Rock Reclaimed (Rock Revenge Trilogy 2)

I leaned back enough to get a good look at him. Fresh-faced—almost. Ian would never be as objectively pretty as his brother. His features were a little sharper. Especially his jawline, which I was obsessed with painting lately. I shook my head. “Too busy working.”

“You really did work last night?”

I looked over my shoulder at the painting on the wall. “All night.”

He grinned down at me, then glanced up at the board. “Jesu

s.”

I nibbled on my lip. “Is that a good or bad curse?”

His eyebrows were furrowed. “Is that how you saw my stage? That night, I mean?”

I shrugged. “I’ve taken some creative license at this point, but yeah.” I hopped down and shoved my hands into my pockets. When he didn’t say anything for a full minute, I cleared my throat. “It’s just my point of view, Ian.”

“It’s amazing.”

The awe in his voice startled me. I didn’t really let him see too much of my work. He’d had his mouth all over my body, but this felt even more intimate. Like my soul was up there on display. It wasn’t me in the painting, and yet—there I was.

I’d added grasping hands from the dark crowd along the bottom of the board and more detail on his Chelsea boot. The lights from the high-end receivers along the back of the stage were shadowed, and the lights from the switches glowed out like lighter points. Everything was centered on the janky microphone stand and Ian’s beyond-battered boot.

“I don’t know how you do that.”

“I don’t know how you build a song. Just a different gift, I guess.”

He stepped in front of me and cupped my face. The kiss rocked me back a step. I gripped the soft cotton Henley he was wearing in deference to the cool early morning. I dug my fingers beneath the material, suddenly needing his skin under my hands.

I’d worked well into the night, but the painting hadn’t required an additional twelve hours of work from when I talked to him yesterday. I did dream of him, though I was loath to admit it. Wild flashes of concerts with his voice chasing me under the cover of darkness. I rarely had a soundtrack in my subconscious. My head was too full of color to have room for it.

But Ian was drenched in color and music for me.

“Do we have time?” I mumbled against his mouth.

“No.”

I grinned against his lips. “Are we making time anyway?”

He scooped me up. “Yes.”

I gripped his shoulder with a frown. He seemed a little more angular. The hollows of his cheeks more pronounced. There were a few new strain lines around his eyes since the last time I’d seen him. “Is that Sabrina chick working you too hard?”

He strode over to my bed. “Worried about me, Magic?”

“I suppose someone has to.”

His mouth tipped up at one corner. “You sound like you care.”

I turned his cheek to lock our gazes. “I do. I hope you know that.”

He didn’t answer, just kissed me hard. Maybe a little too hard.

I gripped his shoulder. “Ian.”

He touched his forehead to mine. “Sorry. I just get so wound up around you. Like I can’t settle.”

I laid a gentle kiss over his eyes, then his cheeks, and finally, his mouth. “Let me show you how to be gentle. I’m not going anywhere.” My heart thundered in my chest. We didn’t speak of the future. I’d made sure of it. But right then, I wanted to make sure he knew I was there for him.

I didn’t think many people were.