Gifted (Rockstar Christmas Romance) (Lost in Oblivion, 4.2) Page 4

  Simon didn’t bother waiting to be tagged, however. He just took over.

  “Piercings, you say? This one wouldn’t even get his ear pierced in high school.” Simon jerked a thumb at Nick. “Highly doubt he can handle anything more intense.”

  Nick narrowed his eyes and lifted his phone right up to Simon’s smirking face. “Not letting Tony Peterson pierce my ear with a stapler in high school showed my wisdom. I’m pretty sure he hit your brain when he did yours.”

  “Wuss.” Simon tightened his arm around Margo’s shoulders. “So whatcha gonna get pierced, Nicky boy? Your nose? Your eyebrow? Your lip?” He leered. “Or maybe you’re gonna aim that needle farther south. Better be careful, you don’t have a lot of room to work with.”

  “Here we go.” Margo poked Simon in the side. “Don’t start a pissing contest.”

  “Don’t need to. He’ll never do it.” Simon’s boast made Nick frown. His best friend didn’t know what he would or wouldn’t do.

  Sure, Nick wouldn’t even consider it, but Simon didn’t know that. Jackass.

  “You didn’t hear him. He was teasing his girl—” Jazz broke off and cleared her throat before rushing toward Deacon to pry Lexi from his hip. “Gimme that baby. I just wanna squeeze her pretty cheeks.” She spun toward the camera and held out Deacon’s daughter, who was wearing a red-and-white onesie and a band with springy candy canes protruding from her head. “Look at her! She’s so precious.”

  “Aww, that’s my little Lexi.” Simon plucked her out of Jazz’s hands, kissed her forehead and returned her to Deacon. “I wanna hear more about Nicky’s teasing. I know he wasn’t serious, because he can’t get a girl. Everyone knows that.”

  Nick was reasonably sure Simon was trying to cover for Jazz’s slip, since Nick was in theory the only remaining single member of Oblivion. He was supposed to remain that way, if their management at Ripper Records had any say in the matter. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be sleeping with their rep at the record company.

  But as things stood now, he wasn’t. He hadn’t touched Lila in a week and a half. He could count down hours if pressed. So Simon’s taunt burned more than usual, and he reacted with typical sense.

  “I might not be able to get a girl, but I can get my dick pierced.”

  The room went pin-silent, save for Gray’s strumming. Then that died too.

  Simon grabbed Nick’s phone, his face gleeful. “Did you hear that, Oblivionites? You got the scoop first. Nick Crandall is getting his dick pierced for your pleasure!”

  Nick couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Hell, he might even have lost his resting pulse.

  Dear God, what had he done?

  “I will if you will,” Nick tossed back.

  Simon brought the phone up close to his face. “Hmm. What do you think? Two pricks for the price of one?”

  “Not the first time when it comes to you two,” Deacon said drily, lifting his daughter into the air far above his head.

  The guy probably just wanted to show off his arms. What, was he trying out to be the next Avenger, for fuck’s sake? Add in a cute baby and Saint Deacon knew the fans would send in appreciative notes by the truckload.

  Nick frowned. His Christmas spirit was disappearing fast. Time to get out of there and away from threats cast toward his person—and his defenseless penis.

  At a loss for words, Nick snatched back his phone and booked out of the room while Simon howled with laughter.

  The whole internet was probably laughing at him. And he was still filming. Great.

  Since he was tired of being the center of attention, he followed his nose toward the kitchen. “Consider this a smell-gram,” he told the red dot on his phone. “Because Deacon’s goddess of a wife is making a feast worthy of a bunch of grungy rock stars—wait, scratch that. She’s making something delicious. Let’s see exactly what, shall we?”

  He strolled into the kitchen and held the phone out toward Harper. “Say hello, Mrs. McCoy.”

  Harper glanced up from whatever she was stirring on the stove and glared at his phone. “Crandall, you better not intend to get all up in my face right now. Cooking for a herd is serious business.”

  Nick flipped the phone toward himself. “She appears to not want to say hello to all of you lovely people. But that can’t be so, right? So let’s try again. Say hello to the fans, Harper.”

