“It’s solid wood. I’m pretty sure it can take it.”

My body and mind buzz, intoxicated from the verbal foreplay.

God, I’ve missed her.

“And what about you, sweetheart?” I ask. “Can you take it?”

“I plan to,” she purrs. “And ya know what? I’m going to give it too.”

Breath is sucked out of me like a siphon. I groan as my cock throbs and aches, needing to explode. My brain feels like it’s been flipped upside down.

“Fuck, baby. You’re gonna make me ditch the rest of this tour and come home tonight.”

She lets out a sexy laugh, and it sounds like home. “Three days is feeling kinda long right now, isn’t it?”

“Way too fucking long. It feels like an eternity.”

“It does.” She lets out a breath. “But…we can do this. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not.”

Stay right where you are. In our bedroom. In my head. In my heart. Living in my veins. Just like this. Don’t ever leave.

“Em? The past few weeks have been so good. Talking to you every night. Hearing you laugh. Teasing each other. I don’t want this to end when I get back. I don’t want this to just be a phone thing.”

“It won’t. I’m happy, Asher. And I want you to be too.”

“I am.”

“Will you sing the new song for me? I want to hear you say the words if they’re for me.”

“They’re only for you, Em. I wrote every word thinking about you, missing you, wanting you, and loving you.”

“Let me hear them,” she asks softly. “Sing them to me like you used to.”

“You…over there…with the green eyes.

Yeah, you, I think you stole my heart,

And I don’t ever want it back.

I’ve been lookin’ for you, darlin’

Since the day you went away.

But here you are. Have you been here from the start?

I see you, over there, but come a little closer.

I’ve been waiting so long, can’t wait anymore.

Just let me touch your face, let me crawl inside your heart.

‘Cuz I’ve been dying every day, just dying for your kiss.

I don’t wanna go another day. I can’t live another moment

Without you here in my arms, right where you belong.

You, over there, with the green eyes, come over here

Where you belong, where you shoulda been all along.

Just let me touch your sweet face, let me crawl inside your heart.

‘Cuz I’ve been dying every day, just dying for your kiss.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says when I finish. “And I can’t wait for that kiss.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Boston.

So close to home.

Our last show, and the place is packed. Word must’ve gotten out that we were dropping in to play tonight with special guest Evan Von Bleu.

“What’s up, Boston?” I yell into the mic. “We saved the best show for last!”

The crowd screams—a sound I never get tired of hearing.

“Thank you! We’ve got a surprise for you guys tonight. My good friend Evan Von Bleu, legendary vocalist and kick-ass fuckin’ guitarist!” A spotlight shines down on Evan to my right. “And my very own baby bro, Talon Valentine, is gonna sing some of our favorites with us. Do we call that a trio?” I shrug as another spotlight shines on my brother to my left. “Whatever the fuck it is, we’re gonna rock the roof off this place!”

The walls shake as the crowd screams even louder when the rest of the band lights up. Drums and bass pounding. Dueling guitar riffs shrieking.

I feel it all—the rush and power—vibrating through every molecule. It’s this untouchable high, this connection to everyone on stage and in the room, that’s so indescribably addicting.

It’s musical meth—a delicious, all-consuming drug that fuels us, exhausts us, wraps us up in its grasp, and refuses to let go.

Belting out the lyrics to “Dying for Your Kiss,” I scan the audience, absorbing their wild energy, their fist pumps, their wide, intoxicated eyes. It’s my favorite part—witnessing them get lost in the words and the beat, swaying, sobbing, begging for eye contact, a touch.

A connection.

A memory.

With us. With each other.

A chick in the back catches my attention. So far back she’s practically made herself part of the wall. Her slim arms raised above her head as she dances, mouthing the lyrics perfectly with me, eyes closed. I’m mesmerized by the lights reflecting off her long, glossy, dark hair like the moon over a shimmering lake.

She’s alone, but she’s not. She’s with me, singing like she wrote the lyrics herself. Not a fan, but a mistress of the song. Loving it, wanting it, craving it, letting it touch her. Move her. Own her.

A kindred spirit.

It’s been twenty-three years since my eyes lingered on another woman, but there’s something about her. It’s not just that she’s beautiful—the room is full of beautiful people. She’s got an aura about her, like she’s lit up from the inside.

Ripping my gaze from her, a sudden sense of vertigo and déjà vu disorients me, and I almost forget my lyrics. Brushing it off, I move to the center of the stage. I’ve never felt a connection to a woman other than Ember before, and the fact that I just did—especially while singing a song I wrote for my wife—stirs intense guilt and fear in my gut.