Chapter Five
Harley
My whole body hurt. It wasn’t the pain you got after a rigorous workout, or after a fall. It was the dull kind of pain that accompanied being in bed for longer than was necessary. Even my head felt stuffed from lack of sleep.
Last night, no matter what I did, I couldn’t settle down.
All I wanted to do was go back to Carter. The problem was it was not for the obvious reasons.
It wasn’t because I was scared out of my mind and needed to feel safe, but because he was the one providing me with a sense of security.
Sure, he made me feel all of that. But I couldn’t push from my mind the look he had on his face after he dealt with that man.
How his eyes roamed over me, and how my skin tingled in each place they landed.
My hands kept shaking from the need of having him touch me again, from aching to feel his skin against mine.
It was crazy, and I was positive I was losing my mind.
In order to not go tearing through the suite until I got to his bedroom, and then demanding he looked at me, touched me, moved inside me, I opted for the safer option.
I grabbed my guitar and my notebook, and I let those wants free.
I poured everything into music and words on paper hoping against hope it would somehow erase that need.
It was around five in the morning when I was finally able to feel at least a modicum of peace settle over me. My heart and soul were spent, my eyes scratchy like I was polishing my eyeballs with sandpaper, and I fell into a fitful sleep.
It was around seven that my phone started mercilessly buzzing on my nightstand. I slowly opened my eyes only to see a dim light filling the room, and my phone flashing like it was mimicking a rave party on the bedside table.
“No,” I moaned, and turned to the other side quickly. A big mistake as my muscles cried in protest. As the buzz from my phone continued to assault my ears, I turned back, and said to it, “I don’t wanna talk,” like it could magically convey my message to the person on the other line.
Sloane, my publicist, called first. Then she texted. After, Tim started bombarding my line.
I ignored every buzz, every light notification, every ping. They still didn’t get the message.
Just then, in the middle of my staring contest with the annoying object, a knock came at my bedroom door.
“Harley,” Carter called softly through the wood.
I hated that tone from him. I wanted his anger, I wanted his annoyance, I wanted his dominance. I didn’t want this soft version he was giving me since last night.
It said he thought I was weak, fragile. While last night, and maybe this morning, that could be a teeny, tiny bit true, I didn’t want him to think that. I wanted him to think of me as Dynamo.
Last night, hearing him christen me with that nickname felt like I conquered the world.
I wanted to hear all versions of it. I wanted him to call me that name in every possible tone.
Most of all, I wanted him to give me that name while he was looking down on me, his body covering mine, his—
I grabbed the pillow next to me, put it over my face, and groaned into it, “Ugh.” Getting turned on was the last thing I needed to do right now.
“I know you’re awake,” he said.
I pushed the pillow up, enough just to free my mouth, and said, “Then admire my commitment to silence.”
“Don’t know who you’re trying to fool, but you don’t know the meaning of the word,” he said. “Now, get your ass up. Cassie’s been blowing up my phone because she can’t reach you.”
I threw the pillow and sheets from my body, got up, and marched to the door. Yanking it open, I was ready to tear him a new one, but I was not prepared for what waited for me on the other side.
He stood there, one shoulder leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed on his chest. The pose made his muscles stand at attention, and my mouth started to water.
He wasn’t dressed in his usual crisp, white shirt, opened at the collar, and a black suit.
No, he was wearing a black T-shirt that had molded itself to his chest and washed-out jeans that only came from the wear and tear of years wearing them, not the artificial kind made in a factory somewhere.
His hair was tousled like he was running his hand through it all night.
I had an urge to do the same, run my hands to the brown strands, or fist my hands in them as he…
Damnit! Stop, Harley! Even chastising myself didn't help. In order to try and distract my wayward thoughts I looked elsewhere. It was a mistake.
His eyes still had a hint of sleep in them, that laziness that pulled you in to do all kinds of fun stuff for the purpose of waking up. His mouth was hitched on one side and his feet were bare.
“Jesus,” I muttered, caught off guard by the sheer male perfection that was standing casually before me.
“Carter is fine. No need for formalities,” he quipped.
