One More Minute With You Page 13

  She watched the reaction of dejection occupy his face. His beautiful, sweet face. God, she was an idiot of epic proportions.

  “Sure, okay. Well, good night then.” He leaned down to give her a hesitant kiss on her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed as a tingle of regret ran down her spine.

  “G’night, Remy,” she whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She closed her bedroom door softly behind her, the snick of the metal latch a cold reminder of her impossible decision. She leaned against the hard wood with a sigh. Sleep would be impossible, her brain working on overtime, her body still itching for his presence. And yet she knew, that when and if she finally did succumb to the darkness, Remy would be there haunting her amidst her dreams all night long.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Remy was close to wrapping up the finishing touches on the mixing of the Dirt Roads new EP which had been over a month in the making. He would be seriously happy when it was a done deal and they would no longer require his assistance in the studio.

  Dealing with all their band turmoil and shit had given him more headaches than he’d ever had in his life. He was so over the constant bickering, backstabbing, and immaturity. His personal favorite came last week when Jared, the base player, informed the drummer, Dino, in a fit of hostility, “Dude, I accidentally slept with your girlfriend one night when we were drunk. Oops. Sorry.” It brought Remy a whole new appreciation for his solo career.

  Now that he was done with this project, he was hoping to get some time to record his own songs that he’d been working on. He had at least ten of his own tracks ready to record plus the five that he and Kenzie had written together. While they hadn’t specifically talked about it, it had always been his intention that they’d record those together, as a duo. It was their music and he wanted to share the entire process with Kenzie.

  Their musical pairing and vocal harmonies were a perfect blend of sultry and sweet. Her Faith Hill to his Tim McGraw. His Johnny Cash to her June Carter Cash. They were compatible in every way – only she apparently didn’t see it or didn’t want to admit it.

  He felt like a fucking idiot after what happened the other night. He’d practically begged her to spend the night with him in his bed, and she flat out rejected him. What woman didn’t like to snuggle after sex? He’d never met one. As a guy, snuggling wasn’t necessary. He enjoyed sleeping with women, the feel of their skin and the warmth of their bodies, but he’d never suggest cuddling just for the sake of it. The only other woman he’d ever slept with the entire night was his ex, and cuddling with her always seemed like a chore.

  But that’s not what it felt like with Kenzie. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go. To feel her softness tucked in and around him all night long. She, however, didn’t have the same feelings on the topic. He had no idea what was running through her head when she left his bed that night or what really made her hightail it out of his bed so soon after they’d finished.

  And goddamn, he’d thought they had amazing sex. Like Guinness Book of World Records sex. Mind-blowing. Earth shattering. ‘I want more with a cherry on top, please – sex’. And yet, she once again pulled the curtains down as soon as it was over – just like their night at the bar.

  He honestly didn’t get it. Or her. Yet, he still wanted her more than anything – he had to find out what was buried so deep beneath her skin. Maybe Nick was right about women. Maybe Kenzie was playing with his head? Was she capable of that trickery and deceit? He didn’t think so, but the evidence was pretty damning. She’d dole some candy out, give him a little taste, and then make him chase her down for more. Was this just all a game to her?

  The vibration of his cell phone had his spine straightening in his studio chair, violently jerking him out of his reverie. Pulling out the device from his back pocket, he let out a curse when he saw the name on the display. Dad.

  Fuck me.

  Normally when his father called, he’d let it go directly to voicemail, not having the time or the desire to talk to his dear ‘ol dad. However, having a break in the action, he contemplated answering it – just out of courtesy. Or maybe curiosity, since he hadn’t spoken to him in well over a year.

  Forgoing the formalities, he answered it. “What the fuck do you want, Dad?”

  Yeah, he knew he sounded like a pissed off teenager, but WTF. He didn’t care if he came across as bitter or angry, because damn it – he was. He’d never get over how his dad wronged his mother and him. It was a shitty thing to do, rock star lifestyle or not.

  “Remy. Son…how are you, buddy?”

  Remy choked out a spiteful laugh. “Buddy? Seriously? What, am I - like seven? I’m not your fucking buddy, pal. And again I ask, what the fuck do you want?” He could feel the jagged edges of bitterness and resentment climbing up through his chest, scratching at his throat like a caged tiger. He took a long breath, stealing himself against losing his shit right then and there.

  There was a long pause before his dad responded, his tone departing from the jovial side to a softly melodic low. He cleared his throat. “Remy, I was just calling to, uh, let you know that I’ll be swinging into town next week on a publicity tour. The band is playing at a charity event at the Ryman Theater. And well…I was hoping to get to see you. That’s all.”

  Another long, awkward silence followed. Remy leaned back in his swivel chair, letting his head fall back onto the headrest, his eyes closed and lips pursed. Shit.

  The last time he saw his father was two years ago when Demolition Agent was on their U.S. Tour. Luc’s tour manager had sent Remy and his then girlfriend backstage passes, which of course she jumped all over immediately. And much to his shock, she also jumped on something else. His dad’s bandmate’s dick.

