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“Hey.” The sound of the front door slamming and heavy footsteps filled my ears. “Anyone home? I've brought some stuff for Dion.” Tate's voice echoed through the sudden silence.
Above me, Dion frowned. “I'm going to kill them.” Gently, he lifted me to my feet. Stuffing the raging hard on he still had into his jeans, he kissed my lips softly. “Get dressed, Lola, while I go and see why Tate is here.” Another kiss, and this one I deepened with a needy moan. Dion was the one to pull away first. Leaning his forehead against mine, he grinned. “Dress and come and join us. And baby?”
I blinked up at him, the haze of lust leaving me slowly.
“Thank you. Now get dressed.” Dion stepped away, buttoning up his jeans as he disappeared out of the door, leaving me standing there with the taste of him still on my tongue.
DION
Tate's eyebrows shot into his hairline as I appeared in the doorway to the living room. My t–shirt dropped to settle over my stomach, and I grinned at him before I could help myself.
“What are you doing here?”
He motioned to the jumble of bags around his feet. But his eyes never left my face. “Thought you might need some of your shit, asshole… What were you–?”
I cut him off. “Did Erik send you?”
His blonde eyebrows shot up. “No, why would Erik…oh.” His eyes snapped to the door behind me and I didn't need to turn to know that Lola had come out of her bedroom. The same room Tate had seen me appear from.
His mouth opened in a little O.
“Little Lola.” Rushing past me, he engulfed her in a bear hug that lifted her from her feet, and swung her around in a circle until she squealed and slapped at his shoulders. Setting her gingerly back onto her feet, he held her out at arm’s length. “You look good.” He whistled between his teeth before gathering her back up again. “I honestly can't believe you have been here the whole time. Why didn't you come and see us? Does Louis know?”
“Louis was the one who arranged for me to meet Elodie.”
Tate swore low. His chin came down to rest on her shoulder. “And Elodie and Jax kept it to themselves as well. Why all the secrets?” His eyes fell on me and he grinned. “Ah,” he chuckled. “Your brother didn't want Dion to know where you were.”
“It…um, it wasn't like that,” Lola stammered, and two pink spots appeared high on her cheekbones.
“Of course not.” Positioning himself at her side, he squeezed her into his side. “Well, how about a hot drink for your old friend Tate?”
I frowned. “You're not staying and…”
“Of course I am. I have some things to discuss with you over the last song you wrote.”
His words made me frown. I had written a few songs since coming back off tour, but the changes and choices had already been agreed with the band. They were finalised. I didn't know what else there was to talk about unless this was some ploy to make sure me and Lola didn't have any time together.
“You know the one,” one corner of Tate's lips twitched, “in your notebook.”
My eyebrows slammed down. “That one is…” My eyes darted to Lola. She glanced, confused, between the two of us, but said nothing. “That one isn't for the band. It's private.” And it was private – for my eyes only. I’d put too much of myself into that song, my heart and my soul and all the pain I had been feeling. “I'm kind of pissed you went through my shit, Tate.”
He shrugged. “I knew you were hiding something good, and I wasn't wrong. It might just be the best thing you have written.”
“It's not for the band,” I repeated.
Maybe Tate was suddenly hard of hearing because he ignored me again. “It is now. Anyway, Lola, how about that cuppa?”
“Sure, do you want me to bring it in for you guys so you can talk?” Lola fidgeted nervously. She might not know what the sudden tension in the room was about, but she knew it was there. I wouldn't have it out with Tate in front of her, but I would have it out with him.
He had no right to go through my private things, pry into my private thoughts.
“I’ll come and give you a hand, love.” Tate's arm didn't leave her shoulders. “It will give Dion a chance to compose himself.” He winked. “Your jeans are unbuttoned, by the way.”
* * *
“This,” Tate started as he produced the slightly battered notebook from beneath his jacket. He hadn’t waited even a moment after we had settled on the sofa and Lola had disappeared to shower. “It’s so fucking good, man.”
I snatched it from his fingers. “It's private, Tate, you had no right to–”
