Текст книги "The Song Remains the Same"

Автор книги: Kelli Jean

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

The realtor was more than thrilled, and the place was ready to move into straightaway. Phil signed the contracts, putting the place in my name, and wrote a check for ten and a half million dollars. Then, we were given the keys.

“Wanna go pick out some furniture? We’ve got a few hours before we meet up with Stephen and Tara.”

“Uh…yeah. Sure,” I replied, still stunned.

Heading to various shops, we bought some big brown leather couches, a pine-and-glass coffee table, and pine dining room table and chairs. For shits and giggles, Phil bought professional cookware and appliances. All of it would be delivered the next day, including the massive king-sized bed and frame.

“We’ll get the rest of the shit we need tomorrow,” he told me. “But seriously, I can’t take those fuckin’ colors Stephen has goin’ on in their place.”

I had to agree with him there.

We headed back to the tastefully garish penthouse apartment, showered, and got dressed for an evening out. Phil looked fantastic in his usual get-up of dark green Dickies and a black button-down shirt. He’d also been growing out his beard, which I loved even though it hid his dimples. His hair was getting seriously long, and his man bun looked fat.

“You look gorgeous, Baby Girl,” he warmly told me, his eyes sparkling, as he took in my dark denim skinny jeans, knee-high brown boots, and the new emerald-colored cashmere sweater he’d just bought for me.

I had pulled my hair up into a fancy ponytail and applied some eye shadow and mascara.

“Thanks. So do you,” I replied.

“I’m a fuckin’ lucky bastard.”

Smiling, I took his hand, lacing our fingers. “I’m the lucky one, babe. You’re my wildest dream come true.”

He sucked in a deep breath, and I knew that look—hot, raw, and sensual. He was gearing up to undo all the work I had just put into making myself look presentable.

“Later, babe,” I admonished.

Pulling me close, he brought his face a breath away from mine. “Give me a taste now.”

Nipples tight, crotch damp, I found myself being pulled into his chest by the force of the magnetism between us. My arms slipped around his neck, and I pushed my aching tits into his warmth. His mouth slanted over mine, tasting wonderful on my tongue. I groaned as he growled. Sliding a hand over the curve of my ass, he reached and pressed his fingers into my denim-clad burning center.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he murmured against my lips. “I wanna eat the fuck outta you.”

“Stop it,” I whispered.

He knew I was a sucker for his filthy mouth.

Grinning, he quickly kissed me once more, and then he led the way out to the living room where Stephen and Tara were waiting for us. The four of us went out for a fantastic dinner before heading to a club to check out some of the local talent.

At least, I had thought we were checking out the talent.

We were taken to a VIP section and sat at a curved booth by a hostess in a really short black skirt and tube top. Smiling and batting her eyes, she touched my man a little too much for my liking, and she all but melted when he smiled at her and asked for four shots of Jäger and beer. She had boobs, too—big ones that seemed to be in a constant state of jiggle.

“Looks like Brandy has it bad for Phil,” Tara hissed in my ear, glaring at the woman’s sashaying ass as she made her way to the bar with our drink order.

“Was that her name?” I asked.

Phil pulled me into the booth, tucking me under his arm and into his side. He was in a really good mood and seemed overly excited for some reason.

“What’s up with you?” I asked, feeling my mouth tug up into a smile when I met his sparkling eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to play it off and grinning when he couldn’t.

“I mean, you’re bouncing around like Brandy’s boobs.” I laughed.

Then, I was greeted by the woman herself, dropping off our drinks and scowling at me. She wasn’t so cute with that sour look on her face.

Craning his neck and smiling, Phil pointed across the VIP room at a woman who had just walked in and was looking around. “That’s the reason I’m bouncin’ like titties.”

The woman was stunning. Dressed similarly to myself in jeans and a sweater, she had thick, curly red hair loosely pulled back into a bun and a minimal amount of makeup on her face. She didn’t need it. She had flawless skin, a sweet rosebud mouth that was a natural berry color, and softly flushed cheeks.

