Page 147 of Deliverance

Provoking makeup and costumes and scandals that used to surround the members of The Deviant aside, Zander is an accomplished drummer who’s won multiple awards, has appeared on hundreds of magazine covers, and has inspired a great deal of younger musicians. And actually being this close to the source of his art—to touch it—makes me feel dizzy.

He stands near and hands me a stick. “You’ll need this.” A cocky smirk meets my gaze when I look up at him.

“Right.” I bite back a smile. “What would I do without your guidance?”

He leans in and kisses the tip of my ear. “You’d be using your hands.”

A low laugh leaves my throat. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He hands me another stick and I take a moment to read the engraving—his signature. The wood is smooth, a pleasant heaviness in my palm.

“You know the basics though, right?” Zander asks. “The difference between the snare and the bass drum.”

“Yep.” I peek down to the floor where my right foot is and spy the pedal, then step on it hard. Once. Twice. The sound booms through the room, massive and unexpected.

While I’m at it, I hit a few cymbals and they ring in response.

Zander roars with laughter. “Okay. Now we’ll move to the next lesson.” He positions himself directly behind me and rests his chin in the crook of my neck. “But it’ll cost you.”

Electricity zings through my body.

“Only the first one was on the house,” he murmurs.

“Maybe we could agree on some alternative payment options?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know…apples, oranges, pears.”

Zander wraps his arms around me. “And what am I going to do with oranges?” His voice turns ragged and I have a feeling that teaching me how to play drums right now is the last thing on his mind.

Wanton heat pools between my thighs. I had no idea his every touch would set me on fire after what we did in my loft, as if he’s awoken a part of me that’s been sleeping so long that now all it cares about is release.

I let out a soft sigh, but it comes out louder than I intend. “You haven’t shown me the bedroom yet.”

Loosening his grasp, Zander sinks into a crouch and spins the chair with me in it to face him. His hands rest on my jean-clad thighs, and he peers up at my face with a long examining stare that sees past all my barriers and reaches deep into my soul.

“I did some reading.” His face changes. “I needed to know. For me. To understand your limits. I know what people like you go through.” A pause. “And I guess I just don’t want to do something that will set you off like it did—”

I brush my index finger over his lips, almost wishing he’d stop talking, but he clutches my wrist and holds it in place over his chest.

“I’m sorry for all the things I’ll say that will hurt you. I know what happened to you isn’t something that’s just going to disappear. But I don’t want you to think sex is a deal breaker. If you don’t feel like it, just say it. You don’t need to give it to me every time we do something just because ninety-nine percent of couples do it. We can be that one percent, the ones who don’t do it and still have a relationship.”

Now he does stop and silence, tight as the snares, rushes in.

“I hate you, Zander Shaw,” I say finally, my small voice stumbling and falling over my own uneven breaths. “Why are you so goddamned perfect?” The drumsticks are hot in my grasp and the tip of the engraving that’s sticking out from beneath the curl of my fingers begins to blur. Oh no. No crying.

“I’m far from perfect, baby.” He releases my hand and reaches for my cheek to graze the callused pad of his thumb over my skin. “But I’ll try to be whatever it is you need me to be.” His expression softens. “By the way, I’ve got something for you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“You’ll need it.” He smirks and, taking my hand in his, leads me upstairs.

We pause in front of the door at the end of the corridor and he nuzzles my cheek. “There’s a guest room if you need some privacy, but I was hoping you’d share my bed.”

My heart is pounding so hard now. “As long as it fits two,” I say, glancing at him quickly.

Zander pushes the door open and nudges me inside by resting his hand on the small of my back with a gentle touch. “Yes, it does.”

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