Between Breaths (The Seattle Sound Series Book 2) Page 16

  I yanked down my zipper, quickly freeing myself from my clothes. I shredded the delicate silk and lace of her panties. Her eyes were large, her teeth gripping her swollen bottom lip as she stared up at me.

  We met there, the two of us. We met in lust and it was beautiful. She was beautiful.

  “Briar, I need. You.” I knew she didn’t understand what I was telling her. I’d do better later. Right now, I didn’t want to be alone. She wouldn’t let me be alone. She’d promised and she’d meant it.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck and tugged at the short hairs on my nape until I kissed her again. I couldn’t wait. I slammed into her body, shuddering with thanks that she was ready for me. I pumped out, the pace frantic. Too hard, too fast but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down.

  Now that I was in her, the need to fall into oblivion built. I gripped her bum, pulling her thighs up to my hips as I pounded into her, desperately reaching for the pleasure and peace she’d offered me in the past.

  She clenched around me, spurring me on. Her mouth and body were my only tether. Nothing else mattered as long as Briar’s soft warmth surrounded me.

  Her fingers tensed against my neck. I liked that. Too much. I lifted her higher, taking all her weight onto my arms. I used her hips as a counterbalance to my frantic thrusts. My fingers gripped her harder, needing to set the pace as she writhed, twisting her mouth free to gasp for air.

  “Hayden. God. Please.”

  I held her tighter, molding our cores together, as I carried her to the bed. Even though everything in me screamed against it, I let her slide off my body. She made a sound of distress. I reached around her and pulled the covers back. I unclasped her bra, shoving the straps down her arms. My mouth surrounded her nipple, laving, sucking, biting. Her fingers sifted through my hair as she took a shuddering breath.

  She didn’t understand the drive to own her was still strong. Stronger now that she was naked, just like she was supposed to be. I pushed her backward, ready to finish what I’d started. Her nipple popped from my mouth as she fell, an inarticulate sound ripping from her throat.

  I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my jeans and underwear. I yanked my shirt off my head. She leaned up to kiss my navel. I wanted to hold her there. But no. I didn’t want to be gentled.

  In a quick move I flipped her over so her front was on the bed. Yanking her hips up, I slammed back into her. Her fingers scrambled for purchase in the sheets as I regained my momentum, her hips held high and tight against my thighs.

  Sweat formed and dripped from my temples, my chest. My arms screamed with the effort of holding her up in such a position. But I was focused on her tight, hot channel. Shock sliced through me when she tightened further, her chin tipping to the side. She shoved her fist into her mouth as her body tensed past the point of bearable. She screamed and sobbed as she unwound around my pounding.

  When she cried out my name, I went over the edge, too. The release was so deep and hard, I had to brace my arm on the bed. This woman was my salvation.

  I leaned my forehead into her back and let the release take me in long shudders as my arm kept her hips tight against mine.

  My vision tunneled to just Briar, the softness of her mink-brown hair and the delicate ivory of her skin.

  She sprawled across the bed, her breathing returning to its normal rate. My muscles quivered as the last shudder eased from my body.

  I groaned and fell to the bed, managing to land beside her. Her eyes were closed, her lashes a black sweep against her cheeks. I pulled the sheet and blankets over us before I tucked her tight against my chest. Where she belonged.

  Briar placed her hand on my chest as her trim thigh slid between my legs. I settled my head on top of hers, smoothing my fingers down the fine silk of her back.

  “I love you.” She whispered the words.

  Letting out a breath, the last of my tension ebbed from my body even as something hard and heavy built low in my gut. Before I could think too much about it, the oblivion I’d been chasing for the last hour—that much-needed sleep—slammed its fist into my skull. But my dreams were shattered fragments I couldn’t quite catch.

  Light was just creeping over the horizon when I woke, feeling more drained than I had when I’d started the night. Briar was curled on the other side of the bed, the sheet low.

  Her hips were covered in bruises in the shape of my fingers. All over her beautiful skin.

  I levered upward and leaned over Briar’s soft, prone body. Multiple contusions marred the soft skin on her hips and waist. Fainter markings from my teeth covered her breasts. I winced, horror building in my chest, as I counted each one.

  No. I wouldn’t hurt Briar. I wasn’t like my mum. Since she told me of her bipolar disorder, I’d studied the list of symptoms, knew each by heart, knew I had less than a ten percent chance of being diagnosed myself.

  But the proof of my delusions lay before me.

  Chapter 24

  Briar

  The suite was quiet when I woke. Sunlight streamed through the window. I stretched, winced, and stretched some more. I bit my lip, my body achy but my heart full. I loved that Hayden turned to me in his grief. He was so walled off with everyone else, but the need on his face, the grief and desire in his eyes as he leaned in to kiss me last night brought it all into focus.

  For whatever reason, he needed me just as much as I needed him. We could figure this out. I loved him enough to try. And he’d already asked me to meet him in Europe.

  I sat up. Hayden must be in the shower. I dropped the sheet and walked toward the bathroom. The door was open, the room empty. He must be in the living room then.

