CHAPTER 19 #2
“Yeah, they do.” It surprised her how well they harmonized.
Dylan took a gulp of wine. “You should definitely sleep with him.”
“Dylan,” she hissed. “Keep your voice down. I still need to talk to him.”
The song ended and everyone applauded.
“Happy Merry Christmas!” Nadie called out the song like James Brown directing his band. It was her niece’s second favorite Christmas song, almost tied with the first.
With a guitar pick between his fingers, Cary tapped his lips. “I don’t know that one.”
“Key of G.” Bert played the simple chord on his guitar. “Follow my lead.”
Everyone sang along except for Cary and Tyler. She couldn’t carry a tune if she were in the Abbey Road Studios’ echo chamber.
Again the room erupted with clapping and cheers.
“Good job,” Bert said to his family.
“I think I’ve been on the road too long.” Cary shrugged out of his guitar. “I don’t know any new Christmas songs.”
“It’s not new,” Tyler said.
“Daddy wrote it.” Dylan pointed at Bert, spilling wine onto the floor. “Didn’t you, Daddy?”
“I did.” Bert covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.
Tyler shook her head. “Oh, Dylan. You really must learn how to pace yourself.”
At the stroke of midnight on Cary Kingston’s thirty-ninth birthday, Tyler snuck him into her childhood bedroom like a rebellious teenager. But before anything happened, she needed to know where she stood.
She handed him a box wrapped in “Happy Birthday” paper.
“You already gave me a present,” Cary said, pushing the gift away. “I’ll say it again. The best present ever.”
“It’s for your birthday.” Tyler clapped in excitement. “Open it.”
Cary peeled the wrapping paper like a Christmas orange, thumbs digging in. “Is this a onesie?” he asked, lifting the lid.
“A Winnipeg Jets onesie. I have the same one. If we’re going to start dressing alike—”
“Start?” he joked. “Thanks. We can wear them tonight. Are you ready to go?”
“No.”
She sat on the edge of her twin-size bed and puffed out her cheeks before exhaling. This was it. The time had come. But what if he wanted to keep it casual? Could she play along?
“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked.
Her eyes became heavy, her conscience weighing in. “I think we want different things.”
“What are you talking about?”
She stalled to collect her thoughts. “I’m thirty-two, and I want to settle down. Not right this minute, but I want a family, and these things can take time, years even.”
Cary ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, I’m not sure how that means we want different things. Is it because I’m on the road?”
“No, that’s your job.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I get it.”
“Is there something I should know?”
She blinked back the tears on her lash line. “I’m not trying to change you. I don’t want to change you.”
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want to change you either.”
“I know it’s stupid.” Her voice softened as she spoke. “But I want happily ever after. Or some version of it.”
He stared at the floor, not saying a word. Had she blown it? Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone? A million women would have killed to be in her position. And here she was, making demands on him.
“And you aren’t happy, I take it?” he said after a beat.
How could she explain it without hurting his feelings or giving him an ultimatum? “Marry me or else we’re done” didn’t seem right. It was too soon for that conversation.
She continued, “I want something more than this, and you’re this eternally single guy—”
“Eternally single guy?” His eyes widened, his mouth falling open. “Is that really how you see me?”
She nodded.
He took her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Babe, that’s not true. I’ve always wanted a family. That’s the dream. Look at me—I’m almost forty. A washed-up musician, heart way too open, waiting for someone to build a life with.”
“You’re hardly washed up.” She smirked, not buying it. “If you always wanted a family, why didn’t you have one sooner?”
“I don’t know. I guess I put my career first.” He shrugged. “Also, I was surrounded by emotionally unavailable women and bad lighting.”
She snorted. “Fair.”
“But seriously?” He leaned in. “I haven’t met the right person. Until now. So, will you be my girlfriend?”
Girlfriend. Did he just say girlfriend?
“I’d love to be your girlfriend . . . but I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for a musician.”
“I’ll quit music.” He wiped his palms on his jeans like he meant it.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re insane.”
“Then let’s be insane together.”
“I never want you to stop playing music.”
“Thank god.” He pressed his hands together in mock prayer. “I love rock and roll.”
“You and Joan Jett.”
