Love is Everything, page 5
“Hey!” A mass of blonde hair approached me.
I frowned at Kirsty’s approaching form, sighing inwardly. I’d thought she’d speak to me, but I was surprised she’d chosen now, immediately after the gig.
“Don’t go getting any ideas about Elliot,” she snarled, standing in front of me with her hands on her hips. “He’s mine.”
I surveyed her properly. The dark roots of her hair were showing—she wasn’t a natural blonde. Her nose, small and pointed, turned up at the end. Her brightly painted lips parted in a scathing leer as she stepped closer.
“I saw the way you were looking at him—”
“I see you two have met.” Elliot was at my side. He curled his arm around my waist and nudged my cheek with his lips, placing a soft kiss on the surface. “Sorry I took so long, just needed to get out of my sweaty top.” He glanced at his top now replaced with his customary faded t-shirt and jacket.
Kirsty glared at me, and then smiled at Elliot. “Who’s she?”
Elliot turned to face her but pulled me against his side as he addressed her. “Kirsty, this is Grace, my girlfriend.”
Chapter Six
“Your what?” Kirsty shrieked.
Elliot cocked his head to the side. “Girlfriend.”
“But you don’t . . . you never . . .”
“I do now,” he said before leading me away from Kirsty and her entourage. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I got away as fast as I could. Sid let me leave the clearing up to the rest of the lads tonight.”
“Who’s Sid?”
“Our drummer. Nobody messes with him. Did you see the size of him?”
I shook my head. “No, I was too busy watching someone else.”
“Me?” He laughed loudly before kissing the side of my head. “What did you think?”
“You were okay,” I said, not telling him how amazing I thought he was.
“I was okay.” He let the words play on his lips. “At least you didn’t hate it.”
I shrugged my shoulders, grinning at his response. “I’m lying, I loved every second of it, although it wasn’t easy ignoring all those girls fawning over you. Is that what it’s always like?”
He nodded. “Yes. And sorry about Kirsty. I should have got to you sooner. I don’t want you to have to put up with her or anyone else’s jealousy.”
I looked back over my shoulder. She was still glaring at me, whispering to her friends. I hoped she wouldn’t cause any trouble.
“Can we leave?” I asked, acutely aware of others staring at us as well, or maybe it was just Elliot they were watching.
“Where’s your friend?” Elliot asked.
“Kate? She’s with some friends over there.” I nodded in her direction and she caught my gaze and waved.
“You going?” she mouthed.
I nodded and slipped my arms into my jacket.
“Where would you like to go?” he said before glancing at his watch. “It’s a bit late to be heading into Edinburgh unless you want to party.”
“Party?” I shook my head. “I’m not really a party girl. Too much noise, drunks and craziness.”
Elliot chuckled. “Shall I walk you home?” he asked, speaking his words into my hair. “I’ll make sure to invite myself in for a coffee tonight.”
“I might not have any,” I said, turning and tilting my face upward. Ever since we’d kissed last night, I’d wanted to kiss him again. Throughout the day, I’d found myself touching my lips, recalling how soft his had been against mine. How gentle he’d been at first, and then how his gentleness had turned into a growing demand for more.
His eyes widened before he lightly kissed my lips. “Not here, Grace, there are too many watchful eyes.”
I backed away, my light-heartedness turning to a rumbling annoyance.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“You,” I snapped. All my earlier doubts surfaced once again. Was he keeping me a secret so he could play around with others? Were his words to Kirsty just that—words? “You want to keep me a secret. Why?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then why not kiss me here? Why care if anyone’s watching?”
His brow raised. “Seriously? You think I want to keep you a secret just because I don’t want anyone watching us kiss?”
I nodded, not willing to let him talk his way out of this.
“I’ll tell you why.” He lifted his hand to my waist and slowly pulled me forward. With a gentle tug, he pulled me flush against him. His other hand came to my shoulder and slowly crept to my neck. Dipping his face to mine, he kissed my cheek and then moved his mouth to my ear. “Because if you kiss me like you did last night, I’m worried we may give them more of a show then they bargained for. I don’t just want to kiss you, I want to devour you.”
I whimpered as his breath caught against my ear and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to steady myself.
“Now,” he said, a lightness to his voice. “Let’s go and get that coffee. Then I’ll think about letting you kiss me.”
He squeezed my hand before leading me out of the hall.
The night air was bitter, a direct contrast to the heat in the building. I shivered as the wind made its presence known.
Elliot placed his arm around my shoulder, hugging me against him.
“Jeepers,” he said. “What’s happened to this late summer we were meant to be having?”
“Seems to have gone,” I mumbled, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Well, let’s get a move on, get back to yours. We’ll more than need that coffee.”
Elliot set a quick pace, and we were soon back at the house. I hung my coat in the hall, and Elliot followed me though the back room where Lisa and Amy were sitting watching television.
“Kettle’s just boiled,” Amy said as she lifted her mug at me.
I nodded before pushing the kitchen door open.
“Grab me two mugs, please,” I said to Elliot as I flicked the switch on the kettle and reached for the jar of coffee. “They’re in that cupboard.”
