Behind the Lyrics by Melissa Riddell

Chapter 21

Angela Morales

His room, compared to my place, was a freaking castle—and not the old, drafty kind, either.

In the middle of the area, headboard against the wall, sat the largest bed I’d ever seen. I think it was one of those California Kings I’d heard about, or it could’ve been custom-made—I really wasn’t sure. Whatever the hell it was, the bed dominatedthe room. Rumpled navy-blue silk sheets covered the mattress, and a plush goose down comforter lay piled at the end.

To the right, against the light-gray wall, a charcoal sectional couch provided a sitting area. A few shirts and a pair of pants had been thrown haphazardly on the farthest end. A coffee table, its acrylic surface transformed to look like the beach with crashing waves, perched on a fringed, teal rug.

On the opposite side, to my left, lay the bathroom. Instead of a door and wall, frosted sliding glass separated it from the bedroom. From what I could see, a square garden tub sat in the middle, and next to it—a gigantic shower tiled with natural river stone. Showerheads hung from the ceiling on opposite ends. Damn thing’s bigger than my entire apartment.

“Here, give me those.” Viktor slid into my view and lifted the flowers. “I’ll get them some water so they don’t wilt before you get home.”

“Okay, uh, thanks.” I tried not to sound like a dumbstruck fool, but it was impossible. All this opulence, from the elaborate furnishings, to the entire wall of windows looking out to the desert, reminded me of the poor country girl I was.

This is a mistake—what was I thinking? That he’d be interested inme? I didn’t know the first thing about his lush world filled with expensive, shiny things. He surely hung out with women who were much more refined than me, radiating elegance and class.

Dismay set in, and those tiny panicked butterflies kicked around in my stomach. I don’t belong here.

He returned from the bathroom with a cup of water, stuffed the bouquet inside, and put them on a massive oak dresser. As he wiped his hands on his jeans, he turned his sexy stare on me. His hair, disheveled from the ride, curled around his head and shoulders in cascading waves like liquid gold.

“What is it?” A line furrowed between his eyebrows. He ambled to me and took my hand.

“I… This…” Words wouldn’t form. How could I explain what I was feeling? I gestured to the bedroom, the bathroom, and the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Frowning, he tilted his head. “What about it? It’s just stuff, and it’s not even mine—not really. Just on loan until we get the album wrapped, so what’s the problem?” He bent toward me and brought his gaze level with mine. Worry flashed in the depths of his irises, turning that brown gaze darker.

I gave him a small shrug and frown, then took a breath and tried again. “It’s just… I feel so out of place. I mean, look at me.” I scowled and pointed to my shirt then my pants. “Not exactly celebrity material.”

“Who the fuck cares?” He pulled me closer and slid a hand against the side of my neck, letting his fingers cup the natural curve. “Not me. I think you’re adorable just the way you are, and I’ll fucking punch anyone who dares to disagree.”

A tiny laugh snuck out. His intensity radiated in waves, catching me in his charismatic webs. I stared at his face, transfixed on those plump lips. I bet they’re soft.

His eyelids drooped lower, reminding me just how gorgeous and masculine he was. The way he stared, a tiger waiting to pounce, sent heat from my head to my toes.

As he tightened his grip on my neck, his other hand slid around my waist and pulled me flush against him. Every part of him was hard—every part. I couldn’t catch my breath, and I couldn’t look away.

He lowered his mouth and brushed his lips against mine, as if asking permission.

I slid my hands up his chest to wrap around his tie and jerked him to me, crushing my mouth to his. His pillowy soft lips opened immediately and bit back a gasp. Yep, just like I’d imagined.

A snarl rumbled in the back of his throat, and his tongue plunged inside my mouth. His hands wound in my hair, and I laced my fingers at the back of his neck, afraid my shaking legs would give out.

He tasted sweet, and his tongue urgently stroked mine. For some reason, his desperation fed mine, and I met each thrust with a small moan.

“Fuck, Angel.” He pulled away and pushed my face into his neck. “I’m trying to take it slow, to control myself, but you make it goddamn difficult.”

His heartbeat hammered against my ear. “It’s okay. We probably should slow it down.” Though what I said was true, there was still a little part of me that wanted to abandon the control and give in to pure animal lust, to see how far this would go, and worry about the consequences later.

“Here, have a seat.” He pulled me to the couch. Running his fingers through his beard, he let out a shaky breath. His gaze roamed the room. “Let’s see what I managed to nick.” Grabbing the food from the nearby desk, he set the generic white bags onto the coffee table and pulled out several covered plastic trays. He popped one open and grinned. “Hope you enjoy sushi.”

“I love sushi.” My mouth watered just thinking about it. “Sometimes, when I have a little extra cash, I’ll splurge and get the good stuff from the restaurant down the road from my apartment. They have the best hands down.”

He handed me a tray and chopsticks then uncorked the wine. “To fish and wine, then, Angel.” Pouring a glass, he passed it to me.

