“Oh, I am comfortable, doll.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his delicious mouth. “You have no idea.”
“Then we’re good.” I lifted myself up and then sank down.
He responded with a strangled moan against my shoulder. Skin to skin, we were burning up. His bunched up shirt dampened against his chest from the blend of our sweat. It was a filthy dance—the cadence of our movement, the hurricane of our labored groans. Our climax built at a steady, measured pace until our bodies reached the perfect height to fall from. Then we tumbled down together, irrevocably connected. Physically and spiritually. It was the most beautiful descent of my entire life.
Exhausted, I dropped my head into the crook of Frank’s neck, my hands remaining on the couch to ensure his shoulder was out of harm’s way.
His large palm cupped my head as he tried to catch his breath.
“I know Christmas isn’t until the day after tomorrow, but Merry Christmas,” I purred. “Now we’re even.”
“That was the best present I’ve ever gotten.” Still inside me, he continued to stroke my hair in his strange, almost fatherly manner.
“I’m flattered.” I giggled.
“You should be, doll. Making a man full of meds orgasm is very difficult.”
“Mission accomplished.”
He laughed, then I did too. There was something incredibly tender about this absolutely dirty moment. I didn’t want it to ever end.
Later, when we finally summoned enough strength to get up from the couch, I ran a bath. We sat in a tub full of bubbles, the remnants of our sexual adventure washed away. The water level was low to ensure Frank’s stitches didn’t get wet. His skin around the scarring was bruised and discolored and he seemed tense at first—my gaze on his damaged nakedness terrified him. I wasn’t sure if it was his cuts and marks that he didn’t want me to look at or something else. Something he’d hidden from everyone for so long, he’d forgotten he had it, and I was going to find it first.
“I don’t see any scars when I look at you,” I said, running a washcloth over his other shoulder. The elegant curve of his muscles made me want to lick him clean.
“What do you see?” He stared at me somberly as I continued to tend to his body.
“Passion. Heart. Music.”
The intensity of his gunmetal gaze sent chills down my spine. I felt his fears. They were dark and deep.
“Scars don’t take anything away from you, Frank. They give you what you may have not had before them. Strength.”
A small smile touched his lips.
“You have this ability to turn shit to gold with words.”
“That’s what everyone tells me.”
He snapped his index finger and sent a splash of soapy water my way.
My washcloth dropped into the tub. “That’s totally not fair.” I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. “I can’t even get you back for another month.”
His expression turned serious. “Remember when I told you the night we met that I don’t believe in coincidences?”
“Yes. Why do you think we aren’t a coincidence?”
He dropped his gaze to the blanket of bubbles and gathered some in his palm. “Meeting people is part of my job. Some days, I meet hundreds, some days, I meet thousands. It’s overwhelming. You begin to spread your spirit thin. At first, I tried to remember the names of those who I came across often so that I wouldn’t be that dude who doesn’t even know the people who support his music and his cause. But after a while, every face started looking the same. They all blurred. One meeting isn’t enough for me anymore. So I talk to a person, then I move on. I turn it off. I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ll go crazy. I’ll keep the other person’s emotions in me until there’s no room left for my own. It’s a terrifying feeling when you’re so susceptive to everything that’s going on around you. It weighs on you. The problems of everyone else. You have to have a switch. On, and you’re rich and famous. Off, and you shed the world’s heaviness and drown in your own. Then that day, fate kept pushing you into my arms over and over again. It was as if she whispered, Look at this woman. She’s going to change your life. Don’t be a wuss. Be a man and talk to her, not a fucking tool. Forget the switch. And by the end of the night, I started wondering why she wanted me and you together so much. Now I know.”
Frank paused and gazed up at me. Our eyes met.
I was in awe. His confession moved me yet alarmed me at the same time.
“Don’t analyze it, Cassy,” he said as if he sensed me trying to paint a different picture of him in my head. A real picture.
I understood him. I understood why he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He was scared. And I was going to let it go and be what he needed me to be. His light.
“And here I thought you liked me for me.” My lips were twisted in a pout. “Turns out, some chick named Fate gets all the credit. Was my fun personality not enough?”
“Your fun personality, your yoga, and your striptease skills.” He grinned and splashed more water in my face.
“Grrrr,” I growled at him, balling my fists. “You’ll pay for that in due time, Frank Wallace.”
“I don’t doubt it. But until then, I’ll take a strip show every night before bed.”
Chapter Six
“I’m glad you decided to continue with us, Frank,” Linda said, smiling politely as she returned to her MacBook to make a few notes.
“It’s not your fault my bandmates and the record label want me out.” His hand squeezed mine softly. He’d been taking off the sling for a couple of hours every morning per his doctor’s request, but temporary loss of motor function didn’t allow him to do much with his right arm yet. It was baby steps on the way to a full recovery.
We sat at the table inside the den. Brooklyn stood off to the side with an iPad in her hands. Face screwed in concentration, she looked through the list of the venues that would work for the screening.
Since Frank had finally expressed an interest in possibly doing an interview for Dreamcatchers, she wanted to be part of the decision-making process. I didn’t press for more yet, because Frank’s mind was preoccupied with the upcoming collaboration with Isabella, but my gut told me he was almost ready. I just needed to give him some space. Let him come to us on his own terms. Without pressure.
As we discussed right before Christmas, he’d started talking to a counselor. His mood had improved greatly in the last couple of weeks, and I hadn’t seen him touching or looking at alcohol, which was a good sign. The only thing we still disagreed on was the lawsuit.
Frank refused to let it go.
“Half of these are union.” Brooklyn’s voice drew my attention back to the meeting. “I wouldn’t even bother.” She shook her head, her gaze jumping between me and Frank.
I willed my mind to concentrate on the present. “This is a nonprofit project, so I don’t see why it matters.”
“You’ll be jumping through hoops for months,” she countered in a snappy tone. “I’m just trying to save you some time.”
“And I appreciate it.” Smiling, I freed my hand from Frank’s grasp. I didn’t need his protection when people in his entourage opposed me. Levi and I had already been jumping through legal hoops for a while since we’d had to set up a corporation to produce the film. More red tape made no difference anymore. That was one of the reasons why I’d taken a step back from Rewired—to ensure we had all the bases covered.