Page 30 of You Rock My World
“Oh, you can. But then I’d have to write a very different kind of song. Not sure I could release it.”
She shrugs. “I don’t mind private performances.”
“I know.”
She blushes at that and looks away. I love how she’s sassy but almost always falls back into shyness. Her attention drifts to my inner wrist, where she follows the loops of a small treble clef. “And this one?”
“It was my first tattoo,” I confess. “A simple nod to music.”
She keeps holding my hand and looks up at me. “I can imagine a younger version of you, impatient to get it done as soon as you turned eighteen.”
“That’s exactly what happened.” I smile, the memory bittersweet. “My mom wasn’t thrilled about it.”
“Did she love it, eventually?”
Josie is the only person in the world I could tell without breaking apart. Mom would’ve adored her. “She always joked that it was my most tame one, and she should have appreciated it more.”
Josie holds my gaze with a quiet understanding that makes it easier to talk about my mom. I don’t have to explain too much. She already gets it, what it’s like to carry memories that ache but are still good to share.
“She was right. It’s angelic compared to some of these others.” Josie chases the ink up my left arm, pausing on the minimalist infinity symbol. “Except maybe this one?” She flips my palms upside down, eyes searching. “Please tell me you have ‘live, laugh, love’ tattooed somewhere to go with this.”
I mock-scold. “I don’t.”
Her lips part in a goofy grin. “One day, Phoenix. There’s still time.”
Josie’s fingers continue their exploration, rolling up the short sleeves of my T-shirt and baring my shoulders.
I’m hyperaware of every point of contact between us, of the way her breath hitches as her fingertips graze over the faint ridges of an old scar hidden under the ink. She doesn’t ask how I got it, and just as well. I don’t want to think about Billie now.
Her gaze drifts lower, settling on my chest. “What’s hiding under there? More ink I should interrogate you about?”
My smirk grows. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”
In one swift motion, I grab the hem of my T-shirt and tug it over my head, revealing the intricate tattoos adorning my torso. Josie gasps, her eyes widening as they roam over the newly exposed skin.
“Dorian! You should give me a warning before doing something like that.”
I enjoy the flush of color on her cheeks, maybe too much. “Still too hot for you?”
She shakes her head, exasperated, but her gaze remains fixed on my chest, a hint of hunger swirling in the whiskey of her irises. Her hand hovers above the intricate Japanese waves on my right side, hesitating before her fingertips make contact with my skin.
I inhale sharply at her touch.
“They’re waves,” she murmurs, more to herself. “I wasn’t sure if it was a sea or a forest.”
I have a sudden urge to pull her closer, to feel her body pressed against mine. But I hold back. She hasn’t given me permission yet.
So I let her do with me as she pleases, surrendering to her examination as she charts paths I didn’t know I wanted her to find.
And then I remember how to talk.
“The waves represent life’s trials. The strength it takes to keep moving forward, no matter the challenges,” I explain as I try not to shiver. “And the lost ship is a reminder that even through a storm, we can find a way back to shore.”
“It’s beautiful, Dorian. Not just the tattoo, but the meaning behind it.” Her hands stop. “Is it okay that I’m touching you?”
Ah, I must’ve been not so good at hiding the shivers. “More than okay.” I sound strangled. My vocal coach would call this a masterclass in how not to breathe.
Josie gives me a slow smile and her hand moves up, skimming over my skin until it comes to rest on the phoenix rising from flames on my left pectoral.
“No need to explain this one.”
But I want to. I want her to understand every part of me, especially the parts I keep hidden from the world.
“The phoenix isn’t just my name, it reflects who I am.” As I talk, I wonder if she can feel the pounding of my heart under her palm. “Every time life burned me down, I found a way out of the ashes.”
“You didn’t just rise, Dorian. You took the ashes and turned them into magic for everyone else. It’s kind of annoyingly impressive, you know?” She stares at me, worrying her lower lip in a way that drives me feral.
