Best Friends Forever

“I think I like your place better than mine,” he says, carefully observing the decorations and art on the walls. I roll my eyes at him, grinning.

“Oh please. Your house is practically a mansion.”

“Yeah, but it’s not really home. It’s a place Merrill got me after I got out of rehab. A quick sale that got me away from bad influences. Most everything was put there by a designer and I hardly spend any time anywhere other than the studio or my bed.”

“Same,” I sigh. It’s crazy; when you’re starting out, you think that hitting the big time will fix all your problems, but it doesn’t. Having money and fame only makes more problems. I’m never home to enjoy the fruits of my labor, and I always feel guilty about spending anything because I never know when Mariah might have more crippling medical bills. My parents haven’t worked in years between her and Eric, so I’m basically supporting the whole family—and let me tell you, the “mental health” hiatus I took after Eric died didn’t really do anything to repair my mental health since it meant the flow of money was drying up and everyone’s purse strings had to get tighter.

My parents aren’t the stereotypical stage parents; they weren’t pushing me onstage at a young age so they could have an early retirement, but I told them when Mariah got sick not to worry about that stuff anymore. I had more than enough to take care of everyone. Until I didn’t. I’m not exactly struggling for money, but I certainly can’t afford the kind of lavish lifestyle the tabloids expect of someone with my name recognition. And I would never dream of buying a house like Ian’s unless I planned on moving the whole family in.

“But your place is… cozy,” he says. “I can see your touch all over it. I like it.”

His compliment sends a tingle of satisfaction down my spine, to the place where his hand is still resting, radiating heat through my body just with that minimal contact. I’m half-tempted to shove him against the wall and make out with him right here and now, just to quench this insistent need for him. But I hold onto my resolve. I’m no virgin, but I’m not really used to making the first move, and Ian leaves me tongue-tied and uncertain in ways no one else ever has. It’s probably for the best if we just focus on the music.

My studio’s got nothing on his, but it’s functional. It’s slightly less well-equipped than the one I have in the city, or the one we’ve been recording in, but the acoustics are good and the seating is comfy. Not much more a musician can ask for.

“You wanna run through it once to see where we’re getting caught up?” he suggests. I nod, totally mute, completely baffled how he’s managing to stay all business while igniting this hot desire inside of me at the same time.

We both grab an instrument and go into the booth without a word. I flip the switch to record and he gives me a nod and a silent count before we start in unison.

The only other time we’ve played this song all the way through was right before we kissed, and the energy is no less electric and charged now than it was then. The song comes out like we’ve rehearsed it a million times, like we know this song better than we know our own names. Ian’s growly voice cuts into my smooth melodies at just the right times, giving the song that rough and dirty edge it needs. And while we wrote the song on spec, I can’t help but feel like there’s some truth in it. Knowing how bad Ian is for me, but feeling too damn good about it to stop.

By the time the song’s done and I flip off the recording switch, we’re both breathless and flushed. Ian looks at me with that wild look in his eyes that he had right before he kissed me last time, and I brace myself for another breath-stealing kiss. But it doesn’t come this time. The wild look slowly dims and my chest deflates.

“You know people are going to talk,” he says.

“They always do,” I answer, my voice silky and smooth. I can hear the seduction in it even though I’m not trying to say it like that. Seems I can’t help myself around him.

“I mean, they’re going to think this song is about us.”

I bite my lip and run my fingers through my hair, not sure how to answer that. “Well… It kind of is, isn’t it? I know we didn’t intend it that way…”

“Maybe you didn’t,” he says softly. So soft and quiet that it sounds like a confession.

“What?”

He shrugs, almost looking ashamed. “I might have had ulterior motives when I suggested the song subject…”

I set my guitar down and move closer to him, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “You mean, when you suggested the good girl/bad boy song, you were thinking about moi? Well, I never!” I sound shocked, but I’m not even trying to keep a straight face as I grin at him and practically press my chest into his.

A deep rumbling growl vibrates through Ian’s chest and he practically tosses his guitar aside to settle his hands on my hips, tugging me forward until I can feel his hardness pressing into my belly.

“Chelsea, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” His voice is strained, like every word is hard for him to say, like he’s trying to hold back so much. But I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to hold back with me. I want Ian—there’s no point in denying it anymore—and I want all of him. Even the dark shadowy parts that scare me.

His fingers tease up the side of my neck, making me shiver before he thrusts them into my hair forcefully and drags me to him. If I thought our first kiss was hot and wild, this one puts it to shame. It’s slower, though. Like he’s less afraid of me fleeing like a startled rabbit

. Like he knows he can take his time with this one and really make it count.

My lips part for him and his tongue practically invades my mouth, making my head spin and my knees buckle. The stubble on his jaw scratches my face, but I don’t even care because the contrast between that abrasiveness and the sweet manipulation of my lips is enough to have me floating. His hands drag lower, slipping under my ass and pulling me up tight against him so his hard cock is nestled between my legs. And even through the layers of fabric between us, my body reacts instantly. The pressure of his thick length pressed against my throbbing clit makes me gasp, then his lips suck and nip at my neck and I’m whimpering for him.

“Fuck, Chelsea, I’ve thought about this so much,” he says, whispering his confession into my shoulder between kisses.

“Me too,” I sigh, sliding my hands under his shirt, running my fingers over the hard ridges of his abs, chest, and back, each muscle hot as lava under my touch.

Then, with one quick movement, he’s lifted me off my feet and I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist as he starts to walk out of the studio, trying to free my breasts as he does.

“I’m gonna need some navigation help here,” he says, opening the studio door before sucking one of my nipples into his mouth.

Lightning shoots all the way to my toes and my legs squeeze around him so tight, my hips grinding against him without thought. We’re only kissing—he’s barely touching me—and already I’m so close. Being around Ian these past few days has left me on edge and needing release, but nothing I do on my own is satisfactory. Nothing can quell this need except for the man himself.