Page 41 of Dead Rockstar

I came back out to the truck, holding the drinks, and got in wordlessly. Phillip was looking in the rear-view mirror, his face a black cloud. “Fucking coward,” he seethed, taking his Coke and unscrewing the lid. “He knew I was sitting right here, waiting for him, and the motherfucker just drove on.” He grunted. “Sure did get an eyeful of you before he did, though. Did you see the way he was staring at you?”

“I can't imagine what he wants with us,” I said. “Phillip, what if...I was joking before, but what if he's some kind of cop for real, but like a…don’t laugh, but…like a paranormal cop? What if we broke a rule? What I did...it wasn't white magic. That's why you did the salt ritual, right? What if he's coming after us because I wasn't supposed to summon you? Like I’ve upset the balance or something, broken a rule, and now I have to pay the price. Maybe this Lee guy is just trying to bring me to justice.”

Phillip didn't reply, but the look on his face revealed that he'd already considered this. He reached a hand out and touched me on the shoulder. “I don't think that's likely – he's had plenty of opportunities to dole out justice if he was gonna - but...well, whatever it is, I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Stormy. I owe you my life – literally,” he said with tenderness. “I’ll be damned if you meet some punishment for giving me that gift. I won’t have it.”

I took a long drink of my seltzer, trying to give him a bright smile, but I felt queasy. I'd gone and gotten myself – and Phillip – into a world of trouble. It was obvious that Lee, whoever he was, was not going to stop following us. He wouldn't leave us alone until he got what he wanted, and I would find out what that was soon enough.

Ten

“I'm exhausted,” Phillip said, pulling into the parking lot and choosing a space in front of Room 604. He had already been to the front desk to reserve it, after I'd insisted we pay in advance. “This place looks like a dive, but as long as I'm taking charity from you, I want to spend as little as possible.

“Phillip, I told you I don't mind-”

“I know,” he said firmly. “But I don't like taking your money. I'll be glad when I can pay it back.”

“Anyway, this place doesn't look all that bad,” I said hopefully, stepping out of the truck. We stood on the curb. “It's old, that's for sure, but it isn't dirty. And this is an okay neighborhood, from the looks of it. They even have Wi-Fi and a pool.”

“Fancy a dip later?”

“Maybe. It's so cold, though.” I smiled at him, a genuine smile. Now that we were out of the cramped truck, things felt a little brighter. “I just hope a certain someone stays away.”

“Shh,” he said, putting a playful finger to my lips. “We're on vacation, Stormy, let's not ruin it with bad thoughts.”

“Vacation. Ha.” But I was smiling. It sort of did feel like a vacation. A road trip upstate with a handsome, thrilling man, staying in a motel in the middle of the week. It was all so spur of the moment. Something I never did. It felt kind of good. I realized, guilty, that I hadn't checked in with Sloan all day. I hadn't sent so much as a text. Then again, she hadn't contacted me, either.

“Let's go see this dump of a room,” Phillip said, and grabbed my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I followed him up the steps to the second floor, and he fished the key out of the pocket of his dark black jeans. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get us two beds. They only had one queen left.”

“You expect me to believe that?” I teased as he fiddled with the room key, trying to get the handle to click open. “Don’t you read romance novels? That’s the oldest trope in the book. Couple forced to travel together under weird circumstances, there’s all this sexual tension, then they get a room and they’re forced to share a bed because the one motel within miles miraculously has no double beds despite being, you know, literally a place full of beds.”

“Sexual tension, huh?” he interrupted, turning to me with a sly smile. “Are you saying we have that?”

I met his eye. “Are you denying that we do, Phillip Deville?”

“Hey, I’m not denying anything at all. But you’re the one calling me a liar, here.”

“I’m just saying that it’s…convenient.” I smirked up at him. We stared at each other, the sound of the ancient AC unit clunking behind us, until finally he looked away. He pushed the motel room door open and gestured for me to enter.

The room was dark, so Phillip flicked on the light. It was sparse, a little old and dusty, but clean, with green carpet, green drapes and a patchwork bedspread on the queen bed. It smelled of lavender cleaning solution and stale coffee, which I figured was better than most. There was a bathroom with a bathtub and shower, much to my relief. My salt bath the night before was wearing off and I felt more than a little ripe. I took off my jacket and purse and laid them on the bed, then turned to Phillip. “Well, what n-”

I didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Phillip grabbed me, pulled me close and placed his huge hands on my shoulders. “Stormy,” he said in a fierce whisper, his face inches from mine. “I want to kiss you so bad. I've been wanting to since I first laid eyes on you. Tell me you want me to. Because I can't stand it anymore.”

For a minute I just looked at him, eyes wide, forgetting how to form words. “I do want you to,” I said finally, in an equally fierce whisper. I stared up at his beautiful face, his flashing eyes, and smiled. “Duh.”

Then his lips were crushing mine, tasting of cloves and of Coca Cola, very sweet, soft and rough at the same time. The stubble from his chin was scratchy against my face, but it felt good. His arms gripped me, his hair brushed against my cheeks and I was filled with the essence of him, dark and warm and bright. I kissed him back, giving myself up to it immediately, stopping the racing thoughts in my brain. There would be plenty of time later for rehashing, replaying, and screaming to myself in disbelief that this really happened. But right now, it was happening, and it felt so good that my knees went weak, so I leaned into him, my hands resting on his hard chest, my fingers splaying out, wanting to touch him tenderly, to memorize him completely. He was an amazing kisser. He tasted so good, and I opened my mouth fully to his, wanting to explore him, devour the delicious wetness of his tongue, the crushing firmness of his mouth. His kiss felt somehow sacred, and also profane, and tantalizingly delicious. I never wanted it to end.

But he pulled away, leaving me aching, hanging by a thread.

He smiled at me, long and slow, pushing his hands through his hair and back out of his face. His eyes ran over me and I felt scorched by the heat in his gaze. “I've been thinking about this since last night when I had you in the bathtub,” he confessed with a drawn-out grin. “And it was every bit worth the wait.”

“I've been thinking about it since you put that bass in my hands,” I growled, and pulled him toward me.

I put a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, the warmth of him. I wanted to finish what we'd started, taste more of him, feel his breath on me, his mouth on me, but I didn't want to push. There was something agonizing and exquisite about the waiting, the postponing of the inevitable. We both knew it would happen, but when? Where? How? Each of these questions had weight, and the weight was heady and full of mouth-watering, thrilling tension. I felt my breath catch as we stared at each other, both breathing hard. I felt my lips curl into what felt like the thousandth smile of the day, my cheeks hurting with the effort, and as I started to pull away, he pulled me close, his face achingly close to mine, his lips barely brushing against my mouth, his breath feather light against my lips, his dark, long lashes soft and ticklish against my face. I put my arms around his neck, and his went around my waist as he picked me up easily, pressing his mouth against mine with agonizing slowness. We would draw this out, make it last, make it build and build until it took us under…

“Is it true about rock stars and hotel rooms?” I murmured against his mouth.

He groaned and chuckled in a low voice. “Is what true?”

“That they get up to all kinds of nefarious things in them.”

---