Blame it on the Bass: Heart of Fame, Book 6 Page 8

  Getting away from that had seemed like a good idea. The only sane idea.

  But the second he’d flown to New York and tried to work on the screenplay, locked up in a hotel room overlooking Central Park West, as far from the pain of Levi’s emotional barrier as he could be, he’d realized he had to go home. Home, where Levi was. Back to Sydney, to the apartment built on a historic wharf jutting into the harbour, the place they’d made love every night.

  He’d come home—he never should have left in the first place—needing Levi, needing to fix their relationship, followed him into Do Re Me and the rest was history.

  Not the history Corbin had envisioned or planned, it was fair to say, but history all the same.

  He’d watched Levi kiss Sonja. He’d grown harder than he’d ever been before and he’d made that suggestion.

  When he’d woken that morning—the morning after falling asleep in Levi’s arms with an ache in his soul rivaling the sated pleasure in his body—Levi was gone, leaving a fresh pod in the Nespresso machine and a note resting against Corbin’s favourite coffee mug.

  Gone to speak to Sonja.

  L.

  Corbin had read those five words five times, a strange mix of apprehension, confusion and excitement spearing down his spine like a hot wire.

  After the fifth reading, he’d showered, relieved the morning wood in his cock and opened his laptop, determined to do what he’d planned to do six days ago—distract his mind.

  But still the words didn’t come.

  After three hours of staring at his screen, scrolling up and down through pages of direction cues, character dialogue and setting info, he’d written nothing.

  Added nothing.

  Amped up nothing.

  Because all his mind could focus on was Levi and how alive he’d been with Sonja.

  Corbin knew it should tear out his heart, but it didn’t. It gave him…hope.

  Leaning forward, he slid his laptop onto the coffee table and then raked his hands through his hair.

  “Fuck it,” he ground out, digging his cell phone from his back pocket. With a quick jab on the screen, he dialed his brother.

  “Baby brother!” Martin Smith crowed into Corbin’s ear the second the call connected, the thousands of miles between Sydney and Connecticut disappearing straight away. “Where the hell are you? Still in New York? Or back in Australia?”

  “Back in Australia,” Corbin answered with a small smile.

  “Good.” Corbin could hear the nod in Martin’s approval. “Did you work it all out with Levi?”

  The heavy lump in Corbin’s throat, the one that had been there since he’d made the suggestion to Levi about Sonja, turned hot. “Honestly, Marty, I don’t know.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Corbin pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Oh man, what did he say?

  Martin had been the first to know what Corbin was. The first to hear the truth from Corbin himself. Back in high school, when Martin had been a senior and Corbin a freshman, Martin had witnessed the school quarterback pantsing Corbin in the hallway and calling him a fag. Martin—a grease monkey who rarely interacted with the jocks—had cornered the quarterback in the student parking area after school and begun turning the douchebag’s nose to mush with his fist, demanding he apologise for calling Corbin a fag with each crunching punch. The only way Corbin had been able to get his brother to stop was to confess to his homosexuality right there and then, with a crowd of frenzied, scared and excited teenagers looking on. Martin had studied Corbin with a contemplative gaze for a moment and then nodded. “In that case, this fuckwit needs to be taught not to be a bigot.” And he’d KO’d the quarterback with a single, powerful punch before walking over to Corbin and hugging him for everyone to see.

  Corbin would love his brother forever for that one moment, that one moment where Martin had made it obvious not only to the school, but to Corbin himself that he didn’t give a flying fuck that Corbin was gay, he’d always be his brother. He’d always be there for him.

  In the twenty-three years since that afternoon, Martin—three years older, a mechanic with a fondness for old muscle cars and as straight as they came—never judged Corbin for his lifestyle. For Martin, and the rest of the Smith family for that matter, three older brothers and one younger sister, Corbin was who he was and that was that. It meant fuck all to them Corbin was gay. He was still their brother, their son, still loved beyond measure.

  But how would Martin react to what Corbin was about to say?

  “You gonna tell me, baby brother?”

  Corbin flattened his palm to his forehead, dug his fingertips into his scalp and let out a slow sigh. “I watched Levi kiss a woman, Marty.”

  “He’s dead,” Martin declared. “I’ll rip his balls off and shove them down his cheating—”

  “And it turned me on,” Corbin cut over his brother’s snarl. “A lot.”

  Silence greeted the confession. Stretched between the connection for a few moment.

  “Okay.” Once again, Corbin heard the single nod of the head in his brother’s voice. “What happened next?”

  Corbin let out a why chuckle, still shocked himself. “Levi and I went home, fucked like rabbits and then I asked him to invite her into our bed.”