I lean forward, invading her space a little. “If you don’t want me to burst into flames right now, please stop biting your lip.”
“Uh, naughty. You’re using your seduction voice again.”
“Maybe it’s just my lustful voice.”
“Are you in lust with me?”
“Yes.” I drop my hands on either side of her chair, pulling her close until her knees are between mine. “You have no idea of the unspeakable things going through my head right now.”
Our faces are too close.
“Unspeakable?” she pants. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”
I nuzzle her neck. “Not shy, Monroe. Just thought it was against the rules.”
Her chest heaves as she stutters her reply. “D-doing is against t-the rules… t-talking is allowed.”
“Talking is allowed, huh?” I stare her down. “In that case, where should I start? By telling you how stunning you look tonight?”
Her breathing quickens, and her eyes become half-lidded.
“Dorian.” My name on her lips is more of a plea than an objection.
“Or should I tell you about the way the thin straps of this dress have been taunting me?” I lift one, the material elastic, and let it drop back on her skin with a smack.
Josie gasps.
“I’m jealous of a piece of fabric, Josie. That should concern us.”
“Maybe it should concern only you,” she quips breathless. “I’m good.”
“I’m not. I’m losing my mind. Having you this close. Do you know what you do to me?”
“Mmm… Unspeakable things, apparently.”
I brace my hand on the back of her chair, my thumb brushing her shoulder. “More like unforgettable.”
Josie’s fingers grip the armrests, knuckles whitening. “Dorian, if you don’t back up…”
I lean in until my forehead touches hers, the space between us a whisper of heat. “If I don’t back up, what, Josie? You’ll tell me the rules again? Or are you afraid you’ll break them?”
Her breath hitches, and I recognize the conflict in her eyes, the push and pull between caution and desire. She doesn’t answer, but the way her fingers tremble against the chair says everything.
I expect her to push me back. Instead, she surprises me yet again by moving her head to the side until her mouth is a breath from my ear. “You should put your shirt back on before I tell you how many times I dreamed of tracing your tattoos, not just with my fingers, but with my tongue, too.”
I choke on the next breath and pull away coughing. “Are you trying to kill me?” I clutch my chest. “I just lost ten years of life.”
Josie smirks, leaning back in her chair, the picture of innocence. “What? I’m following the rules. Talking is allowed, remember?” She pats my shoulder and offers me a glass of water.
I grab it and take a long sip to cool the fire she’s stoked. Setting the glass down, I raise a hand in mock-surrender. “Truce. You win. I’ll put my shirt on.”
Her grin is triumphant, but her eyes flicker with disappointment as I reach for the T-shirt.
“Well, that’s no fun,” she quips.
“Right, it’s self-preservation.” I pull the shirt on. “Ready for dessert?”
Josie readjusts her chair. “After this, it’d better have a lot of decadent chocolate in it.”
I stand. “Definitely going to fire the chef if it doesn’t.”
Josie opens her mouth to say something when a slow clapping sound cuts through the quiet of the dark garden.
Both our heads snap in the direction of the noise.
I peer into the darkness, stretching my neck as I scan the lawn, my muscles tensing.
My brain immediately leaps to the worst scenario: a fan or a stalker has somehow breached my security.
I fear the night is about to turn ugly and do the exact opposite of what I wanted to show Josie—that I can have normal moments.
My anxiety spikes as the sound grows louder.
Josie’s gaze darts between me and the shadowy edges of the garden.
She yelps as a human shape takes form, confirming my worst fears.
The home invader is lurching forward, listing like a zombie straight out of a horror movie.
I put myself between the figure and Josie, pulling out my phone and pressing on the emergency app to alert my security team.
The silhouette keeps approaching until it comes into the circle of light on the porch, and Billie Rae emerges like a ghost straight from my past. Except she’s real, flesh and bones, her features set in a mask of snarling fury.
I suppress a groan in my throat, thinking I would’ve rather taken on an army of rabid zombies instead of having to deal with my ex-wife while on a date with my girlfriend.