Finding the Dream (For the Love of Music #1.5) (10 page)

Her voice sounded all breathy and strange, but he didn’t seem to care. Donovan stared at her face, her neck, her lips. His finger touched her jaw line and ran slowly down her neck until he reached her collarbone. “I really want to kiss you. I’m not supposed to want to kiss you.”

Now or give up.

Sierra scooted closer, resting her legs over Van’s. “That makes no sense.”

“I don’t know what makes sense.” His hands slid down her arms until he held her waist. “I want you closer.”

Sierra gathered every bit of new confidence she had and let him guide her until she straddled his lap. Her body tightened in anticipation of where he’d touch her next.

His hands stroked her sides. “Everything and nothing makes sense. You feel like you make sense, but maybe that’s the Daniels.”

He glanced down at how she sat on his lap. “We should always sit like this in here. I like this. But this is such a bad idea. Hanson’s sister… Clark’s daughter… Such a bad idea. Hanson hasn’t even
written
me back. What am I supposed to do with that?”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, her fingertips stroking the skin near the collar of his t-shirt, really not wanting to talk about her brother. “I like this, too.”

“Maybe if
you
kiss
me
, it won't be bad. It would be okay.” He leaned his head back on the couch. “Your brother might not kill me. Maybe you don’t want to kiss me.”

Kiss Donovan.

“I want to kiss you.” The millions of times she played first kisses with Van out in her head, this wasn’t quite what she’d pictured, but dreams were just dreams. Donovan was real, she was on his lap, and he was asking her for a kiss.

Slipping her fingers up the back of his neck and threading them through the bottom of his hair, she ached with wanting him. Tightening her hold, she leaned forward and nipped his bottom lip before sucking it gently into her mouth.

His body tightened underneath her, his hands gripped her sides before sliding up the back of her neck. His mouth opened and their kiss deepened.

Her legs squeezed on his hips, and she arched toward him, needing to feel the pressure of him against her.

All she knew was his mouth on her mouth and his hands on her hair and then on her back and then slipping her shirt over her head because she needed more of his hands on her. His kisses weren’t sloppy drunk kisses. Firm but soft lips, exploring tongue, hungry grasping hands—tight but not too tight. Everything fueled her body, making her beg for more of him. More kissing. Touching. Holding. Exploring.

Heat spiraled through her body as their mouth met again and again. “I want you,” she breathed.

Donovan answered by tipping them over on the couch, his weight on her. His hardness pressed between her legs and his tongue once again exploring her mouth.

This was him. And her. And what she’d wanted since she knew people were together this way.

Donovan paused, his breath rushing against her neck. “I’m pretty sure I’m drunk enough that this seems like a really good idea, but is actually a really bad idea.” He chuckled a little.

Sierra eased her hands up the back of his shirt and he shivered above her.

“But I might not care…”

“I want you,” she said again. She slipped near the edge of the couch, and Donovan lowered them to the floor, his body once again hovering over her for a moment before his weight rested on her.

He trailed kisses up and down her neck, pausing to lightly suck on her ear. She couldn’t stop. Not at that moment. Not when they were so close.
Sierra shoved the small tables away to give them more space on the floor.

Was she taking advantage of him by pressing? She flattened her hands on the floor, determined not to touch him again until he wanted to move forward, but felt the word form on her lips too late to stop it. “
Please
, Van. I’m okay. I want this. I want you.”

His mouth collided with hers.

Everything tangled together. Hands, bodies, clothes, more hands. More twisting and moving to strip down and then the scratch of the carpet underneath her, the feel of his hands on her sides as they moved together and then as Donovan rolled onto his back, the strength of him carefully rolling her with him as they continued to move together. Everything faded and buzzed and she let his inhibitions be hers until her body twisted and spiraled into a release that came out in a strangled cry of his name and a few seconds later she felt him tighten and shudder beneath her, his arms once again wrapping around her, holding her close. Pulling her to him. Caressing her hair and her sides and her arms and her heart.

His lips softly touched her forehead. “I’m so very far from perfect,” he whispered. “But you feel perfect. And this…” His arm tightened as she relaxed her head on his chest, not caring that the carpet scraped on her bare skin. “…holding you like this also feels perfect.”

Despite being sucked dry of any kind of energy, Sierra relaxed further next to him, loving how the muscle between his chest and his arm held her face, and how his fingers never stopped moving over her skin even as his breathing slowed into sleep.

This was Donovan.
Her
Donovan. And it was finally happening.

Eleven

The first thing that registered was that his ass had rug burn, and the weight of his body was still pressing his skin into the carpet. Blinking was like steep trap doors slamming open and closed, so he gave up and let his eyes fall slowly closed.

