Page 29 of Love You Like That (Excess All Areas 4)

He pointed to her then he put his hand in the “thumbs up” position and circled his hand. He hoped it meant, “Are you okay?” It was one of the few phrases he knew.

She placed the cup down and pointed with both forefingers to her forehead and furrowed her brow.

“Headache?” he guessed.

Zoe nodded. “Too much time around noise and people and wearing my hearing aids, the air pressure gets annoying after a while. Tinnitus.”

“Is it always like that?”

“Some days are worse than others. Today was a lot.”

Alex climbed on the back of the sofa behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He put his finger to his lip and shushed. He wasn’t sure if it was the British Sign Language sign for be quiet, but it was a universally understood action.

Once he had her seated between his legs, he wrapped his hands around her and reached for the button of her blue pyjama top.

When Zoe realised what he was doing, she reached for his wrists to stop him, then turned to look at him.

“One button,” he said. “I need access.”

Zoe knocked his hand out of the way and undid it herself. The action made him grin. He wondered if she ever let someone help her. Or need someone.

Need him.

Protective instincts fired deep in his chest, but he shook them away fiercely. He’d built relationships with people he had a lot more in common with than Zoe and hadn’t been able to make it work. He’d stand no chance with a feisty, fiercely independent woman who would likely never admit she needed him, even if she did.

He nudged the collar off her shoulders, liking the way the cotton shirt with zero stretch in the fabric hugged her biceps, keeping her arms down by her side. A gentle restraint for a prickly woman.

She’d hate him for thinking that.

Instead, he pressed his thumbs into the tense muscles of her shoulders. They were tighter than steel bars. No movement whatsoever.

No wonder her head ached. He kneaded deep into the tissue. Stretching and heating until he started to feel some give. Her skin was unblemished. Smooth.

She also smelled of coconut, reminding him of suntan lotion on sunny holidays. The idea of a sun lounger and a couple of weeks of hot sun sounded heavenly. And he wasn’t going to pay any attention to the fact the little daydream had not included the rest of the band, but Zoe. In a wide-brimmed straw hat, a pale blue and white striped bikini bottom with narrow straps, no bikini top, and wearing a white shirt of his, open with the sleeves folded.

Perhaps he should find some company of his own on this trip, and soon. It had been five days since he’d left a confused Antonio on the steps of his flat. Even now he couldn’t figure out why he’d left him.

He’d been charming, open.

Then Alex’d thought of Zoe walking back to the hotel and he’d felt…shit, what had he felt? He still couldn’t name it. As his fingers moved across her skin, he thought about how quickly she’d asked him to set Rich straight that they weren’t sleeping together. It was a pity she felt that way because it wouldn’t take much to turn the way he already felt around her into so much more.

Instead of dissecting it, he focused on Zoe. He knew the discomfort of a hangover headache all too well and could only imagine the misery of an almost permanent ringing from her tinnitus or from the tension pain.

As the M6 motorway passed by in a blur, he focused on the gristly knots beneath her skin, applying pressure to the gnarliest places, taking in the way her skin turned pink.

He wondered if her arse would take the same pink colour if he tapped it while they…

Christ.

Zoe gave him all the information he needed without saying a word. She’d let out the softest murmur or moan when he hit the right spot, she’d tilt her head to the left or right to give him more access to wherever felt good, and her shoulders began to drop away from her ears.

Learning to play an instrument relied on two uniquely different skills. Technique and performance. Technique was easy. Drills, practise, repetition. But performance was something different. It meant opening to the rhythm and feel, letting the music flow through you, and finding synchronicity with the other musicians around you such that something altogether magical connected to you.

The longer he massaged her neck, up through the small muscles at the base of her skull, or along her jaw, the more in sync they became.

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