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For a week and a half, she’d been walking around in a perpetual state of pain, anger and misery. If what had happened that night with the band wasn’t bad enough, the aftermath and what she’d learned about Nick had nearly broken her. She’d expected the other shoe to drop with her soon-to-be ex-husband, as well as her boss, Donovan Lewis, the head of Ripper Records. But everything had been quiet after the pictures she’d received that had torn apart her life.
Too quiet.
Something was coming, she could feel it.
Not tonight though. She wouldn’t allow anything to detract from this celebration. From the moment she’d walked into the band house, the energy had almost bowled her over. Happy, excited energy. The babies were babbling, and all the couples were laughing and kissing and there were Christmas lights everywhere…
Christmas lights. And Christmas packages. Dammit, she’d left hers in the car. She’d been so nervous about attending tonight, knowing she and Nick were on the outs, and uncertain about facing everyone else’s joy. But just this once, she wanted to belong.
Needed it more than she could worry about rejection or what she might be kidding herself about now. Like, oh, that a gorgeous, obnoxious, sweet, sexy-as-hell rock star could want her in spite of all the obstacles that made everything between them so difficult.
“I have to go back to my car.” She licked her kiss-swollen lips and shifted uncomfortably at the pulse between her thighs. That pulse might as well have been labeled Nick-freaking-Crandall, because he was the only one who caused it so effortlessly.
“Escaping already?” Nick’s tone was light, but the fingers he clamped around her elbow were anything but.
“I forgot gifts. I mean, I have them, but I forgot to bring them in.”
“I’ll come with you.” His hold only tightened. “We’ll be right back,” he told the others.
“Yeah, and I have to call that Santa dude. He left a message on my cell.” Deacon planted another kiss on his wife’s head and stepped back.
“What Santa dude?” Nick asked.
Gray set down Jazz and frowned at Deacon. “Dammit, really? He better not be pulling out.”
“Yeah, pulling out is something that is just not done in this house. Evidence A, all the screamers down the hall.” Nick smirked and tugged on Lila’s arm.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Harper warned. “Y’all better be seated around my table when I serve or I’ll pull out a can of rock star whoop ass.”
Lila smiled at Harper. She was her kind of woman. Didn’t put up with any nonsense and herded the lot of them in the way they seemed to need.
Of course, she also had a handsome husband, a successful catering business and an adorable kid, so she’d obviously pulled some winning numbers in the life lotto.
Unlike you.
Let’s see, her husband was a serial philanderer and had been for years. They’d slept separately for half a decade, which consisted of most of their marriage. She also was on the verge of divorce—the one thing she was overjoyed about, actually—and had an incredible career managing the drama-prone members of Oblivion and the other bands she worked with. But those pictures had thrown both of those things into jeopardy and—
And I’m not thinking about any of that tonight, remember?
She blew out a breath and focused on Nick. He’d stopped to pull on his sneakers, then he’d resumed practically dragging her out the door and across the stoop.
Oh Nick. He was in a category of his own.
She’d never expected to fall into bed with him after Oblivion’s disastrous show at the Blue Rhino a month ago. Barely a month. Yet she had, and for a couple of weeks, it had been intense and insane and wonderful. He’d even gone home with her to meet her parents at their apple orchard in New York, for God’s sake. Not only had he gone, he’d wanted to go.
Forgetwanted. He’d insisted. The trip had been the best one of her life.
“You’re never this quiet unless you’re about to come.”
That snapped her out of her thoughts right quick. “I’m definitely not quiet then,” she said, quickening her steps to match his. Not that it made much difference, since he didn’t relinquish his iron grip.
“No, but I knew saying that would make you talk to me.”
She fought not to smile and almost succeeded. “I wasn’tnottalking to you.”
“So you say. Where the hell are you parked?”
She pointed down the block and he slipped his hand down her arm until their fingers tangled together. Immediately, she glanced around for cameramen hanging out of trees or other possible members of the paparazzi. Oblivion had been getting way too much attention lately—a lot of it negative—and she wasn’t about to add to it right now.