He duly did as I’d asked and placed the mugs next to the kettle before stepping away from the counter. After I’d scooped a spoonful of coffee into each mug, I turned to face Elliot. He was leaning against the small radiator, his hands resting on the heated metal gaining any warmth they could. I tried to reconcile this normal, quiet, relaxed man, with the loud, sexy one strutting around on stage. His confidence was still there, but it simmered under the surface now.
Laughter from the main room drifted through to the kitchen and Elliot’s gaze shifted to the doorway.
“Can we take those upstairs?” He dipped his head towards the main room. “I don’t really fancy sitting in there with the others.”
“Why?” I said narrowing my eyes. “Don’t tell me I’m living with one of your former conquests.”
He managed a tight smile. “No. I’ve never been familiar with any of them. I’d just like some private time with you, away from other’s scrutiny.”
Nerves sprung alive in my stomach. Of course, he’d rather be upstairs. In my bedroom. With me. But I couldn’t deny that the thought of being alone with him more than appealed.
“Don’t worry, Grace,” he said, stepping towards me and pouring the boiling water into the mugs. “It’s just that if you’re still keen to kiss me, then, like I said earlier, I’d rather you do so in private.”
I willed my shaking hand to steady as I poured milk into the mugs, but nothing could contain my heightened nervousness. I felt sick, anxious, as if my brain was scrambling to try and calm me. But there was no denying the heat surging through me, making my palms sweaty and no doubt my cheeks glow.
“I’ll carry them upstairs,” Elliot said.
I nodded, not confident that any words would form.
“Do you want to lead the way, or shall I?” He raised a brow as he looked to the door and then me.
“You can,” I said, my words, as feared, quiet and unsure.
Elliot nudged the door with his foot and headed back through the room, into the hall and up the stairs. He ambled along the upstairs hallway before stopping outside my room.
I shifted between him and the door and pushed the handle down.
“I have fond memories of last time I stood here,” he said, dipping his head so his lips brushed in my hair. “You were wearing a short pink dressing gown.”
“You noticed?” I said, my voice hopefully stressing my humour at his statement.
“I noticed your legs,” he said. “And I’ve dreamt about having them wrapped around me ever since.”
It was a good job Elliot was carrying the mugs otherwise they would have been dropped, their contents spilt all over the floor.
“Sorry,” he said as he followed me into my bedroom. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
He placed the mugs on my desk and spun the chair around. He rubbed his head with his hand and dishevelled his hair even more as he sat down.
I slowly edged onto my bed, sitting upright on the end nearest to Elliot.
“So you dreamt about my legs?” I asked.
His gaze hit me, a frown creeping across his forehead before he allowed himself a smile. “I hate to admit it, but yes, I did.”
“So why are you sorry?”
“Because I promised myself, and you, that I’d take things slowly, not act like I normally do, and then I blurt that out.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to be full of sexual innuendoes. It’s not who I want to be any more.”
I leaned forward. “But you can’t change who you are. Nobody can. And nobody should pretend to be anyone but themselves.”
“But I don’t want to be that person. And . . . I don’t want to scare you away.”
It was my turn to raise my brow. “Seriously? You strut around on stage for two hours playing the part of a sexual predator and then tell me that you don’t want the sexual side of your character to come out when we’re alone?”
“But that’s an act. Me, on stage, is a performance. It’s not who I am. It doesn’t define me.”
“So what does define you?”
He picked a mug off the table and passed it to me. “I’m a complex character. I have a past, one I’m not particularly proud of. But it’s shaped me into what and who I am today. You are the first woman I’ve wanted for more than a quick fuck. I told you yesterday, I want to curl up on the sofa with you, I want to have candlelit dinners, spend nights wrapped in each other’s arms. The sex isn’t necessary. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt this way. But my old self may spring out every so often. I may become the person from my past—a man I don’t particularly like anymore. I need you to tell me when I mess up. Pull me back into line.”
“But what if I don’t want to? What if I like the old you that creeps to the surface every so often?”
His lopsided grin made a snap appearance. “Maybe that side of my character needs to wait a while, until we get to know each other better. I have demons, Grace, and they’re pretty scary.”
“I think I’d cope. I don’t think you’re scary at all—not in the way you think.”
He snorted before taking a sip of coffee. “And that’s not right. Everything about me should be sending warning signals to you not to get involved, to walk away and forget about me.”
I shook my head. “But I don’t want to.”
The full force of Elliot’s gaze hit me, and he smiled.
“You make good coffee, Grace,” he said before taking another sip from his mug.
“I think you had more to do with making it than I did.”
He lifted his hand to his forehead, pushing his fingers into his hair. “Maybe.”
I sensed a change in him, his mood shifting from serious to light-hearted. Again, he was nervous, and I had no idea why. Surely it should be me who was nervous, surmising what would happen next.
“So,” Elliot drawled, “you said earlier that you enjoyed the gig.”
“I did. But I’m more into pop music then heavy emo.”
“We’re not an emo band.”
