or back, dragged her right where they wanted her to be.
It was always her choice to go. If she said no, they’d put her down or release her.
But she didn’t want them to. Not really. She liked being their center. Their focus.
“What hurts?” he asked, carting her backstage to where there was a small beat-up sofa. He set her down and nudged her over so he could sit on the edge of the couch beside her legs. When she winced at the jab in her hip, he ran his hands over her ass and thighs. “What’s sore?”
Right then? Her chest. He was just so insanely sweet. What could he possibly ever see in her?
“Just bruised my ass, and no worries there. I’m extra
padded.” She forced a smile and glanced over his shoulder to where a couple of her band members were clustered near the doorway. They pretended to be deep in conversation, but she knew they were really watching her and Sparks.
Damn gossips. Especially West and Molly. They were the worst. West loved finding dirt on people he could then torment them with later when he needed a favor. Usually something related to covering for him at band meetings when he was “indisposed”, which meant he’d spent the night with some lucky babe and had fucked her until she couldn’t walk. Or he couldn’t.
“You want some water?”
“Molly steals all the water for her throat, so there won’t be any left. I’m good though.” Juliet rubbed her fingers over her skinny jeans. There was a new rip along the outside of the leg that hadn’t been there before. Distressed was in, so that was okay. The bruise she could see blooming, however, wasn’t a fashion statement.
“You sure? I can grab—”
