No Quarter (NOLA's Own #2) (4 page)

“Would you go back and change it if you could?”

I gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know. Ask me again in ten years.”

“I will.”

I believe you.
“I guess you’re living out your passion,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Well, at least one of us is, right? What does that feel like?”

“It’s the best. But then again, I’ve never done anythin’ else.”

“If you guys never made it, what do you think you’d be doing?”

“I guess I would have gone to college and into investment, like my dad.”

“What does that even mean?”

He laughed. “I’m not even sure. I’m a rock star, remember? I skipped college and toured Europe instead.”

“And helped write three of my favorite albums.”

“That, too.”

“What’s that like? I mean, what process do you go through to write music? How do you come up with the words, the collaboration of notes? What—”

He busted out laughing, and I felt myself blush.

“What’s so funny?”

“You sure you’re not an undercover journalist for
Rolling Stone
?”

“Oh, ha-ha,” I replied sarcastically. “I’ve got my doctorate to hang up in my office on Sunday. I’ll be happy to show it to you.”

“First of all,” he said, completely ignoring my sarcasm, “I love writin’ music. It’s one of the best highs I’ve ever experienced. When we create a piece, we go through a bunch of different processes. Sometimes, we write the music, and that’ll inspire me to write the lyrics. Sometimes, it’s the other way around. There are songs that just fill up my head, and since I know what it sounds like and they don’t, I’ll write it all out, and then they’ll tweak it. Jason’s such a shit with the tweakin’.”

“Only one of the best highs? What could possibly be better than that?”

He smiled wickedly, his warm eyes twinkling into mine. “Bein’ inside my Baby Girl.”

I gulped down some iced tea to try to cool the flames igniting inside.
Damn, he knows just what to do and say to set me on fucking fire.
Clearing my throat, I pretended my crotch hadn’t just melted.

“Are you the only one who writes the lyrics?”

“Pretty much. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Because your words have power in them, and I feel it every time I listen to your songs, your music, your voice. To know that it is truly your words I’m listening to brings me a deeper understanding of your mind, how it works. Knowing this, I might never be able to listen to them again and not hear your soul.

Phil arched an eyebrow at me. “What are you thinkin’?”

“How do you come up with lyrics?”

“Depends on my mood. I record a lot of my thoughts on a small recorder. There are times when I’m never without one. I’ll just talk to myself. I play it back, and it helps me form lyrics. Other times, they just hit me, and I have to write shit down.”

“How long have you been able to do this?”

He shrugged. “Always, I guess. I think I heard my first song in my head when I was really young, like four or five.”

“What was it about?”

His eyes burned into mine, and I was near to suffocating, feeling his passion.

“It happened while I was thinkin’ of you. Only, I didn’t realize until this very minute…you’ve always been my inspiration, Kenna…my whole life.”

I can’t breathe. Oh God…I think my heart is going to spasm out of my chest.

My eyes burned, and I bit my bottom lip hard, but my chin was trembling far harder than anything I could control. Fat hot tears spilled out of my eyes, and suddenly, he pulled me off my stool and into his arms, his lips and hands all over my face. His mouth branded me, utterly possessive in his intensity.

Gasping for breath, he pressed his Third Eye to mine, and I was flooded with his desire, his respect, his loyalty, his absolute trust in me, his promise of faithfulness and fidelity to me…only me. No matter what stupid shit he might do, I could always count on
that
.

He is
mine
.

“You own me, Kenna,” he promised me, his breath caressing over my face.

Clinging to him as though my life depended on him, as though the beating of my heart would simply cease if he wasn’t here with me, I was terrified and completely at his mercy, and I didn’t think I would have it any other way.

“You own me just as much,” I whispered, my voice trembling with fear, with hope, with everything I had.

Sheri looked fucking
dy-no-mite
in her brand-new wide-legged jeans and a tight black NOLA’s Junk tank top that restrained her goods in a respectable manner. She had her gorgeous hair piled high on her head, and there was a glow in her cheeks as she peered through the glass separating us from the seafood display.

Sheri looked so healthy that I had to remark on it.

“I’ve been making those juices and smoothies you gave me the recipes for. They’re fantastic, and I feel like I have so much more energy,” she said.

We were at a large indoor market with stalls providing every type of fresh food available. The only problem I had with this place was that, unlike the farmers market, the wares here weren’t necessarily local. However, this place had the biggest selection of some of the best seafood. It was a friendly environment where the sellers were really nice, and it was never overly crowded.

With Phil and the guys setting up the music room, Sheri had happily volunteered to accompany me. I thought she just wanted to show the world that she looked fabulous in a pair of jeans. I couldn’t blame her.

“Jason is so bored. I think he made the guys take him into the music room to help today,” Sheri said.

The dude behind the counter handed me a half-pound of scallops and shrimp.

“And a half-pound of clams and that fillet of catfish.” I pointed to the one I wanted. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be all right as long as he doesn’t overdo anything,” I assured Sheri.

A small gourmet coffee stand was located at the exit, and we grabbed two creamy frappés to enjoy on the ride home in the Black Beauty. After dropping the seafood in the cooler of ice we’d brought with us in the bed of the truck, we hopped in, slurping our frosty treats.

