reaches for an onion ring, crunches it. ‘I was sixteen when I topped the UK charts.’
I’m impressed—obviously. All the more so because he says it without a hint of arrogance. It’s just a fact, one he’s accepted as a part of the fabric of his story, so that he says it without realising what a huge deal it is.
‘Do you like it?’
‘Music?’
‘Fame,’ I correct, sipping my drink.
‘Nah. It’s shit.’
I laugh—it’s not what I was expecting him to say at all. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ He grins. ‘You get used to it, but at first it’s like being on a different planet. I’ll never forget the first time I opened my front door to a throng of paparazzi. It was madness. I was still living at home—we had to move to a gated community with security fences and cameras. I can’t get over how fascinated people are by the minutiae of my life. Of anyone else’s life. I once had a busboy sell the cutlery I’d used for lunch on eBay.’
I pull a face, barely able to imagine the invasiveness of that.
‘But the music...’
He grins and my heart flops.
‘I live for it, you know? Always have.’
And he begins to hum, something low and deep, and he moves closer to me again, propping an elbow on the table to form a sort of cage around me. He is big and I’m not. I’ve always been little, but in the circle created by his arms I feel something I’ve never felt before. I feel safe.
Safe?
From what?
It’s a stupid, errant thought. After all, whatever’s happening between us is possibly the most danger I’ve been in. Even with the guys I was with before Jeremy it was never like this. I was in control. Always.
Ethan when-is-he-going-to-kiss-me? Ash is definitely not eating out of the palm of my hands. Yet.
A need to grasp control out of his hands spins through me. I reach up and curl my fingers around his shirt, so that I can pull him closer still, and then I brush my lips to his so that I feel the notes rather than just hear them. If possible, his voice tastes even better than it sounds.
‘Alison?’ he says against my lips.
I shake my head.
‘Do you have a question for me?’
I’m at a crossroad. Past, future and present swirl around me. Need, want, right and wrong. These are all voices and forces throbbing in my head. But one voice is loudest of all.
Desire shouts through me.
‘Can we go yet?’
* * *
Every time I question the wisdom of this I think of the freaking Tweet. #soinlove
Sienna’s moved on. Why the hell shouldn’t I have some fun too?
Something squeezes inside me and my past with Sienna flashes before me. The years we spent together. The way we came through the industry together. I get her and she gets me. It damned near killed me when we broke up. Only her promise that it was temporary eased that pain.
And now she’s fucking engaged to another guy.
A new sense of urgency powers my intent.
‘Hell, yeah. Let’s get out of here.’
I drain my beer, noticing she’s hardly touched her drink. I nod towards it but she shakes her head.
‘I’m okay.’
She’s better than okay. Briefly I feel a wave of guilt. To Sienna. To Ally. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m not thinking one hundred percent clearly, but my instincts are telling me to go with this—or is that my cock?—and I’m not going to ignore them.
‘Let’s go.’
I hold my hand out and she places her palm in mind. Her hand’s small, and yet it fits into mine perfectly. I stand and pull her closer to me as I do. She smells like vanilla and moonlight.
Someone’s tipped the press off as to my whereabouts, so that when we step out of the club there’s flashes everywhere. Ally’s surprised. She’s not used to fame and its pointed intrusion. I pull her closer to my chest. The desire to protect her is instinctive. I don’t want her being collateral damage in all of this.
I hail a cab and it stops instantly. I hold the door open for her and she slips inside, a blur of pale skin, bright blue eyes and long red hair. I follow, moving close to her in the back of the cab.
I hear every single one of Ally’s rushed breaths echo inside my soul.
I give the driver my hotel address and then I turn to Ally. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her. Thoughts fly from my head at the sight of her huge wide eyes and parted lips.
Fuck it.
I want her.
I kiss her as though my life depends on it. I kiss her with an aching hunger and desperation that surprises us both.
Or maybe it doesn’t—because it’s exactly how she kisses me back.
IS IT POSSIBLE to pass out from pleasure? I know that’s generally the body’s response to painful stimuli, but is it possible to be so turned on that the pleasure almost becomes pain? I’ve never had sex in a cab, but if this drive takes any longer I’m going to do just that.
His hand is on my thigh and his tongue is tangled with mine, his lips move over mine and I am melting into the leather of the seat. Desire is like a volcano in my core, bursting with lava-like heat. He runs his fingers higher, confidently, firmly, until he reaches the lace of my thong. He pads his fingertips across me there and I groan into his mouth, my fingers lifting to knot into his thick hair, my body weak and strong all at once.
He removes his hand from between my legs and his desertion is a wave that flushes me with ice. I grind my hips impatiently and make a whimpering sound as his flat palm drags up my body, over the softness of my clothes to the curves of my breast. He rolls his hand across me as though I am an object and he its owner. His touch sends spirals of fire deep into my body, affecting me on a cellular level.
I make a gurgling sound and laugh, pushing up to kiss him harder, to let my breasts flatten his hand between us. We are wedged together and my hands are curled around his neck and, God, he tastes and feels amazing. Better than amazing.
Finally the cab pulls to a stop and I am flushed with relief—until I realise it’s a stop sign.
‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,’ he snaps, his brow furrowed as he shoots
