Talon (Ashes & Embers Book 4) (13 page)

When I get home, I find her in her craft room at the sewing machine, and the smell of chicken is wafting from the oven. She glances up at me in surprise and then looks at the clock.

"Are you okay?" she asks. "I thought you'd be home later than this."

I lean my hip against her sewing table. "Yeah. I brought you these." I hand her the bouquet and she takes it from me slowly.

"Wow…Talon… They're so pretty." She lifts them to her nose, her eyes falling shut as she sniffs them. "They smell nice, too. Thank you." She stands up and hugs me, but when she tries to pull away, I hug her tighter.

"They match your eyes. The florist lady said the color is magical, and I thought that fit you."

"Did you do something?" she asks, her face against my chest. "Flowers and hugs?"

Three weeks in and my wife thinks flowers and hugs are a guilt cover-up. Yeah, I'm doing great here.

"It was a mistake," I reply, and she quickly pulls back to look up at me.

"What was?"

"Me marrying you."

I watch as the words I never meant to say obliterate her smile.

"What?"

"I didn't mean that, Asia. That came out wrong." I close my eyes and shake my head, mentally slapping myself. Why can't I do this right?

She thrusts the flowers against my chest and backs away from me, her arms going around her stomach, like she's hugging herself in pain. "How could that come out right?" she asks. "What
did
you mean?"

On the table next to her is a pile of fabric alongside some pages ripped from a magazine with pictures of shirts, most likely examples of what she was making for me so I wouldn't be on stage half naked with women screaming sexual comments and offers at me.

I suck so bad.

"Say something." Her voice wavers with emotion.

"I wanted to apologize, and it came out wrong, as usual."

"Apologize for the mistake of marrying me? Thanks."

I press my fingers into my temples, my head suddenly hurting. How is it possible that I can have a father who wrote hundreds of love songs and a mother who has written pages upon pages of nothing but pure love and romance, and I cannot form one sentence that doesn't make me sound like a dick? Can I not have one gene that gives me the gift of saying something right? I'm starting to think I was adopted. I feel defeated right now and can't even muster up my usual cocky attitude and banter to try to fix this new mess.

"No," I answer. "I wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings."

"Which time?"

Touché.

"All of them."

"Did Lukas put you up to this?"

"No."

She raises her eyebrows at me suspiciously.

"I'm an ass, okay? I'm not sorry I married you; I'm sorry for my nasty, stupid comments. I don't know why they put you with someone like me. You deserve better than me." I hand the flowers to her again. "Please take these. I've never bought flowers for anyone before."

She takes the bouquet from me again, her eyes wet with tears. "I've never been given flowers before," she says softly. "And I don't want someone better than you. I'll admit, you can be a real jerk sometimes and I want to slam you in the balls. But when you're good?" Her voice lilts with emotion. "I can't imagine anything better, and that's the truth."

The raw honesty in her voice brings out an intense need for me to be as close to her as possible. To be
inside
her, surrounded by that incredible feeling of closeness she makes me feel and want more of. She's like a secret drug that is slowly intoxicating me, little by little luring me into addiction, and that feels very dangerous to me. Once I get a taste of her, I don't think I'll ever be able to stop.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She breaks in to the fantasy playing out in my head. "Did you even hear what I said a few seconds ago?"

"Yes. I want to be good for you."

I grasp the back of her neck and pull her lips to mine, the startled sound she makes fueling me to want her even more. I take the flowers from her and put them off to the side, my lips not leaving hers, and I lift her up, wrapping her legs around my waist and setting her down on top of the table.

She circles her arms around my neck and hangs on to me. "What are you doing?" she whispers.

"Being good."

My lips land on hers again, shutting her up before she can protest. All I want is a few uninterrupted minutes of just kissing her and losing myself to her. It seems like every time our feelings start to take over we stop or have a fight of some sort or I'm just trying to tease her into wanting me. This time, I'm not letting it happen.

I kiss her deeper, pressing my body against hers until I feel her relax and give in, her hands gently tugging my hair, her thighs tightening around my waist. Her lips are so incredibly soft, and she always tastes so sweet it's like kissing candy. I move my lips down to suck the delicate flesh of her throat, fisting her hair and pulling her head back so I can run my tongue from the base of her neck, back to her lips, then slowly nibbling down to her shoulder. Her entire body practically goes limp in my arms, and all I'm doing is kissing her lips and neck. If she would just let the walls down, I know I could make her feel so damn good and drive her wild for me. I move my lips down farther, delving into the V-neck of her shirt while slowly sliding my hands up to cup her breasts. Instantly her hands grab mine, pulling them off her.

