STONE (Daring the Kane Brothers) Page 6

  I knock on the bedroom door, and it swings open. Damn! My heart stops. Some warriors hold their shield in their heart. Some soldiers show their fight in their hands. Some angels come garbed in goth with blue-black spiky hair, hiding their true powers behind purple-colored eyes.

  “Hey.” She glances at the duffel bag in my hand.

  “Ya sure you’re okay with this?” Averting my eyes from her perky tits and belly peeking out between her shirt and jeans, I lift the bag.

  “Yes.” Her eyes move back to mine. “Who’s coming again?”

  Walking into the room, I drop the bag on the floor, then push my sleeves back up to my elbows. “Trigger, the drummer and Derrick, the lead singer. You’ve met them both?”

  “Yeah, I think so, and you told them I’m here? They’re all right with it?”

  “They ain’t got a say in the matter,” he replies in an “I answer to no one” tone. “But yeah, I gave them the heads-up.”

  “How nice of you.” She gives me one of her cheeky smirks.

  “I bet you didn’t think I had it in me,” I tease back. It’s how we’ve come to communicate over the past few days. It’s better than acting on my true feelings. At least, it is for me. Otherwise, she could’ve found her sassy naked ass tied to the bed all week while I worked on discovering what makes her come. I relish the challenges.

  “Oh-ho!” Her eyes twinkle with laughter as she boldly takes in the length of my body. “There’s a lot I didn’t think you had in you, but you’ve proved me otherwise these past few days.”

  I let my eyes run over her body as she had mine. Honestly, I’ve been doing a lot of it since she arrived. Before, I tried not to look at her. Just as with everyone else, I tried to hide how I felt. Now, I got the fucking blinds pulled for her to see right inside. “Like what?”

  “Hmm…” The vibration of her voice tickles the underneath of my balls. Fuck! I’ve been good about keeping the fucker in my pants under control. When she makes that sound, though, I imagine her doing it with an arched back while I’m sampling her pussy. I wonder what she tastes like. Is she sweet or sour, salty or sharp like her quick-witted tongue? Fuck, I love that tongue, the way it tastes and the way it gives me a nice lashing now and again when I deserve it.

  She’s the only one who challenges me. My family doesn’t do it, not since they found out about my drug addiction. They think I’m fragile, so around them, I keep to myself. It’s hard to watch the people you love treat you like you’re breakable even after you’ve deactivated bombs and shielded people from them. I got the proof in my back. I guess it’s the ones that I couldn’t save, those are the ones my family thinks have broken me.

  They’re probably right.

  “Let me see, things that you’ve surprised me with.” She taps her bottom lip. “There’s the omelet you made me yesterday. It was delicious.” She moves toward me. It’s slow and deliberate. My heart and cock come to full attention. “There’s the triple shot you did last night. Very impressive.” Her eyes drop to my lips. “And then there’s the way you kiss.” She stops, our bodies nearly touching.

  I stare down at her mouth, mine watering. “You like the way I kiss?”

  Her tongue slips out and slowly runs the length of her plump pink lips. “Maybe,” she answers, finishing the tease with a bite to her wet and glistening bottom lip.

  “Maybe? I’ve never had any complaints before,” I say, her smile approving my tease. I link my pinkie around hers, allowing myself the small, innocent touch. “Would you like me to kiss you again?”

  Heavy-lidded eyes flash to mine. “Oh, are we asking for permission now? As I recall, the first time you kissed me, you told me you were going to do it and then you did.”

  “Did it turn you on?”

  Her chin lifts, causing her mouth to sneak closer to mine. “What if it did?”

  “Well…” I pause. The breeze of her warm breath bathes over me. I hear the doorbell. “Saved by the bell.” I smile. “But I’ll definitely remember that for the next time.”

  “Yes, the next time you need a time-out?”

  “Ah, you remember.” I laugh, turning to leave the room with her following alongside me.

