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“Holy hell, woman,” I gasped. I bent down, snagged her around the middle, and dragged her upward, my mouth devouring hers. She tasted of me, which made me growl with fierce possession.
Finally, both of us breathing hard, I pulled back. “I didn’t expect that.”
“I’ve fantasized about taking you in my mouth.” She pressed her hot cheek against the side of my neck.
“That was amazing. But you know it just makes me want to be inside you more.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m feeling needy, too.”
I sighed as I tucked myself into my underwear and zipped up. Then I grabbed her hand, running my thumb over her palm.
“Walk with me?” I asked.
We ambled out of the barn, and I tilted my head back, enjoying the sun, enjoying my relaxed state. Damn, this felt good.
I should have known her quicksilver mind was worrying on a problem. Still, I was surprised by her question.
“You mentioned hard lines before,” she said. “And then you made a joke about mine. But I suspect you have some, too. What are they?”
15
Aya
Nash stiffened, causing me to reciprocate. He blew out a breath as he stepped back. The sun was now high enough to cause me to squint, and small beads of perspiration formed at the back of my neck under the heavy fall of my hair.
“Lies, even by omission, manipulation of any kind—I can’t stand it. Betrayal of trust.”
I nodded. “I can see that. I understand your reasoning. And I totally get it.”
“I’m serious, Aya.” His eyes were hard, stormy. “I don’t want to be like my parents.”
I dropped my gaze as shame heated my face, neck, chest. “I wish…”
He pivoted in front of me and placed his index finger over my lips. “No. It’s done. We can’t change that. Only now, only the future matters.”
I nodded, albeit reluctantly. I touched his cheek. “There’s your stubborn streak.”
He turned his head and kissed my hand. “It wasn’t stubbornness so much as all the anger that had nowhere to go. I tried to write songs, I performed. But my mom died in that fiery end….You weren’t talking to me. My bandmates were older, had more freedoms, and I felt…”
“Trapped,” I said. “You were trapped in a nightmare.”
He nodded. “And I rebelled. The guys had booze, my manager handed over some pills. And I took everything all together.”
I paused, my hand to my heart. “When did that start?”
He squinted up into the trees. “It had been building for a while, but the first really bad night was when the story broke about you and Yamir Ali.”
I dipped my head, my chest aching. “You took drugs.”
“I took drugs. And drank a shit-ton of liquor to the point that I blacked out. Steve apparently held my head while I puked my guts up.”
I filed that tidbit in the back of my mind. As much as Nash wanted to detest Steve, he couldn’t. But that was for another day. My heart ached for the boy who’d been failed by so many in his life.
“Pop Syad died just weeks after my mom. I had to go to his funeral, but I refused to be at the reading of the will. I’ve been told he left me everything. Well, pretty much. He gave his personal assistant, Cynthia, the directorship she wanted and stock options. She told me more about the will, but I didn’t care. I don’t touch his money,” Nash spat.
“No?” I asked.
We’d arrived at the creek. This time of year, it narrowed to a thick trickle. Nash bent down, letting go of my hand to pick up some river stones, which he tossed with angry, jerky motions.