“Hmmm.”

His breathing stopped.

The “hmmm” was distinctly female, and he was sure he hadn’t left the bar with anyone. Being more gentle with his sensitive lids, he slowly opened his eyes to see a mane of pale brown hair. A face rested on his bare chest and an arm draped loosely over his middle.

Donovan’s heart sped. He knew this hair. These arms. The blanket from the couch rested over them, and the tiniest bit of light from behind the blinds said it was very early in the morning.

What had he done?

He snatched a pillow from the couch using the arm not trapped by Sierra’s head and chanted over and over –
please let this not be real. Not be real. Not be real.

He’d just pulled a total dick move. Genetics won out last night. Dammit.

Slowly slipping the pillow under her head while scooting away, sitting up and holding his breath, sent another wracking hangover pain slamming through his skull. Donovan skittered off the floor and crouched on the couch. Still naked. Still with rug burn on his ass and staring at Sierra. One breast remained uncovered, and he quickly reached down to tug the blanket up.

He’d always been like her brother. Her protector alongside Hanson. When some kid had asked her to the dance when she was a freshman, he and Hanson pinned him against a tree, threatening him with his life if he dared touch her. And as flashes of her body next to his and her lips on his, and her breasts in his mouth. Her damn
perfect
breasts in his mouth. And her body, and the way she moved… The night was coming back to him one perfect, erotic snapshot at a time.

Oh. Shit. Oh shitty shitshitshitshitshitshit…

Donovan jumped over the arm of the couch not caring how naked he was, or how his whole body now felt as if it were made of steel doors slamming open and closed and open and closed… He was never drinking again. Well, that was shit. He’d totally drink again. But it wouldn’t be for a very long while.

He needed out. To think. To figure out how, after all the years of not wanting to think of Sierra with anyone, ever, he’d become the asshole to take advantage of her.
How had he become like his dad? After all the work not to. After all the work to make Clark proud of him. All the work for him and Hanson to stay close.

Fuckityfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

He knew he should take a shower. Knew he should act like a grownup and wait for her to wake up so they could talk or sort or whatever. He smelled like death—even to himself, but all he could think was,
I have to leave the scene of the crime. Have to.

He’d already been an asshole. That part was done.

He grabbed the first pair of pants and shirt he found in his room and shoved them on.

His stomach heaved as he thought about Sierra’s dad. The man who had been more like a dad to him than anyone. About Sierra’s mom worrying so much about Sierra being a few hours from home because of
drunk assholes like him.

About Hanson and how he hadn’t even warned him, or spoken to him… Maybe he should have just said something in his email instead of being so determined they actually speak.
Dammit
.

Donovan slipped on his shoes and slowly unlocked the door, stepping into the cold morning air. He was an asshole for leaving. An asshole for coming home drunk. An asshole for letting that smile of hers make him think it could possibly be okay to do what they’d done together.

“Dammit!” he yelled the second he reached the parking lot. Of all the ways to completely and totally fuck up what he’d promised Sierra’s brother and parents, this was about the worst way he could imagine.

And it was done.

Head wracking with pain he rested his forehead against the doorframe of his van.
I wish for a time machine. I wish for a time machine. I wish for a time machine.

What a shitty, shitty, disaster.
Apparently he was doomed to turn out like his dad.

Well, that went better than expected.

- Sierra

How the hell do I fix what I just did?

- Donovan

Twelve

Sierra blinked and smiled as her night came flooding back to her. Donovan. Lips. Bodies. Tangled. She stretched, the lack of Donovan next to her unsurprising, considering she was on the floor. But still, she allowed her body to revel in the awesomeness.

She sat up slowly, her head pounding from lack of sleep and the hard floor, but whatever. She turned toward the couch and scanned the room but nothing.

Where was Donovan?

His clothes sat rumpled near her feet. Sierra stood, holding the small couch blanket over her chest, but wait… He’d seen her naked. She let the blanket fall to the floor, wondering what his face would look like seeing her naked again. Maybe he was headed for the shower and they could do that together. She walked up the hall. Empty bathroom. Maybe he’d just woken early and gone to bed. His door sat ajar, but his bed was empty. Where
was
he?

She turned in the hallway, realizing that it was incredibly early in the morning, and she was alone. How was it possible that a guy she’d known for years had pulled this kind of a dick move when they
lived
together? But it was Donovan. He wouldn’t just run away, would he? Had he pulled an asshole move, or was something else going on?

Stepping into the bathroom and turning on the water for a shower, she continued to run through scenarios. There had to be an explanation. He wasn’t the kind of guy to run out on a girl.

Was he?

No. He wasn’t.

She stepped under the scalding stream of water. Maybe he’d left a note or something. A text she hadn’t seen yet.