Phil waved at her from behind my head. She caught the movement, and her dark eyes lit up. Her smile was simply breathtaking, and I felt a swift pang of jealousy.

This woman, more than any big-breasted hostess named Brandy, could pose a threat to my confidence. If I was Phil’s type, then so was this woman. Hell, I’d sleep with her.

“Hey, guys!” she said as she approached the table.

Stephen and Tara gave her a friendly greeting.

Her eyes shifted from Phil’s beaming face to my politely curious one. “Is this your Baby Girl then?”

“The one and only,” replied Phil, holding out his hand to shake hers.

Her warm brown eyes met mine, and she smiled and held out her hand for a shake, which I accepted, highly suspicious.

“Hi, I’m Mike O’Flaherty—”

Gasping, I cried, “Shut the fuck up!”

“Have a seat, Mike,” said Phil.

“You’ve heard of me?” she asked as she sat across the booth from me.

“You’re only one of the greatest music journalists! I think I’ve read every article you’ve published. I thought you might have quit since I haven’t seen anything from you in a while.”

“Mike’s been more behind the scenes, I think, right?” said Phil.

She smiled. “Been doing a lot more editing than writing for the magazine. My schedule got a bit screwed for a while, and I couldn’t travel as easily.”

“Wow,” I breathed. “I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you.”

“Baby Girl, you weren’t even half this excited when we met,” huffed Phil.

“Were you?” Mike asked Phil.

“When I met Kenna, I nearly had a heart attack. I was that fuckin’ excited. She was like a damn cucumber, actin’ all cool—well, except she had some sweaty-ass hands.”

Tara and Stephen busted out laughing while my face went up in flames.

“So, are you conducting an interview with these guys, or…”

Mike swung her eyes to Phil. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Nope. I like surprisin’ her.”

“Tell me what?” My heart rate accelerated tenfold.

Mike smiled. “I’ve read your reviews—”

“What?” I gasped, suddenly wanting the ground to open up and swallow me—right after I punched Phil in the throat.

“Phil has been sending me your reviews of the up-and-coming talents, and I wanted to meet you.”

“I…okay,” I replied, feeling woozy and light-headed after the blinding rush of embarrassment.

“I like your style, the sophistication of your writing. I think it’s something I’d like to work with and promote. You have a brilliant way of expressing the music in words, and I think it’d be worth it to give you a shot. Your grammar is top-notch. I’d hardly have to edit a thing.”

My jaw hanging open, I swiveled to look up into the smiling face of my Dark God of the Universe. Pride and adoration just poured off him. It made my heart trip in my chest, feeling how much faith he had in me.

“I’ve got an interview with tonight’s headliner in about an hour,” said Mike.

My attention was pulled back to her.

“Would you like to join me?”

“I would love to.”

“Awesome,” she said, smiling.

Two hours later, Mike and I were exchanging phone numbers and email addresses, and we headed over to where Phil was hanging with a few other famous musicians, Dean, the guitarist for Black Prophecy, and his girlfriend, Robin, among them.

Phil’s face brightened when he caught sight of me. “How did it go?” he asked, holding out his hand to me and pulling me in close.

“She was great,” said Mike, a dazzling smile aimed my way. “We’ll be in touch.”

“You’re leavin’?” asked Phil.

“Yeah, I’ve got other responsibilities.” She laughed. “Kenna told me you just bought an apartment here, so hopefully, I’ll be able to see you all more.” With a small wave and a smile, Mike made her way out of the VIP balcony overlooking the stage.

“Phil?”

“Yeah, Baby Girl.”

“Please tell me you never slept with her,” I whispered.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “I’ve never slept with her. I’ve never done anythin’ with her.”

Slumping against him in relief, I hugged him hard around his tapered waist. “Cool. Because I really like her.”

He busted out laughing, and I gave Robin and Dean hugs. Then, I met some of metal’s New York elite.

