Taming the Storm (The Storm #3)(19)
Author: Samantha Towle

Tom had been there when we came offstage, but he’d disappeared soon after. I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him, not that I needed to speak to him. I guess it just would have been nice to hear what he thought of our first show.

But when we had come offstage, he had been talking to a woman, a stunning brunette. And the way her body had been leaning into his, it’d seemed pretty certain what her intentions were with him, and he hadn’t seemed to be pushing her off.

His gaze had hit mine and then slid down my body. His eyes had widened and flared when he took in my breasts that were fitted into the black corset top, which was actually easier to breathe in than it looked. I could see his gaze soaking up my skin-tight black jeans, the ones that had been shredded with a pair of scissors by Shannon. She’d cut into them, giving the impression of rips, starting at the tops of my thighs and going down to my ankles. Then, his lips curved into the sexiest smile I’d ever seen at the silver stilettos on my feet.

Heat had spread throughout my body at his blatant perusal.

My thick hair had been set in loose waves down my back, and my makeup was smoky while my lips were glossy.

I’d known I looked hot, and I would be lying if I didn’t say I’d liked the fact that Tom was affected by the way I looked.

Then, the brunette bombshell had pressed her body into his. She’d whispered something in his ear, and that had been when I looked away, telling Cale I was heading to the bathroom.

By the time I’d returned, Tom had been gone, and so had the brunette.

I’d known Tom left to do…whatever with her.

And I’d ignored the sick feeling I got at the thought of the whatever.

So, I drank with my boys, not wanting to go back to the bus and possibly walk in on Tom and the brunette.

I made sure to have fun, and I watched with mild amusement as Shannon and her assistant, Ashlee, flirted their way around my boys.

Ashlee is a pretty blonde who wears her skirts too short and her tops way too low. Understated is not a word Ashlee appears to know.

I’d met her before the show while she and Shannon had gotten us ready. Shannon had focused on me—my hair, makeup, and clothes—while Ashlee had prepared Van, Sonny, and Cale. They hadn’t needed much help.

They all have that annoying man thing. No matter what they wear, they look hot—whereas I, as most women, have to work to look good.

I’m not bad with clothes. I just don’t really bother to dress up. I’m happiest in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Sure, I know how to dress for shows. I’ve been dressing myself for those for a long time now. But Shannon’s ideas of clothes are different than mine, and I’ve got to say, I actually like her idea of clothes—the ones she puts on me anyway. She seems to know what will work perfectly on me.

After the time I’ve spent with Shannon, I’m actually starting to really like her. She’s funny when she’s not hitting on guys in front of me—well, mainly Tom. Thankfully, she didn’t mention him or what had happened earlier. I’m guessing he straightened things out with her.

At our after-show drinks, Ashlee was all over Cale. But I knew he wasn’t interested.

I know Cale’s type, and she isn’t it. Cale always goes for brunettes or redheads. I’ve never seen him with a blonde.

When Ashlee figured out that he wasn’t interested, she turned her attention to Van, who was more than happy to entertain her.

I’m pretty sure he entertained her in the restroom for a short while.

Shannon and Sonny spent a long time talking to each other. I got the distinct impression that she was interested in him. And I know Sonny. A hot woman shows interest in him, and he’s on her like white on rice. Shannon is considerably older than Sonny, him only being twenty-four, but I know that wouldn’t bother him. From the way I’d seen Shannon acting with Tom—cue upchuck moment—and with knowing how Sonny is, I was surprised that he and Shannon didn’t hook up. As far as I know, they didn’t because Sonny left with me, Cale, and Van—after Van was done with Ashlee—and we all went back to the bus together.

When we arrived, the bus was set in darkness. Tom was already in his bunk, sleeping, with his curtain drawn. He was probably tired from doing whatever with the brunette.

I scrubbed the makeup from my face and pulled on a pajama tank and shorts before getting into bed. I was out before my head hit the pillow.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I reach over and get my cell from the bedside cabinet. I check the time—ten o’clock.

Hungry, thirsty, and in dire need of the bathroom, I climb out of bed and steady myself from the motion of the moving bus.

Cracking open my door, I hear someone moving about in the kitchen, so I slip straight into the bathroom.

It’s all steamy in here. Someone’s been awake for a while and already had a shower. Knowing my boys, they wouldn’t be up early, so it had to be Tom.

My stomach does a stupid little flip at the idea of him showering in here.

Wiping the image of Tom wet in the shower, from my mind, I pee, brush my teeth, and tie my hair up into a messy knot.

Exiting the bathroom, I see that the curtain to Tom’s bunk is open.

My stomach fizzes from just knowing he’s out here—which is crazy.

What am I? Twelve?

Pushing my attraction for Tom out of my mind, I brace myself to see him.

Ignoring my attraction for him lasts about three seconds until I see him sitting at the table, and my hormones go into overdrive from the sight of him. With still damp hair, he’s wearing an ancient-looking Clash Rock the Casbah T-shirt and ripped blue jeans. There’s a cup of coffee in front of him and an empty cereal bowl, a box of Froot Loops, and a carton of milk off to the side. He has a newspaper in his hands.

But one thing is noticeably gone—his beard. He’s clean-shaven.

Did he do that because of me? Because of what I said about hating his beard?

Don’t be so conceited, Lyla.

Taking a deep breath, I push my shoulders back and walk toward him.

His eyes lift from the paper to me. His gaze almost burns a hole in my panties.

“Mornin’, Firecracker,” he drawls. His voice sounds all deep and throaty.

Smoking hot.

I ignore the Firecracker nickname. I figure there’s no point in arguing it because he’d get a rise out of it.

I smile and force a neutral tone into my voice as I say, “Good morning.”

Deciding to join Tom in eating kid cereal, I head straight to the cupboard. I reach up onto my tiptoes and get a bowl, and then I grab a spoon from the drawer. I take a seat across from him, pour myself some Froot Loops, and drown them in milk.