Sing to Me (Rock Me Book 3) Read online

  A shadow falls over me.

  Blinking, I glance up. My heart, the traitor, skips a beat when it recognizes who it is. However, not wanting to let on that it’s in the process of wriggling from between my ribs in order to make a run for him, I turn my attention back to the speaker. “You’re blocking my light.”

  “I am the light, princess. The sooner you realize, the better.”

  “You’re calling yourself God now?” I scoff. “Modest.”

  “Hey, if the size thirteen shoe fits….”

  My gaze darts to the black worn Converse high tops in front of me. Yep, his feet are huge. Damn, that means…. I’m not blushing. It’s a trick of the light or too much sun or something. Definitely not from the insinuation that not only does Drake Stone have a god complex, he also has a massive… personality.

  Keep your distance. Keep your distance.

  From the corner of my eye, it’s obvious Drake is grinning. “You okay, princess? You’re looking mighty flushed. Wouldn’t have anything to do with the dirty thoughts floating around that head of yours, would it?” His deep chuckle is all kinds of sin. “Filthy girl. I make one comment about my shoes and you’re picturing my cock. Am I fucking you from behind or are your lips wrapped around it?”

  Christ. The word cock spoken in his deep baritone should be illegal.

  Drake’s grin widens. “Now, don’t be shy. Sharing is caring.”

  I swallow, clear my throat, then swallow again. “What do you want, Drake?”

  With rumbling laughter, he collapses on the rug beside me. “You’re fucking adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?” Long legs stretch out and cross at the ankles. Instinctively, my gaze skims dark jeans that perfectly mold strong thighs, a red fitted T-shirt glued to every ridge of his eight-pack, and wild, wind-ruffled hair. He looks good. Too good. It’s then I realize the whole keeping my distance thing is dying a slow, painful death.

  He bumps me with his shoulder. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Listening to you answer a question with a question.”

  “Touché.”

  I shrug, not wanting to engage. If I do, he’ll say something funny, I’ll retort, there’ll be banter, sparks, and so much freaking chemistry we’ll rival the sun as an energy source. No, thank you. Moving on.

  “What’s all this?” He indicates the sound equipment in my hands, the strong muscles of his forearm shifting and rippling like water trickling over a creek bed. Captivated, I observe the light smattering of black hair atop pale skin. It too moves in time with the gesture; a metronome of dark and light.

  I shake my head. “It’s a speaker.”

  “You don’t say? And what’s it doing out of the quad box?”

  Sandalwood teases my nostrils, and it’s a struggle to formulate one word, let alone a complete sentence. “I’m taking a look at it.”

  “You’re a master at stating the obvious. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  With a loud sigh, I tip my head back and take in the endless sky above. Only, it’s the exact color of Drake’s eyes, a discernible mockery of my present situation.

  I look away again, wishing it were overcast and he’d leave. I want to concentrate on something other than his gorgeous features and handsome face. “Drake, why are you here?” I scan the parking lot. Apart from Ray’s RV and my ramshackle one parked next to it, it’s empty. “Wait.” My gaze flicks back to his. “Where’s the tour bus?”

  “The tour bus,” he sits up and crosses his legs, “is on its way.” Drake retrieves the music equipment I’m holding and carefully places it beside us on the rug.

  I freeze, half-freaked, half-intrigued by his words and purposeful movements.

  “I caught a lift with an old friend; wanted to get here early.”

  “Why?” I murmur.

  Gently, he cradles my sore hand in his. Strange, I was so busy inspecting the audio and inhaling his scent, I didn’t notice it. Dexterous fingers trail over my swollen and broken skin. “How are you?”

  I shiver. “Fine.”

  His touch is warm, his breath fans my face, and if I keep gazing into his eyes I’ll drown.

  Swallowing, I glance at our joined hands. Despite their disparate size and condition, they somehow fit. It’s a perfect riddle, one with no logical answer.

  It takes a few tries to collect my thoughts and then another couple to verbalize them. But eventually, I murmur, “Why are you doing this?”

  His jaw tightens. “Want to see if you’re okay. Don’t reckon many people do.”

