Chapter 4
Summer
I can’t believe I just invited this veritable stranger to come home with me.
But he doesn’t feel like a stranger.
It doesn’t make sense, because it feels like I’ve known him a long time.
He’s easy to talk to and even easier on the eyes, but it’s more than that.
There’s something different about him because the thoughtful, gentle man he is on the inside is the polar opposite of the long-haired, tattooed rocker he is on the outside.
Obviously, it’s the same thing in his case, but I’ve never met anyone like him.
And the need for him to touch me is more than I can resist.
The storm has settled into a light drizzle as we walk out to my car.
“You know how to drive a stick?”
“I do.” He grins as I toss him the keys, catching them with one hand.
“Then I guess I’ll take you up on your offer of driving me home.”
Normally, I wouldn’t let anyone drive my car, but I can’t seem to help but trust Tate.
And I’m exhausted.
He gets behind the wheel and adjusts the seat since his legs are quite a bit longer than mine.
“Reverse sticks sometimes,” I tell him.
“Got it.” He starts it up and smoothly shifts into reverse, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Right at the light and then left at the first stop sign.”
I lean back in the seat and relax into the aging leather.
I love this car. It broke Mom’s heart when she had to stop driving but I take her for rides whenever I can. It’s a convertible, so we put the top down and let the wind blow in our faces. That’s when she’s happiest and I do my best to take her out whenever the weather allows.
“Tired?” he asks, glancing over at me.
“A bit.”
“I slept for about two hours before the bus broke down so I’m tired but at least I had a nap. You’re going on twenty-four hours without sleep.”
“I just passed the twenty-four hour mark,” I admit. “But it’s okay. I’ll sleep for a few hours and then get up to start baking. I don’t want to mess up my sleep rhythm since I work a lot of hours between Tuesday and Saturday.”
“Yeah, I’m up late most nights because we usually don’t finish playing until eleven or so, and then there’s tear-down, sometimes we have the press or local radio personalities backstage to talk to.
By the time we get to the bus or hotel it’s usually around one in the morning.
And I don’t get good sleep on the bus so I’m usually dragging by the time we get a night at a hotel. ”
“You sleep on the bus most nights?”
He nods. “We were on tour with a speed metal band called Karnal Death. It’s a really long story but their lead guitarist wound up in jail after assaulting his girlfriend—who is now engaged to Mick—so the tour ended abruptly.
Right as our album went platinum. We didn’t want to lose the momentum, so our manager asked if we’d be willing to sacrifice some comfort to go on a club tour. ”
“Which means riding on a bus?”
“Yeah. It’s not the same money as playing arena or bigger venues, so flying from city to city isn’t in the budget.
Not yet. We’re doing okay, and we got a nice payout earlier this month, but we’re not making the kind of money to charter a plane, or even for the five of us to fly commercial. We’re getting there, though.”
“That’s both exciting and frustrating,” I say thoughtfully. “Someday you’ll have to tell me about the Karnal Death guy and Mick’s fiancée. But not tonight.” I stifle a yawn. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
He reached across the center console for my hand. “Me too. We can go home and get some sleep. No pressure, Summer.”
Dear God. This gorgeous—at least a little bit famous—rock star is telling me that sex isn’t his priority.
Where have guys like this been all my life?
“Do you drink bourbon?” I ask as we pull up to my house. “And right here is fine.”
“I do.” He parks in the driveway since I don’t have a garage.
“Care for a night cap? When I’m as physically exhausted as I am tonight, sometimes I need a drink to relax my brain enough to match.”
“I totally get that. I get wound up after shows too.” He hands me my keys as we walk up the five steps to the front door. I unlock it and walk in with him right behind me.
“Mrr-owww!” Waylon comes around the corner with a loud protest.
“Good morning, sweet boy,” I say. “Come say hello to Tate.”
Tate squats down and simply holds out his hand. “Hey, Waylon.”
Waylon hesitates. He doesn’t like strangers and I’m sure the only reason he met me at the door this morning was because he was alone for more than sixteen hours.
Waylon stretches out his neck and smells Tate’s fingers. Then, out of nowhere, he moves forward and rubs his head against his hand.
“There’s a good boy.” Tate scratches his head, behind his ears, and down his back. “That feel good?”
