Falling Star

Chapter 3

Holy skittle-eating walrus. Briana's senses were so overwhelmed, she couldn't even swear coherently inside her own head. Her entire universe had shrunk to the magic place where Gareth's fingers connected with her skin, and it was all she could do to stop herself from orgasming just from his touch on her back. She hadn't even realized that was physically possible.

His hands glided down her spine again and she moaned helplessly, unable to stop the sound from streaming unbidden from her normally controlled mouth. Her skin flared in sensation, sparks and heat tracing in an afterglow wherever Gareth touched. This wasn't a massage; this was foreplay. If she rolled over and the slightest breeze wafted past her nipples, she'd probably come there and then.

Attempting to keep herself from grinding against the table, Briana drew a steady breath and shuddered as Gareth's fingers traced over her neck. Goosebumps immediately sprang up. So good. She wanted to tell him, wanted to speak the words out loud so he'd know how wonderful he was.

Where did that come from? Brianna never wanted to speak; silence was her friend, a mantle against the world. She didn't want to talk ever—not when her manager begged her to do radio interviews, not when she was asked to present at the Grammys—not even when a few words might have helped her case against that douchebag Rogers.

No. Briana and silence were a perfect match, in a life that yielded no other pairing as strong as this one. Silence protected, silence attacked, and silence highlighted. It wasn't, as some people believed, a ploy to protect her vocal cords. Her silence meant that when she sang, her voice was all the more precious, because it was the only time it was used. Diluting the purity of her music with empty words was pointless. She wasn't about to change that for chitchat with the handsome spa dude.

But still, the desire to engage in conversation lingered. Who are you, Gareth? Do you know my music? Would you like to kiss me? How simple would it be to ask and be answered?

'You're enjoying this so far?' Gareth asked, a rhetorical question considering her physical reactions. Was it her imagination, or was his voice thick with lust? Hell, who needed words? Maybe it was as easy as rolling over and smoothly making an offer with her eyes to take this little oil-fest into the bedroom. After all, that was how it had worked with the rest of her hookups—God knew most guys weren't interested in talking anyway.

Now. Do it now! She turned her head to the side and looked back to where Gareth stood over her, but before she could flip over, he said, 'Ms. Brite ... I hope I'm not being too forward, but I really need to say something to you.'

Her breath hitched as she lay straight again. Well, this was promising. Maybe he was about to ask her if she wanted to take things further, and then she could casually nod and agree as if it wasn't all she'd been able to think about for the last hour.

'I need to say thank you.'

Thank you? What for? With her face mushed into the table hole, her brow creased in confusion.

His knuckles found a knot below her shoulder blade, and he firmly stretched the lumps out as he said, 'For your music. I ... I lost my mom last year, and the only thing that helped me get through were your songs.'

Several emotions hit Briana at once: pride, curiosity, sorrow. Of course she received thousands of daily PMs and tweets praising her music, and she genuinely appreciated them all, but this was different, more intimate in a way she couldn't understand. She desperately wanted to ask which songs in particular he'd loved, her interest almost winning over her vow of silence.

As if he heard her unspoken question, he replied, 'Every track from Enshroud really hit home for me.'

Enshroud? Pride took over now. That album was her baby, but it had tanked so badly, she could have thrown a party for everyone who bought the record and held it in a broom closet.