Shattered by You (Tear Asunder 3)

I dropped to my knees as David Gilmour’s guitar solo hit, leaned back, eyes closed, one hand holding the imaginary neck of the guitar while the other strummed the ‘strings’ on my abdomen. Working out had its advantages and my ripped abs were made for playing fake guitar.

I told myself a lot of bullshit.

The music died down to a soft murmur.

Fuckin’ Kite. “What the—” I stopped abruptly when I opened my eyes and saw that it wasn’t Kite. I straightened, sat back on my heels, then smirked.

Haven stood looking at me with raised brows and a subtle smile. Okay, it wasn’t quite a smile, more like a lip twitch. It was something that was better than her usual nothing. And she obviously witnessed my rockin’ display of godliness.

“Pink Floyd,” I said. She didn’t respond and I took great delight in the fact that her eyes flicked, albeit briefly, to my naked chest. “I’ll take you to their concert next time they come to Toronto. And if you’re really nice to me, I’ll even get us backstage.”

“I’ll pass.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the entertainment wall unit.

I grinned, as this time, her eyes trailed slowly and deliberately down me. I didn’t think of it as anything sexual, although I liked to pretend it was. The first few months I’d known her, Haven looked at everyone like that—it was like a quick assessment.

“So, you have a good afternoon, honey?” I hopped to my feet and strolled toward her. Her back stiffened and her slender shoulders straightened. It pissed me off that she did that. It was like I was going to attack her or something and she braced herself.

Her hard grey eyes never left me. She was confident as hell, but skittish. A snow-white lynx. That was what she reminded me of. Quiet and elusive, agile, with a sleek toned body and soft white skin that I was betting my prized guitar . . . felt like velvet beneath my fingertips. And the attitude, predatory and ready to fight, or if necessary—bolt.

But I’d managed to peel back another side to Haven these past few months. She had an elusive sense of humor, at least in text.

Instead of continuing my approach, I backed off, leaned against the back of the couch a couple feet from her and rested my hands on either side of me. I crossed my ankles because it looked casual and relaxed, despite the thread of energy shifting through me and it wasn’t from the music any longer. It was her.

“Why are you here? Ream said you and Kite wouldn’t be living at the farm anymore.” The strap of her book bag slipped off her shoulder and fell into the crook of her arm. She let it drop to the floor. I heard a loud thonk and was betting my right testicle that it was that gun.

Well, at least it moved from being on her to in her bag. When I’d told Luke, he’d freaked, said she couldn’t have it. I knew legally she couldn’t, but if Luke tried to take it from her, I was betting there’d be a fight, one that didn’t end well for one of them.

Luke conceded to let her keep it, but I also told him none of the guys, his or the band, could know she had it. Part of my deal with her to keep it quiet. Luke agreed with the stipulation that if she ever pointed it at anyone, it was gone.

“Slight exaggeration.” And this was where my charm should have some effect, but Haven’s face was locked up tightly and I was getting to know her well enough that she was shutting down on me.

I thought about our cliff jump at the cottage. She clung to me like a smooth silk blanket; unfortunately, it wasn’t due to my magnetism like I first thought. It was because the girl couldn’t swim. But for a brief moment—I’m talking a lightbulb spark before it burned out—she smiled. Then we reached shore and she kneed me in the balls once we were out of sight of the others, who were still in the water. It wasn’t hard, but any hit to the jewels fuckin’ hurt. She ignored me for the rest of the time at the cottage.

My gaze trailed down her body because . . . well, I couldn’t help it. Haven had this natural beauty about her. It was the whole package, nothing outstanding like big breasts or hips, but subtle and gentle. She flowed with beauty and Angel, her brother’s nickname for her, suited her looks. The attitude was another thing entirely.

“Do I have a disgusting pimple on my face I don’t know about?”

I chuckled when I met her eyes. There was her sense of humor, although I didn’t think she meant to be funny. My fingers dug into the leather back of the couch as my cock stirred. I thought maybe my desire for her would ease after all the texting, but this chick did something to me and despite my words to Kite, I wanted her.

“Nothing wrong with any part of you. And you’d still be beautiful with pimples.”

“You going to tell me I have an inner beauty you can’t resist?”

I laughed. Thank fuck, some of that text humor still lingered. “There you are, Ice.”

“Why are you and Kite”—she nodded to the stairs where I heard Kite slam the dryer lid closed—“at the farm when you supposedly bought a place?”

“I was going to tell you at school but—”

“You mean you came to suck up to me so I wouldn’t bitch to my brother that you and Kite hadn’t moved out?”

Fuck, she was good, and steady as a rock. My stiff cock pushed uncomfortably against the confines of my jeans, rubbing against the coarse material like sandpaper. Commando didn’t always have its benefits. “Well, yeah.”

“You have a wrong impression of me. I don’t bitch to my brother about anything. And what happened to the place you ‘bought’?”