  Harper smiled brightly and lifted a dripping ladle in a semi-wave. “Hi y’all. Merry Christmas.”

  “Damn, she’s got gravy. Look at all that.” He peered into the pot and was halfway to sticking a finger in to taste when she bopped him on the back of his hand with her giant spoon. “Ow. Okay then, guess I’ll just have to try that later.” He leaned over the open stove door at the glistening bird roasting in a pan of its own juices. “That smells fucking fabulous. Turducken?” he asked, mainly to goad Harper.

  Harper would never allow such a hybrid in her kitchen, even if it happened to be borrowed. The kitchen, not the hybrid.

  “You wish, Crandall. This is a twenty-pound young turkey.”

  “Not to question your chef-tastic expertise, but I do believe Christmas is a holiday that requires ham.”

  She stepped back from the oven and sniffed in his general direction. “Did you have a turkey at Thanksgiving?”

  “Unless an undercooked, inedible one that nearly poisoned me counts, no.” So much for his experiments in the kitchen.

  “Exactly. And neither did the rest of the heathens. So we’re doing up a damn turkey with all the fixings.” She jerked a shoulder and eyed her bird. It was truly magnificent, in a dead fowl on a plate sort of way. “Besides, big guy favors turkey over ham.”

  Nick turned the phone back toward him. “Big guy is Deacon, in case you were worried she was stepping out on our bassist. By the way, ‘big guy’ doesn’t mean what you think it does, dirty birds.”

  “Yes, it does,” Harper called, smiling sweetly as he swiveled his phone back her way.

  “Well then, guess we’ll just leave that one alone, since this is a family show and shit.” Even he had to laugh as he pivoted toward the doorway to search out his next victim.

  Lila was framed perfectly in his shot, as cool as an icicle in a fuzzy blue sweater and white pants.

  And he nearly dropped his damn phone.

  She’d pinned her hair up in some kind of twisty thing that left a few curls dangling to her shoulders and she wore little makeup. Not that she ever went heavy with the stuff, but now he could see freckles dusting her cheeks, and her unpainted mouth looked as soft and pink as a candy cane that had already been sucked on.

  God, he wanted to lick her from her mouth to her toes, then start all over again.

  “Look who else arrived for our celebration,” he said hoarsely, hoping like hell he wasn’t giving himself away. He was so grateful she’d showed it was a freaking miracle he hadn’t tossed his phone aside and rushed forward to haul her into his arms. “Lila Shawcross, our esteemed rep from Ripper Records. Say hello to twenty million of our best friends.”

  She slid into PR mode effortlessly. “Hello, Oblivion family.” Her voice was butter-smooth, and she smiled as if she didn’t have a single care. But her eyes were troubled, and the shadows beneath them too dark. Had she not been sleeping? That stupid VIP concert had taken a toll on more than just the band and their personal relationship with each other. It appeared to have caused damage to Lila too.

  He didn’t know if he wanted to fuck her brainless or tuck her into his bed and watch over her to make sure she got some rest.

  Actually, yes, he did know. He wanted both of those things. He wanted to be by her side tonight and all the nights that came after, and to walk in the daylight with her without fear of who might see. He didn’t want to fucking hide, not when he’d never felt like this before.

  And that wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen.

  So he wouldn’t press. Wouldn’t demand more than she was ready to give. They would have tonight and tomorrow morning, and if t
hat was all they could have, he would try to accept it. Maybe one day he might even understand.

  Though he seriously fucking doubted it.

  “So there you have it, Oblivionites, we’re about to all chow down on some serious turkey and rock out with our cocks out.” In his case, he hoped that was a literal translation. “Happy holidays to all of you, and thank you for supporting us this year. You’re the rhythm that keeps us going. Rock on.” He uploaded the clip, tossed his phone on the island, then pointed at the mistletoe above Lila’s head. He didn’t know where it had come from, and he didn’t much care. It served his purposes all too well.