  To my horror, tears blur my vision. No. Just no. I’ve had a great morning; Ray’s sober, we joked around, I’m spending time doing what I love. There’s no need for tears. Besides, I don’t want Drake seeing them. He doesn’t need any more leverage. The guy’s got enough on me already.

  Blinking, I turn away. “What—” My voice is hoarse, so I clear my throat. “What makes you think that?”

  A thumb and forefinger clasp my chin and force it back. Seems the second Drake touches my skin, I’m no longer in control of my body. What a terrifying thought.

  Our eyes meet.

  Time slows.

  Slows.

  Stops.

  As we stare at each other.

  Strangely, Drake is the first to glance away. He releases his hold and exhales a ragged breath. After rubbing one hand down the side of his face, he rakes agitated fingers through his hair, tugging the ends. “Fuck.”

  I avert my gaze and stare at my lap. Avoiding all eye contact is the safest option.

  His hand drops beside my leg, tapping out a muted offbeat on the rug. “I’ve seen you, what? Once? Twice now?”

  “Three times.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

  Lifting my head, I meet his gaze. “What don’t you get?”

  He’s all hard edges and sharp angles. There’s a tic in his jaw as ice-blue daggers point in my direction. “Do you have friends? Family? Anyone looking out for you?”

  “Do you?” I retort, pissed at the accusation.

  The corner of his mouth quirks and the tiniest hint of a dimple appears. It’s enough to soften his expression. Not a lot, but enough. “Reid, Wil, four sisters, and too many fans to count.”

  Silence.

  Because really, what is there to say? He’s got close friends, I don’t. He’s got a big family, I don’t. He’s got fans, I don’t. I’m not ashamed of keeping to myself or of only having an uncle to call my own. The problem with growing up on tour is that by the time you make any real connections, it’s over and you don’t see them again. Unless you’re lucky enough to work together on another stint, which rarely happens. So, yeah, I know people—this industry is based on like-minded folks celebrating their love of music—but I don’t really know them. Besides, it’s easier not to get close to anyone. Less hurt that way.

  Drake’s smile drops. “See, the thing with having a conversation is you actually have to speak. You know, out loud. Doesn’t work otherwise.”

  “Oh, so this isn’t the Spanish Inquisition?” My eye roll is huge. “For a while there, I was confused.”

  Drake pauses, blinks, then a chuckle rumbles from deep within his chest.

  I swear, it resonates directly with my center. Tucking loose hair behind my ear, I glance away again. But I can still feel the heat of his stare. A long sigh escapes. “What is it now?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You didn’t ask one.” I spin to face him, annoyed. “You told me you’ve got friends, family, and fans. It was a statement, not a question.”

  Though silent, he’s laughing at me. The corners of his lips twitch, the dimple makes a reappearance, and he leans in close. It’s confusing, annoying, and oh so distracting. “Before that I asked if you have any friends or family.”

  I rub my forehead, suddenly tired. “Look, as you can probably tell, I’m not a people person. So, no, I don’t have friends, I definitely don’t have any fans, but I do have family.”
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  “Yeah? How many?”

  “Family members?” He nods; I trace the fabric of the rug with my good index finger. “Two, including me.”

  Drake reels back, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? Two?” His eyes practically bulge from his head. “Hang on, that means you’re tight with one person.” Dark hair falls into his face as he shakes his head, bewildered. “How is that possible?”

  I grit my teeth. This is why I don’t share information about myself. I hate the bafflement, the stares, and worst of all, the misplaced pity.

  Drake must notice my death glare, because he tries to take my hand again. I don’t let him. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m just… shocked, that’s all.” He pushes the hair from his face, his gaze raking my body. “You’re fucking gorgeous, funny when you’re not being a bitch.” I grit my teeth; he smirks. “And you know your shit when it comes to music. Who wouldn’t want to know you?” He indicates the speaker resting nearby. “That was fucking with my sound last night, wasn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “You heard it too?”

  I nod again.