"What's wrong?" I try to kiss her mouth, but she turns away, and immediately, I know what the problem is. My comments about her body have made her completely insecure with me touching her. I don't even think she realized she grabbed my hands and pulled away; it seemed like an involuntary reaction that surprised even her, which is a pretty bad sign.

Lukas was right. I did some major damage here.

I rescue her from the uncomfortable silence that is thick enough to choke on and grab her bouquet off the table. "Let's go put these in a vase and have dinner. It smells great."

She nods and hops off the table, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. It's just long enough for me to see the gratefulness in her glance—for letting her go.

I can't shake the feeling this is a premonition that someday, the best thing I'm going to be able to do for this girl is to let her go.

M
rs.
Valentine

The experimental wife of a rock star stares at me, as I stare back at her. She spent the day at a spa recommended by Evie, had her nails done for the very first time in a French manicure with a lavender hue to match her eyes, which are perfectly lined with smoky kohl liner and framed with thick black lashes. Her long, jet-black hair flows down her back and over her shoulders, shining like liquid silk, the light catching the amethyst tint and matching random purple streaks. Her makeup is flawless, her lips dewy with a black cherry matte suggested by the gal at the spa, who handed her a pretty little black bag filled with every product she needed to replicate this look.

She's wearing tight skinny jeans with a perfect fade over the thighs, a low-cut white silk blouse, and black ankle boots with little metal chains hanging over them. A stack of silver bangles mixed with black leather cord cascades down each arm.

This girl looks confident, trendy and beautiful, the perfect partner to be on the arm of a sexy rock star.

I didn't know this girl was in me.

"Whoa," he says when I return home. He stands up from the couch and just stares at me for a moment, grinning like an imp, then closes the space between us and takes both my hands in his. "You look drop-dead fucking amazing, Aze."

I look down at myself, still feeling a little awkward and not quite used to the hours just spent with someone going over practically every inch of my body with scissors, creams, waxes, and lacquers. I feel totally
new
.

"Thank you," I reply, swallowing nervously. I really, really want him to see me as sexy and not just as the cute little puppy. Judging from his reaction and the expression on his face, all this effort was worth it.

He spins me around in a full circle, taking me in from all angles. "I knew your hair would look bangin' that color." He touches it softly and smooths it over my shoulder. "I love it."

"I do too. Thank you for letting me do all this."

"Don't thank me, baby. You can go to the salon anytime you want. Every week, every month, go and get yourself prettied up whenever you want to. You ain't gonna hear me arguing about it."

"We'll see," I reply, smiling.

His arms go around my waist. "I'm not sure I can keep my hands off you."

"Well, you're gonna have to if you plan to play tonight. I can't wait to see you and the guys on stage."

"Fuck that. I kinda want to stay here and just keep you to myself."

"That's very sweet in a stalkery way, Tal." I grin up at him.

"It's true." He stares down into my face. "Your eyes look even more amazing. I swear you could hypnotize me."

"You're getting sleeeepy…" I tease, swaying back in forth in front of him, widening my eyes.

"Sleepy is definitely not what I'm getting." His face leans down toward mine and stops an inch away from my lips. "Can I kiss you? Or are you gonna get mad if I wreck your lipstick?"

"Kiss me. I'll just put more on." I grab the back of his neck and pull his lips to mine, and he kisses me long and soft while his hand slowly moves down to give my ass a little squeeze. He's been different the past few days, kissing me more, longer, sometimes softer, and now we sleep either spooning or he pulls my head onto his chest and wraps his arms around me. That's become my favorite part of the day—just being in his arms at night in our bed. He's still hard to read, and I hang on to every sweet moment, every caring gesture and word, replaying it in my mind when I'm alone and hoping it means he's starting to have real feelings for me, like I'm starting to have for him.

Pulling away slowly, he smiles at me and I giggle at the lipstick that's now on his lips. "You look good in black cherry," I say, wiping my finger across his lips.

"Not half as good as you do. I better go get ready. The limo will be here soon to take us to the club."

"Okay."