  “Well, look at that. Can’t break with holiday tradition, can we?” he asked, already advancing on Lila.

  She took a step back. “Nicholas—”

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” he murmured, not stopping until their toes bumped. Bare feet for him and white ankle boots for her, slouchy leather things that probably cost a mint. “Let’s eat, drink and be merry.”

  She cast a look up at the mistletoe before giving him a jerky nod. “Just a quick one.”

  He nodded and gripped her elbows, drawing her up to her toes so his mouth hovered over hers, barely a breath apart. He stared into her bluer-than-blue eyes, recording their exact shade in his mind, before slicking his tongue along the seam of her lips. She trembled and he curled his fingers around her arms, pulling her against him as he dove in deep.

  There was no taking his time, no patience and no being careful. His mouth raced over hers and one hand skated up her back to grip her head. His fingers jabbed through her updo, loosening pins and curls, and he explored her as thoroughly as if he’d never kissed her before.

  Because he hadn’t. Not like this. He’d had her and lost her and had somehow gotten her back again for one shining, perfect moment.

  He was scarcely aware of turning her toward the island and pressing her back to it, of reaching down to pull her hips sharply into his own. The feel of her warm softness closing around the steel of his cock through his jeans tore a groan from his throat and she absorbed it, curling her tongue around his, her kiss every bit as hungry. She clutched his shirt and dragged him even closer, rising up to grind her breasts into his chest. This time she was the one who made a sound, though he wasn’t sure if it was from pleasure or pain. Perhaps both. And relief. Sheer, fucking relief that neither of them had to go without for one more second.

  Then he heard the clapping.

  Eyes still closed, he drew back and hauled in a breath. Lila’s mumbled, “oh shit,” made him finally turn his head and open his eyes.

  Although he wished he hadn’t.

  His entire band was clustered in the doorway, and they were all laughing or pumping their fists or in the case of Jazz, giggling and clapping.

  “Now that’s how you kiss under the mistletoe,” Simon said to Margo, whipping out a sprig to hold over her head. “I intend to invoke this often, by the way.”

  Right after Simon and Margo started their so-not-innocent peck, Gray decided to go for it as well. He tugged on Jazz’s arm, and she leaped onto his hips before he spun her into a laughing kiss under the actual mistletoe.

  That left Deacon to approach Harper, who brandished her long-handled fork to hold him off. “Uh uh, mister, I’m not into public displays—” Then she grinned and tossed down her fork. “Who am I kidding? I so am.”

  “Cop car,” Nick reminded her over his shoulder. She scowled before Deacon hoisted her right off her feet and into his arms. Then she wasn’t scowling anymore.

  Nick glanced at Lila, who was watching the display around her with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “Ready for some turkey?” He slipped a hand in her back pocket and spoke softly against her cheek. “Unless you’re in the mood for something else…”

  Part Two

  Lila

  Lila wasn’t in the mood for something else.

  Liar, liar. She so was.

  For a week and a half, she’d been walking around in a perpetual state of pain, anger and misery. If what had happened that night with the band wasn’t bad enough, the aftermath and what she’d learned about Nick had nearly broken her. She’d expected the other shoe to drop with her soon-to-be ex-husband, as well as her boss, Donovan Lewis, the head of Ripper Records. But everything had been quiet after the pictures she’d received that had torn apart her life.

  Too quiet.

  Something was coming, she could feel it.

  Not tonight though. She wouldn’t allow anything to detract from this celebration. From the moment she’d walked into the band house, the energy had almost bowled her over. Happy, excited energy. The babies were babbling, and all the couples were laughing and kissing and there were Christmas lights everywhere…

  Christmas lights. And Christmas packages. Dammit, she’d left hers in the car. She’d been so nervous about attending tonight, knowing she and Nick were on the outs, and uncertain about facing everyone else’s joy. But just this once, she wanted to belong.

  Needed it more than she could worry about rejection or what she might be kidding herself about now. Like, oh, that a gorgeous, obnoxious, sweet, sexy-as-hell rock star could want her in spite of all the obstacles that made everything between them so difficult.