  “See? You’ve obviously got a great ear as well.” He rakes his top teeth over his bottom lip, and I watch, fascinated by the indents left behind. When Drake next speaks, his voice is quiet, almost pensive. “You’re the whole fucking package. Why are you alone?”

  My back slams ramrod straight. “Firstly, not everyone needs to be surrounded by people to feel whole, you know? I’m fine as I am. And secondly, I’m not alone. I’ve got my uncle.”

  “Yeah?” Drake looks around us, and I follow his gaze. A lone plastic bag waltzes across the parking lot with the breeze as its dancing partner. “Where is he?”

  “Inside. He’s talking to management.” I grimace. “Though, if there’s yelling and someone’s thrown through a window, it’s moved past that stage.”

  Drake gives a lopsided grin. “Haven’t seen anyone get thrown out, but this massive dude stormed past me before jumping into a cab. He was angry as fuck. Could have rivaled a Celtic warrior.” He gives an appreciative whistle. “You should have seen the tats on him. Both sleeves were epic. There was this skull with a blood-dipped rose—”

  I curse. Then curse again. Jumping to my feet, I pace the length of the lawn. “Goddammit!” Stopping, I throw my head back and squeeze my eyes shut. My good hand clenches into a fist as a rapid pulse pounds in my ears. There’s a distinct rip as my heart tears that bit further. There’ll be nothing left of it soon.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Spinning on my heel, I direct my anger-fueled disappointment at the closest available person. “Why the fuck am I not surprised?”

  Tipping his head to one side, Drake watches me. His brows furrowed and lips pursed in a bow. “Everything okay, princess?”

  Pinning hands on my hips, I glare. “No, everything isn’t okay. He fucking left. Ray promised me he wouldn’t; he looked me dead in the eyes and vowed he’d stop.” I pause, my throat tightening to the point of pain. “Again.”

  The way my voice breaks on the final word is enough for Drake to surge to his feet. Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me in close to a broad chest. One hand cradles the nape of my neck, while the other rubs slow circles on my lower back. I fumble, grasping for the soft fabric of his T-shirt and scrunch it in my fist. I need something to hold, something to keep me from imploding. There’s so much hurt, distrust, and disappointment melding inside me, I’ll disintegrate otherwise.

  “I’m sorry,” a low voice rumbles in my ear. “I’ve got no idea what the hell’s going on, but whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

  My grip on his shirt tightens. “Don’t want your pity.”

  “Not giving you any.”

  Burying my head in his chest, I choke back a sob. This is the second time in as many minutes he’s almost witnessed my tears. What is it about Drake that resonates so strongly? Why does he see what others ignore? Part of me wishes he would be like everyone else and keep his distance. However, the other part, the one fighting to get closer to the warmth emanating from his body, is glad he doesn’t.

  The rhythmic beat of his heart is a comfort I never knew I needed. Each thump a lullaby I’ve never heard. Rapt, I listen as it lulls me to a peacefulness I’ve never experienced. With a soft exhale, I nestle into him.

  Drake must notice the way my body relaxes, because he leans back, dipping his chin. “Better?”

  Christ, he’s beautiful.

  Sunlight hits his face at the perfect angle, making his eyes appear translucent. There’s a shadow beneath his jawline, emphasizing chiseled features, and those lips—I’ve never noticed it before, but the bottom is slightly fuller than the top. It’s begging to be sucked, bitten, owned. However, when I change my focus and take in the whole rather than the individual components, it’s his expression that hits me. He’s gazing at me so intently, like I’m the most important person in the world. It’s as though my happiness is imperative to his. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah, thanks.”

  Drake blinks, then shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving the way your tits are crushed against me, but I’ve gotta ask; what’s going on?”

  I narrow my gaze.

  With a wink, he brushes hair from my face, his fingers featherlight. His eyes linger on my mouth. “Well?”

  Seems I’ve got to make up for all the work Ray won’t be doing again tonight. Fucker. But I don’t tell Drake that. A girl’s got her pride and all that.

  Straightening, I try to flatten the creases I’ve made in his shirt. “It’s fine. I’ve got it handled.” Only, they won’t be tamed. I’m branding him with every crinkle and rumple of the soft fabric. Even worse, I like it.

