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There is no way I can say that out loud and I can’t admit it to him.
The way he looks at me, his dark green eyes intent, focused, and full of heat is already almost too much for me to deal with. If I were to admit how much I want him and how memories of the way he kissed me has me waking up in the middle of the night achy and soaking wet, I know I won’t be able to resist him.
I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to work, successfully, as it is. The tension between us is off the damn charts.
I had never really understood the idea of cutting tension with a knife, not beyond the theoretical, but I’ve been living in that damn phrase for days now. My entire being is wrung far too tight; I really could snap at any moment, and I have a feeling Langston is right there with me.
Which is why I snuck down to the kitchen and then the small wine cellar in the dead of night. I’m not really a big drinker and I’m not one to drink hard liquor, but I need something to take the edge off. I can hardly fucking breathe as it is.
Even as I take my first sip from the glass, I feel guilty. Drinking while knowing Langston just went through treatment and is sober now has me hyper aware of every noise in this giant mansion. I’ve been proud of him; we’ve taken breaks when working together so he can do video meetings and therapy sessions. I really hope it helps him long term because writing with him, working with him, playing music with him has been amazing.
It would be a real shame for the world to miss out on his talent and his voice.
There’s something magnetic about him that is clear even when we’re just jamming together in the small studio downstairs. I can only imagine how that would be magnified on a stadium stage with all the lights and the screaming fans.
A shiver runs through my body at the thought. It would make me feel like throwing up—getting on stage—but I can easily see how Langston would thrive out there.
“Cove?”
The soft, tentative voice coming from behind me has me whirling around to face Langston, guilt eating me up from the inside out. His eyes dart from my face, which is twisted up in a grimace, to the wine glass in my hand and the bottle next to me on the island.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe out. I rush out quickly, “I’m so sorry. I thought you were asleep. I just wanted a glass of wine because all this tension between us has every nerve in my body and mind frayed, you know? Well,” I keep on babbling, “I’m sure you know because I’m sure you’ve felt it too. Ever since we kissed. When we shouldn’t have kissed. I mean, that was a mistake. Right?” I peer up at him, my heart thudding in my chest so hard that I can feel it pulse through my entire body. I push my words out, pushing him for an answer even though I’m not sure I want one, “Right? That kiss was a mistake.”
Langston’s jaw ticks and I clamp my lips tightly together. The way his dark green eyes shimmer in the low recess lighting above the dining table at the edge of the kitchen has me wondering what he’s thinking about. There are times when I look into his eyes and I can swear I can feel his emotions and then times when everything he is feeling, everything he is remembering, is locked down so tightly that I wonder if he even knows how to interpret it.
I swallow hard as I spin around and upend my glass into the sink in the island. My hands shake a little as I grab the bottle of wine and pour the rest of it down the drain as well.
Langston’s calloused hand grips my wrist, his voice a low drawl filled with sinful promises, “You don’t need to do that Cove. I wasn’t going to wrestle you for the bottle of wine. I’m good.”
I shake my head as tears fill my eyes. “I’m not going to drink in front of you. I shouldn’t have even opened this.”
His fingers are feather-light caresses as he moves his hand from my wrist down to where my fingers are gripping the bottle so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. He takes the bottle from me and sets it on the counter, the sound of it settling there ringing through the space around us. How is that so loud?
Is my heart beating as loudly as I think it is too? Can he hear it?
“Songstress,” he whispers before kissing my neck right below my ear. I shudder at the unexpected contact. “It’s fine if you want a glass of wine. It’s fine if you drink the whole bottle. You’re not the one with the drinking problem. I am. I don’t live in a bubble. I’m not going to be able to avoid it for the rest of my life.”
My shoulders slump and I shake my head. “Doesn’t mean I have to throw it in your face.”
“You weren’t. You waited until you thought I was asleep. You didn’t throw a damn thing in my face.” His hand slides up my arm to my shoulder before turning me gently until I’m facing him. I have to tilt my head back to look into his eyes. The way his eyes bore into mine has my breaths coming out in needy little pants. “Our kiss was not a mistake. I’ve allowed you to have some space and haven’t brought it up because you seemed to be freaking out a little bit. I wanted you to be able to come to terms with it.” His eyes harden slightly, his voice filled with steel, “It was not a mistake.”
“But we’re basically co-workers,” I try and argue. “It isn’t right.”
“We’re co-writers and in that, especially in our business, it involves passion and fire.” My heart sinks with the idea that this is normal, and I could be just anyone. My thoughts must be written across my face because he barks out, “No. Get that thought out of your head. I’m not saying that kiss could have happened with anyone. That’s fucking impossible, Cove.”
“What?” My mouth opens and closes, my brain trying to catch up with what he’s saying, but I’ve got nothing. “What?”
Langston flashes a small smile, filled with adoration and amusement before he presses his forehead against mine. “There’s something about you, a light that I desperately need. I’m drawn to you. I was the first time I saw you. It scared the shit out of me,” he chuckles softly, “still does. But I’m not willing to lose it either. I want to explore it and, maybe,” he squeezes his eyes shut, “earn the privilege of keeping it in my life.”
“I,” I try and say something, anything, but can only breathe out, “wow.”
He pulls back from me and smirks. It should be annoying and frustrating, but it’s really sexy as hell.
“You can have a glass of wine,” he insists again.
“No. It’s not right or fair to you. You’ve only just started your road of sobriety. There’s no reason to put that kind of temptation in front of you.”
Langston’s eyes sweep down my body, a fire igniting in his eyes that is answered in a twisting fire within my lower abdomen. “The only temptation I see right now, Cove, is you.”