The interview I had joined Mike on was for the band Freedom to Speak, a highly controversial and political hard rock–punk group that had been stirring up some serious interest in the northern East Coast. We had gone in armed with a recorder, and even though I had no questions of my own prepared, Mike had seemed impressed with the fact that I had busted out with my own notebook and pen, ready to scribble away.

“I take notes of the bands,” I’d sheepishly told her.

“I want you to take notes and write up a review on them. If it’s anything like your other reviews, I’ll include it in the article and give you credit, of course.”

Holy shit!

Meeting the band had been a blast. As much as they took their music and message seriously, they had been extremely open, non-chauvinistic, and friendly with us. They wrote and played on everything from the war in the Middle East to the abhorrence of rape culture, and I was really looking forward to listening to their set.

“Do you have any demos or albums out right now? Are you with a record label?” I’d asked the lead singer, Jeremy.

Fishing through a box, he’d handed me a few demos. “We aren’t signed with anyone.”

I’d gotten all their information, and I would be giving it to Phil if their music was worth it. Having a balls-to-the-wall band like Freedom to Speak might just be the direction NOLA Records would like to go.

Watching Freedom to Speak on stage and listening to them and their hard, edgy sound was perfect. Already, I was writing up a review in my head, and when I casually mentioned to Phil that they were unsigned, he nearly jumped over the balcony to get to the backstage area.

Grabbing my hand, he marched us down there, easily getting access from security. Freedom to Speak were walking off the stage when Phil accosted them.

“Oy! You guys aren’t signed?”

“Holy shit, that’s Phil fucking Deveraux!” croaked Jeremy.

His eyes darted to me, and I gave him a thumbs-up.

“Yeah, and he’s with the reporter chick. Cara?” asked the guitarist, Jimmy.

“Kenna,” corrected Phil. “My Baby Girl said you guys weren’t signed yet.”

“Kenna is Baby Girl?” asked the bass player, Larry.

“She is,” said Phil impatiently. “NOLA’s Junk has started our own label—”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah, we’ve heard that.”

“If you guys are interested, I think we’d love to produce with you.”

Jeremy beamed from ear to ear. “Hell yeah. You guys wanna join us for a few beers?”

Phil looked to me. “If you wanna, Baby, I’m down.”

“Sure,” I replied.

Buzzing, we hailed a taxi and headed back for our last night at Stephen and Tara’s painfully colorful penthouse. Phil was feeling frisky and continuously groped me while waiting for the cab and then while in the cab. In the elevator, we were full-on making out. I would’ve been embarrassed, but Stephen and Tara were dry-humping up against the elevator wall anyway, so whatever. When the doors let out the soft ding, Phil tossed me over his shoulder and marched into the apartment.

“See y’all tomorrow,” he drawled at them, cavemanning it to our room.

“Oof!” I grunted as he put me on my feet.

“Baby Girl,” he panted, kicking off his shit-kickers, “I’m about to come in my fuckin’ pants.”

Seriously, the bulge was enormous.

“You fuckin’ looked like sex on legs all night, and I was watchin’ you flirt with everyone—”

“I was not!” I huffed, bending over and unzipping my boots.

“Stop!” he cried.

“What now?”

Hand whipping out, he pointed to the corner of the room. “You see that fuckin’ chair?”

“I do, yes.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ sit in that fuckin’ chair, butt-ass nekkid, and I’m gonna watch you fuckin’ strip out of those second-skin jeans you’re wearin’. Don’t fuckin’ move until I fuckin’ tell you.”

With the level of profanity used, I could hazard a guess as to how painful his erection must be. Tearing himself out of his clothes, he threw them haphazard all over the room before settling his nekkid ass in the squishy-looking armchair.

His big hand wrapped around his huge cock, and my knees nearly buckled beneath me. Phil looked confident and delicious as all hell.

“Strip,” he commanded. “Nice and slow.”

Fuck, I’m done for. That voice, that face, that body, that cock—he has the whole fucking package. Gods above, I can’t stop staring at him!

Phil cocked an eyebrow. “Baby Girl?”

“Yeah, Phil,” I breathed.