  The show had ended and everyone was back in their dressing rooms getting changed and showered. Luc had invited Remy into his dressing room for a beer, while Chyna said she was going to the ladies room. Thirty minutes later, when she hadn’t returned, Remy went looking for her. He’d stood outside the restroom door, listening to whimpers and low, muffled voices. He knocked several times with no response. Finally, after hearing what sounded like a shriek, he barged in through the door, only to find two stunned faces looking back at him.

  Chyna was facing the wall, her hands up against it, her tight leather skirt flung up over her bare ass, which Brian was fucking from behind. Out of everything in that moment, the one specific detail he clearly remembered was Chyna’s zebra striped, sparkly nails digging into the cold tile of the bathroom wall. And the way her face was scrunched up in impassioned ecstasy. Had he ever seen her look that way?

  He must have made a sound because it was then that Brian looked over at him and their eyes met. The same Brian whom he’d known ever since he was just a young boy. Practically family. And Brian just gave him a half-hearted shrug. It was his way of apologizing, he supposed, but also to say, “What? Chicks love rock star dicks.”

  Remy had fled the scene, never one to start drama, but needless to say, he and Chyna didn’t last much longer after that. He knew by then that Brian wasn’t the first musician she had fucked around with behind his back and wouldn’t be the last. And he would not stand for infidelity. He would not tolerate the same type of indiscretions that his mother put up with while married to his father or the hurt that betrayal of trust brought on.

  He’d decided then and there, if he was ever in another serious relationship, it would be all or nothing. He wouldn’t share. Trust was an absolute requirement. And he would certainly never be made a fool of ever again.

  “I don’t know,” Remy said hesitantly, sifting his fingers through his hair. “I’ll think about it, but I’ve got a lot going on right now. Text me the date and time and send over the tickets to my place. If I can’t go, I’ll let you know.”

  He could hear his dad’s exhale on the other end of the line. Was it a sigh of relief or maybe he was smoking something. Who knew? And he really didn’t care. He’d given up caring about what
his dad thought a long time ago.

  “That’s cool, Remy. I’d really love to see you.” He paused momentarily, as if to formulate a thought. “It’s been a long time, and I’d like to…catch up. See how things are going for you. Fuck, I don’t know. Just make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m doing fine, Dad. Thanks.” Not wanting to be a total dick, he took a calming breath before continuing. “So how are Henri and Etienne doing?”

  While he’d never been close to his two half-brothers and never really been part of their lives, he’d seen them a few times over the years. They were cute kids and fun to play big brother with. Henri was around twelve by now and lived with his mother, a French-born model whom Luc never married. Etienne was seven, and was the son of his current wife, Sophia. She was a Spanish actress; beautiful, elegant and surprising nice. Remy hadn’t gone to their wedding, even though his father invited him, but he’d met Sophia a few times when they were in the states. He’d also been included in Etienne’s baptism when he was a baby.

  “Ah, bon. Trés bien,” he exalted with pride, obviously thrilled by the question. “Henri is becoming quite the football player. I took him to the World Cup in Brazil this year for his birthday. That boy will no doubt become a professional player someday. And mon petit garçon, Etienne, is learning to play the guitar - like his papa and his grand frère, oui? C’est on le sang, n’est-ce pas?”

  Yes, music was in their blood.

  “That’s cool, dad. I’m glad to hear they’re doing well. Do they go out on tour with you much?”

  What Remy really wanted to know was if his father spent more time with his younger sons then he ever did with him when he was a kid. His dad had always been on the road and away, while Remy and his mother stayed behind in California, trying to live some semblance of a normal life. He had traveled with his dad a few times during his early teen years and that’s when he got a taste for music. And girls, of course. There were plenty of those around - some who were more than eager to deflower the fifteen-year-old son of a famous rock star.

  “Oui. Since our touring has slowed down over the last few years, I’ve been living in Paris and Barcelona with Sophia and Etienne. And Henri stays with us in Paris when he’s not in school. His mother still models and is often out on location, so he is with us when she’s gone. It works out quite nicely.”

  Well, for that he was glad. At least he could take comfort in the knowledge that his two younger half-siblings had some sort of father figure around for them, even if he fought a stab of jealousy at their closeness. That sort of father-son bond that he’d long ago wished he’d had, but one that was broken the minute he’d left his mother. And that wasn’t a wound that was easily healed.

  “Well, okay. Thanks for calling, Dad. I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Oui. Au revoir, mon fils. I’ll see you soon.”

  Remy grew up speaking both French and English but never really spoke French with anyone outside of his father. For some reason, whenever his dad called him my son in French, it ripped off another piece of his heart. It was proof that his dad was human and did love him, even if it was in his own narcissistic manner. And he tried desperately not to think about his dad’s devotional attributes in order to avoid the pain it caused.

  After ending the call, Remy was more than a little keyed up and wanted to record some of his music. Looking at the time on his phone, he knew Kenzie would be home from work by then. His fingers itched to call her. Instead, he did the next best thing and typed out a text.

  Hey, you busy? Want to come record some of our songs?