Surely there was something.

Halting her shower after about three minutes, Sierra dashed back into the living room in a towel. Checked her phone. A million emails, twitter mentions, Facebook notifications… Nothing from Van.

Old school?

She scanned the small coffee table and grinned when she vaguely remembered shoving it out of the way last night. Nothing. The small kitchen table. Nothing. Counters. Nothing. Door. Nothing. Craft cabinet. Nothing. Her bedroom door. Nothing.

Her heart grew heavier with each realization and she sat on her bed, her wet towel and hair creating a damp circle around her.

It would still be damp that night.

Why hadn’t he left her anything?

She relaxed her hands on her phone, and flipped it over to message Van, but what did she say?
Hey. Was great to have sex with you last night. Where are you? What does that mean for us?

All things that might make him run screaming. But he’d been there too and wanted it. But… But she’d pushed, knowing he was drunk. Maybe it had been stupid to keep wanting Van. A few weeks of living together didn’t mean that she knew the guy he was now.

She scrolled to Lindsey’s name on her phone, but couldn’t bring herself to confide in her friend.
She’d confided in her friend the last two times she’d slept with guys, and the last two times the guys had disappeared. Not the next morning, but also not too terribly long after.

What did it mean that Donovan had left
nothing?
Were they in an awkward mess? And if they were, was it her doing? Or his?

Alyson stepped around where Donovan rested against a display and he jumped again. Eight cups of coffee had done nothing to help his nerves. Every minute that ticked by, he knew he’d done the wrong thing by leaving. Thought about how Sierra must feel. Knew he had to fix…everything. But how was he supposed to do that when he couldn't sort out his screaming head and aching gut and twisted up heart?

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he jumped again.

Alyson’s brows twitched in confusion as Donovan clutched his phone and walked back into his office, closing the door behind him.

Chuck:
How’s the head this morning?

His breath came out in a rush and his body weakened. He had to do something. Fix something. Anything.

Donovan ran through the shop and up the street to the coffee store again.

“Again?” the barista laughed.

“Just a peppermint hot chocolate and muffins, please.”

“What kind of muffins?”

“I don’t care!” Donovan yelled. “Just a couple damn muffins!”

The man’s eyes widened, but by the upturn of his mouth he seemed more amused than angry.

“Sorry,” Donovan mumbled.

He jigged his leg while he waited, and left the store in a run. He had no idea what Sierra’s schedule was that day. Had no idea if she’d be home. Or not home. Or busy. Or what. Bile slid up his throat and he coughed it back down.

Never had he felt like this after sleeping with a girl. Ever.

Hanson was going to tear him to pieces if he found out. And her parents… They trusted him. With
her
. And what he’d done last night and that morning made him the exact kind of guy he didn’t want to be.
He could not do that ever again.

Donovan halted on the sidewalk so fast that bits of chocolate tipped out the small holes in the top of Sierra’s to-go mug. Not happen again? Never touch her again?

He forced his legs to carry him forward, but walking took so much more effort than it normally did. One leg. Another leg. What did he want?

He didn’t know.

He wanted to see her smile and wanted to know more about this energetic, confident woman she’d become. And yeah, he wanted to touch her again.

The girl he was supposed to watch over and protect, he still wanted to ravage. He thought of her dad, and her mom and Hanson…
What his dad would do. At least Donovan was trying to fix running out on her that morning.
Trying
to.

By the time he reached the steps of their apartment, he had no idea what to say to her, only that he felt compelled to say something.
Do
something.

He opened the door and the scent of baking wafted over him.

“Donovan?” Sierra asked.

He blinked to see her standing in front of him, her hair pulled off her slender neck and another dress showing off her legs. The same legs that had wrapped around him last night. Donovan shook his head to try and get rid of the image.

“Yeah. I…” But he had no words. He shoved the drink and bag of muffins toward her. “I brought hot chocolate and muffins.”

Sierra’s mouth twitched. A frown? “It’s lunchtime, Van. I have my second class in thirty minutes.”

He couldn’t read her voice either.

“Should I skip?” she asked. “You wanna talk?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

Sierra’s shoulders slumped down and her twitching mouth fell and her eyes turned toward the ground. “I can re-heat the chocolate if you put it in the fridge.” She stepped around him, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder. “But I gotta go.”

“Sierra,” he pleaded. But for what? What was he going to say?

Her eyes met his… So damn beautiful and hopeful.
Almost liquid. Or maybe that’s because she was about to cry.
Dammit
.