Aw, that made him smile, which turned me to jelly.

“Start with your sweater.”

My hands fumbled slightly, but I managed to pull the damn thing over my head. Underneath, I wore only a sheer black chamois. I went to pull it off, but he shook his head.

“Jeans.”

Since I’d already removed my boots, I peeled those fuckers down, not sure how successful my attempt at being sexy turned out. He didn’t laugh, so that was a plus.

“Beautiful,” he sighed.

His head dropping back, he surveyed me through narrowed eyes. His hand stroked up and down the length of him, and I felt myself blush, biting my lip.

“Take off the rest,” he said throatily.

“Top or bottoms?”

“Top.”

He let out a sexy groan as I tossed the chamois away with a flick of my wrist. I hooked my thumbs into my panties, but he shook his head again.

“Grab your tits, Baby Girl. Try to make me come without even touchin’ me.”

I can do this! I just wish for the life of me that I could quit blushing.

My hands unhurriedly slid up my sides to cup my breasts, squeezing gently and tugging on the nipples. They were hard, aching in the most awesome way. Sticking a thumb in my mouth, I wet it and then rubbed it over a sharp nipple.

“Ah, fuck…” he moaned.

Upping the ante, I reached up and tugged my ponytail, letting my hair spill over my shoulders and down my back. I never took my eyes off him, showing him he affected me just as much. I was dying to be filled with him. That hollow ache intensified. Before I could catch myself, my hand slipped beneath my panties, my fingers slicking between the lips, and I gave my clit the pressure it craved.

“Are you wet, Baby Girl?”

“Yeah…” I breathed.

“How do you taste?”

Fingers drenched, I brought them to my lips. “Like your mouth after you go down on me, only not as good.”

“Not as good? Baby, you’re my favorite flavor.”

“But it doesn’t taste like you, too,” I explained.

That made him growl deep in his chest. “Take off your bottoms.”

Pushing them down, I stepped out of them and sank to the floor. Phil’s eyes widened, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I spread my knees wide and slipped my hand between them again.

“I want you so bad, it hurts,” I confessed softly.

Crooking a finger, he commanded, “Come here.”

On hands and knees, I crawled my way to him. Every nerve in my body was firing off with the need to feel him all over me, inside me. The sight of him pumping his cock was driving me insane. The tip glistened with an obscene amount of pre-cum, and my mouth watered, wanting to taste it. I met his gaze, and the inferno between us burned as hot and bright as ever. I could practically see the heat shimmering in his eyes.

I wrapped my lips around the tip of his cock and sucked it clean.

“What do I taste like?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Sweet,” I replied. “And salty.” Deliberately, I licked the head, pushing the tip of my tongue into the tiny slit. “And clean.”

“Fuck, Baby…” he gasped. Reaching down, he lifted me up to straddle his waist. Grasping his cock, he rubbed the head of it along my oozing slit. “You want it?”

“I always want it,” I replied, squirming. “I always want you.”

“I always want you, too, Kenna. Only you,” he said softly.

Positioning himself, he pushed the head inside.

“Phil…” I moaned, trying to take more of him.

He wasn’t letting me.

Diabolical bastard! “Please!”

“Please, what?”

“Please put it in me. I need you in me.”

Letting go of his cock, he slid his hands to my waist, allowing me to slowly sink down the length of him. We both sighed as the head of him tapped against my cervix.

“So perfect…” he breathed, his fingers digging into my flesh. “I can feel your tiny heartbeat, Kenna. It’s goin’ apeshit on my dick.”

“Oh God…” I whimpered, wriggling. I needed to feel him move, needed the long pulling friction of his cock riding me hard. “Please, babe. I just need you to fuck me.”

“I will, Kenna. I just need to feel you first.”

“Please!” I cried out.

Crushing me close, he buried his face in my neck, tonguing and tasting the sensitive flesh. Beneath me, his hips arched, thrusting deeper, shooting a swift zing of pain through my core.

Fuck yeah.

