Here With You (16 page)

She really wanted to kiss him. She just wasn't sure what to do. Tongue? No tongue?

He leaned toward her, and their lips touched.

His were warm and dry and soft, still on hers. He made no move to maul her or to stick
his tongue in her mouth the way Christian Murphy had at homecoming last year. It was
like Aaron was waiting.

She should do something, like move her lips or something. She just wasn't sure what.

Then Aaron moved his lips, sliding them a little against hers.

The car door opened suddenly.

They both turned, and she froze when she saw her Dad's furious face looming in the
door.

Chapter Eighteen

Arching, Nicole let the hot water soothe her back. She didn't know how Grif slept
on that couch—two nights on it had her sore. Of course, it was tight with the two
of them on it.

Frankly, even with the lack of space and the tight muscles, she didn't mind—not when
it meant lying entwined with him all night. Not when he woke her up in the morning
with bone-melting sex.

As Nicole turned the shower off and reached for her towel, she heard the softest strain
of music.

Guitar music.

She froze and listened. It didn't sound like a recording, even though it was smooth
and easy. It meant one thing: that Grif had picked up his guitar.

Wrapping the towel around her, she went to her doorway, closer but not so close that
she'd interrupt him. She wanted to hear what he was playing.

She stilled, holding her breath. She hadn't heard this tune before. Was it the new
one he was working on?
She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she was something of an expert on his music.
His first album had been brilliant, and his next one had been good but not as innovative
and fresh.

Not like whatever he was playing now.

It still sounded like him, with his signature simplicity and raw power, but this had
a layer of dark longing that she hadn't heard from him before.

The music paused, and then he repeated one section. She wrapped the towel around her,
securing the end, and went into the living room. "Play the whole thing for me again."

He start
ed
over without missing a beat, watching her the
entire
time. He played through to the refrain twice, then the next time he began to sing
with the song. "
I'm here with you. Kiss me, take me, love me. I'm here for your pleasure, I'm here
for you...
"

Goose bumps rose all over her arms. It felt like he sang it not just
to
her but
for
her. She shouldn't make a big deal out of it—it was what he did
. He was expert at
making people feel like he was singing just to them, even in a crowd of sixty-thousand
people.

But
this
felt
different
. No matter how much her brain cautioned her heart, she just couldn't make it believe
that this wasn't special.
Like he sang it directly to her heart. At least her heart felt that way.

As though her heart belonged to him.

Her breath caught in her chest.
Panic.

But it was silly to panic. She was overreacting. What she was feeling was the pull
of great sex, not some elusive thing that she wasn't ready for.

He finished, trailing off, and she said, "Sing it again."

He tipped his head and began over.

She closed her eyes to listen to it this time, not wanting to be distracted by
the
intensity
he aimed at
her
. She wanted to
hear the song itself.

It was good
. Really good. Even better than the first time.

She reopened her eyes as he began the refrain and sang along with him. "
I'm here with you now. Kiss me, take me, love me...
"

He stopped singing, letting her voice soar on its own. S
h
e sang what she remembered of the chorus, the last note trailing off with his guitar.

"You still have a great voice," he said.

She shrugged. "It's rusty. I only sing along to Pandora at work."

"Why is that? I've had backup singers who don't have the skill you do."

"Music's always been your thing, not mine. You have to have passion for it to make
a living at it, like you do. I just don't have that in me."

"
What do you have a driving passion for?"

Right now? Him.

Her parents always told her everyone had a purpose. It just took some people longer
to figure out what theirs was. In the meantime you had to be open and try new things,
because you never knew what might become a passion.

She'd never imagined Grif would become a passion.

But was it enough?

No.
The answer was immediate and concrete. She knew she needed a passion that was all
her own, and Grif would never be only hers. She needed something private, just for
her.

She sat on the edge of the couch. "I think you don't realize how lucky you are to
have known from childhood what you wanted to do with your life. It doesn't come so
easy to everyone."

"You've been trying things for a long time," he pointed out. "Nothing's struck you?"

She liked to draw lingerie, but it seemed a long ways from having that be her calling.
"I haven't found the right passion yet," she said finally.

"What about designing underwear?" he said, as if reading her mind.

"That's just something I do."

"And you're good at it. Really good at it. You wouldn't be able to draw like that
if you didn't have a passion for it."

Just the thought of trying to launch a lingerie line made her hyperventilate. She
didn't have the first clue how to go about it, much less manufacture the pieces. She
shook her head. "It's just a hobby. I prefer working at Romantic Notions."

"Because it's safe." He set his guitar down. "How long are you going to stay there?
You know you don't stick with
any one thing for that long.
"

"It sounds like you're saying I'm a screw up."
She crossed her arms.
"Don't forget that you still had doubts even though you have a calling. You came
here needing me to
convince you to keep going with your music, so don't pretend you're so much better
than me.
"

"
I'm not saying that.
"

"
That's not what it sounds like.
"

"
I'm just saying how can you know if it's what you're supposed to do if you don't give
anything a try? You move on before you can really commit to something.
"

"
Like what?
"

"
Like—
" He
sh
ook
his head
, visibly
calm
ing himself
down
. "
I don't want to
spend our time
fight
ing
, Nic.
"

Because they didn't have that many days left together. He didn't say it, but she got
it nonetheless. He was pretty much done with his song
. The music was all there, and he himself said the words would quickly follow. T
heir time was drawing to an end.

She'd known all along this day would come. She just thought she'd be prepared for
it. She stood up,
trying to hide her
sad
ness
. "I need to go to work."