What the… I looked harder. His head was tilted down, his mouth curved slightly, and his eyes gleaned with satisfaction. He looked like a giddy boy. It was such a good look on him, I had the urge to step right up to him and remove the smirk off his face. Preferably by kissing it off.
Like he had a direct line to my thoughts, his eyes flashed, and zeroed in on my mouth, before quick as a flash, he moved back up, and straightened. “Let’s go, Dynamo. Your presence was requested.”
“I told you, I want silence. I committed myself to it for the next few days.” I turned on the spot and watched him walk casually through the suite. He looked like he belonged here.
No, he looked like he belonged here with me.
God, I was losing my mind. One moment I wanted him gone. Gone from this room, from my life. Now, all I could think of was how to tangle myself in him.
He was thankfully oblivious to all of it, as he sat down on a rumpled couch and pulled his socks and boots on his feet.
“Didn’t sound like it last night, or should I say this morning.” He looked up at me.
So, he heard me write. Damn.
I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want him to hear the words that tumbled out of me the night before.
Words that came from deep within. Words that were about him, no matter how much I tried to twist them into something else. But I couldn’t focus on that, something else caught my attention.
“Did you sleep here last night?” I asked weakly.
He straightened then, one of his boots still in his hand. “Yeah.”
“Why?” I lifted my hand and dropped it uselessly by my side. “There’s a room right across from mine for you to use.”
He turned and looked over his shoulder, then slowly back to me. His next words came softly again, his whole face soft, like he was preparing for the inevitable bad reaction to his words. “Because you’re in your room. If I’m in there, I can’t see your door.”
“So, you’re sleeping here to what? Be the last defense in case of something?”
“Yeah.” He was watching me closely like he was waiting for me to blow.
Yeah.
Such a simple answer. Such a simple word.
A four-letter world that right then set something in me ablaze.
God.
When was the last time someone wanted to keep me safe? When was the last time someone cared for my wellbeing?
Not just to protect the money-making tour, song, or whatever. But me. Just me.
Harley.
“Okay,” I said softly and turned to go and get ready.
“Dynamo.” The call of the nickname, his nickname, stopped me. “You know you’re safe with me.”
I could feel my face crumbling. There was no one I was safe with. Not in my entire life.
Until he walked into it.
I gulped down the silk feeling his words caressed me with and tried to be my normal self.
“I do now,” I threw a thumbs up over my shoulder. I didn’t want to show him the full effect his words had on me.
I also knew there was no way he wouldn’t find out.
Melodies and lyrics swirled in me, trying to break free. Wanting to pour themselves on the page.
And I was powerless to do anything but let them loose.
“Finally,” Cassie rushed to me, a frazzled look on her face. “My phone is trying to kill me with all the alerts and calls. Tim’s on a rampage, Sloane is screaming at everything that moves, and the press wants a pound of flesh, meaning a statement from you, live.”
It was time to do a sound check, and maybe a session to see if some of my new stuff could be squeezed into the set list. I didn’t usually perform new songs live.
Not until they were polished and turned into perfection.
Not until they were safely nestled in an album. But with this one it was different.
I knew even last night I would not let anyone change a single note of it. There would be no fancy production done in the studio. No changing the arrangement, or the beat. It will always be like it was now.
Raw. Honest. Me.
But the moment I got to the venue, I could see the activity in it wasn’t just one of preparation for the show. People weren’t milling around, doing some last minute touch up. No, they were frantic to get everything set up.
“Statement about what?” I frowned.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Carter grunted in that way he had, and blended into our surroundings.
I swear it was like magic. One moment he was standing beside me, the next, I blinked and he was nowhere to be seen.
We were not scheduled to play until tomorrow night.
There weren’t any appearances for today, and I didn’t have a surprise release for another month.
Something no one but my team, a handful of people, knew about.
We were pulling a Taylor Swift and releasing an album while the whole world was watching my tour, not expecting new music, but celebrating the old.
As that was the case, I should not be talking to the press.
I avoided them normally, but now that was reinforced tenfold.
We didn’t want a word to accidentally slip out, and fans to start spinning the theories, one of which could possibly hit a bullseye.
The good thing was, my avoidance of anything related to news wasn’t out of character.
“Have you not checked your socials?” Cassie appeared confused like I somehow forgot to put on a shirt today.