I sipped. “Jesus Christ, this is good.” Berries swirled in my mouth, delighting my taste buds. Sighing, I cupped the glass in the palm of my hand and savored the lingering flavors on my tongue.

“It’s all yours if you want.” He reached to a small fridge at the end of the couch and pulled out a water.

“Oh, damn.” I’d forgotten he was supposedly a recovering alcoholic addict, and here I flaunted one of his vices right in his face. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t even thinking—”

“Stop. I’m a big boy who’s learned to control the urges.” He tipped the water to his mouth and swigged.

His long blond hair glinted in the room’s soft lighting, calling attention to the darker shade of his beard that stopped below his jawline. While he drank, I took the opportunity to let my gaze drift downward to the opened collar of his black shirt, his tie loose and crooked. How could he look so disheveled yet so tempting?

Once he emptied the container, he tossed the bottle toward a trashcan in the corner, missing entirely. A sheepish smile twisted his lips. “Well, sports were never my thing in school.” He slid an arm along the back of the couch, his fingertips ghosting the skin of my neck.

I took another bite of the food, not caring I might’ve looked like a starving pig. It had been hours since lunch, and man, the sushi practically melted in my mouth. When I finished chewing, I swallowed. “How did you end up in a band, anyhow?”

He propped his head against the cushioned back of the couch and lifted his eyebrows. “James, actually.” He crossed a leg over his knee, and he tilted his gaze to me. “He and I were best friends growing up. When his parents paid for lessons to learn to play the guitar, he’d come over later and teach me the chords.”

“James used to be your bass player in Angry Gods, right? Before he died?” Finishing every morsel in the tray, I reluctantly leaned forward and placed it on the coffee table, eyeing Viktor’s half-touched meal.

“Yes.” Leaning forward, he turned his full attention on me. When I pressed into the couch, his fingers caressed my neck then slid into my hair.

A tingle raced across my skin, and I leaned into his touch before stopping myself. Focus on the conversation. For some reason, this felt important. His tone carried an unusual weight.

“He…” Viktor placed both feet on the carpet and scooted closer. Hesitation or indecision—I wasn’t sure which—flashed across his face.

I twisted to fully face him and tucked a leg under my butt “He what?”

“I’ve never shared this with anyone.” Only a few inches lay between us. “When he died, it was ruled an accident, but afterward, I found a letter in my room.” Those gorgeous brown orbs filled with pain, and he shut his eyes.

Unable to help myself, I stroked his cheek. “What did it say?”

The frown lines disappeared, and his gaze zoomed to mine. “I’d been pushing him on the tour. He told me he couldn’t handle three more weeks of nightly gigs and begged to go home. I convinced him to stay. He was irreplaceable, and I thought he could hold out.”

I cupped his jaw and tried to lend him my strength, because somehow, I knew his story was about to get worse.

“His death was officially ruled as an accidental drowning. He’d been struggling with heroine, alcohol, you name it. Hell, we all struggled.” His fingers wrapped around mine, and he stroked my knuckles, his focus following the movement of his fingertips. “It was a letter filled with mad scribblings and rants, but ultimately, he blamed me for everything. Said he couldn’t take it any longer and hoped I was happy with what I did.”

“Shit.” I tried to imagine stumbling upon such a thing and how it would make me feel and couldn’t. The guilt must’ve been horrible. “I’m sorry.”

He lifted his head, and a sad smile twisted his lips. “Not as sorry as I.” He sighed and tugged me to his chest, holding me in a loose embrace. “At the time, he had a wife and small child back home in England. I flushed the note, afraid it would get back to his family. I didn’t want them to know what he did…or that I was the cause of it, I guess.”

“He made the choice, not you. Besides, you guys were barely more than kids yourselves.”

He gave a half shrug. “I’ve tried to tell myself that for the past ten years.” He traced small circles against my spine, his stare a million miles away. “After he died, I couldn’t keep the band together. Couldn’t even keep myself together. Any drug I could get my hands on, I’d use to numb the pain and guilt. It worked for a little while, but once I came down from the temporary high, the torture was always there at the back of my mind—a cancer, devouring me from the inside out.”

I pressed my cheek to his chest and hugged him tightly, wanting to soak that pain into myself to ease his suffering. “God, Viktor. That’s horrible.”

He laced his arms around my waist and set his chin on the top of my head. “It’s what I carry with me all the time. My last stint in rehab finally stuck, or maybe it’s getting older that’s given me perspective, but I realized James wasn’t the only one who died that day. I did, too. At least, the man I used to be.” He placed both hands to either side of my head and tilted my face to his. “And I decided I didn’t want to live like that anymore. I’d let his decision drag me down for long enough, and it was time to face the music.”

“So, this album is a true comeback, isn’t it?” I searched his gaze, and then… Click. The lock on my heart opened. There’s so much more to him than I first thought.

“Yes, it’s coming back from the brink of desolation and despair, a tradeoff of guilt for rebirth. Maybe even a new life with a new person.”

With a gentle touch, he guided my mouth to his, and I lost myself in his arms.