He grinned. “So, is that a yes?”
“That’s a yes.”
Cary leaned in and kissed her. “Are you ready to go?”
“Do you mind if I meet you there?” She gave him a crooked grin. “I need to clean up—Dylan’s down for the count.”
“Want me to stay and help?”
“No, thank you.”
Cary backed toward the door. “Okay. But don’t make me wait forever.” He threw her a wink, and she was still smiling when the door clicked shut behind him.
An hour later, Tyler pressed her ear to the door of the Countess of Dufferin Suite. A guitar strummed softly from inside, but it wasn’t one of Cary’s songs. Maybe it was something new he was working on. Hopefully, it would be the hit he’d been chasing so desperately.
The song ended and she knocked on the door. This time there’d be no dog to distract them. She’d left Rory at her dad’s house. He seemed happy to hang out with Wilbur and eat cookies with his grandpa.
Cary cracked open the door. “Come on in.”
“What a dump,” she teased, stepping out of her boots.
“Sorry,” he said, sinking onto the loveseat. “The bigger suite was taken.”
She pointed to his guitar. “I heard you playing something?”
“Just writing. I’m not sure what it is yet.”
She pulled out her topknot and gave her head a shake. “Are you writing a song about me?”
“You’re so vain, babe.” He laughed and reached for the guitar again.
“Make sure it doesn’t suck, okay?” she joked.
This from the guy who’d won more ASCAP Songwriter of the Year awards than anyone in history.
“No promises.” He picked up his phone. “I’ve been watching this video of Nadie singing ‘Silver Bells.’ Would Dylan mind if I posted it?”
“Knock yourself out.” Cary’s posts always drew thousands, if not millions, of views. “The song Bert wrote.” He put down his phone and strummed a few chords. “The Christmas one . . .”
“What about it?”
“Has he ever recorded it?”
“No. He’s more of a musician than a songwriter.” She transferred the elastic band onto her wrist. “I think he wrote it before Perry was born if I’m not mistaken.”
Cary stood and crossed the room. “I’m opening a bottle of red. Unless you want champagne?”
She shook her head. “No, red’s great.”
He pulled a bottle from a Liquor Market bag on the side table.
“What—did you buy out the city’s entire stock of Penfolds Grange?”
He poured two glasses. “You know, I probably did.”
“Happy birthday!” she said, lifting her glass.
“Thanks.” He sat beside her and clinked her glass. “How about coming with me to LA?”
She curled her lip, not expecting an invitation. Plus, she didn’t have clothes for warm weather and couldn’t take Rory across the border without proper documentation. “I can’t. The World Juniors start tomorrow.”
“And?”
“And it’s the best hockey tournament of the year.”
Cary snapped his fingers. “You can watch it in LA.” He picked up his phone from the coffee table. “I’ll order the channel.”
“We watch it together,” she said. “At my dad’s house. My brothers and their families will be there. It’s a holiday thing.”
He sighed. “I’m back on the road next week.”
He didn’t have to remind her the situation was temporary. And even if she borrowed her sister’s clothes and left Rory in Winnipeg, she couldn’t swing another charge on her credit card, especially a first-class ticket.
“I know.” She gave a small nod, then pivoted. “Kim told me about the gift you gave her.” Her bestie had texted a photo earlier—from a hot tub in Whistler. “You’re too generous.”
“Did I tell you I’m keeping her on after Vegas comes back?”
“Ugh.” She gritted her teeth. “How does Sebastien feel about that?”
“The last time I checked, my name’s on the ticket.” He leaned back and laced his fingers through hers. “Come with me. Just for a few days.”
“Why don’t you stay here?” she asked. It was a reasonable request, given he was already there. “Joe’s family is leaving tomorrow and there’s room at my dad’s.”
He shook her hand. “Deal. But we’re sleeping here.”
After they finished the bottle of wine, Tyler kissed him, the taste of red still lingering on her lips. Her mouth was warm, her breath sweet.
“I’ve got another present for you,” she whispered, tipping her head toward the bedroom, which now felt like it was an entire galaxy away.
Cary’s eyes followed her gaze, then dropped back to hers. “We don’t have to—”
“Yes, we do,” she cut in, her voice soft but certain. “I mean, I want to.”