I chuckled at his indignance at my suggestion. “What would you say you were then?”
“Hard rock.”
I nodded but was unable to hide my amusement at his reaction.
Elliot remained serious for a few seconds before laughing with me.
“I’d rather hoped you’d be too in awe of the lead singer to pay much attention to the music,” he said, shifting from the desk chair to sit next to me on the bed.
My stomach tightened at his proximity. It was powerful, raw, and strangely hypnotising. And when he took my mug from my hand and placed it on the floor, I struggled to think straight. I was sure he was about to kiss me—an action I had been desperate for all night.
“Aren’t you hot in that jacket?” I asked, nodding at the offending item.
He shrugged.
“Take it off,” I said, reaching towards him to assist.
He leaned away from me, his action sharp.
I frowned at his reaction. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugged again and looked to the floor.
“What’s wrong, Elliot?” I asked, calm with my question, sensing, yet again, that something was putting him on edge.
“I told you only a few minutes ago that I had a history, a past I wasn’t proud of.”
I nodded, confused as to what removing his jacket would reveal. I’d not seen anything when he was on stage that had shocked me—well not unless you include his raw sex-appeal.
He slipped the jacket from one arm and then the other, the movements slow and hesitant. And when he’d removed the jacket, dropped it on the floor, he turned to face me.
“Drugs,” he said, the word sounding loud even though he practically whispered it.
He turned his inner arms upward and held them towards me.
I focused on his arms. Slight discoloured, raised scars ran along his forearms. They weren’t easily noticeable, but once spotted, they were hard to ignore.
“Drugs?” I whispered, tracing one of the marks along his arm.
“Told you my past wasn’t pretty. I debated whether I should tell you, but you’re so observant, I thought it best to explain now rather than later.” He didn’t look at me as he spoke—just stared at his arms as if seeing them for the first time.
“What type of drugs?” I asked, feeling way out of my depth. I’d never come across drugs. I’d never even smoked a cigarette. Once again, I shied away from the man before me. He had lived a full and somewhat dangerous life if this latest declaration was anything to go by. And once again the question I’d asked myself so many times that it may as well have been on repeat in my head, flew to the front of my mind. Why was this man even slightly interested in me?
“The worst,” he said, “heroin.”
I continued to trace the marks on one of his arms.
“And do you still use it now?” I asked, fearing the answer, knowing I had no way of knowing whether he was telling the truth or not.
“Fuck, no!” He pulled his arms away from me, and I sighed at his reaction.
“Why so hostile when asked the question?” I asked. “Did you expect me not to ask? I think it’s a reasonable response after hearing what you just said?”
“I don’t like to be judged. I hoped you’d be different.” His voice held anger, but I also caught a strong element of hurt. Something wasn’t right.
“Different to who? And I’m not judging you, Elliot. I’m concerned.” I hoped my voice sounded calm because I certainly didn’t feel it. My stomach was in knots, my mind working at a million miles an hour. “I asked a question I had every right to ask. If we are going to be involved with each other, I hope we can be honest.”
Elliot was on his feet, standing in front of the window. He had his back to me, but his shoulders were slumped, his head down. He sighed before speaking.
“The drugs are the worst part of my past. I don’t want to go into details with you, not now. I’m not ready. All you need to know is that I’m clean now. I’ve not touched them for over six years. The drugs are the reason my parents disowned me. My sister saved me.”
I wandered over to him and stood behind him. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head against his back. So, this was why he’d changed the subject last night whenever I tried to ask about his family. It was another part of his history, part he wasn’t happy to remember.
“I believe you,” I said, wanting to fix the broken man I’d just witnessed. This wasn’t who he was anymore. Like he said earlier—he wasn’t a saint, he’d never said he was. He’d warned me about his past although I’d not imagined drugs, just sex and lots of it.
He slowly turned in my arms and hugged me. His hold was tight, somewhat restricting, but I hugged him back, resting my head against his shoulder. Neither of us spoke, we just held each other. I was mulling through hundreds of thoughts about how I could make this right for him, how I could fix this part of him that was still so raw and broken. I also wanted to know more—find out what had happened to lead his life into a downward spiral. And how had his sister saved him? What part of it all had made his parents disown him? But I had to accept that he would only tell me when he was ready. And that time could be days, weeks, perhaps even months or years away. But I would listen, I wouldn’t judge him. I’d help him heal as much as I possibly could.
“I still see a counsellor,” he said. “Once a month I pour my heart out about how I’m feeling, what I need to address in my life that’s causing me to lose any type of control.” He chuckled. “God, I’m going to give him a whole barrel of stuff to sort through next week when I’m there.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked. My question was genuine, a concern so deep for a man I’d just met wasn’t normal, was it? Perhaps I’d need to book a few sessions with Elliot’s counsellor whilst I was there.
Elliot’s hold on me slackened and he held the top of my arms, slowly pushing me away. When his eyes met mine, they took my breath away. They were the clearest forest green I had ever seen. Misted with wetness, like dew on a summer’s day, they drank me in with an intensity I had never experienced.