  “You haven’t needed a time-out since we’ve gotten here?” Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she stares up at me with her large cupid-looking eyes.

  “No.” I rub my knuckles under her soft chin, wanting to lean forward to steal a kiss. “I haven’t wanted to beat your ass since we’ve gotten here.”

  “Not yet.” She smirks as if she knows she’s toying with my cock.

  “That’s right.” I pinch her stubborn chin and lift her head, her eyes sinking deeper into my callous soul. “What was it you liked again, to be assaulted or attacked?”

  “Attacked.” Her eyebrows rise. “So, the urge to kiss me hasn’t come to you in the past three days either?”

  “On the contrary.” I bend closer to her, daring our mouths to touch. “The urge has come to me every second of every minute with every day.”

  “Then why haven’t you?”

  I stand, releasing her chin. “Perhaps, I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me?”

  Her cupid eyes round out. “Ah…I…I—”

  I smile when I hear a familiar voice call out. “Hello?”

  “Trigger’s here.” My smile grows bigger.

  “We’re not done here.” She grins.

  “I hope not.” I wink and head for the front foyer to meet my longtime friend. “Hey, dude!” I grab his bag, then look out the front door but don’t see a van. “Where’re your drums?”

  “I had a buddy drop me off. Getty’s got ’em. He’ll be here in about an hour.” Cautious eyes flick to me. “Or two, but fuck, it could even take the little shit three hours to get here. One can never know with that kid.”

  I laugh, my friend knowing me all too well. “Just better be before we get on stage tonight.” I laugh.

  “Right.” He enters the living room, rubbing his shaved head. “Fuck, I got shit-faced last night and—” He stops when his eyes land on my company.

  “You know Jaggs?”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re Crash’s, er, ah, friend?” He points at her. “Don’t you work at his shop too?”

  “Yes.” She nods.

  “That’s cool.” He glances around the place. “Derrick here yet?” Just as the question comes rolling out of his mouth, our heads turn to the slamming of the front door.

  Derrick comes strutting in like he owns the place. “Hey.” He looks at Trigger. “Hey.” He spots me. “Hey.” His swagger turns up full blast when he spots the female in the house.

  “Hi,” Jaggs replies with little enthusiasm, something Derrick isn’t used to. Normally, chicks fall at his feet. Not Jaggs. That’s why I like her. She doesn’t go all fangirl ’cause a guy has a guitar in his hand. It takes a lot more to impress her like omelets and triple shots.

  Fuck. I want her.

  “I heard Stone was bringing a guest for the week.” Derrick pulls the metal sunglasses from his face and sticks them in the front of his tee shirt. “But I didn’t know it was you. Jaggs, right?”

  “Yeah,” she says, lacking the surprise that he knows who she is.

  Fuck, she’s cool.

  And…I’ll say it again. I am not sharing her, not with anyone.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you with the rest of the Kane clan at some of our shows.” Derrick drops his bag and heads right for her.

  “She works at Crash’s shop,” Trigger says, oblivious to Derrick trying to move in on my girl. That’s what he does. He wants what everyone else has, but when he gets it, he’s still not satisfied. I’ve watched him go through just as many bass guitars as he has women.

  “Yes, that’s right. You’re a mechanic.” The sleazy gleam he’s aiming at Jaggs ignites my blood, and as if he feels the heat, his eyes slide over to me, then back at her. “So what brings yo
u here for the week?”

  I’m beside Jaggs before she can respond. It’s territorial, but I drop a protective arm over her shoulders. “Me.” I pull Jaggs closer to my body.

  “Oh.” Derrick smiles, eyes sparkling as if the information has some benefit to it. He has a new toy to taunt me with, and I gave him the ammunition. He’s gonna give me shit when it comes to Jaggs. Since I’ve been back, nothing he’s done has bothered me, and I think it pisses off the egotistical asshole. And that alone has made it much easier to deal with the ass. But Jaggs, she’s not like ripping apart a new song or trying to outshine my guitar solo. No, she’s got more heart and more passion than anything I could write or pick, and Derrick is not going to ruin her for me too. He can have the vocals and the lead. He can’t have her.

