CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Gizmo
E xhaustion hits the second I step out of the studio. When I’m within those four walls, I’m invigorated. Motivated. But the minute that door opens, the moment the music and creativity stops, I’m spent.
That and maybe— just maybe —I’m waiting until I know Hendrix is asleep. I pushed every limit I could earlier without breaking them. My body remembers all too well the feel of her ass nestled up against my cock, and it hasn’t exactly forgiven me yet.
“Christ,” I mutter as I pad down the hallway toward the kitchen in bare feet. I roll my shoulders, muscles stiff from playing too damn long.
But hedging my bets seemed like it worked. The house is quiet, the kind of silence that makes you feel the space all around you. Makes you want to create noise to break it up and at the same time tiptoe so as to respect it.
I’ve had some of my best creativity runs in this kind of silence but not tonight. Nowhere close. My mind was too occupied with Hendrix and the softness of her skin and her intoxicating scent.
When I reach the kitchen, I stop short.
There’s a place setting on the island with something wrapped in tinfoil next to the plate. As I approach, I find a note scribbled on a torn piece of paper beside it.
Thought you might be hungry. Here’s to celebrating another first. Our first fight. Our first make-up. Our first successful Operation Live-A-Little. Food is in the warming drawer. Don’t say I never do anything nice for my husband.
-H
A smirk tugs at my lips. Smart-ass .
And as much as she might be, she’s the one who took the time to be considerate. To take care of me after a long day’s work.
Can’t say anyone has ever done that for me before. Or rather, maybe I’ve never given someone the opportunity to do that.
There’s something to be said about that, but my brain’s too tired to recognize it.
I peel back the foil, and the scent of garlic bread hits me. My mouth waters as I move to the other side of the island and pull open the warming drawer to find a plate loaded with pasta and what looks like a bolognese.
Jesus. The woman knows a way to a man’s heart.
Have I eaten since breakfast? Hell . No wonder I’m starving.
I grab the plate, sit down and dig in. Homecooked meals are a rarity for a guy like me. Sure, I have a chef prepare meals for me and leave them in my fridge, but it’s not like this. Not even close.
This is a million times better than what I normally grab with one of the guys. We’re the take-out kings when we’re writing an album, but they’re crazy if they think I’d share any of this with them.
The first bite is as good as the food smells. The woman can bake and cook. Lucky fucking me.
My phone vibrates on the counter. Thirty something missed texts ? Fuck me . I skim through the ones that matter as I eat and fire off responses to the guys and their bullshit razzing over why I’m MIA. Most of which have to do with Hendrix. A majority of them cruder with each unanswered text.
Fucking assholes.
But I finish my texts and my food with a grin on my lips.
She should have told me she cooked. I would have eaten with her. Kept her company. The thought strikes as I’m washing my dishes, and I realize how inconsiderate I’ve been to her.
I asked Hendrix to pack her life up for me and yet, I haven’t made any adjustments to mine. If the roles were reversed, I’d revel in the solitude and the silence I’ve left her to have. I’d spend all day in my head creating music or drinking beer by the pool and relaxing.
But she’s not me. She’s without her comforts, without her normal surroundings, and honestly, she’s forbidden to really tell anyone where she is. So does this feel like a prison to her? Being cooped up in this house where everything is someone else’s and that someone else never seems to be around?
Yeah. No doubt it does.
It doesn’t matter how nice a house is, the walls can still feel like confinement. I know that for a fact. That’s how I first felt when stardom struck and I was struggling to adjust.
But then she goes and does this.
I scrape a hand down my face and exhale harshly.
I promised Nathaniel. I told him I wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t complicate shit. I need her to help me pull this charade off and the last thing I want to do is fuck things up.
But damn if she isn’t making this difficult to stand my ground.
I said what I said to her earlier though, didn’t I? I talked the talk. I saw her reaction—wide eyes, hitched breath, pebbled nipples—with my own eyes.
She wants me just as bad. I’d hang one of my Grammys on it.
A four-month fling? Nothing serious. Nothing deep. She said she’s sworn off men so I know she wouldn’t be clingy and ask for more. The only thing I’d have to worry about is it ending sooner than our marriage does.
At least that’s my reasoning as I take a shower, brush my teeth, and get ready for bed. But that reasoning ends up carrying me down the hall, past the dimly lit loft area, and toward her cracked bedroom door.
I push it open a few inches. She’s curled on her side, the blankets twisted around her legs, and one arm tucked under her cheek. In the faint glow of the moonlight spilling in through the window, she looks... soft. Vulnerable.
A strange sensation tightens in my chest but I ignore it. The woman cooked me dinner. She’s uprooted her life for me. Of course I have a soft spot for her. Care for her. What guy wouldn’t?
Walk away, Giz.
Thoughts of her on my lap fill my head.
Walk the fuck away.
Of my hands on hers. Of the surprise in her eyes when she got it right.
I shift my feet and when the floor creaks beneath me, she stirs to life. Shit .
“Jase?” Her lashes flutter as her eyes blink open. She frowns, then pushes up onto her elbows. “Did you need something?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Hey.”
“You’re aware you’re standing in my doorway like that serial killer thing we talked about, right?”
I huff out a laugh and lean my shoulder on the doorjamb. “Funny.”
She stares at me for a beat, then tilts her head, voice softer. “You okay?”
No. Yes. Hell if I know.
“Thank you for dinner. You could have come gotten me. I would have eaten with you—celebrated that first with you.”
“I didn’t want to bug you. Plus Halle was still here, and I don’t know that dynamic and—”
“You’re rambling.”
“I tend to do that.”
“So I’ve noticed,” I say softly. “Thank you. That was... unexpected. Thoughtful. Exactly what I needed after a long day working.”
Her smile is soft but I can’t read her eyes through the darkness. “No need to thank me.”
“There is, but if I say it again you’ll be stubborn and argue,” I tease.
“You should have thought of that before you married me.” She smiles.
Silence stretches between us, filling the darkness. What is it about her...
I should leave.
I’ve thanked her for dinner. Now I should get the hell out of here before I do something I can’t take back.
Maybe that’s why I’m still standing here though, in the dim glow of her room.
Hendrix isn’t just my fake wife. She isn’t just a temptation. She’s a risk.
And fuck, that makes a man like me want her even more.
“Is there something else on your mind?” she asks.
I shrug, feeling like a fish out of water. “I’m far from perfect, Hendrix. I was rude to you earlier and—”
“And you already apologized. No grudges, remember?”
“Yeah but... I have a way of testing people. Pushing them to see how they’ll react.”
“You mean if they’ll run,” she says evenly.
I nod. The admission is easier when the dark masks the shame in my expression. “Maybe I was doing that to you.”
She smiles. It’s bright and brilliant and so very obvious in the darkness as she holds up her ring finger. “Well, this makes that kind of complicated, huh?”
I appreciate her ability to see I’m uncomfortable and add levity to the moment. “True.”
“I’m still here, Jase. It takes more than that to scare me off.”
Why do those words lighten the pressure in my chest? “Parents really know how to fuck a kid up sometimes,” I say. Why the hell did I just say that? “I should go.” It’s my turn to be flustered. “Sorry to wake you. I—I just wanted to thank you for dinner.”
“Don’t go.” Her words stop me. There’s a quiet plea in her voice almost as if she too, needed the interaction that I went looking for. “Stay. Talk to me.”