Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4) (11 page)

Chapter 16

~April~

We’ve been in Gabe’s
truck, rolling down the highway for almost forty minutes. I pretended to read
and study most of the time, but so close to him, it’s a bit difficult to concentrate.
The last time I felt this way—
breathless and giddy and
brainless—around
someone was at the age of twelve with my college aged
piano teacher. Infatuations are immature. I know this, yet I can’t stop the
bubbling emotions he produces. Well, at least internally. Outwardly, I try to
stay as cynical as possible.

Finally giving up on reading and closing my clinical
psychology book, I ask, “Is this an overnight trip or something?”

Gabe nods toward the green sign we’re about to pass.
“This is our exit.”

I search the signs on the side of the road as we
come closer to the exit. None of the restaurants or ‘attractions’ makes sense
with the items left on the bucket list. At the end of the ramp, he turns away
from the businesses and we roll along a highway with farms on each side. Across
the cab, he smirks again, as my anticipation laced with dread grows.

He slows,
then
turns, near
a large sign titled
Cross
Historical Village
.

I’m stumped as he parks in a half-filled parking lot,
not only about why we’re here, but also about what here is exactly.

He hops out of the truck. “You coming?”

“Ah, yeah,” I absently say, releasing my seat belt.

At the entrance, he pays for our tickets while I
peek across the gate. The sight of little old houses and barns and a church has
me realizing we’re at a museum of sorts. He hands me the ticket and I ponder
the remaining items on the bucket list: release a paper lantern, get a tattoo,
get over stage fright, kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel, meet Michael Thomas,
share a bottle of strawberry wine, and sleep under the stars.

As we pass a train depot, along with an antique
train chugging steam into the orange streaked sky, I’m thinking that they must
release paper lanterns here. Or maybe hoping because there better not be a
stage where tourists can participate.

A lady wearing a long dress and bonnet, hands me a
map from a basket on her arm, but before I can open it, Gabe snatches it out of
my hand.

“The suspense won’t kill you.”

“It might.” I glare at him reading the map held out
of my reach.

He scans it, then tucks it in his back pocket. “This
way,” he says, gesturing toward the right. We walk the length of a narrow dirt
road lined with houses, a barbershop, a blacksmith, and a windmill. Other people,
mostly families, fill the path or wander into the buildings.

“Did you want to check anything out?” he asks, his
tone purposely polite.

I glare. He knows the anticipation is killing me.
“Maybe later.”

“Sure you don’t want to stop for some cider and donuts?”
He nods toward a barn like structure as we round a corner.

“No thanks,” I say in a false light tone.

He chuckles. “I am a bit hungry.”

“You can wait for once.” My teeth grind as I imagine
possibilities. Me on a stage with a guitar? Fearless. Even if I suck. Me on a
stage without an instrument? Terrified.

A large building looms ahead of us, as we come
closer, I read the plaque at the edge of the path.
Dance Hall.
My heart pounds a bit faster. The hall would be the
perfect place to put on an impromptu play. I force my legs to keep moving,
instead of turning and jogging away. Much to my relief, we pass the hall.

Gabe seems to be on a mission toward the back of the
park. He walks so fast, I nearly do have to jog. Keeping his pace, I squint
past a log cabin and a church steeple. I’m almost sure I glimpse water, but the
sun is almost set. It might just be the reflection of light. However, a small
lake would be a perfect place to release a paper lantern.

Please, please,
please
be a lake.

We turn another corner and a carousel comes into
view. Beyond and above that is a—I stop cold at the sight—Ferris Wheel. Large
and old looking with basket like cages, it looms above us. I peel my wide eyes
from the sight of the wheel to see Gabe standing a few feet ahead of me. He is
watching me, a smirk etching his face.
 

I back up. “You can’t be serious.”

His steps closer as the smirk grows. “Are you
scared?”

“Just one month ago you couldn’t stand me.”
Confusion fills my tone.

He stops moving closer and crosses his arms. “It’s
just a kiss, April.”

My stomach does a back flip at the k-word. Funny, as
much as I have been lusting after him, as much as I swoon over his lips, I’d
never imagined us kissing. Until now. Hot images and sensations fill my brain.

He grabs my hand and tugs me inches from him.
“Afraid you’ll find me
more
irresistible after just one peck?”

Yes,
I am
.
My eyes narrow. “More?”

