Hearts on Air
Page 41
All of a sudden his mouth was at my ear. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say stuff like that.”
His hand moved to my hip and I felt it all the way between my thighs. “Why not?”
“Because it makes me feel like doing things I shouldn’t,” I answered truthfully, shifting to look into his eyes. I was drowning in all that blue.
“Maybe you should,” he murmured huskily, his mind drifting off somewhere and then back to me. I swallowed when he whispered, “Last night my sheets smelled of you.”
My stomach flipped. The first night I slept in his bed I’d been worried about his scent being on the sheets. I never gave a thought that I’d be leaving mine for him.
“Trev . . .”
“What?” he probed, a sexy challenge in his eyes. He knew he had me. I needed to be stronger.
I steeled myself and said, “When we get back I’m changing your sheets.”
He very slowly shook his head. “No. You’re not.”
I lifted my chin. “I am.”
“Touch those sheets and see what happens.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked, my voice firm. He didn’t respond, only continued to hold my gaze in a battle of wills. Why was he doing this to me? He told me we were just going to be friends. Now it’s night two and already he’s flirting. Or was he just teasing, bantering like we always used to? This felt like more than harmless banter though.
The moment was broken when a familiar voice said, “Can I have a round of Jager bombs?”
I looked away from Trev to find Leanne standing by the bar. “Hey Reya. Brilliant gig. You were incredible.”
“Oh thanks,” I said, still feeling the heat of Trev’s attention as she started counting fingers then glanced at the bartender. “I need six.”
He nodded and began putting her order together.
“You can’t drink tonight, Leanne,” said Trev and he sounded almost fatherly. It was weird. He’d always been the wayward kid of his family. “Tomorrow’s too important.”
“It’s just one drink.”
“Jager bombs aren’t a drink. They’re the gateway to a night of debauchery and we both know it,” Trev went on.
“I have to agree with him,” I put in. “It’s like the entrée before a giant steak.”
“Or the oral sex before the fucking,” Trev added and I rolled my eyes even though the way he said ‘fucking’ gave me chills.
Leanne huffed. “But I’ve already ordered them.”
“And now you can un-order them,” said Trev.
“Actually, I can’t. Look, he’s making them now.”
“I’ll pay then. You’re still not drinking them.”
She put a hand on her hip. “Do you know what? I’m really sick of people telling me what to do around here.” She turned and stomped back to the table where the others were waiting. Trev slipped a few notes onto the bar and went after her. I sighed, knocked back the last of my drink, and headed backstage to grab my things. One of the club workers had kindly brought my keyboard out back. A few minutes later I was making my way out front when I bumped into Trev and the others climbing into taxis.
“There you are,” said Trev, coming and taking my things from me. I climbed in next to him. Paul and James shared our taxi, while Leanne, Neil and the two crewmembers got in the other one.
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” said James, referring to the song I opened my set with. He broke my attention away from the fact that the side of my body was pressed tight to Trev’s. I tried my best to keep a sliver of space between us.
“Oh yeah, I grew up speaking two languages,” I answered. “My parents were immigrants. They spoke no English at all when they first came to the U.K. They had to learn as they went along.”
“Really?” James asked, sounding interested. “My grandparents emigrated from Trinidad back in the sixties but they both spoke English. Every once in a while, my gran dips into Creole, but only when she’s really pissed about something.” He chuckled. “Where did your parents come from?”
I stiffened, but Trev was probably the only one who noticed. He was one of the few people who knew how the subject of my parents was a sore spot. Still, I answered James’s question out of politeness. “Madrid. They grew up under Franco so it was very different from Spain nowadays. It’s funny, I mean, they left to escape a totalitarian regime, but the ideals stayed ingrained in them. They’re, um, very conservative, very strict, and very religious.”
“I bet that was no picnic growing up,” Paul put in, eyeing me.
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “No, it wasn’t.”
Relieved to see we’d arrived at the apartment, I was the first to get out of the taxi. I knew it was rude not to at least offer to put in for the fare, but I felt stifled. Between whatever Trev was up to and talking about my parents, I had to get out of there.
When I opened the door to the apartment there were two crewmen in the living area tinkering around with their cameras, waiting. As soon as they saw me come in they started filming. I frowned and headed down the hallway to the linen cupboard, knowing they weren’t interested in me. They were waiting to film the guys when they got in.
I found some spare sheets and carried them into Trev and Callum’s bedroom. I was hoping to get the task done before Trev walked in, but no such luck.
“What are you doing?” he asked, shutting the door in the face of one of the film crew. It served him right for trying to follow Trev into the bedroom.
I only had the pillowcase off so far. “I’m changing your sheets like I said I would.”
He came at me, tugging the pillow from my grasp and tossing it back on the bed. “And I told you not to.” He spoke low, his words held an edge of threat.
I stood firm and picked the pillow back up. “Why not? You’re being weird.”
He exhaled a heavy breath and levelled me with his eyes. “Just don’t. Just . . . give me this.”
My throat felt heavy as I stared at him. There was a deep, starkly vivid need there and it was almost shocking to see. He’d been trying so hard to hide it, but right then I saw a flicker of the truth. I saw a crack in his I just want to be friends façade.
I looked at him, then at the bed, then back at him. His gaze lowered to my lips and I wet them instinctively. Heat fizzled between us and I dropped the pillow. He took one, two steps forward until there was only an inch of space left. His breath hit my cheeks and I stood frozen in place. He lifted a hand to my face and traced a line with his fingers down the side of my neck. I closed my eyes for a second when he spoke.