With a guttural groan, he seized my mouth with his, infusing me with the wild, brutal need pumping through him. It was so good between us, so constant and strong, and we both needed a little pain to take the edge off the sweetness.

“Ride me hard,” his voice ground out. “Fuck my brains out.”

Grabbing on to the back of the chair to steady myself, I lifted up and slammed myself down.

“Oh…fuuuuck.” He arched against me. “Harder!”

My insides had gone molten, fluid, so fucking hot. I was peaking quickly, and I couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t let me. My cunt squeezed down on him, and it was so mind-blowing that I was close to blacking out. Still, he wouldn’t let up. He was helping me, working me hard. My next orgasm was building steadily once more.

Fuck. Yes. Fuck. Yes. Oh, holy shit!

The back of the chair repeatedly banged against the walls joining at the corner—thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk—creaking and groaning in distress.

“Fuck, Baby, don’t stop!”

Our bodies grew slick with our sweat, and the wet slapping sounded like a twisted bit of warped heaven.

“Come for me. I can feel—” He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes screwing up tight. “FUCK! NOW!” he roared.

With the strength of a tsunami, I came, feeling it rush out from my core to the roots of my hair and the tips of my nipples, fingers, and toes.

“Fuck!” I screamed just as Phil bucked hard beneath me, roaring incoherently.

Collapsing on top of him, our breaths labored and harsh, I was as limp as a boned fish.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, kissing the top of my head.

A giggle escaped me, and I bit my lip to stop it. I shifted slightly, and the fucking chair broke. With a snapping sound not unlike the crack of wet bone, two legs buckled beneath the thing, and we went sprawling on the floor.

I laughed so hard that tears started leaking down my cheeks.

“That was awesome!” I crowed.

After fixing up the apartment in New York to our tastes, we spent the rest of our time there breaking it in. While we were there, we could pretend life really was just the two of us. We didn’t have to share a house with several roommates. It was just Phil and me, and it was something we really, really enjoyed.

“I think we’re gonna have to get our own place in Louisiana,” he told me as we packed up the things we were taking with us back to Lafayette. “I like our privacy too much.”

Phil’s dad had moved back into the Plantation House in La Place, taking our half, while Danielle, Martin, and the kids had taken over the other side. Da and Gloria were staying at my place since the flooding had annihilated their home.

The new studio wasn’t what the guys had wanted, but it was serving its purpose. Producing bands had become NOLA’s Junk’s passion, and while they were still writing songs for an album, there was no rush to put a new one out. The success of Homecoming was still riding high, and it gave them time to turn their attention to other things.

Like letting Phil and I fly to New York almost every weekend. We were finding some serious gems, and we had to knuckle down and choose the cream of the crop so as not to overbook the studio.

Cutting back my hours at the clinic in Lafayette even more so, I was now only working Tuesdays and Wednesdays, using the rest of my time to scope out bands and write reviews for Mike O’Flaherty. I was receiving fantastic feedback from her, and she had given me a challenging assignment—the effect of Hurricane Katrina on the music scene in New Orleans.

Mike and I had been developing a strong friendship, getting together at least one evening every time I was in New York. She and I would head to the rock clubs, throw back a few drinks, and have a great time.

At first, doing so made me feel like I was cheating on Alys and Lili, but they were off doing their own things, enjoying the lives they had been building for themselves and their men.

Alys and X were leading a life that Phil and I, nor the rest of the band, had any part of. They would go off for long stretches, coming back only to work for NOLA Records when it was X’s turn to run the studio and collaborate on writing songs. Alys was able to do her job wherever she was as long as she had her laptop and the numbers to crunch.

Connor was up to his ears with producing, loving every minute of it. He was proving to be the most talented one among them in that respect. He had immersed himself in his passion, so much so that he wasn’t lonely. He hadn’t even had the time to mourn what could have been with Alys. Still, as far as I knew, he, X, and Alys were on great terms.