He nods and caresses the top of my hand with a
thumb. “It’s a known fact. The first girl I kissed”—he pauses, tilting his head
in contemplation—“back in junior high, wrote me… love letters, poems included,
for the entire year.”

“Oh, please,” I say, laughing and yanking my hand
from his grip. “I’m not scared of
you
or
your
magic lips. I just—you—well…I
don’t want the list to make you do anything
you
don’t want to.”

“Ah, yeah, I think I can survive it somehow.” He
gestures to the wheel. “Shall we?”

I march past him. Past the carousel, we join the
line. A bright star twinkling in the center of the wheel casts shadows as people
are slowly unloaded and loaded into the baskets. I’m trying to pay attention to
the surroundings instead of the ridiculous anticipation running through me.
Amid the lights and circus like music, I try to tell myself that Gabe is right,
it’s just a kiss, and maybe it will be so lifeless that my newly awaked
hormones will go back to sleep. But then maybe I
will
find him more irresistible than ever and pine for him like so
many female fans of Luminescent Juliet. As we move up in the line, the spinning
star feels like it has become a roulette wheel with my hormones
at stake.

When we come to the front of the line, the attendant
dressed in a striped red shirt and bow tie gestures for me to enter the basket.
I almost smash myself into the corner, but with a deep breath decide that I’m
going to face the inevitable and stop thinking like an idiot.

It’s just a kiss.

Gabe slides in beside me, his thigh pressing against
mine.

“Still scared?” he asks, as the man locks the basket
gate.

“Of heights? Yes, I am.”

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” he asks, his
tone light and teasing.

My expression is forcefully wry. “I think I’ll be
okay.”

The wheel moves and we’re soon a quarter of the way
up. Are we doing this right away? As soon as we hit the top? My mouth is suddenly
dry.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Stop thinking
about it and it won’t be a big deal.

Though I do have a healthy fear of heights, I peek
out over the edge and attempt —maybe pretend—to watch the people milling about
below.

“You going to Riley’s gig this weekend?” Gabe asks.

The wheel shifts and we’re at the halfway point. I
feel my skin whiten. Whether from the height or the upcoming
liplock
, I’m not sure. “Of course. You?”

 
“Yeah.” He
shifts his weight so that his legs are stretched out to the far corner in front
of me. “You know, there was a time that I almost hated Riley. Now she just
worries the hell out of me.”

Surprised at the revelation, I turn to him. “Why
would you hate Riley?”

He studies the people below like I had been. “She
beat me out in auditions. She could come back at any time.”

“Riley, even Romeo, wouldn’t do that to you,
especially since you guys have signed with a label.”

“But what if I fuck up?”

“How would you screw up that bad?”

He shrugs, his shoulder brushing mine. “Lose my temper.
End up in jail. Maybe even prison.”

I almost say,
Well
then don’t f-up
, but that’s not easy for someone raised
like
he was. “I could…I mean I know some breathing techniques and imagery exercises
that can help you learn to keep control.”

“My psychologist has probably shown, taught,
explained, you name it, everything possible. Yet when I get angry like that, I
snap. The last time I got in trouble, I saw Allie’s ex smack her and I lost it.
It took the entire rest of the band to peel me off him.”

Gabe is so intense that scenario isn’t too hard to
imagine. “Well, maybe—”

He nods his head toward outside. “We’re at the top.”

I look around to find that we are indeed at the top.
Our basket precariously swings in the breeze. I hadn’t even noticed us moving.
“Did you do that on purpose?”

“What?”

“Steer my attention from the…height?” I refuse to
refer to why we’re up here.

“Maybe,” he says, his gaze on my face.

Gabe shifts closer, and my heart starts hammering
all over again, and it’s definitely not because we’re in a little basket at the
top of a high wheel.
 

He leans forward, his eyes intense. “You ready for
this?”

At the touch of his palms on my jaw, anticipation
pounds through me, so much that a wild bubbly laugh escapes me. I feel like I
could jump out of my skin. “Sure. Lay those magic lips on mine.”

He smiles, authentically for once before he lowers
his lashes and head.

Those lovely lips cover mine, and I’m frozen at the
feel of him. The press of his firm, soft mouth. The slight scrape of the scruff
on his chin. The tip of his nose brushing my cheek. His lips caressing mine,
back and forth, nipping and almost sucking, drumming up desire from the storm
in my stomach, making me remember all of these sensations from my teenage
years, but not like this. They were never like this. So sharp, so acute, so
bone melting that I may dissolve onto the antique seat and drip into the autumn
night.