“Don’t say stuff like that.”
His hand moved to my hip and I felt it all the way between my thighs. “Why not?”
“Because it makes me feel like doing things I shouldn’t,” I answered truthfully, shifting to look into his eyes. I was drowning in all that blue.
“Maybe you should,” he murmured huskily, his mind drifting off somewhere and then back to me. I swallowed when he whispered, “Last night my sheets smelled of you.”
My stomach flipped. The first night I slept in his bed I’d been worried about his scent being on the sheets. I never gave a thought that I’d be leaving mine for him.
“Trev . . .”
“What?” he probed, a sexy challenge in his eyes. He knew he had me. I needed to be stronger.
I steeled myself and said, “When we get back I’m changing your sheets.”
He very slowly shook his head. “No. You’re not.”
I lifted my chin. “I am.”
“Touch those sheets and see what happens.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked, my voice firm. He didn’t respond, only continued to hold my gaze in a battle of wills. Why was he doing this to me? He told me we were just going to be friends. Now it’s night two and already he’s flirting. Or was he just teasing, bantering like we always used to? This felt like more than harmless banter though.
The moment was broken when a familiar voice said, “Can I have a round of Jager bombs?”
I looked away from Trev to find Leanne standing by the bar. “Hey Reya. Brilliant gig. You were incredible.”
“Oh thanks,” I said, still feeling the heat of Trev’s attention as she started counting fingers then glanced at the bartender. “I need six.”
He nodded and began putting her order together.
“You can’t drink tonight, Leanne,” said Trev and he sounded almost fatherly. It was weird. He’d always been the wayward kid of his family. “Tomorrow’s too important.”
“It’s just one drink.”
“Jager bombs aren’t a drink. They’re the gateway to a night of debauchery and we both know it,” Trev went on.
“I have to agree with him,” I put in. “It’s like the entrée before a giant steak.”
“Or the oral sex before the fucking,” Trev added and I rolled my eyes even though the way he said ‘fucking’ gave me chills.
Leanne huffed. “But I’ve already ordered them.”
“And now you can un-order them,” said Trev.
“Actually, I can’t. Look, he’s making them now.”
“I’ll pay then. You’re still not drinking them.”
She put a hand on her hip. “Do you know what? I’m really sick of people telling me what to do around here.” She turned and stomped back to the table where the others were waiting. Trev slipped a few notes onto the bar and went after her. I sighed, knocked back the last of my drink, and headed backstage to grab my things. One of the club workers had kindly brought my keyboard out back. A few minutes later I was making my way out front when I bumped into Trev and the others climbing into taxis.
“There you are,” said Trev, coming and taking my things from me. I climbed in next to him. Paul and James shared our taxi, while Leanne, Neil and the two crewmembers got in the other one.
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” said James, referring to the song I opened my set with. He broke my attention away from the fact that the side of my body was pressed tight to Trev’s. I tried my best to keep a sliver of space between us.
“Oh yeah, I grew up speaking two languages,” I answered. “My parents were immigrants. They spoke no English at all when they first came to the U.K. They had to learn as they went along.”
“Really?” James asked, sounding interested. “My grandparents emigrated from Trinidad back in the sixties but they both spoke English. Every once in a while, my gran dips into Creole, but only when she’s really pissed about something.” He chuckled. “Where did your parents come from?”
I stiffened, but Trev was probably the only one who noticed. He was one of the few people who knew how the subject of my parents was a sore spot. Still, I answered James’s question out of politeness. “Madrid. They grew up under Franco so it was very different from Spain nowadays. It’s funny, I mean, they left to escape a totalitarian regime, but the ideals stayed ingrained in them. They’re, um, very conservative, very strict, and very religious.”
“I bet that was no picnic growing up,” Paul put in, eyeing me.
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “No, it wasn’t.”
Relieved to see we’d arrived at the apartment, I was the first to get out of the taxi. I knew it was rude not to at least offer to put in for the fare, but I felt stifled. Between whatever Trev was up to and talking about my parents, I had to get out of there.
When I opened the door to the apartment there were two crewmen in the living area tinkering around with their cameras, waiting. As soon as they saw me come in they started filming. I frowned and headed down the hallway to the linen cupboard, knowing they weren’t interested in me. They were waiting to film the guys when they got in.
I found some spare sheets and carried them into Trev and Callum’s bedroom. I was hoping to get the task done before Trev walked in, but no such luck.
“What are you doing?” he asked, shutting the door in the face of one of the film crew. It served him right for trying to follow Trev into the bedroom.
I only had the pillowcase off so far. “I’m changing your sheets like I said I would.”
He came at me, tugging the pillow from my grasp and tossing it back on the bed. “And I told you not to.” He spoke low, his words held an edge of threat.
I stood firm and picked the pillow back up. “Why not? You’re being weird.”
He exhaled a heavy breath and levelled me with his eyes. “Just don’t. Just . . . give me this.”
My throat felt heavy as I stared at him. There was a deep, starkly vivid need there and it was almost shocking to see. He’d been trying so hard to hide it, but right then I saw a flicker of the truth. I saw a crack in his I just want to be friends façade.
I looked at him, then at the bed, then back at him. His gaze lowered to my lips and I wet them instinctively. Heat fizzled between us and I dropped the pillow. He took one, two steps forward until there was only an inch of space left. His breath hit my cheeks and I stood frozen in place. He lifted a hand to my face and traced a line with his fingers down the side of my neck. I closed my eyes for a second when he spoke.