  “Oh, I didn’t know.” Derrick’s sly eyes move to Jaggs. “How does Crash feel about you being here?”

  I move in front of Jaggs. “He’s probably pissed I stole his best mechanic for the week. I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

  He leans to the right to look at Jaggs. “So you and Crash aren’t—”

  I shift to the side to block the fucker’s view. “Crash is married.”

  “No shit?” Derrick’s brows dent. He thinks he knows everything.

  “Hey, Derrick, come on,” Trigger says, finally catching on, no doubt spotting my dangerous glare. “I’ll help ya bring the rest of your shit in.” He looks at me. “Where’re our rooms?”

  Not blinking or breaking my contact with Derrick, I reply, “You get the first one upstairs, and Derrick can have the one down here. Getty will have to crash on the couch.”

  “Got it.” Trigger nods. “Dude, let’s go.” He smacks Derrick in the chest.

  The malevolence slips from Derrick’s eyes as a false sheen of niceness takes its place. He leans again to the left to look around me. “It’s great to see you again, Jaggs.” He turns back to me with a cocky smile. “Stone.”

  “Derrick,” I grit between clenched teeth. It’s been a long time since I let the dickhead get to me, and now he thinks he’s got some power. I watch him and Trigger clear the room, then turn around to catch Jaggs marching up the stairs.

  Shit! She’s gotta be upset. I claimed her like a piece of meat, and she’s not the kind of girl who needs or wants to be owned by any man. I’m not sure she even wants one. In fact, at first sight, a couple of my brothers thought maybe she was a lesbian. Not me. From the first time I met her, I felt her desire. It’s strong and effective, but she keeps it caged. Like my brother Crash, she likes to hide behind blue overalls and motor oil.

  I take the stairs two at a time and enter the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me. Jaggs looks up from her cell. “Sorry about that,” I say to the wall behind her.

  She tosses her phone on the bed and swallows me whole with those all-consuming eyes. “You don’t have to apologize for your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend, and I wasn’t apologizing for him. He’s a dick. It’s me. I shouldn’t have acted like we were, ya know.”

  “What?” Her head tilts and lips purse. “A thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are we?” She moves toward me. “Acquaintances?”

  “No.” I stand firm, shoulders squared, feet planted to the ground.

  Her hands flip in the air. “Friends?”

  “Yeah, well, no. I don’t know.” I rush a hand through my hair, fixating on the wall again. “Do you want to leave?”

  “Why?” She touches me under the chin as I had her earlier until our eyes lock. “Is it getting too hard for you?”

  Fuck. I want her. I swallow hard. “No.” The truth comes out in barely a whisper.

  Her thumb gently strokes the hairs covering my chin. My heart races. This is what I’ve been waiting for, her surrender. I’ve wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her into a stupor, but I want her to want it. I want her to want me.

  “Well, you better figure it out. It’s like you told Derrick, you’re why I’m here.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sitting on a huge, beat-up amplifier on the stage of the historic 3000-seat theater and performing arts venue, I watch the band set up. Trigger messes with the drums, and Stone tests the guitars while Derrick is backstage working on some girl who looks just out of her teens. It’s a lot of work for most of the guys. Getty takes care of all the sound equipment, and he also manages the band’s merchandise, like CDs, T-shirts, stickers, and posters.

  I don’t think Stone likes Derrick much. It looks like Trigger and Stone are good friends, though. They joke around a lot, and Trigger can get Stone to smile. It’s still weird seeing Stone happy. Whenever I used to see him at a show, he’d get up on stage, head bent with his hair covering his face, and he’d work the guitar. He didn’t seem to care about what the audience thought of him. It was like he was up there all by himself playing the guitar.

  About an hour before the show begins, the curtain closes, and you can hear the seats filling. I glance over at Stone, and something seems to shift in him. It’s like he’s starting shut down mode.

