That just-been-fucked look? I don’t need to look in the mirror to know I’m now sporting it in spades. My panties are soaked, and there’s nothing I want more in this moment than to beg him to bend me over the bed and bang the hell out of me.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful.” He leans in. “And you’re mine. Don’t forget it, and don’t you let him fucking forget it.”
My nod is jerky, and Creighton turns, yanks open the door, and stalks out of the room. I ease the door shut again with trembling fingers and quickly strip out of my yoga pants, change my underwear, and jam my legs into a pair of jeans.
I take a deep, relaxing breath, attempting to slow my heart rate back down to a level that doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode. When I exit the bedroom, notebook in hand, Creighton is lingering at the front of the bus and Vale is settled into a chair, notebook propped up on the arm and his guitar in his lap.
Creighton’s eyes snap to me, and my feet take me directly in front of him without any conscious thought on my part. He brushes my hair away from my face and cups my jaw. “I need to go take care of something. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
His explanation is vague and my curiosity is piqued. What could Creighton possibly need to do in Dallas that would take a few hours? But I don’t question him.
I’m learning to trust, I tell myself. After all, isn’t that what he’s doing by leaving me alone with Vale?
“Okay. Want to plan to meet up at noon for lunch? I’ve got a radio thing from two to three, and then I’m free until I have to get ready for the meet and greet.”
“That works for me,” Creighton says.
I close the distance between us and lean up on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “One more for the road,” I whisper, feeling very wife-like.
I’m still absorbing that thought when he steps away and again brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, leaving my own taste on my lips. I like knowing I’ve marked him too.
“One will never be enough,” he replies before his lips skim across mine once more. He turns and heads for the door.
I’m still standing there like a love-struck fool when he steps off the bus.
I lower my guitar with the last chord of “Lost on Fifth Avenue” hanging in the air between Vale and me. He’s silent for long moments, and my heart rate kicks up, waiting for his opinion. I might think it’s awesome, but he’s the one with a couple of Grammys on his shelf, and all I have is instinct.
Finally, Vale speaks. “You’re going to kill it with that song. Absolutely kill it. You’ve come a hell of a long way since the last project we worked on, if all your stuff is like this now.”
My heart thuds even harder. “You think it’s . . . good?”
“Holly, this song is the shit. I’ve been doing this long enough to know what’s good and what’s really fucking good, and you’ve just written a chart-topper, girl. I take it you wrote this one recently.”
He raises an eyebrow. Given the lyrics, it’s clear that I wrote it after I met Creighton in New York. The song is all about feeling small in the big city, and realizing that as long as you have at least one thing anchoring you, you can’t get too lost.
When I originally started writing it, the anchor I was talking about was my music . . . but listening to it now, I know that the anchor is not a thing, but a person. This man that I’m way too attached to.
I remember that Vale asked a question. “Yes, I wrote it recently. I’ve got two more, if you don’t think we need to rework this one.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t want to fuck with this one. Besides, if we start messing with it, then I’ll have to take credit for part of it, and this one is really all you, babe.”
His endearment hangs in the air, just like the earlier chords did.
“I probably shouldn’t call you that, huh? The billionaire will come rip my balls off and feed them to me.”
A chuckle slips from my lips. “He’s a little territorial.”
“With good reason. I’m just glad the man knows he’s got his hands on someone he needs to treasure. I didn’t get that before it was too late. You’re a special woman, Holly Wix, and whatever emotions he’s pulled from you, they’re going to shine bright in your songs. Have you played them for him?”
I blink a few times. “Played them for him? Um, no. No, I haven’t.”
I think about the next song I’m going to play for Vale, and my stomach rolls. I bare my soul in these lyrics, and to an average fan, it’s not a big thing. But to someone who actually knows me? I might have written the thing in my own blood because that’s my heart written right on the lined notebook paper. My hopes, but mostly my fears.
“You realize he’s going to hear them eventually, right? That’s kind of what you do.” Vale has his head tilted and he’s speaking slowly, like I’m an idiot.
“I know, but . . . I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
His eyebrows go up. “Didn’t expect the marriage to last long enough for the record to come out first?”
My glare is automatic, but the answer is probably written on my face anyway. I still, even now, have a hard time seeing how this is going to work, and long-term isn’t a concept I’ve let myself get comfortable with. My life has been so focused on just making it from one day to the next that I haven’t spent much time thinking about it.
“How about we move on to the next one? We’ve got,” I glance at the clock on the wall, “a couple more hours, so we should use them wisely. After all, I’ve got five more songs to deliver for this big-box exclusive.”