  Silence returned. Longer this time. Long enough for Corbin to count his rapid heartbeats.

  “I gotta say,” Martin finally said, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  Corbin snorted, dropping his hand from his head and staring up at the ceiling. “Me either.”

  “And you suggested this because…”

  “Because Levi is wounded, and I think this woman, Sonja, can help heal him. Heal us both.”

  “Heal?” The question in Martin’s voice made the lump in Corbin’s throat thicker. “Correct me if I’m wrong, baby brother, but you’ve never been with a woman before, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Never been turned on by one?”

  “No. Well, not if you don’t include Mrs. Pegg back in grade school.”

  “Never had a wet dream about one? Fantasied about one? Not even Mrs. Pegg?”

  “No.”

  “And yet watching Levi kiss one turned you on?”

  “Yes.”

  “And made you want to have sex with her? I’m assuming you’re planning on doing the deed with her as well? Or is she just going to be doing things with Levi while you watch?”

  Corbin’s gut clenched. He pictured Sonja as he’d seen her at the karaoke bar, her toned legs covered in snug black denim, her breasts full and lush and so very noticeable in the black corset she wore. Pictured her walking toward Levi, straddling Levi’s lap, rolling her sex over Levi’s erection. Pictured himself in Levi’s place, his hands palming her breasts…

  A tight spasm claimed his cock and he drew in a ragged breath, his pulse rapid. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not just going to watch.”

  “Okay then.” Martin cleared his throat. “Can I ask a question?”

  Corbin smiled. “I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t want you to.”

  “Ha. But point taken. Tell me what happens after the threesome. What happens after you’ve both had sex with the same woman? What happens if neither of you are healed?”

  Corbin closed his eyes. His breath caught in his throat, imprisoned by the invisible band of pressure wrapping around his chest.

  “Had you thought of that?”

  Corbin swallowed. “No.”

  “Really?”

  Opening his eyes, Corbin stared at nothing. Saw Levi laughing with Sonja. Saw him smiling at her. Singing with her. Kissing her. “He just looked so alive with her. I wanted to give him that again.”

  “Is that what you want though, Corbin?” Concern hung heavy in Martin’s voice. “For your partner to need someone else, a woman, to bring him to life?”

  Corbin couldn’t answer him.

  “I know you both went through hell just recently, baby brother,” M
artin went on, concern replaced with sympathy. “I know the death of your baby and the woman that was going to give birth to her messed you both up. Neither of you would be human if it didn’t. I’ve also known Levi long enough to know he wouldn’t have let you see much of his grief, but he’s not an emotionless robot. You know that much better than I do. You wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone who was. I’ve seen you two together, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen two people more in love.”

  He stopped. Corbin didn’t need to be standing next to Martin in the old Smith home in Connecticut, the one Martin now called his own since their parents had decided to fulfill the cliché and retire to Florida, to know his brother was kicking the skirting board in a soft repetitive rhythm, head down, stare fixed on the toe of his boot. “What I’m trying to say, Cor…” the words were husky, as if speaking was difficult, “…is I think what you and Levi have is incredible and special and you need to do whatever you have to do to help each other find it again. And if that means…well, you know…then do it.”

  Corbin closed his eyes. A calm peace flowed through him even as his heart thumped harder. “Thanks, Marty,” he murmured.

  “But brother?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If Levi decides this woman is who he wants to be with and breaks your heart, I will rip his balls off and shove them down his throat. Famous musician or no, no one hurts my family. Understand?”

  Corbin chuckled. “Understood.”

  Marty laughed on the other side of the world. “Good. Now go be a pervert. Tell Levi I said hi, okay?”

  “I will.” Smiling, he lowered the phone from his ear and ended the connection with a jab of his thumb.

  “Will what?”

  He jumped at the deep voice behind him. Pulsing pounding, he twisted in his armchair, shooting a look over his shoulder to find Levi walking into the room. “Say hi from Marty.”

  The corners of Levi’s mouth twitched. The sight sent a wave of happiness through Corbin. Martin and Levi had always got along. The pair had partaken in various pranks and jokes at Smith family events, most ending somehow with Martin only in his underwear and Levi laughing so hard tears spilled from his eyes. “Tell him g’day from me when you’re talking to him next.”

  Corbin watched Levi cross to the sofa, the snug jeans he wore emphasizing the corded strength of his legs and the size of his crotch. It had been an ongoing joke between them since the day they’d met at the Dead Even wrap party five years ago, that Levi’s bulge was enhanced by a balled-up sock. Corbin had broken the ice with the wisecrack, already half in lust with the quiet, secretive rock star now writing film scores and soundtracks so incredible one could forget to breathe while listening to them. He’d approached Levi at the poolside, popped a canapé in his mouth to hide his nerves, extended his hand in the universal invitation to shake and then said the first thing that formed into his head. “So is it true rock stars use socks to fill out their pants?”