  “No, I’ll get it,” he calls out to Trigger and heads off the stage. He holds up a finger to me. “I’ll be right back. I need to grab Luna.”

  “Who?” I jump down from the amplifier. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No.” He waves his hand. “It’s probably crazy out there by now.” He jogs down the stairs, and the second he hits the hall to the front part of the venue, he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, bends his head, and walks down the aisle.

  Who the hell is Luna?

  I move to the hallway opening. Usually, I see them out at a local bar or something, and I know they have a large group of followers, but damn, every seat in the house is full.

  A few minutes later, I hear a girl yelling, “There he is! Hey, over here!” Searching the floor, I spot a group of girls, boobs falling out of their tops, waving their hands in the air trying to get someone’s attention.

  “Stone!” The tallest girl with the biggest boobs and the shortest skirt, reaches her hand in the air. “Stone! Over here! Stone! I love you, Stone!”

  I spot Stone, hand gripped around the neck of a guitar, hair shielding his face, eyes focused on the floor. Ignoring the hollering woman like a boss, he continues down the aisle back to me. The second he clears the front, his head lifts. He tosses the hair from his face and holds up the guitar with a small smile that reaches his sparkling brandy-colored eyes. “I got her.”

  “Luna?”

  “Yeah, she’s my backup.”

  “Good.” I nod, understanding the mean, self-centered and reclusive jerk-off. It’s all a big fat façade for his fans, but if that’s true, then why does he continue the ruse for his family?

  A guy with a set of headphones calls out to the band, “Two-minutes.”

  “Getty.” Stone calls out, and the kid comes running over. “Can you take Jaggs to her seat?” His eyes flash to me. “Sorry, you can’t hang back here. Policy. Do you mind sitting by yourself to watch the show, or if you want, you can hang with Getty in the lobby?”

  “No. I want to see the show.”

  “Alright.” He lifts unnamed guitar number one over his shoulder, and just like that, he’s in rock star mode.

  And I am dismissed.

  “Come on,” Getty says, directing me off the stage.

  “Jaggs,” I hear Stone say from behind. My heart jumps. I spin around as he makes his way through the darkness off the stage. He stops, leans close to my ear, and whispers, “Now that you got your hate goggles off, maybe you could watch the show this time, and ya never know, you might catch a glimpse of the real me out there.” He presses a soft kiss to my cheek before evaporating back into the darkness leading to the stage.

  I follow Getty to the center of the first row. He points at an empty seat and nods. “Thanks,” I say, taking one quick lo
ok at Stone’s female entourage two rows back before sitting down.

  A few minutes later, the lights dim, and a single spotlight strikes the stage, illuminating Stone. The room goes silent. Smoke circles up from his ankles, body moving in slow motion as he steps closer to the front of the stage. With his head lowered and hair obscuring his face, all I see is the bright glint from the key dangling around his neck on his bare chest and the guitar in his hand. And from the first pluck of his guitar string, I fall victim to the slow build of his intro.

  Fans around me jump to their feet, shaking their fists and cheering, but I’m in a trance. He’s good. I mean, he’s really, really good. How haven’t I noticed it before? The lights brighten as the rest of the band joins in, but I don’t recognize the vocals or the drums. All I hear, the only thing I see, all I feel is Stone pulsating through me.

  For the next ninety minutes, I sit enthralled and spellbound, oblivious to everyone around me. I’ve heard most of the songs they played at other gigs, but this time, paying special attention to Stone, it’s like they’re new to me. Stone puts everything—heart, soul and physical being—into his guitar, so while listening, you experience it all with him. The journey he takes you on leaves you wanting more. Now I understand why there’s a group of girls shouting their undying love for him. If I didn’t know the entirety of him, I’d easily fall for him too. If I didn’t know how broken he is, hell, he let me have my revenge at his expense. I thought him a monster. I thought him heartless, selfish, and a waste of human life, yet I’ve discovered he’s the complete opposite.