Magic lips. The man really does have them.

He presses closer, both his body and mouth.

The desire that had been slowly building in my
stomach explodes as a gasp from my mouth into his, and that sound changes
everything. The hands that were clasped in my lap grip his shoulders and pull
him closer. Instead of just experiencing, I’m all in, moving my lips over his,
touching his tongue with mine, and grasping that hair in my hands.

He changes too, from gentle and coaxing to demanding
and forceful, pushing me back against the metal basket weave, crushing my mouth
under his, digging his fingers into my jaw.

We become a tangle of mouths and hands and lust
until the basket lurches forward and shifts downward.

Gabe gradually draws away and sits back.

Smashed in the corner, I stare at him, trying to get
my brain back. I’m a blob of pulsating hormones. He stares back at me. Now dark,
the lone light illuminating our little world is the star on the wheel. It’s
hard to read, nearly impossible, his face in the shadows.

“Um…” I say desperate to break the silence,
specifically break the spell of lust that hangs inside the cart before I jump
on him, since my entire body pulsates with the need he invoked.

“Relax, April. It was just a kiss,” Gabe says in an
oddly light but tight tone. “One more check off the list.”

The list. I almost bang my head on the metal weave
of the basket. I should be thinking of Rachel, maybe imagining her in this
situation. Instead, I’m thinking of attacking Gabe and going for round two. I’m
sure Rachel would have imagined something like part one of the kiss, but I
liked part two much better. Maybe being with Misha once a week is rubbing off
on me. One kiss and I’m on my way to becoming a wannabe sex addict. Or probably
since
it’s Gabe, a real one, but just for him.

“Bit quiet over there,” Gabe says. “Still in shock?
Don’t tell me you’re going to become obsessed with me. If so, try not to write
any shitty poems.”

The wheel starts turning without stopping to load.
We head toward the top again.

Determined not to appear like the lust sick teenager
I feel like, I say, “If they’re about you, they’re bound to be crappy.”

He lets out a laugh that turns into a bright, sexy
smile that shines through the shadows, and I swear my heart lurches.

For a magic lipped ass.

Chapter 17

~Gabe~

The echo of the highway
thuds under us, mixing with the music from a local rock station while April,
all prim with her legs crossed and feet tucked under the seat, pretends to read
some book about psychology. I’d call bullshit, but I’m aware that kiss freaked
her out. Therefore I let her pretend and just drive.
 

But fuck.

I want to pull this piece of shit truck over and
devour her, tear her book away and her clothes, then put my mouth between her
legs.

Fuck. I’m getting hard all over again.

My phone vibrates from its spot in the open
ashtray—my truck is old enough to have one— jingling the coins under it. April
glances at it and gives me a pointed look.

Fine. I should answer the damn thing. It will at
least get my mind off fucking the chick next to me. Hopefully, it’s not Kristy.
By number of voice messages she leaves, the girl doesn’t seem to be getting
that I’m not interested anymore.

I yank it out of the ashtray without checking the
name on the screen. “Yeah,” I answer, my sexual frustration coming out in an
irritated tone.

“Ah, hey Gabe, this is Allie, just calling about
tomorrow. I’m sorry but something has come up and I can’t meet with Sharon and
Todd to move the stuff into the apartment. I’m really, really sorry,” she adds.
“Unless we can do it later?”

Shit. I draw in a deep breath. I’m not going to my
old man’s to get my stuff. Last week we almost came to fists over where my
truck was parked on the street. And there is no way I can cancel my weekly
session with Joan, my therapist, or band practice. “No, Sharon has to be to
work by five. She has to drop it off before then.
No problem
though, one more night on Sam’s couch won’t kill me.”

“Oh, you’re making me feel guilty, maybe I can get—”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. I can meet her the
following day.”

“You sure? I might be able to get a friend from art
class.”

“To move my shit in? Not necessary. We’ll do it
Thursday.”

“I can help then.”

“No need. I don’t have much. Just need two people to
move the bed. Sharon can’t lug that thing up a flight of stairs.”

“All right, I’m really sorry.”

“No problem.” I toss the phone back in the tray.
I’ll call Sharon later about the change of plans.

April lightly clears her throat and shuts her book.
“Um, excuse me for being nosey, but it’s hard not to sitting so close. Um,
while eavesdropping—not on purpose—I got the idea that you may need some help
moving.”