  “I have to go back to my car.” She licked her kiss-swollen lips and shifted uncomfortably at the pulse between her thighs. That pulse might as well have been labeled Nick-freaking-Crandall, because he was the only one who caused it so effortlessly.

  “Escaping already?” Nick’s tone was light, but the fingers he clamped around her elbow were anything but.

  “I forgot gifts. I mean, I have them, but I forgot to bring them in.”

  “I’ll come with you.” His hold only tightened. “We’ll be right back,” he told the others.

  “Yeah, and I have to call that Santa dude. He left a message on my cell.” Deacon planted another kiss on his wife’s head and stepped back.

  “What Santa dude?” Nick asked.

  Gray set down Jazz and frowned at Deacon. “Dammit, really? He better not be pulling out.”

  “Yeah, pulling out is something that is just not done in this house. Evidence A, all the screamers down the hall.” Nick smirked and tugged on Lila’s arm.

  “Dinner will be ready soon,” Harper warned. “Y’all better be seated around my table when I serve or I’ll pull out a can of rock star whoop ass.”

  Lila smiled at Harper. She was her kind of woman. Didn’t put up with any nonsense and herded the lot of them in the way they seemed to need.

  Of course, she also had a handsome husband, a successful catering business and an adorable kid, so she’d obviously pulled some winning numbers in the life lotto.

  Unlike you.

  Let’s see, her husband was a serial philanderer and had been for years. They’d slept separately for half a decade, which consisted of most of their marriage. She also was on the verge of divorce—the one thing she was overjoyed about, actually—and had an incredible career managing the drama-prone members of Oblivion and the other bands she worked with. But those pictures had thrown both of those things into jeopardy and—

  And I’m not thinking about any of that tonight, remember?

  She blew out a breath and focused on Nick. He’d stopped to pull on his sneakers, then he’d resumed practically dragging her out the door and across the stoop.

  Oh Nick. He was in a category of his own.

  She’d never expected to fall into bed with him after Oblivion’s disastrous show at the Blue Rhino a month ago. Barely a month. Yet she had, and for a couple of weeks, it had been intense and insane and wonderful. He’d even gone home with her to meet her parents at their apple orchard in New York, for God’s sake. Not only had he gone, he’d wanted to go.

  Forget wanted. He’d insisted. The trip had been the best one of her life.

  “You’re never this quiet unless you’re about to come.”

  That snapped her out of her thoughts right quick. “I’m definitely not qu
iet then,” she said, quickening her steps to match his. Not that it made much difference, since he didn’t relinquish his iron grip.

  “No, but I knew saying that would make you talk to me.”

  She fought not to smile and almost succeeded. “I wasn’t not talking to you.”

  “So you say. Where the hell are you parked?”

  She pointed down the block and he slipped his hand down her arm until their fingers tangled together. Immediately, she glanced around for cameramen hanging out of trees or other possible members of the paparazzi. Oblivion had been getting way too much attention lately—a lot of it negative—and she wasn’t about to add to it right now.

  “No one’s around,” he said quietly, and something about his tone made her feel ashamed. As if she was a burden on him, when she’d never asked for any of this.

  This whole situation was so ridiculous, but she was the one with the power to change it. At least for one blessed day.

  And night.

  “Why are you holding my hand?” Her voice was equally quiet as they walked up the street. Strolling now. Like any other couple, except they weren’t.

  “Because I haven’t had the chance in ten days and it feels wrong.” He came to a stop and turned her toward him, lifting a hand to her probably thoroughly fucked-up hair. He swept aside a few loose curls, his gaze searching her face. “I don’t know what happened the night of the concert. Why you shut me out when we’d been so close. But I don’t care.”

  She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. He clearly still wanted to have sex with her, so he must just see her as a booty call. In spite of everything she thought she’d glimpsed in his eyes in those unforgettable two weeks, all that she’d felt in his touch, he must be in it just for the orgasms. He obviously liked the sex enough to deal with the crazy that was her life.

  “You don’t care,” she repeated, hoping his admission would stomp out her feelings for him once and for all.