Waylon purrs and I’m momentarily dumbfounded.
“He doesn’t like many people,” I say. “But it looks like you get a seal of approval.”
“Animals like me,” he says. “My mom used to call me the pet whisperer. If anyone we knew was having trouble with their pet, they’d call me to figure out what was wrong.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t become a veterinarian,” I say, kicking off my shoes and dropping my purse on the hallway table before making my way to the kitchen.
“It was a possibility,” he acknowledges, following me with Waylon on his heels. “But once the music bug bites, it’s impossible to ignore.”
“Well, with your kind of talent, I’m not surprised.” I pull a bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and grab two tumbler glasses. “Ice or straight?”
“Straight.”
I pour two fingers and hand him the glass. Then I pour two more for myself and drop an ice cube in it.
“Thank you.”
I take a sip and sigh happily. “I definitely need a shower after working a double.”
He cocks his head, eyes trained on my face. “Is that an invitation?”
I smile.
Like I could say no.
“Absolutely. I’ve been waiting all night for that kiss you’ve been promising me.”
“Well, you don’t have to wait anymore.” He puts down his glass and walks over to me. He’s not in a rush, though, reaching out to pull my hair out of the messy ponytail it’s been in.
“My hair is—” I start to protest but he puts a gentle finger over my lips.
“Your hair is beautiful.” He threads his fingers through it. “Soft and silky, just like I knew it would be.”
I don’t know why this feels so good but my eyes close all on their own, allowing me to revel in his touch.
“So pretty…” he whispers against my mouth.
And still, despite all the lead-up, he’s not in a hurry. His lips barely graze mine, little whisper kisses that make me shiver with delight and anticipation.
Strong hands settle at my waist, pulling me against him. My arms wind around his neck as I press my chest to his. I like how warm and strong he feels, and the fact that he has a good six inches on me.
When he finally presses his lips firmly against my mouth, I sigh into them.
“God, you’re sweet.” He cups the side of my face with his hand, wraps one arm around me and then slides his tongue past the seam of my lips.
All I can do is respond in kind, seeking out his warmth and the hunger that practically emanates from him.
Every move, every touch, is practiced, like he’s done this a million times—with me.
I’m not innocent, having enjoyed a good amount of sex in my twenty-eight years, but no one’s ever kissed me so perfectly.
His lips are firm but soft, his mouth greedy but giving, his touch erotic but gentle.
And I’m completely swept up.
My body yields as quickly as my lips and I melt into his embrace, soaking up his vigor and his passion.
“Babe.” His voice is raspy as he pulls away. “It’s late and the storm… I don’t have any condoms.”
I shake my head. “That’s okay—I do. Shower first?”
“Yes.” He grabs one of my hands with one hand and both of our tumblers of bourbon with the other, and lets me lead us upstairs.
“Shower’s tiny,” I murmur as we walk through the primary bedroom to the small but efficient attached bathroom.
“That just means I get to touch you the whole time,” he says. He puts both of our glasses on the bathroom counter and we strip down together, clothes landing on the floor in a heap.
I reach over to turn on the water but don’t get in. “Takes a minute or two to warm up,” I explain.
“Shhh.” He presses his lips to mine. “I don’t care about the water—I just want to look at you.”
I don’t know why, but his hungry gaze on my naked body sends me into a heightened state of arousal. Normally, I’m a little self-conscious…do my breasts hang too low? Are my thighs too round? My ass too big? Logically, the answer is no, but guys always seem to have opinions.
Tate’s opinion is shrouded in cobalt-blue eyes that seem to be drinking me in. He slowly but surely lets his gaze drift up my body and when he gets to my face, he licks his lips.
“Fuck, you’re spectacular,” he whispers.
Warmth fills me and I move closer, trying not to stare at the myriad tattoos covering him. One arm has a full sleeve, but then the other shoulder is covered, along with something I can’t identify on his chest and what appears to be a line of music vertically on his thigh.
“What’s that?” I ask curiously, running my finger over the notes.
“It’s the opening intro to our first hit,” he says. “I wrote it and play that part live, and it’s part of the reason we went platinum, so I wanted to commemorate it. My mom says I’ll regret it but I don’t think I will. It was a huge accomplishment.”
“Never regret your success,” I whisper, lifting to my toes and pressing my lips to his.