He smiled a little as he strummed his guitar. "You might want to get dressed first."

Standing, she let out a sound that hopefully sounded like a chuckle. She shivered
as she walked to her bedroom. She wasn't
sure if it
wa
s from chilling in the damp towel or because of the disappointed way Grif stared at
her.

Chapter Nineteen

Rachel woke up from a dream that Aaron had kissed her, and it'd been so great.

She sat up in bed, pushing the covers aside as she remembered the night before. Only
it wasn't a dream. He
had
kissed her, and it'd been better than great. She started to smile—

But then she remembered the look on her dad's face when he caught them in the car.

The happiness she'd woken up with melted into dread. Last night, her dad hadn't said
anything to her beyond a curt "Go to bed." Usually he was gone to work way before
she got up, but she had a feeling this morning was going to be different.

She wondered if anyone would notice if she spent the next couple years hidden in her
room.

Sighing, she forced herself to get out of bed. She washed the smeared eyeliner from
under her eyes and made herself look as much like a good girl as she could. To give
herself extra confidence, she wore one of her new bras and panties, topping them with
a plain T-shirt and jeans.

As ready as she'd ever be, she decided, grabbing her bag and going downstairs.

Her dad was waiting for her in the kitchen. He didn't look up from his tablet even
though she knew he knew she was standing there. He calmly took another sip of his
coffee and swiped the screen.

Nerves twisted her gut. Normally he'd want to "parse" the situation and "come to a
mutually beneficial resolution." The fact that he was so stony freaked her out. It
meant he was pissed.

Swallowing, she shuffled to the table and slumped onto a chair. She couldn't believe
it, but she'd give anything to hear him use those workplace words he liked that drove
her crazy.

He swiped the screen again, his jaw tight.

She frowned, feeling the anger rise in her. He never paid attention to her. He didn't
have the right to be pissed with her—it wasn't like he cared. "If you don't say anything,
we're both going to be late."

He pushed the tablet aside and glared at her. "That's what you're going to open with?"

She crossed her arms. "What was I supposed to say?"

"Why don't you try
I'm sorry
?"

"That would imply that I regretted my actions." She felt a twinge of guilt at how
bratty she sounded. Her mom never liked it when she took that tone.

Her dad set his coffee cup down so hard she was surprised it didn't crack. "I've had
enough, Rachel. It's bad enough that you've been uncommunicative and difficult. Last
night, you broke a trust. A tentative trust because you broke it before, by getting
drunk at that party."

She winced—she couldn't help it. Getting drunk really had been stupid. "Last night
was nothing like that party," she mumbled, sinking lower into her seat.

"You snuck out with a boy," her dad yelled, slamming his hand onto the table.

She jumped, her breath catching in her throat. Her dad never yelled. Ever. She gripped
the edges of her chair's seat, not sure what'd happen next.

"Who knows what you were doing until three in the morning," he continued loudly. "All
I know is you were making out in the back seat of that car."

"We weren't making out," she said sullenly. He made it sound so awful, and her first
real kiss should have been one of the best memories of her teenage life. She may have
snuck out, but she didn't do anything wrong. Not really anyway. Yes, she should have
told him, but it wasn't like he'd been available lately.

"Give me a break, Rachel. I know kissing when I see it." He pushed back in his chair,
making a shrill scratching sound on the floor. "Needless to say, you're grounded until
further notice. Come home directly after school, no activities, no going out with
friends."

But then she wouldn't be able to look for Griffin Chase. She sat up, feeling panicked
for the first time. "But I have to—"

"This is non-negotiable, Rachel." Her dad stared at her like she was a stranger he
didn't like. "Iliana will be here in the afternoons to stay with you until I come
home."

"I don't need a babysitter!"

"You should have thought of that before you acted the way you did last night."

"I didn't act in any way!" She got up and reached out. "I can explain what I was doing.
It was for Mo—"

"I'm done, Rachel," her dad said over her. He scrubbed his face with his hand. "I
understand how hard it was to lose your mom, because she was my world and I lost her,
too. But I don't know what to do with you anymore. You're not helping me, and you're
not giving me many options."

She gulped down a big wad of shame. And fear, because she'd never heard him sound
so defeated before. "What are you talking about?"

He looked at his watch. "I'm late for a meeting."

She started after him. "But Dad—"

The look he gave her stopped her in her tracks. "Rachel, I'm done," he repeated. "I'm
having dinner with a friend. I'll be home late."

"What friend?" She hated that he had a life and she didn't, that he seemed happy and
she was miserable. She narrowed her eyes, remembering him laughing intimately in his
bedroom late last night. "Are you going out on a date?"

"Yes, it's a date."

"How could you?" she yelled. "You're being unfaithful to Mom!"

"Your mom is dead, Rachel!" he yelled back.

Silence.

They stared at each other, shocked. Rachel touched her cheek, feeling like he'd slapped
her.

Her dad opened his mouth like he was going to say something more, but then he shook
his head and strode out.

She watched him until she couldn't see him any more.

He didn't mean all that stuff. Well—yes, he did, but he didn't have all the facts.
She'd tell him enough to make him feel better, and then he'd let her out of lockdown
so she could get back to finding Griffin Chase.

As she reached for her bag, her sleeve touched her dad's tablet and the screen woke
up. She took her bag and was about to go to school when two words jumped out at her:
boarding school.

She gaped at the screen. Turning it around she quickly scanned the web page.
A boarding school for troubled teenagers
.