I shake my head. “No, there’s not much to
move…unless…” I shake my head again. “Never mind. Dumb idea.” I glance at her
slim frame. “You have to be like five two and one hundred pounds.”

“Try five
five
and
definitely far more than a hundred pounds, but if Allie was going to move your
stuff, why can’t I?”

“Wow, you’re pretty good at that eavesdropping
stuff.” I can sense her glare from across the cab. “It’s not a big deal waiting
one more day.”

“Doubt that. You have to be sick of Sam’s couch, and
I’m guessing you’ve been staying there to keep away from your dad?”

“You getting psychoanalytical on me?”

“No, that was just obvious.”

I tap my thumb on the top of the steering wheel.
“Yeah, I’m trying to stay out of trouble, and living with him tends to turn me
into a ticking time bomb.”

“Good thing you’re staying away then.” She unzips
her book bag. “But seriously, I can meet Sharon and Todd.”

I’m having a hard time imagining her prim, little,
proper self, lugging a mattress and bed frame up to the apartment.

She dumps the book in the bag. “I moved all my stuff
into my apartment with one other girl, so I’m sure Todd and I can handle it.”

She sounds so proud of herself that I give in.
“Okay, Tough Chick, just move the bed. I’ll have Sharon leave the boxes in the
truck. I’ll get them after practice.”

“Tough chick?” she says with a light, tinkling
laugh. “I kind of like that.” She glances over and smiles at me.

And I almost run off the road.

Just from that smile on her gorgeous face.

Damn. I haven’t been this wound up in…well, never,
and definitely not ever from something as simple as a smile.

***

I drive Sharon’s old
Corolla into the parking space Allie said went with the apartment. Practice
went smooth tonight, so smooth we finished an hour early. Now that things have
become serious, the band’s over the bickering and ego bullshit that has plagued
us. Not that I seriously participated in their stupid arguing, other than
telling them to get their shit together and just play. We’re all about work
now, about getting it done, and getting it done perfect. A bit of debate still
happens, but it’s about the music, not who is calling the shots. And I have to
admit, the last month and half have been the best, as far as creating and
learning and working together.

I truly think we have a shot at making it big.

As long as
I
don’t fuck it up.

I go up the stairs, planning on putting the bed
together, then getting my truck, along with the rest of my shit, from the bar
Sharon works at. But when I get to the top of the stairs and push open the
door, I’m startled to see April standing on a chair and stretching toward a
cupboard above the refrigerator. Her rounded ass takes up most of my vision.

 
“Hey—” is all
I get out because she whips around, sees me, and teeters at the edge of the
chair.
Shit!
In one second, I cross
the few feet separating us and catch her right before she hits the floor, which
leaves me crouching on the floor and holding her in my arms, while she stares
at me with wide ocean-colored eyes.

“You okay?” I gently ask.

She nods and scrambles out of my arms as fast as she
fell.

Damn. Now that I know she’s all right, I wanted to
check out all the curves that had basically landed in my lap.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, a hand on her
forehead as she plops in the chair.

“I believe this is my apartment.” I stay crouched,
keeping us at eye level.

She drops her hand onto her lap. “I mean this
early.”

“We finished early. But what are
you
doing here?” Wanting to touch her, I
brush back a few erratic strands of hair across her cheek.

“Putting stuff away,” she says slowly, watching my
hand.

Comprehension sinking in, I stand and notice the mostly
empty boxes surrounding my feet on the floor. “You didn’t have to do that. You
should have left them in the truck.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “I didn’t have anything else
to do and I wanted to help.”

My first instinct is to be an ass and say something about
her wanting to see my underwear or some shit, but her pink cheeks and downward
eyes keep the comment from coming out. “Well, thank you. It was quite nice of
you, excessive but very nice.”

She smiles weakly and pushes out of the seat. “I
should—”

“What is that?” I interrupt, pointing at a large,
blue gift bag on the table—besides the couch, the only furniture the apartment
came with.

She glances at the bag. “Oh, I wanted to get you a
little something. You know, like a house warming gift since this is your first
place.”

I snort. “My opulent one room apartment?”

“It’s still yours.”

“You’re right,” I concede with a grin, moving toward
the table.

 
She stands
and pushes the chair in saying, “I should get going.”

