Page 95 of Sweet as Sin (Bad Habit 1)
We were in the middle of a quasi argument, but I wasn’t insane.
“It’s too much! That’s your money, that you earned!”
He chuckled against my throat, making me shiver. “Case you haven’t noticed darlin’, I got plenty of money. And it’s not like I’m throwin’ it away; told you before, real estate’s a good investment. For either one of us.” He gathered my wrists in his hands, pinned them over my head, and settled his weight between my legs. “Next argument?”
I tried to sound very stern. “I’m a grown up. I should be responsible for my own bills.”
“You are responsible.” He nibbled on my earlobe, sending a spike of heat through my core. “And you’re a hard worker. Neither of which has any bearin’ on whether or not I should be able to give you a little gift if the mood strikes.”
“Little gift! Paying off someone’s mortgage is more than a little gift! It’s an act of reckless abandon! I think you could be committed for less! Eight hundred thousand dollars is—”
“Less than I make in a week, baby.”
I’m no genius, but it didn’t take me long to do the math. I sat on this new knowledge for a moment, as my lungs slowly deflated. “Oh.”
He smirked. “Yeah, oh. Next argument?”
“No, wait. Let’s stay on this topic for a minute. This is an interesting topic.”
Nico started to hum “Gold Digger” by Kanye West.
I shoved against his chest. “What I’m saying is that it’s really surprising how rich you are.” I eyed the threadbare Zeppelin T-shirt beneath my palms. “Considering your wardrobe.”
His brows shot up. “You got somethin’ against the greatest rock band of all time? And before you answer,” he added quickly, “you should know that if you say ‘yes,’ I’ll have to strip you down to your skivvies and do very, very bad things to you.”
Lord, how I adored that wicked glint in his eye. And how I adored him. My sweet, badass, generous, volatile, infuriating, wonderful man.
“Yes,” I answered seriously, looking him dead in the eye. “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”
Nico pursed his lips and shook his head, pretending to be disappointed. “Well, I did warn you, baby. Prepare for the worst.”
Then he lowered his lips to mine, and for several hours thereafter, he proceeded to make good on his promise.
We remembered to lock the bedroom door this time.
I awoke to a dark room, dragged from a vivid dream in which Nico and I were getting married on the beach on a tropical island. Lying on his back beside me, he breathed steadily, still asleep. His face was shadowed, but his bare chest gleamed in a bright wedge of moonlight that spilled through the bedroom windows.
We’d returned downstairs after an extended absence to a good-natured chorus of hoots and wolf calls from the boys, who’d made easy work of all the food, proceeding thereafter to consume enough liquor to get a Russian army drunk. Brody sang “Afternoon Delight” with backup from Ethan and Chris, who, according to Nico, did an excellent job of proving why they weren’t allowed to sing backup on Bad Habit’s albums. Then everyone, including me, went back into the studio to tinker and play for several more hours as I gazed on in awe and fascination.
Watching Nico work was amazing. He was a genius with lyrics. Starting with a bare-bones idea, he’d make things up as he went along, doing take after take with a new line here, a different way of vocalizing there. The band was a well-oiled machine, following his lead, the guys playing off one another, having as much fun as they were working hard. When finally they’d get a track just right, they’d record it. Most of them would be re-recorded to master in the record company’s studios, but the band seemed to prefer that the initial creative process take place in the informality of Nico’s studio.
And it worked. Seeing Bad Habit make music was nothing short of magical. Each one of them was a virtuoso in his own right, but it was Nico who was truly breathtaking. I couldn’t take my eyes off him the entire time. He played the guitar like he was making love to it. And every time his gaze met mine, he’d smile a slow, secret smile that I’d feel from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.
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We’d gone to bed after midnight. I wondered what time it was now.
I listened into the quiet for a moment, wondering groggily what had awoken me. I didn’t have to use the bathroom. I wasn’t thirsty, or uncomfortably cold or hot.
Had there been a noise?
I stretched beneath the covers. Turning my head, my gaze wandered around the darkened room. Hmm. Maybe it was that slight throbbing in my temples that had woken me. I’d had quite a few glasses of red wine during the recording—
With a strangled scream, I bolted upright.
Someone was standing just outside the open bedroom door.
“What is it?” Instantly alert, Nico bolted upright next to me. “Kat, what’s wrong?”
