Page 34 of Dead Rockstar

I eased back into the water, feeling my hair fan around my face. My skin seemed to be alive; it was thrumming. He washed my hair with the cloth, his fingers moving through the wet strands, his thumbs resting on my face. As he touched me, I felt something strange happen.

I felt unnaturally light, almost as if I'd left my body. The sensation of warmth from the water, from him, had pooled into a delicious liquid gold feeling, and I felt like I was fluid myself, floating all over, everywhere. Like I was looking down on the both of us. My limbs throbbed with pleasure, but at the same time I couldn't feel them. I was in two places at once, feeling two feelings at once. Pleasure and pain. Numbness and warmth. Dark and light.

His hands moved over me, touching each place a second time, moving over every inch of me. His black hair was loose from its ponytail, falling into his eyes, a few tendrils making their way into the water to mingle with my own. Black and dark blonde. At some point I had opened my eyes, but I wasn't sure when. His were now closed; we'd switched places. I memorized the lines in his face, so intent with the job at hand, and marveled at his soft, inky black eyelashes. A rock star on a grand stage, tall, imposing, a bona fide sex god, former junkie, legend in his own right, back from the dead, and with eyelashes as soft as down, as dark as ink.

After another few agonizingly sweet moments, he leaned back, sat on the edge of the tub and smiled. “I think I got you,” he said. “Every place there was to get.” His smile was boyish.

I was floating; I didn't want to move.

“You look like an angel,” he said. “With your hair floating all around your face like that.”

“Angel or devil, I don't care,” I sang in a warbling, off-key murmur.

“For in front of the door, there is you.” His voice was husky and razor-sharp, echoing in the small, steamy room. Familiar and yet other-worldly with the bathroom acoustics. A chill went up my spine. “Bowie.”

I sat up, droplets of water cascading off my shoulders. “Get in.” I said.

He looked at me dubiously. “What?”

“Get in. The water is still hot.” I smiled at him invitingly. “You could use a good scrub yourself.”

He stared at me, unsure.

“The tub is too small,” he said.

“We'll fit.”

He stared.

“Are you scared of me?” I asked. It was meant to be flirty, but I realized the question had other implications.

He looked at me for another moment, then wordlessly stripped off his shirt. The muscles in his arms and chest twitched. His skin looked like china under the harsh bathroom light. He leaned down and took off his pants, then smiled at me. “You wear your underwear, I wear mine.”

“Fair enough.” I scooted to the far end of the tub, giving him room as he stepped into the tub and eased down. He wrapped his legs around mine.

“Sorry,” he said. “I've got really long legs.”

“No kidding.”

He wrapped his arms around me, too, and instinctively, I leaned against his chest, resting my head in the crook of his neck like a lover. I wondered if he'd flinch, but he didn't; rather, he set his chin down on top of my head, cradling me, and let out a sigh. The room was quiet except for the drip-drop from the leaky faucet. It was strange, but the tub wasn't all that cramped, I realized, my eyes closed, letting my limbs do the assessing for me, noticing that it was almost as though the tub had expanded. I stretched out my legs, feeling his skin against mine, and marveled that I could unfurl them all the way without having to bend my knees. What magic was this, and had I done it?

I could feel the thump of his pulse against my back where his chest was pressed up against me. His heartbeat was steady, strong. I pressed in closer, feeling the hardness of him against my lower back, and his breath caught in his throat. I tried to ignore the way my very blood seemed to be singing as it rushed to my extremities. My chest was flushed with desire, and I could tell by his shallow breaths that he was feeling it, too. But it wasn't about that right now – as much as I wanted him, wanted to turn around and devour him whole, this was about cleansing, about taking back control, taking back the power over us. I relaxed against him with a sigh. His arms were strong and held me fast, and I knew if he ever were to truly become predatory, there would be no hope in hell of getting away from him. As it happened, I had no desire to.

Phillip was singing again, his voice low. “My death waits like a witch at night...and surely as our love is bright. Let's laugh for us and the passing time...” He laughed low and murmured in my ear. “That you would think to sing that song right now.”

“It just came to me,” I said.

“Bowie was always my favorite,” he said.

“You were always mine,” I whispered.

“I know we need to get on the road,” I said to Phillip as we coasted up onto the bridge that led to Jekyll Island, “but we won't stay long, and I really want you to see this place.”

“I've been to the beach before,” he said with a smile, staring out the window. I could see why he was unimpressed so far. The sky was gray and dreary – the sun hadn't been back out since that big storm that had brought him to my door – and the water was dull and dirty against the mud of the marsh. Even the grass, in the dull light of the fall, was muted and colorless. A lone seagull crested against the wind and flew off into the horizon.

“But Jekyll is special,” I insisted. “You'll see.”

The truth was that I wasn't quite sure why I wanted to bring Phillip here. I'd woken up that morning with a new vigor, the excitement and energy in my limbs almost palpable, and I'd thought before my head had even risen off the pillow that I wanted to take Philip to Driftwood Beach. I knew he was in a hurry to get going, so I'd packed quickly and loaded up the truck, figuring we'd leave for Boston right after – no point in stopping back at home first. I had arranged for Sloan to take care of Blinken until I got back, and things were all tied up with work for the next week. Everything was set to go. But I just had to show Phillip Driftwood first. It felt right somehow.

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