Screw that. She’s here, and I’m keeping her for as
long as possible. All night if I get my way. “Just wait a minute. Let me at
least open your gift.”

“Not necessary.” She grabs her purse from the
counter. “I know you’ll like it.”

“Yeah?” I ask in a challenging tone. “Let’s just
see.”

She crosses her arms and leans on the counter.

 
Smirking at
her, I reach inside and tug out a huge aluminum pot, which is full of tissue
paper, bags of different colored dried pasta, and utensils. I cock a brow at
her before going in the bag again. Next, I pull out a strainer filled with more
tissue and jarred sauces: red, white, green, and even a bright orange one. I
hold out the orange one, raising my brows in question at her.

 
“Butternut
squash.” She lowers her chin. “I figured on variety over picky with your appetite.”

“Good figuring there. You’re right. I like it. You
definitely got the idea I’d eat anything, huh?” She nods as I set the jar down
and turn to her. Dressed in jeans and that flannel with a tank under it,
instead of her usual preppy shit, she looks extra sexy. What I’d like to eat
at the moment
is her.

“You.” I take a step toward her. “Should.” I take
her purse and set it on the counter. “Stay.” I grip the counter near her hips.
“For dinner.”

“Um…” She blinks at me, hopefully confused by my
nearness.

I lean closer, not touching her, but allowing her to
feel my warmth, and I’m hot. Hot for her. “Let me cook for you at least.”

“Um…” She draws in a deep breath. I have to stop
from leaning forward and drinking in her release of air.

“I’d like to show you my appreciation after you’ve
worked so hard,” I say, my tone smooth.

“Ah, I’m not sure…” she says hesitantly, but never
finishes the thought, her gaze on my mouth.

I can almost hear her brain at war with her libido.
Hands on the counter, I trail my thumbs on the skin of her waist, right above
the line of her jeans. I bend near her ear. “You can relax and I’ll do all the
work.”

She lets out a soft gasp, and at the noise, I’m
instantly hard.

Damn. I hope I’m reading her right because I can’t
keep talking shit while my mind has one thing pounding across it. My hands
slide to her waist, spraying across her back and pulling her from the edge of
the counter. My mouth lightly brushes the line of her jaw. “And I hate eating
alone.”

Her eyes are wide as I face her again.

I bend toward her mouth, stopping centimeters from
it. “So please stay.”

A slight shudder goes through her. “Okay.”

As far as I’m concerned, the question and that
answer had nothing to do with pasta. I close the short distance between us,
yanking her by the hips to me. “Good choice,” I say against her lips before
covering her mouth.

She grabs my hair and kisses me back without
restraint, melding her body closer to mine, standing on tiptoes to reach me.
She’s sweet, wild, want under my mouth and hands. The kiss is so hot, that
without thinking I lift and set her on the counter. Her legs wrap around me and
I gasp into her mouth as my cock hits the hot center of her.

Fuck.

I break the kiss, only to kiss her hard and fast,
again and again.

I want to taste
and
touch all of her at once.

Now.

I don’t know where to start, what to touch first, I
just want.

All of her.

My hands glide. Over her ribs. Along the sexy curve
of her hips. Down to the sharp points of her knees. My mouth slides. To the
corner of her mouth. To suck on her bottom lip. Along her chin. My fingers
grip. Her skin. Her curves. Her hair. I tug the silken strands, force her head
back, and expose her neck. My mouth follows the line of her throat,
nipping and sucking
and tasting velvety skin, which leads me
to wanting so much more. After releasing her hair, I slide my palms under the
back of her shirt. My fingers find the clasp of her bra.

Her chest rises in harsh breaths. Somehow, lost in
the feel and taste of her, I force myself to pause, my fingers gripping the
closure. I wait for her to realize my intent, give her time to stop me if that
is what she wants.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and that’s all
the encouragement I need. With my mouth above the line of her tank, I release
the clasp and my hands are on her beautiful tits in two seconds, molding to
their shape, caressing the soft skin, and brushing her hardened nipples until
she’s panting above me.

The sound is so damn sexy.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

No. Fucking. Way.

My thumbs brush back and forth over nipples.

Her legs clench around my waist. Her grip on my
shoulders tightens.

I drag the edge of the tank lower with my teeth.

And my phone starts vibrating again, like the person
called me back right away.

I’m about to toss the phone in the freezer. Who the
hell would keep calling? Who the fuck would I stop for in the middle of
this
?