Page 7 of Verses Of Us

There, in the middle of the restaurant, Ciarán Jones International Rockstar, a gorgeous, solitary figure, stood with one hand cupping his face, holding his cheek exactly where she had kissed him.

LEFT STANDING

Ciarán

Whothehellwasthis girl?

Ciarán clutched his cheek, his eyes glued to Alexis as she walked away, and a profound, hopeless panic washed over him. The heaviness in his chest reappeared as if it had been waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

His insecurities always plagued him. In times like these, when doubts about his talent reared their heads and when he felt like a fraud, an impostor, sex and alcohol were his go-tos.

Oddly, all those doubts quieted when she walked into the room with her calm and simple aura that blanketed him in peace. He knew nothing about her, but somehow, he wanted to spend hours talking with her, listening to her speak about music and books and anything. And those eyes? Mysterious and green with hints of hazel—he would stare at them forever and was sure they held the meaning of life, or at the very least, might bring his life some sort of deeper meaning.

She had walked in looking naïve and immature, dressed in clothing that didn’t seem to fit her right. Not that she didn’t look good in those tight jeans and top, but she seemed ill at ease, tugging at her cardigan constantly. Insecurity peeked through her act when her gorgeous eyes kept darting to the floor and when she kept tucking her ebony hair behind her ears.

She hadn’t balked when he’d been rude, but had bitten back, putting him in his place. Nobody did that anymore. No one argued or disagreed. It was allYes Sir. Right away, Sir. And he hated it.

Being in control, getting what he wanted when he wanted it, those were things he loved, but he longed for someone to argue with, someone who didn’t treat him like royalty and had the balls to fight back. The only people he knew who did this were his sister Saoirse and his mother, Anne, God rest her soul. Mam had been the one honest person in his life, but with her gone, he felt lost in a sea of placating sons-a-bitches.

But Alexis was different. He couldn’t be sure—they hadn’t spent enough time together, but something told him he needed to have more. She’d caught him by surprise and shit like that didn’t happen.

He could have invited her back to his room, but the idea made his skin crawl. Not because he didn’t want to. Christ, he wanted to. But because he worried she would say yes, ruining his image of her. There was a simple goodness in her that stoked his curiosity, but also made him want to chase. The possibility she might not bend to his will as the other ones did fuelled his desire. Alexis seemed to be someone who didn’t give herself to anyone, and the challenge she presented turned him on unlike anything had before.

When Anthony interrupted them, her sudden lack of timidity impressed him, and when she’d kissed him, she’d jolted him into another sphere of joy. Filled with heat and what he read as interest; her eyes told him his first impression about her had been wrong. Yes, she was young, but she hid a wisdom behind her age. She’d listened to him; she’d let him confide without judgment. Compared to his entourage—people paid to be around him—Alexis was like energising fresh air. That she wanted to spend time with him as a normal person filled his body like a deep, cleansing breath after a severe panic attack.

“Ready, mate?” Anthony asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah.” Ciarán’s flat tone matched his level of interest. His afternoon would include interviews, PR, sound checks, all things he hated. He preferred to delegate those things to others. But having a solo career meant passing responsibilities on to someone else was no longer a luxury he possessed. There weren’t four other mates to do that shit for him, like there used to be.

Though leaving In Ovation had released him from certain shackles, he was still bound by stronger ones and he sometimes questioned the hastiness of his decision to leave the band. These days, everyone wanted a piece of him, and only him; like goddamn piranhas.

They left the restaurant from the back. Anthony held the door open to the black Lincoln Navigator. “She was fuckable, eh?”

Ciarán’s head snapped up. “What the fuck did you say?” He couldn’t recognize his own voice.

Stunned, Anthony recoiled. “I was only saying the girl… she was cute.” Ciarán got in the car, his manager following behind. “I could get her number from the radio station, if you’d like.”

More than her phone number, he wanted her here with himnow. Consumed by images of her naked in his bed, he pictured her gorgeous body beneath him, his hands wandering over her ivory skin, before burying his head between her legs. As he imagined tasting her for the first time, he swore he felt her fingers running through his hair. His mouth watered and he had to shift in his seat.

He wracked his brain. He didn’t recall being stung like this before. But when he glanced around the car, he remembered why that was. His life, the stresses, the inconsistencies. They all kept him from getting too attached to anyone. Then, he remembered his failures, his current responsibilities and the promises he’d made to others and how they relied on him.

“Nah, forget it,” he replied, cracking open a bottle of water, guzzling down half, trying to wet his parched throat. Anthony was wrong. Alexis wasn’t cute—she was damn near perfect.

Another sip. But she was also too young.

A longer sip. And she’d get hurt.

They pulled up to the venue, unsurprised by the crowd waiting at the garage, screaming and slamming their fists against the car. As always, the ones who stood further back, who feigned disinterest, were the ones he’d call on later. They were the groupies who acted as if he was a regular guy, but really only wanted bragging rights over their friends. They would die old and lonely, with only the memory of how they’d once fucked a rockstar to keep them warm at night.

The blood still rushed through his veins, forcing Ciarán to inhale deeply through his nose. This rise in blood pressure happened all the time, as did the pre-show rousing. When he got these urges, he’d purge them from his system by inviting a fan or two backstage. He’d indulge in those women, let them live out their fantasies, only because he used sex to drown his anxiety and there was zero investment. But now, none of them tickled his fancy.

He gritted his teeth.Fuck.

He wanted Alexis. She was the forbidden candy he couldn’t wait to suck on. He longed to feel her shatter beneath his touch and be the one to show her things she’d never experienced.

He frowned, wondering if he was being presumptuous. Was she even a virgin? Had she done anything more than kiss a guy? She was too beautiful to never have had a boyfriend, and though logic told him she wasn’t inexperienced, he preferred to assume she was. He hoped she was keeping herself for somebody special, someone who mattered. But when he pictured her thick lips and those green eyes that could lure him to commit any crime, he knew there must be tons of stupid teenage boys trying to get into her pants.

Again, he shifted. The thought of her naked body beneath him was becoming painful, and he tugged on his jeans. Aware that he needed to take care of his demanding cock soon or this would become an obsession, one he couldn’t indulge in right now, he glanced out the window. After all, he had a show to put on and greedy fans to please.

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