“I have…” He started. Had to
what?
“I have to sort out what I’m thinking… I’m not… I want…”

Her chin quivered and her eyes cast down again. “I got another rejection for my manuscript this morning. I have yet to have a guy stick around for more than a few times of sleeping together. I’m getting better at knowing how to deal with not being wanted. Please, just… Never mind.”  She walked out the door and ran down the stairs.

“Fuck.” He shoved the bag and mug on the table and ran down after her.
What the hell was he going to say?

Donovan’s face held every fear she’d had while baking five kinds of muffins that morning just trying to stay busy. And then stuffing half those muffins in her mouth when she got another form rejection for
Kissing Lacey
. How could she have been so stupid? He’d
never
want her the way she wanted him.
And maybe she shouldn’t want him.

“Sierra!” he called but she didn’t slow. Every blink sent a new tear down her cheek, and the last thing she wanted was any kind of pity hugs or kisses or
anything.

“Sierra.” He reached her side. “Please stop.”

Pulling in a slow breath through trembling lips, she finally met his eyes.

Worried. That’s all she could read on him.

He cupped her face in his hands. “I just… I need to sort a few things out in my head and my heart. They’re both screaming so loudly right now that I don’t know what to make of it. I just… Your dad and brother, and I… I just need a little space. Okay? Just a little. I’m sorry.”

She pushed his hands away.

“I’m not sorry, Van,” she said quietly. “I’m not sorry.” Sierra jerked away from him and continued toward campus knowing the chances of her actually making it to her class were slim to none. Her heart was too heavy. Her head too full.

This was not how her and Donovan were supposed to happen.

Donovan let her go, totally unsure if that was the right move or not. He wasn’t ready for Chuck’s honest opinion—he’d rather wallow in his own mistakes first.

Donovan stayed at the shop for the rest of the day, glad for every rush of customers to keep his mind occupied. Alyson kept giving him odd looks, and he found himself jumping when she got close, and not wanting to hold eye contact, and… And things with them had been awkward, but not horrid awkward. Whatever had amped up the tension that day had nothing to do with Donovan and Alyson’s past, and everything to with Sierra.

His phone vibrated in a text.

Clark
:
How’s my girl doing? She won’t answer me.

Guilt raked through Donovan again. He was about to lie to the man who had given him a home when he needed one, and one of two people in the world whose opinion mattered to him.

Donovan: Late night for me last night. Not sure. Will check in later.

Shit.

If he could just take last night back. Make it disappear. Really have time to think about what the ramifications of being with her would be before doing something. Now he was faced with the aftermath of not waiting. And if he felt he was betraying a horrible trust with her family and who he felt was
his
family if he liked her in a way that would lead to a lot more nights like last night. Or if hurting her was the worst offense, and if maybe, in time, the people who had taken him in without question would be able to forgive him.

But every time he blinked, he saw Sierra’s hurt face, and he knew he had to do something about that. And soon.

“Alyson?” he asked as she passed his office door.

She peered around the frame before stepping into the doorway, but no further.

“I know this is awkward,” she said. “But I’d really rather not find another job this close to graduation. I’m guessing the weirdness has been because of that?”

“No, no.” He waved his hands between them. “You’re fine. We’re both adults. Working with you is fine.”

He’d never say this to her out loud, but his relationship with Alyson already felt like a practical lifetime away.

He stared at her for a moment longer. Alyson was so much simpler than Sierra. Came with so fewer complications. But… But she just wasn’t the right one.

“So…” She took a tentative step into the office. “What’s up?”

Donovan tapped his pen on the desk in a ra-a-tat rhythm that annoyed even him before grasping the pen in both hands.

She slowly sat in the chair opposite him. “Okay. Now you’re just being weird.”

“When you…” He cleared his throat. “When you said you needed to step away from us. To take a break. You just needed to think on your own, right? To sort out your own feelings before mashing ours together too much?”

Alyson’s face fell a little and she nodded.

He pressed his fingers into his eyes, wondering if Sierra felt as crappy about him asking her for space as he had when Alyson asked for the same thing.

But it wasn’t like he and Sierra were dating.

No. It’s worse.

It was so much worse.

“Do you want to know what I learned?” she asked. “Even though it’s sort of too late now?”

“Yeah.”

“That you’re a great guy, Van. That I was being stupid and that I was lucky to have you.” She stood so fast the chair squeaked backwards.

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. “So, I guess that makes me the asshole, huh? Because I didn’t wait for break to be over?”

Her mouth twitched. “Let’s roll with that, yeah.”

She left his office, and he sagged in his chair.

“Oh, and Van?” Alyson peered back in.

“Yeah?”

“Honesty is generally the simplest.” She let out a breath. “If I’d been honest with you about my graduation and you being tied to this store and sometimes looking like my little brother instead of my boyfriend, things might have turned out differently.”