  He wasn’t sure what kind of response he’d get from her, considering they parted the other night on such strange terms. He knew she’d given him an excuse for leaving his bed, but with no leverage to keep her there, he had to let her go. He didn’t wait long to get her response.

  Serious?

  As a heart attack. I have the whole studio tonight. You in?

  Hell, yeah. Send me the address. Be there in fifteen.

  A thrill shot through his bloodstream as he texted back the address and then got busy cleaning up the studio. This would be the first time they’d spent time together alone since the night they…well, fucked. He was now even more confused as to where things stood between them. Were they just friends and roommates? Fuck buddies? Was it a one-time thing?

  God, he hoped not.

  There was no way he could continue living in such close proximity with Kenzie and not want her in every way imaginable, now that he knew what she felt like, naked and writhing underneath him. Not when he’d experienced firsthand the incredibly sexy sounds she made when she came, and the feel of her clenching around him when he was buried deep inside her. Just that thought alone had him getting hard against his zipper.

  Shit. Get it together.

  Remy moved out of the sound booth into the recording room, setting up and arranging the mic stands and chairs for Kenzie’s pending arrival. As this would likely be her first foray into recording and their first time recording a demo together, he wanted to have everything prepped and ready when she got there. Plugging in the amps, equalizers and then tuning up his guitar, he began sorting through the sheets of music they’d written over the last few weeks. Selecting the three that he felt were fleshed out enough to begin recording, he got to work on sketching out a plan for recording.

  Remy loved the process of recording and producing music, starting with the first germ of an idea that culminated into a melody and then finally a song. Although he’d only done solo writing and recording in the past, he now found he enjoyed the process of working with Kenzie. He was eager to watch and hear her sing as he recorded their written words and music they had created.

  And he was definitely going to make sure she enjoyed it, too. He wasn’t about to let this moment pass him by without getting a few things out in the open – mainly that he was done with her treating him like a yo-yo. She was going to admit she had feelings for him, if he had any say in it. And he knew just how he was going to do it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her nerves were on super-hyper overdrive, sending giant bursts of panic through her bloodstream as she neared the entrance of the recording studio. Her heart beat wildly from the moment she’d received Remy’s text not twenty minutes earlier. And then her heart plummeted to her toes when she received a secondary text from a blocked number.

  Kenzie was cleaning up the kitchen after the dinner she’d made for herself earlier when Remy had texted her with the invite to come record with him. She about hit the ceiling with excitement. She’d never been in the recording studio before or laid down tracks for anything she’d ever penned. She’d always been confident in her vocal abilities, but never heard it in a recorded form. Just that had her nerves in a jumble.

  And then there was the fact that she’d be holed up in a small, intimate room with her incredibly gorgeous, intensely hot and über-talented roommate. A prickly heat washed over her body as she was reminded of the sensations that his hands created as they moved over it. She shivered at the recollection – an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t help when she thought of him. Although she tried unsuccessfully to put the night they were together out of her mind, it was always there. Poking at her. Taunting her. Sending her thoughts into a dirty, naughty orbit.

  There was no denying that the attraction between them was strong. Hulk-like strong. Just one look at his upturned, lopsided grin had her wet and aching in spots where his mouth had given her such pleasure she still gasped just thinking about it. She’d been such a stupid idiot to leave his bed after they’d had sex the other night – but she knew staying in his bed all night would only serve to complicate things more. She’d be a goner. And there was no coming back from something like that. She had to nip it in the bud before it broke her in two.

  So yes, she was nervous and anxious to spend time with Remy today. But that was only half of it. Her mind was also racing with adrenaline and fear over the text she’d rece
ived just minutes after leaving their apartment on her way to the studio.

  She’d slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and was wrapping a print scarf around her neck when her phone pinged. Assuming it was Remy asking her where she was, she smiled as she swiped her thumb over the screen. Her smile faded as she read and then reread the message on her display. It was from a blocked number.

  You look like a slut in that skirt.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk her head whipping around to scan the tree-lined street. There were handfuls of people on either side of the street - carrying grocery bags, pushing baby strollers, walking their dogs. She glanced in front and behind her, searching for a glimpse of anyone that looked out-of-the-ordinary or creepy.

  The words on the screen stared back at her, bold and hateful. The venom that filled the sentence practically snapped out like a viper striking its prey. She continued to peer out of the corner of her eye for any suspicious-looking characters. Who the hell was it from?

  Kenzie surreptitiously glanced down at the outfit she’d carefully chosen to wear before she left the apartment. Nothing out of the norm from her typical wardrobe. A worn leather jacket over an oversized tank, the neckline hanging low so that a hint of her hot pink lace push-up bra did a little peek-a-boo. A beige flared skirt with pink and orange flowers hovering above her knees, paired with knee-high argyle socks and her tan Fry cowboy boots.

  Another ping from her phone.

  Slut. Slut. Slut. Fucking whore.

  What the hell? Never a shrinking violet or one to back down from a challenge - or in this case a crazed lunatic - she quickly typed back a response.

  Who the fuck is this? You’re obviously a spineless dick.

  She stopped at the crosswalk, holding her breath until her unidentified texter responded.