“Jason wanted to have sex last night,” Sheri said in a hushed voice. “And he got mad at me when I told him no.”

“He should probably wait,” I told her.

“That’s what I said,” she replied. “His face is still in a lot of pain, but I think his feelings were hurt worse. It’s like he’s afraid he’s no longer attractive. I tried to tell him that I still thought he was beautiful, but he just kicked me out. Even when I brought him his breakfast this morning, he didn’t say anything to me. No, that’s not true. He told me my scrambled eggs sucked. He drank all the juice though.”

I cracked up. “What a brat!”

Sheri grinned. “Yeah, he can be a fucking diva when he doesn’t get his way. I think…” Her face fell a little. “I think he thinks I’m not interested in him anymore.”

“Are you?”

“Very much so. If anything, I think his crooked nose is going to make him look even hotter—you know, once all the swelling goes down. His face was
too
perfect before. He almost looked angelic. Now, he’ll have a little bit of a dangerous edge.”

I couldn’t help it. I lost my shit, laughing. “Yeah, I can see that.”
Phil is like that. He has this incredible energy that practically screams primal sex and thrilling danger—no busted face required.

“I don’t know how to reassure him. I think he already feels rejected, and now, he won’t forgive me.” She sighed.

“I don’t get that,” I said, sobering up. “How can he feel rejected? You’ve been taking care of him from morning till night. To me, that speaks devotion.”

“He thinks I’m doing it because it’s my job.”

Deciding I was just going to come out and say it, I asked, “What’s the deal with you two, Sheri? He seems pretty territorial with you, but then—”

“He lets me blow his bandmates,” she stated flatly.

“Well, I was going to say, he can be pretty mean to you, too. I get the feeling that he’s madly in love with you, but he doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Oh,” she said, blushing. She quickly sipped on her coffee and then cleared her throat. “Well, that’s probably because he told me once, and I never said anything back.”

“You don’t love him?” I found that surprising.

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine my life without him. And I don’t want to sleep with anyone else. He seriously turns me on. But…I guess I’m just waiting for the day when he wakes up and realizes he can do better.”

“Why do you say that? You’re a good person, Sheri. You love these boys like family, and I know they feel the same way about you.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, her voice sad.

“Well, I do. When Phil told you to get out that day, Jason was ready to go to war for you. He wants you around, and I know Phil really does, too. Now…do you want to talk about the blow-job thing or…”

She cleared her throat again. “Sometimes, I need more than Jason to get off.”

Brain fart.
“I’m sorry?”

“It’s a thing I have,” she admitted quietly. “Sometimes, I can’t have an orgasm unless I’m going down on a guy at the same time. So, I blow the guys while Jason fucks me. He’ll do that for me. And since he trusts the guys…”

“Is it every time?”
Would Phil do that for me, if it were what I needed? Probably not. He’d fuck us both to death in an attempt to get me off first.

“It used to be in the beginning but not so much now. I guess it really depends on where my head’s at.”

I sucked in a deep breath and voiced what had been on my mind for a while now, “Did something bad happen to you, Sheri?”

“You could say that,” she replied.

“Have you spoken to anyone about it?”

“I used to see a shrink, but I stopped going when I met the guys. It’s hard to be shrunk when you’re touring. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start seeing one again now that we’re home. I used to feel better after I had my sessions.”

“I think that might be a good idea. You need to talk to someone, and I get the feeling it’s way beyond my scope of practice.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah.”

Back at the Plantation House, we headed into Phil’s half to add the seafood to the already prepped and simmering gumbo base. I had dumped everything into the slow cooker before Sheri and I’d left.

As I was chopping the catfish into chunks, Sheri set up the blender and made Jason a smoothie since he had to take some painkillers soon.

“They make him so ill when he takes them on an empty stomach,” she complained as she rinsed out the appliance. “I’m going to run this down to him.”

“He should probably take a rest before dinner.”

“Okay.” She headed through the sliding panel door.

Ten minutes later, as I scrubbed my fishy hands in the kitchen sink, I heard the door slide open. Thinking it was Sheri, I looked over my shoulder and instead found Phil staring at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“Hey, babe.” I dried off my hands.

The lock on the door turned, and my eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Fuck me runnin’,” he growled, stalking his way over to me until his huge body pressed against my back, trapping me against the countertop.

What personal space?
I thought dryly.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“What the fuck are you wearin’?” He panted, sliding his hot palms up under my shirt to cup and massage my tits.

“Jeans and my new halter top,” I replied, pushing my butt into his groin.

He started dropping those tonguing kisses I adored on my shoulder and neck while his calloused fingers began plucking and rolling my nipples.

“Are we about to have kitchen sex?” I laughed, reaching up and twining my arms around his neck.

“Too. Fuckin’. Right,” he replied.

Stirring the gumbo, I looked up to see Alys and Lili traipsing through the backyard. Without me having to ask, Alys had picked up two-dozen French bread rolls to have with dinner. I truly found these sorts of little things that she did for me endearing. I had completely forgotten that Grandma loved her white French bread rolls with her fiery bowl of gumbo or jambalaya or chicken soup or beef stew—she had a running theme going—but Alys remembered, and she’d gotten enough for everyone to have Grandma’s little must-have.