  His hand grips my neck, thumb lifting my chin. “Tell me anyway.”

  The direct stare and domineering command set off sensory explosions in my body. Tingles erupt under my skin, simultaneously heating and cooling my flesh. My breasts grow heavy and my nipples harden beneath the lace of my bra. I want to take it off and rub the pebbled peaks against his abs, anything that will ease the dull ache building in my lower stomach.

  No.

  Just no.

  Drake’s not to be trusted. There’s no way to discern where genuine concern ends and lust begins on his face. The line is too blurred, too fuzzy, too clouded by testosterone. There’s no knowing what to believe.

  None of it. Trust in you, no one else. I clear my throat, determined to steer the conversation to less tumultuous waters. “Did the guy getting into the cab have a black T-shirt with massive Zildjan logo on the back?” Even though I’m almost certain it’s Ray that Drake described earlier, I need to know for sure.

  Drake’s considers my question, then nods. “Yeah, he did, actually. I figured he worked here.”

  My jaw is tight. “He does work here, or at least, he’s meant to.” I sigh. “Look, Ray’s a good guy; he’s just… lost.” Fuck, my heart hurts. Ignoring my earlier promise to rely only on myself, I drop my forehead against his chest, mumbling, “It’s not easy for him.”

  “Not easy on you either.”

  My shrug is half-hearted at best.

  “Let me see if I’ve got this right.” Slowly, two fingers lift my chin. His hand then slinks to the back, loosely grasping my neck. Our eyes meet, and I inhale a shaky breath at the simmering anger sparking from their depths. “You work with your uncle as a roadie. You tour with bands for a living.”

  “Yeah.” My voice is quiet, melting in his flickering flames.

  “You’re not close to anyone except him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But he disappears on you every fucking day.”

  I grit my teeth.

  “Meaning you’re here by yourself, doing all the work.”

  Silence.

  Drake’s thumb pulls my bottom lip from beneath my teeth. I didn’t even notice I was biting it. His voice is low, gravelly but with an edge that could cut the hardest of diamonds. “Have
I missed anything?”

  “Lots.”

  He glowers at my mouth. “Tell me, then. Because I’m finding it really fucking hard understanding what the fuck’s going on.”

  My gaze narrows. “Is this your first time on tour, Drake?”

  His hold on me doesn’t falter, but his expression hardens.

  “I’ve been on tours all my life. Grew up on them. I’ve seen so many relationships start with the best intentions. The band member claims they’re in love. The groupie or whoever the fuck is stupid enough to fall for them is on cloud freaking nine, believing the bullshit their other half is spewing out. They fuck. A lot. I’ve walked in on more couples going at it than I’ve ever wanted to see in a lifetime. Then, a few weeks later, and that’s me being generous, it all goes ass up. He’s screwing her best friend behind her back, she wants revenge, the whole situation becomes a goddamn catastrophe and almost always ends up with a screaming match at three in the morning when I’m trying to sleep.”

  “What does this have to do with anything?”

  Leaning in close, I hiss, “Let me make it clear to you. Ray and Rose were the exception to the rule. They met on tour. He was a roadie and she was a lighting tech. Their relationship was the one true connection I’ve seen in my life. They loved each other hard. Songs have been written about it, melodies tried to capture it, but nothing came close to describing what they shared. And it’s over. She’s dead, he can’t deal, I’m forced to.”

  “Doesn’t justify that he’s treating you like shit.”

  My gaze narrows. “He doesn’t treat me like shit on purpose.”

  “Says every victim ever.”

  Wrenching from his hold, I storm a few feet away. Then, spinning on my heel, I level him with a direct stare. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not, nor have I ever been, a victim. Ray’s a good man. An asshole at times and selfish at others, but his heart is big, true, and so freaking broken he doesn’t know how to exist anymore. He’d never knowingly hurt me, and I’d never knowingly let him. Ever.”

  Drake throws his arms out. “Then where is he, huh? Why isn’t he here? The dude’s meant to be working a job, meant to be helping you, and he’s fucking gone.”