Right before reaching the stairway, he turns around. "Don't run away and find a better husband while I'm upstairs," he says, taking a few backward steps.

"Not a chance, Tarzan. Keep your hands off yourself while you're in there. We don't want to be late," I tease back.

"Good one!" he calls as he jogs up the stairs.

W
hile he's upstairs
, I fix my makeup and hair, nervousness about tonight starting to poke at me. So many new experiences happened today. I drove my car for the first time by myself to get to the salon, which was a little scary after not driving for so long. But I didn't get lost, crash into anything, or get a speeding ticket, so all went well and I'm proud of myself.

Going to the club tonight for the VIP grand opening sounds exciting but also overwhelming. Evie said celebrities and other famous bands will be there and to prepare myself for photos to be taken that will show up on social media and the band's website, warning me that people might leave nasty remarks about me and I should ignore them.

Seriously, people sit behind a computer or on a cell phone and make nasty comments about others they don't even know? Why? That is definitely not something I'm going to deal well with at all, and I'm already having an inner freak-out over it.

My thoughts are disrupted by Princess Pixie rubbing on my ankles and pulling the little chains on my new boots.

"Come on, Pixie, let's go check your food dish before Mommy leaves." Pixie is one of those cats that will have a tiny tantrum if her food dish is not filled to the top at all times. Half full is not acceptable. Sure enough, when I check her dish in the kitchen, it's not filled to the very top. I grab her food from the cabinet and fill her dish, then give her fresh water. I laugh as she promptly walks away, her mission accomplished.

I look up to see Talon coming into the kitchen, and my attraction for him shifts into overdrive. He looks smoking hot, his hair blown-dry and wavy, and I see a faint trace of light, smoky guyliner under his eyes, which actually makes him look sexy.
I'm married to a man who wears makeup.

Grinning, he extends both arms out wide and bows.

"Baby, these clothes are fuckin' epic. I can't believe you made all this."

I beam at his compliment and walk over to check out his outfit closer, pleased to see everything fits him perfectly.

"Do I look hot or what?" he asks.

"You do. You've reached a level of hotness I didn't think was possible."

"Fuck yeah, I have."

He's wearing an old pair of his jeans that I sewed a bunch of cool, aged leather and random suede patches all over, and I shredded the bottom leg hems so short, stray frays hang over his black boots. I also frayed the waistband because I thought it would look sexy against his abs—and, lordy, it does—and made him a black, aged leather belt I stitched big, crooked white X's into because he likes them. The shirt I made him is a black sleeveless that I ripped in places and then stitched back together with the same thick white thread as the belt, and I also sewed up some random parts with hardware like rivets and eyelets. I cut the front of the shirt out like an inverted V to show off just a hint of his abs. He's also wearing the scarf I gave him the first day we spent together, just like he said he would.

"These clothes are sick, baby. We're gonna talk about more of this over the weekend."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "More of this?"

"Hell yeah, more clothes. Lots more. Who knew I married a chick who could make me awesome stage clothes? The guys are gonna go crazy." His hand grabs my waist in excitement. "Give us a kiss. I'm totally stoked about this."

The smile on my face is so big that we bang teeth when he kisses me, making him laugh.

"That was the worst kiss ever, babe. But I'll take it."

He releases me suddenly to pull his phone out of his back pocket. "Limo's here. The driver just texted me. You ready?"

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. "I think so. Do you need to bring your guitar or anything?"

"No, the crew brings that stuff for us."

"Oh." I had no idea there was a "crew."

He holds his hand out to me. "Let's go, beautiful. You're gonna have a blast, trust me."

As we leave the house and walk down our walkway, I see the driver is waiting for us, dressed in a tux, next to the long, black limousine. He's older than I was expecting a driver to be, probably in his sixties. When we approach, he opens the door and greets us formally. "Mr. and Mrs. Valentine…it's a pleasure to drive you this evening."

"Thanks, Max," Talon says, fist-bumping him as we climb into the back of the car.

"Wow," I exclaim in awe when the driver closes the door behind us. "I've never been in a limo." I look around the inside as we sit on the long leather seat that wraps around and faces a bar with blue backlighting.

"I think you're gonna have lots of firsts with me, Aze."

"It looks that way."

As we descend the driveway, he puts his arm around my shoulders. "We could have sex back here."

"Actually, we couldn't because that would require me to agree to that, and I'm not."