The Duck Pond was badly damaged by the storm surge, which meant that Lewis had a lot of work to do to get it up and running once more. While he wanted a New Orleans-based restaurant, he and Lili decided to make the move back to his hometown of San Francisco. With all the work they had done for his cookbook on tour, the two of them focused on that, hoping to have it published after the New Year.

It was a very emotional time for Alys, Lili, and me. We’d never been farther from each other than a two-hour drive.

The weekend Lili and Lewis boarded the plane for the West Coast was the weekend we realized that we were truly adults, making life-changing decisions.

“We’ll be back,” Lili tearfully promised, hugging Alys and me hard, at the security checkpoint. “It’s not like this is a permanent move.”

“Of course not.” Alys sniffled, wiping tears off her face.

“It’ll be okay if it is,” I whispered to Lili, choking back my own sobs. “Distance will never keep us apart.”

Hand in hand, Alys and I watched as Lili joined the queue next to Lewis, who had been holding her spot in line to get through security.

“It’s really happening,” whispered Alys. “We’re all going our own ways.”

“Didn’t you say we would?” I asked, squeezing her hand.

“Yes. Doesn’t make it any easier though.”

Just as she picked up her bag from the X-ray machine, Lili looked up at us and waved. Her tiny elfin face quivered as she struggled not to cry, and Lewis put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze.

“Well, at least she snagged a sexy celebrity chef,” I said, giving off a watery laugh.

“Right? In any case, we’ll know she’s well fed.”

Phil and X were waiting for us by the car, and they each held us while Alys and I broke down and wept for the end of an era. We were moving forward, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t mourn the loss of our way of life.

Phil

That night, I took Kenna out to a small family-owned Italian restaurant to try to lift her spirits. We cracked open a bottle of red wine and got buzzed, laughing and having an awesome time, just the two of us.

“Baby Girl, I wanna talk about when we wanna get married,” I told her after the second glass of vintage. It was some pretty powerful stuff.

“Okay.” She smiled, blushing and making my dick twitch. “When do you want to get married?”

“Yesterday.” I laughed.

“I never really imagined myself getting married,” she confessed softly. She’d mentioned this before when we first got together. “So, I guess it really doesn’t matter when or where.”

“Why haven’t you thought about it? I mean, you asked me to marry you…”

She shrugged, and the sight of her black cashmere sweater slipping down over her shoulder, showing off her creamy skin, had my dick swelling.

“I guess…well, we sort of rushed into the engagement. I wanted to make sure it was really what we wanted. And it’s still a little hard for me to believe that I have this.” Her voice barely above a whisper, she added, “That I have you.”

“Kenna…” I said softly, pitching my voice low, seeing her squirm. Shit, it was only fair. “You do have me. So, think of a weddin’ that you want to have since you are marryin’ me.”

Her smile fuckin’ stole my breath.

“How do you imagine it?” she asked me.

“I fuckin’ asked you first.”

After laughing, she took a sip of wine. “Yeah, but I have a feeling you’ve given it a lot more thought than I have.”

She was probably right.

“Well,” I said, taking her hand and rubbing my thumb over her wrist, “I imagine you in a beautiful white dress. I see us outside, under the open sky—afternoon or early evenin’—with your skin lookin’ awesome in that light. And your hair—”

“Where? What time of year? Are there tons of people, or is it more intimate?”

“You know, I always figured there’d be hundreds of people there, but when you say intimate, I think I like that idea more. Like family and close friends—the guys obviously and Alys, Lili, Sheri, Viv…”

“We should write up a list of people,” she said. “I was thinking…”

“What?”

“The Plantation House. There’s more than enough room, and with the gazebo…”

“Yeah,” I agreed. My heart felt warm and fuzzy, having nothing to do with the wine. “Yeah, I’d like that. How much time do you think it’d take to get somethin’ like that together?”

“Pfft! You’re talking to the wrong girl about that!”

She laughed, and I got so high from listening to the sound of it that I could’ve floated us back to the duplex.

“I guess we could do a spring wedding…” I said cautiously. “Late spring?”

“Yeah, we might be able to swing that,” she replied.