Clare Connelly - Burn Me Once / Boardroom Sins

He lifts his brows skyward. ‘Sure. Sounds fair. So, what do you want to know?’

Great question. What do I want to know? ‘How does everything sound?’

He laughs. ‘“Everything” could take a while. There’s twenty-eight years to cover.’

‘Let’s start with what brings you to the Big Old Apple?’

‘A gig. And recording.’

‘An album?’

He shakes his head and leans closer, so that his words whisper gently across my cheek.

‘That’s a separate question.’

‘No fair!’

I lift a hand to playfully push at his chest, except the moment my fingers connect with his warm strength no pushing occurs. I hold my hand against him, my eyes meet his, and I feel like I’m sinking hard and fast, with no hope of saving myself.

‘Alita?’

I shake my head and dredge up a smile, but it feels heavy on my face because it has to wade through all the desire that’s chewing my insides up.

‘You’re recording an album?’

‘Sorta.’

‘What does “sorta” mean?’

He shifts his body a little, bringing himself closer to me. ‘I’m tinkering. Sketching.’

‘Sketching?’

‘You know... Getting a feel for some new stuff. Working on pieces.’

‘You do that in a recording studio?’

‘Sometimes.’ He shrugs.

My hand feels the ripple of his muscles and my gut clenches correspondingly.

‘And you snuck an extra question in there. Don’t think I didn’t notice.’

‘Uh-huh. I’m very sneaky.’

‘I like sneaky.’

His head dips closer. My breath is burning through me.

‘Alena?’

When I shake my head this time it brings me closer. Our lips are barely an inch apart and my hand is still on his chest, my fingertips teasing the soft fabric of his shirt. Up close, his scent is intoxicating.

‘What’s your question?’

My brain is thick and woolly. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so badly that I can phantom-feel his lips on mine already.

What if he’s a terrible kisser?

My eyes drop to his lips, assessing the possibility of that.

No.

He won’t be.

I’m sure of it.

‘Don’t have one, huh?’ he teases.

A noise cracks us apart. I blink, like I’m waking from a dream. The waitress has placed our drinks on the tabletop and then a basket of onion rings. It’s surprisingly sweet that he ordered something so pedestrian. Had I expected he’d ask for caviar-dressed lobster?

‘What’s it like? Being famous?’

His expression shows surprise. He wasn’t expecting that.

‘You’re the first person to ask me that,’ he muses, drawing the foam top off his beer in a way that is so absolutely masculine my knees knock with feminine heat.

‘Really?’ I sound normal. That’s good. ‘You weren’t born famous. It must be a bit weird.’

‘Weird’s a good word for it.’ He shrugs. ‘I don’t notice so much now. But at first...’

‘You were...how old? When your first record came out?’

‘I didn’t release a record at first. I was big on YouTube before any of the labels came knocking.’

‘So you’ve been doing this a really long time?’

He reaches for an onion ring, crunches it. ‘I was sixteen when I topped the UK charts.’

I’m impressed—obviously. All the more so because he says it without a hint of arrogance. It’s just a fact, one he’s accepted as a part of the fabric of his story, so that he says it without realising what a huge deal it is.

‘Do you like it?’

‘Music?’

‘Fame,’ I correct, sipping my drink.

‘Nah. It’s shit.’

I laugh—it’s not what I was expecting him to say at all. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ He grins. ‘You get used to it, but at first it’s like being on a different planet. I’ll never forget the first time I opened my front door to a throng of paparazzi. It was madness. I was still living at home—we had to move to a gated community with security fences and cameras. I can’t get over how fascinated people are by the minutiae of my life. Of anyone else’s life. I once had a busboy sell the cutlery I’d used for lunch on eBay.’

I pull a face, barely able to imagine the invasiveness of that.

‘But the music...’

He grins and my heart flops.

‘I live for it, you know? Always have.’

And he begins to hum, something low and deep, and he moves closer to me again, propping an elbow on the table to form a sort of cage around me. He is big and I’m not. I’ve always been little, but in the circle created by his arms I feel something I’ve never felt before. I feel safe.

Safe?

From what?

It’s a stupid, errant thought. After all, whatever’s happening between us is possibly the most danger I’ve been in. Even with the guys I was with before Jeremy it was never like this. I was in control. Always.

Ethan when-is-he-going-to-kiss-me? Ash is definitely not eating out of the palm of my hands. Yet.

A need to grasp control out of his hands spins through me. I reach up and curl my fingers around his shirt, so that I can pull him closer still, and then I brush my lips to his so that I feel the notes rather than just hear them. If possible, his voice tastes even better than it sounds.

‘Alison?’ he says against my lips.

I shake my head.

‘Do you have a question for me?’

I’m at a crossroad. Past, future and present swirl around me. Need, want, right and wrong. These are all voices and forces throbbing in my head. But one voice is loudest of all.

Desire shouts through me.

‘Can we go yet?’

* * *

Every time I question the wisdom of this I think of the freaking Tweet. #soinlove

Sienna’s moved on. Why the hell shouldn’t I have some fun too?

Something squeezes inside me and my past with Sienna flashes before me. The years we spent together. The way we came through the industry together. I get her and she gets me. It damned near killed me when we broke up. Only her promise that it was temporary eased that pain.

And now she’s fucking engaged to another guy.

A new sense of urgency powers my intent.

‘Hell, yeah. Let’s get out of here.’

I drain my beer, noticing she’s hardly touched her drink. I nod towards it but she shakes her head.

‘I’m okay.’

She’s better than okay. Briefly I feel a wave of guilt. To Sienna. To Ally. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m not thinking one hundred percent clearly, but my instincts are telling me to go with this—or is that my cock?—and I’m not going to ignore them.

‘Let’s go.’

I hold my hand out and she places her palm in mind. Her hand’s small, and yet it fits into mine perfectly. I stand and pull her closer to me as I do. She smells like vanilla and moonlight.

Someone’s tipped the press off as to my whereabouts, so that when we step out of the club there’s flashes everywhere. Ally’s surprised. She’s not used to fame and its pointed intrusion. I pull her closer to my chest. The desire to protect her is instinctive. I don’t want her being collateral damage in all of this.

I hail a cab and it stops instantly. I hold the door open for her and she slips inside, a blur of pale skin, bright blue eyes and long red hair. I follow, moving close to her in the back of the cab.

I hear every single one of Ally’s rushed breaths echo inside my soul.

I give the driver my hotel address and then I turn to Ally. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her. Thoughts fly from my head at the sight of her huge wide eyes and parted lips.

Fuck it.

I want her.

I kiss her as though my life depends on it. I kiss her with an aching hunger and desperation that surprises us both.