  Brushing my teeth, I decided to shower before I found him. I needed to head over to Rosie’s and feed Princess before I took him to the airport. There was no way that cat could survive much longer without another meal.

  I knew Hayden had to leave. And that hurt, deeply, but we’d talk about how soon I could meet him. With a plan in place, we’d both feel better.

  I wrapped myself in the hotel robe, combed my hair, and walked into the living room. The table was set with a large coffee, a fruit salad, and a croissant. He’d already learned my favorite morning meal. My smile was quick, warm.

  The note next to the breakfast spread gave me pause. Went to the funeral home to hammer out the details. I need this done. ~ H

  He’d pulled back again. Uncertainty crept across my skin. Something in his note—no, I wouldn’t worry yet. I ate my breakfast slowly. I dressed and filled a to-go cup with more coffee, checking to make sure I had the room key card, my purse, and my car keys before heading down the elevator.

  As the elevator doors opened to the lobby, I hit a wall of cameras. The reporters’ voices rang out, questions thrown so quickly I couldn’t process what they were asking. They pressed in closer, trying to get another picture of my face, then another.

  “How long have you and Hayden Crewe been seeing each other?”

  “Do you plan to join him on tour?”

  “Did you know of his mother’s illness?”

  “Are you attending his mother’s funeral?”

  “Why didn’t you leave with him this morning?”

  This was the part of journalism I’d always detested, mainly because it was such an invasion of another person’s privacy. I lifted my arm up and pushed through the sea of bodies. As one, the group turned with me, pressing close enough for me to feel the hard plastic edge of one of the camera lenses. Panic rolled up from my now-queasy stomach.

  Another flash, then another. I was the fox being run to ground. I quivered, an instinctive need to hide taking over.

  Where the hell was Hayden?

  I was tall, but most of the men outweighed me by a good fifty, even a hundred, pounds. They didn’t budge.

  “Step back. Please,” I said, raising my voice to a near shout to be heard over the questions. A security guard was wading into the sea of bodies. About time. If I could just get to him, he could lead me out
of the group.

  “If you’ll step back I’ll answer a question,” I said. My fingers clutched my bag, holding it tight in front of me like a shield. I was in an old pair of jeans, my hair damp. The vain part of me shuddered to consider how unflattering these pictures were going to be. But the rational part of my brain was much more frightened of being mobbed and trampled.

  The group grumbled but backed up a little. I caught the guard’s eyes, mine wide, begging. He dipped his head in acknowledgment and continued to push through the bodies. At least thirty people. This was insane. I shook my head, trying to push through the daze that so many people were interested in my life.

  No, not mine. Hayden’s. Worry swelled my chest. Did he know how bad the frenzy was?

  I edged toward the front exit, my footsteps small, subconscious. The sea of reporters flowed in front of me, wanting to capture the emotions on my face.

  The guard settled at my side. “Thanks,” I murmured.

  He nodded, face grim, arms set in a no-nonsense stance that showed off his tall, bulky physique. “Your car will be here in a minute, Ms. Moore.”

  I could do this. “Okay, what was your question,” I asked one of the closest reporters. I continued to edge backward. Only ten feet to the door.

  The woman was small, her eyes hungry. She reminded me of a terrier, nuzzling deep into a tunnel to yank out its quarry. I managed another couple of shuffle steps as she preened.

  “Why weren’t you on the flight with Hayden this morning?”

  My poker face didn’t hold. I cracked as the words sank in. My mouth dropped open. Dammit, I was a reporter myself. I could handle this. I forced myself to smile. My face felt wooden, fake.

  “Hayden’s going through a difficult time. Losing a parent is traumatic under the best of circumstances. I’d appreciate it if you’d all give him some space as he works through his grief.”

  I nodded toward the security guard, who stepped forward in front of me as I bolted out the door. I dashed around the valet and practically dove into the driver’s seat. My chest was tight, my lungs aching.

  He wouldn’t have left. Not without a goodbye.

  I drove to Rosie’s, needing distance from the flash mob.

  Hayden was hurting. The reporter was trying to throw me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t check with Hayden, find out the truth for myself. I’d left my phone in my purse last night and it ran out of battery at some point.

  My pep talk to myself wasn’t very good because my fingers still shook, and it took me multiple tries to open Rosie’s door.

  Princess’s mrow of greeting was followed by a purr. At least someone was happy this morning. Such a change in her since we’d met Hayden.

  I closed the door softly and bent to pick her up for the first time. I needed the comfort of another warm body. I plugged in my phone and set about making a fresh cup of coffee. I’d lost my other cup in the mad dash to my car. I took a deep breath as the text app chirped, followed by the voice mail one. While my fingers itched to pick up the device, I opened the fridge instead. I pulled out a packet of lunchmeat I’d bought earlier in the week. Before I’d met Hayden. I closed my eyes, trying not to let the panic crash over me.

  “It’s not salmon, but you’ll cut me some slack, right, Princess?” My voice cracked. I filled her bowl, made sure her water dish was full, and washed my hands so I could doctor my coffee. Out of ways to procrastinate, I grabbed my phone.

  Seventeen texts. Twenty-three voice mails. My stomach churned. Either one would offer painful news if there were this many.

