Fortunately, the media interest in Jake and I quickly died down when Stuart put out a press release stating there was no story.
The release was firm on the point that Jake and I have a purely professional relationship.
Jake had Stuart put the statement out, and he only did that for me. If Jake had his way, the whole world would know about us.
For obvious reasons that can’t happen.
But I’ll be going home in a few days, after the show, and I’m going to tell Will then.
I think.
Well, that’s what I’ve promised Jake I’ll do. And I know I have to tell Will the truth, I just feel absolutely sick every single time the thought passes through my mind about telling him. So I’m trying not to think about it.
Instead I’m just immersing myself in Jake, as much and as often as I can.
We haven’t spent a night apart since that night in Copenhagen, and honestly, I can’t imagine spending a night apart from him ever again.
Every night though I have the same internal battle.
I go and call Will before bed as scheduled.
I feel sick with guilt after the call.
Jake is jealous and ansty with me when I return to him.
A part of me wants to leave Jake because of the guilt I feel over Will, the other part, the bigger part, wants to stay because of the way I feel about him.
We fight a little, sometimes a lot.
Then we spend the rest of the night making up.
Tonight, we’re in my suite. The guys have all gone out.
Jake and I both made some lame excuse up for not going out so we could spend the night together.
We ordered room service, ate our fill, and are now snuggled up on the sofa. I’m nestled in-between Jake’s legs, head on his chest, and we’re watching Armageddon.
There wasn’t much on the hotels movie listing, and I like Armageddon, it’s a sweet film.
Jake has been stroking my hair for the last ten minutes and I’m starting to feel sleepy and content.
I must have fallen asleep on Jake, because the next thing I know, he is lifting me up off the sofa and into his arms, and the room is in darkness.
“What are you doing?” I mumble, sleepy.
“Putting you to bed.”
“And where are you sleeping?”
“With you, of course.”
I don’t argue tonight. I’m too tired. And I wouldn’t argue any way. There’s no guilt, because I haven’t called Will.
Crap.
Well, I’m not going to call him now. I’ll just call him in the morning, tell him I fell asleep.
That’s at least the truth.
And the fact is, I love sleeping with Jake.
I know it’s wrong. Everything about this is wrong.
But it also feels so very right. And I don’t have the energy to care about right and wrong now.
Jake lays me down in bed and pulls the duvet over me.
I hear him moving around the room, undressing and then the bed dips as he climbs in beside me.
I feel his hand reach out in the dark, and he takes hold of mine. He pulls my hand over and holds it against his warm, hard chest. I can feel his heart beating under my palm.
“I love being in bed with you,” he whispers.
“And I love having you in my bed.”
“Are you still tired?” he asks.
“Not so much now.” I stifle a yawn. “Why, what did you have in mind?”
“A few things.”
“Go on?” I coax, smiling.
He shifts closer to me and runs his hand up my leg. I part them as his hand moves higher.
“Say something in Spanish to me,” he murmurs.
“Why?”
“Because you sound so sexy when you do.” He runs his tongue over the skin on my neck, and I shiver inside.
“I do? I always thought I sounded dorky.”
He lifts his head, staring at me in the darkness. “Dorky – are you kidding?”
“Well, you laughed every time I did the accent when we were kids.”
“I laughed to try and kill my hard-ons.”
“And I did it to make you laugh,” I giggle.
“Tease.”
“Perv.” I grin. “So you really like it.” I push my fingers into his thick hair.
“I really like it.” His voice is dark and sexy. “I spent most of my early adolescence with a hard-on because of you – I still do now. I can’t watch a Penelope Cruz film without getting a hard on – it doesn’t bode well at premieres you know. I associate all things Puerto-Rican and Spanish with hard-ons, and it’s totally your fault.”
I giggle again.
“When you were teaching Stuart Spanish swearwords the other day, fuck, Tru…”
“Joder,” I whisper.
“Christ,” he groans. He grabs my hair, kissing me hard on the mouth.
I like this seeming sense of power I have over him.
“Shit, Tru, what are doing to me? It took everything in me the other night not to bend you over the table and take you right there and then in front of Stuart.”
“Is that why you were so moody?”
“I was frustrated,” he growls.
I grin in the darkness, shivers ricocheting through me.
“You should have taken me then.”
“Don’t think I won’t,” he says, tone serious and really hot. “The next time you speak to me in Spanish I’m going to do some seriously dirty things to you and I won’t care where we are.”
I press my legs together and moisten my dry lips. “Hazme el amor,” I say, trying to sound seductive.