Laughing, he pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head. "I had to try, babe… Kinda hard to resist when you look so gorgeous."

"Likewise."

"Did I tell you I love the clothes you made me?"

"Yes, and I love them on you."

"It means a lot that you did that, ya know. Like, actually made me cool clothes. Even if you did do it so I wouldn't be all sexy and shirtless, it's still pretty wild to have someone customize my clothes for me."

"I like to make things. It was fun for me. And I do kinda want your abs to myself. Wife rights, ya know."

Reaching across the interior, he grabs a bottle of water from the bar and twists the top off, offering it to me before taking a sip. I shake my head no and stare out the dark windows. I haven't been to Boston since I was a little girl and my family still resembled a family. At least on the outside. On the inside, the malfunction was already brewing.

W
hen we arrive
at the club, I feel like I'm sucked into a whirlwind of excitement and anxiety. The place is packed with people—with several bars, a huge dance floor, and the stage toward the back. There's an upper level that looks like it has another bar and some lounge areas. Music is blasting so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts in my head, which is probably a good thing right now because I feel like running for the door. I am definitely not a club scene type of girl.

I hold on to Talon's hand tightly as we navigate through the crowd, but every few steps someone is stopping him to say hello and chat. These are obviously people he's acquainted with and not fans per se. I'm guessing that because this is the grand opening, everyone here has received an exclusive invite and they aren't crazy fans off the street. I have to say, every inch of my body tingles when he continues to introduce me as his wife, especially when a photographer stops us to take our photo. Talon puts his arm around me and kisses my cheek as the photographer snaps our photos and then asks us a few questions about when we got married, my name, and what I do. I was a little surprised to be asked any questions about myself, but I answered them with a smile and didn't turn into a bumbling, embarrassing mess, thankfully.

Finally, we end up in a room where the rest of the band already is, hanging out and getting ready for the show.

"Dude, where the hell did you get those jeans?" Storm asks him as soon as we walk in. I love how Talon looks so much like his brothers, all of them blessed with beautiful eyes and silky, wavy long hair. Each of them is also covered in tattoos, which oddly enough, I am now finding more and more attractive. Talon stands out a little from them with his dirty-blond hair compared to their dark brown, but you can definitely tell they're all brothers. Then there's his cousin, Vandal, who's just…dark. Dark skin stretched over huge muscles, dark eyes, long, jet-black hair. And quiet. Brooding. He merely nods at us from his seat in the far back of the room.

"Asia made them for me. The shirt and scarf too," Talon continues to rave about the clothes.

All eyes turn to me, and I kind of want to melt into the flooring.

Asher touches Talon's shirt, checking out the embellishments I added. "This is really cool," he says. "Can you make more?"

Talon throws his hands up. "Chill. I don't know if I want you all looking as cool as me."

I laugh and can feel my cheeks getting hot. "I would love to design clothes for any of you."

"Well, I was going to ask her if she could make stage clothes for all of us, but I wanted to check with you guys first."

"Dude, there's no question," Storm says, then turns to me. "We definitely need to talk about this. Custom stage garb is in demand. To have someone right here in our family to make it for us is the balls. Figure out some pricing and let us know what you need."

"Okay…" I say shyly, completely not expecting this sudden attention. Making clothes for a famous rock band? It's unreal. I've made clothes for myself for years and have a few local boutiques carrying some of my items. And of course, Kat buys some clothing and accessories from me, but to have my designs worn by musicians? The mere thought of it is making me giddy.

Talon pulls me in for a kiss and then turns back to his brothers and cousins. "Be jealous, bitches. I got me a good one."

Storm punches him in the arm affectionately. "It's about time. And we all got good ones."

"I don't have a good one, and I don't want one. I'll take bad and dirty any day," Mikah announces from the back of the room, but he winks at me when I look over at him. I think all these guys are great guys inside, even though they are rough around the edges.

My husband gently tugs me into a quiet corner, away from the rest of the band. "You okay, babe? I know you don't like crowds."

I nod, smiling sweetly at him. "Yeah. I'm good."

"You up for making all of us clothes?"

"Definitely. Do you know how awesome that would be for me? I can't even grasp it."

"Well, grasp it, baby. Looks like you just fell into a permanent career. I hafta go and get set up and all that shit, so hang out with Evie, all right?"