  I took a sip of my coffee, proud I got the mug to my mouth without spilling a drop. I opened the text app. The first one was from Lia, from late last night, making sure we were okay. The next was from Hayden.

  Arranged details with the funeral home. Heading straight to the airport. Thanks for the last few days.

  I blinked at the message a couple of times. It didn’t change. He’d told me thanks? In a text message? What the—who did that?

  The hurt was there, I could feel it building. But right now I was wallowing in righteous anger.

  I took another sip of my coffee and checked the rest of the messages. All from colleagues looking for the scoop about my relationship with Hayden, his relationship with his mother, his abrupt departure. This was going to be one hell of a story.

  My mind buzzed with thoughts of the last few days. The last few hours. The only thought I could focus on was that he’d left me. He hadn’t finalized any plans for me to meet him. He didn’t want me to join him. Just like he’d never planned to tell me goodbye. I was such a fool.

  Princess meowed and arched her back, winding her body through my legs. I picked her up again and buried my face in her fur. I’d started this. I’d finish it. I set the cat down, pressed my ear to my phone, and listened to my voice mails. Same thing as the texts. Many from people I barely knew. All wanting a piece of me. Anything I had to give.

  Too bad I’d given it all to Hayden last night.

  The final few messages were from Lia, all making sure I was okay. I managed to collapse onto the couch. Was I okay?

  Princess settled into my lap, her wide eyes reflecting my confusion.

  I pressed the Call Back button, needing something to stop the rush of emotion building in my chest.

  “Briar! I’ve been frantic. What’s going on?”

  I opened my mouth. For a moment, I was struck mute. But then a sob rose up and burst forth.

  Chapter 25

  Hayden

  Nothing felt right. I couldn’t get comfortable.

  “Need another pillow, Mr. Crewe?”

  The flight attendant’s eyes were blue but too pale. They weren’t the stunning color of Briar’s. Crikey, I needed to stop thinking about her. I refused to think about her smile when I’d asked her to meet me on tour.

  She’d have realized that was a mistake just as I had. And there was no way she’d want me now that I’d hurt her.

  I closed my eyes, my guilty conscience tracing each of the bruises I’d left on her skin. Like my mum had marked me. Bile rose, hard and fast. I managed to swallow it down, barely.

  “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “Not a problem. Be sure to let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable.”

  The words were professional, but the tone and look were seductive. I glanced out the window, trying to ignore the woman’s obvious interest. Once she walked down the narrow aisle, I pulled out my notebook, planning to go over the difficult chord progression I’d developed for the new song I’d started when Briar took me to play piano.

  Ten minutes later, I gave up. All I could think about was Briar. About the marks I’d left on her. About her soft words of love last night.

  Leaning my head back against the hard seat, I closed my eyes and saw Briar, waiting for me. Instead of meeting my gaze, she faced Puget Sound. Her eyes were sad, her gaze downcast.

  That was silly. Even if she was upset now, we’d met in lust. Shared a few days. She’d be glad to get back to her life, and I . . . well, I’d survive. It’s what I did.

  I opened my eyes and pushed up the plastic screen covering the airplane window. I shouldn’t have left her. Not the way I did. I should have apologized for using her body. I should have told her, if not in person, then in the note, how much she meant to me.

  But those bruises I’d left on her beautiful skin . . . How did I apologize for that? How did I tell her I feared it would happen again and again with me losing more of my control each time? Just as my mother had.

  Until the day Briar ended up in the ER, battered and scared out of her mind, because of me.

  “Drink, Mr. Crewe?”

  The flight attendant was back.

  “Coffee. Black. Thanks.”

  She poured it, handed me the Styrofoam cup I knew Briar wouldn’t approve of. Must be something about spending time in the Northwest. In just those few days, I’d managed to absorb some of their earth-friendly initiative.

 
“I was sorry to hear about your mother, Mr. Crewe.”

  My eyes snapped up to hers. She wasn’t going to leave. If I asked her to, I’d seem rude. But I didn’t want to deal with a fan right now.

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Your friend looked upset. Was she close with your mom?”

  What the hell was she talking about? “My mum was in hospice. She had cancer.”

  “Yes, I read that. It’s all over the news.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. My friend. Upset. The pieces fell together. “You mean Briar?”

  “Tall brunette.”

  The coffee sat heavy in my stomach. I’d left early . . . there was no way the media could have found out already. “Can I see the picture you’re talking about?”

  “They’re all over the Net. Just pick a site.”

  I pulled out my phone. “Okay for me to use now?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

  I nodded, scrolling through the menus to get access to the Internet. My heart tripped at the number of times the piece had been shared. Fucking hell. I clicked on the first one, trying to brace myself for the worst.

  And there she was. Briar. Hair damp, eyes wide, surrounded by reporters.

  Why hadn’t I considered that? She was scared. Alone. Fragile. But so beautiful.

  The picture was taken in the lobby of The Edgewater. And there were so many other photos—all of Briar with that same scared look in her eyes. Where was security? The paparazzi obviously surprised her, but the hotel was supposed to be prepared for these types of events.