He groans, biting down on my bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth. “What did you say?”
“Make love to me.”
“That, I can do.” He yanks my shorts and panties down and pushes his finger deep inside me.
I gasp gripping the sheets with my hands.
“I’ll never tire of doing this with you,” he breathes.
“I’m sure one day you will.”
He has me flat on my back and is on top of me, pinning my arms above my head before I get chance to blink.
“Never,” he reaffirms. Then he starts to kiss my neck, working his way downwards, hands cupping my breasts, touching me in just the right way, like he’s been doing this to me always.
And once again, I lose myself in him, basking in his glory, and the feelings only he can create in me.
Jake and I are laying facing one another in the darkness, the shine of the moonlight coming in through the huge hotel window, as we stare at each other.
“Do you still dip your fries in your milkshake?” he asks.
We’re talking food. We’ve been talking nonsense for the last hour, my tiredness faded long ago with the sex, and I’m loving it. I’m loving him.
“Of course,” I grin.
“You still know that’s gross don’t you?”
“Yep, but I don’t care because I love it.”
“You always were a weird case.”
“Ditto.” I pull my tongue out at him.
“Yeah, but I always pulled off the weird in me way better than you did. I made it appear cool to others.”
“Ahh, so I guess I should get some tips from you then on how to be the bomb.”
“Most definitely. And I’ve got plenty of tips I can give to you that will raise your cool points in no time.” He runs his fingertip down the length of my nose. A finger of which has just been doing all manner of naughty things to me, not short of an hour ago.
It makes me shiver inside.
“Hmm, I just bet you have.”
A question is buzzing around in my head. The one I’ve wanted to ask him since I first saw him in that hotel room for the interview.
I take a deep breath in. “Why did you stop calling and writing?”
He stares at me for a long moment.
“I was young and, selfish and stupid, and I hated how much I actually missed you once I’d left. I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone as much as I did you, then. And every time I spoke to you on the phone or got a letter from you, it hurt just that bit more. Then I met Jonny and we started up the band, and my old life – you, all just seemed so very far away. I still missed you, but the ache had started to dull and I knew if I kept in touch it would just rake all those bad feelings up, so I decided to stay away.”
I run my fingertips along his jaw. He takes hold of my hand and kisses my fingers.
“Why didn’t you ever get in touch with me once the band got big?”
I sigh. “For that very reason. You’d stopped calling and writing to me, and it had been so long, I didn’t want you to think I was only getting in touch because you were famous.”
“I wanted you to. I thought about you often. Wondering what you were doing.”
“So why didn’t you find me then? It’s not like you couldn’t have. You’ve sure got the resources.”
I feel a wave of anger. If he’d got in touch years ago, we’d have got together then, and I would never have met Will. And I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m currently in.
He presses his lips together. “I was afraid to.”
Those four words send shivers spiralling through me.
“Why?”
He sighs. “In the beginning I was too absorbed in the band to care about anyone or anything. And I was mostly high – not the best person to be around at times.” He pulls in a breath. “Then we hit the big time and things were pretty wild. Then Jonny died, and…” He pauses as if gathering composure. I can see how much it still hurts him, even now.
“Everything just fell apart. Denny and Tom were a mess, and they were looking to me to somehow fix it for them. And I just didn’t know how to. For a while back then, I didn’t think the band would make it. Especially when I went fuckin’ AWOL in Japan.”
He grimaces at the memory.
“Yeah, pissing on the stage. Not your finest hour, but completely understandable.”
“That was one of my lower points, Tru. And then I realised that Jonny had been my glue, and then it hit me just how much he reminded me of you … you and him were similar in so many ways. And I’d relied on him, like I had you for all those years to keep things straight for me.”
“When I moved to the States, the very first thing I did, without realising, was go looking for another version of you. It just happened to be Jonny,” he shrugs.
“And through all the grieving for him, all I could think about was you. But we’d been apart for eleven years and I didn’t know how to get in touch. I wanted to, so badly, but I just kept thinking you’d moved on, and what if you didn’t want to see me … I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you all over again, so I bottled it. And when you walked in that hotel room, I just…”
He runs his fingers through my long hair, brushing it over my shoulder.
“I just couldn’t believe my luck that it was you. Stuart had given me the list with the interviewer’s names on that morning, and there was yours, right at the top. I spent the next hour pacing the floor, hoping it would be you, and then there you were, standing before me, looking the most beautiful you ever had, and I knew with absolute certainty I was never letting you go again.”