He searched her face, serious for a beat. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t blink. “One hundred percent.”
I want your sex.
He kissed her neck, under her ear. “What about—”
“Protection? I have a cervical cup. After my ex, I got tested for everything. I haven’t been with anyone since.”
He seemed perplexed. “That was what . . . two years ago?”
“Something like that.” She didn’t want to tell him it was closer to three.
“Well, I haven’t been with anyone either.”
She smiled. “All good then.”
The bedroom was dark, except for a sliver of light slipping through the curtain, casting a soft glow.
Tyler sat on the edge of the freshly made bed and pulled him forcefully toward her.
Cary kissed her like he needed her breath to live, and her body tingled from head to toe in anticipation of knowing him—all of him, in every way.
She kissed him deeply, hungry for more, running her fingers through his hair while he caressed her bare breasts beneath her hoodie, nipples hard and sensitive to his touch.
His callused fingers skimmed her skin, sending shivers through her as he kneaded gently, teasing the soft curves.
She twitched when he traced his fingers lower, down her stomach, reaching between her thighs.
Instinctively, she parted her legs, moaning softly when he brushed his thumb over her.
Savoring the moment, she closed her eyes as his slow, steady fingers stroked in light circles, unraveling her with each touch.
The pleasure coiled tighter, heat rising, until she swelled like a wave in the ocean.
Her wetness seeped through her leggings, the pressure building, her body surrendering to him as pleasure crashed over her, making her toes go numb.
Her hand trailed to his zipper, fingers pressing against the rigid heat beneath his jeans.
His tongue faltered in her mouth, a grunt escaping as she squeezed.
But with a swift motion, he seized her wrist, pinning her hands above her head as she sank into the mattress.
Her stomach tensed when he hooked his fingers into her leggings, dragging them down inch by inch.
Cool air kissed her bare skin, her breath quickening in anticipation of his mouth, his touch—of the sweet torment to come.
A slow grin spread across his face as he slid her red lace panties down her legs, watching as she eased back against the pillows. His fingertip traced the edge of her sex, teasing until she jolted, then melted into submission.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin, sending a shiver up her spine. She bit her bottom lip as he pressed kisses down her thigh, his tongue and fingers moving in sync, practiced and precise—like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
He played her body like an instrument, each stroke deliberate, each touch expertly placed. The slow, firm sweep of his tongue sent pleasure spiraling through her, building in waves until she came undone, trembling against the sheets. She’d been right about him—he knew how to make a woman sing.
“Come here,” she whispered, pulling him close, tasting herself on his lips as she kissed him again.
Their eyes locked in a silent promise. Love filled the space between them, woven into every shared breath.
After an epic make-out session, he tugged her hoodie over her head, the dim light catching in his wide eyes as she pressed her breasts together.
She had worn this lingerie for him—just this once.
His fingers found the clasp of her bra, undoing it with one hand—effortless, practiced.
When the fabric slipped away, he exhaled sharply, covering his mouth as if momentarily lost in the sight of her.
His lips sealed around her nipple, his hands touching her breasts in slow, deliberate circles.
With eager fingers, she tugged at his zipper, unfastening the top button of his jeans. The fabric of his boxer briefs stretched taut, straining against him. She cycled through a breath, her pulse hammering, and slid her hand beneath the waistband.
Holy hell.
Her fingers couldn’t close around him, but that didn’t stop her from trying—he was already hard, thick, unyielding. He caught her wrist mid-stroke, guiding her to watch as he stroked himself, slow and measured. His arousal throbbed between them, ready and heavy.
He kept his promise, kissing every inch of her skin with reverence before making slow, deliberate love to her. Passionate yet tender, playful yet intense—he unraveled her in ways she never imagined.
Their fingers laced above her head, his touch grounding and electric. Every deliberate thrust sent waves of pleasure through her, drawing soft whimpers from her lips. She clung to him, lost in the moment, as the symphony of their bodies built to a crescendo.
With a final, shuddering push, he found his release, his breath ragged against her neck as he collapsed against her, their hearts pounding in unison. She held him close, savoring the weight of him, the quiet aftershock of something deeper than desire.