  He’d frozen, stricken with stunned embarrassment. And then Levi had laughed, taken his hand and given it a warm shake. “Only when they’re touring in Iceland. And Russia. Have you been there? It’s bloody freezing.”

  Five years later, the thought of that night, that joke, that meet cute as those in his line of work called it, still had the power to make Corbin’s soul sing. They were meant to be together. Levi had come out for him. He’d moved to Australia for Levi.

  They were forever.

  And now he was asking them to change everything.

  So they could be forever again.

  “What else did Martin say?”

  Corbin studied Levi where he sat deep in the sofa’s cushioned luxury. There was no mistaking the bulge of his groin when he was sitting down. Nor was Corbin able to miss the flat planes of his six-pack beneath the black polo shirt he wore. Or the tension in his exquisitely sculpted body.

  Or the way Levi watched him back, his gaze unreadable.

  Licking his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue, Corbin rested his ankle on top of his knee. Calm. Relaxed. That’s what he needed to look. Calm and relaxed. So he didn’t spook his lover and send him running.

  He said he would rip your balls off and shove them down your throat if you picked Sonja over me.

  “Not much,” he said, fighting the urge to fidget.

  Levi regarded him. Silent.

  Corbin licked his lips again. “Are you going to tell me what Sonja said?”

  One side of Levi’s lips curled. “You going to tell me what Marty said?”

  Releasing a strangled laugh, Corbin scrubbed the centre of his forehead with his fingertips. “He told me he’ll do you bodily harm if you leave me for Sonja.”

  Levi chuckled. “That’s more like the Marty I know.”

  Corbin swallowed. Didn’t say anything else. Waited.

  With a soft sigh, Levi snared up the old acoustic guitar always leaning against the sofa’s arm and plucked out a tune. Corbin had heard it before. It was, if all went to plan, the closing credit track for Dead Even 2. Samuel Gibson, the lead guitarist of Nick Blackthorne’s old band had written it three months ago. Levi had played what had been written of the piece of music to Corbin via a FaceTime chat one night while he’d been in San Francisco and Corbin had been in LA. It was good. Haunting.

  Powerful.

  A few days after that, Isabella had died and Corbin hadn’t heard Levi play it again. Or any other music for that matter.

  And now here he was after returning from who knows how long with Sonja, his fingers moving over the strings, music filling the silence.

  Corbin drew a slow breath. He should be unsettled by the fact but wasn’t. As always, watching his lover play the guitar turned him on. If they weren’t in such a fucked-up holding pattern, he’d do what he normally did when Levi played—slowly strip off his clothes and work his cock with his hand until Levi finished, offering himself to his lover to be taken however Levi wanted him.

  Did he dare do that now? Was that why Levi played the guitar? Or was it because he’d been to see Sonja?

  The notes, plucked from the strings with gentle mastery, caressed his senses. If Corbin could do anything in the world, anything, it would be write music.

  Bullshit. If you could do anything in the world it would be to make Levi make love to you right this very second.

  “We’ll be seeing Sonja tonight.”

  Corbin drew in a swift breath at Levi’s low declaration. He swallowed. Licked his lips. “Okay.”

  Haunted eyes found his. Torment pulled at Levi’s face. “That’s still what you want?”

  Hot fingers of something close to anticipation stroked down Corbin’s spine. Over his crotch, his balls. “I think it’s what we need.”

  Levi returned his attention to his fingers moving over the guitar strings.

  Corbin remained silent. On edge. Straining for him. Hating himself for the suggestion he’d made, even as he craved it. Fuck, he really was a pervert. Just like Marty said. If Levi left him for Sonja, he deserved it.

  No, you don’t. And he won’t. He won’t.

  “Levi,” he said, his lover’s name nothing more than a whispered breath as he lowered his foot to the ground and leant forward.

  “I’ve got to call Strings.” Levi straightened to his feet, his gaze flicking around the room. “About the…”

  Whatever he had to call Samuel about, he didn’t vocalize. Instead, with a molten look at Corbin that made Corbin’s balls throb, he returned the guitar to its place beside the sofa and strode from the living room, heading toward the other side of the apartment where his music studio was located. Where the spare room they’d turned into Isabella’s nursery was as well.

  The sound of a door closing punctured the oppressive silence.

  Corbin sat motionless, staring at the empty sofa. His blood roared in his ears.

  What did he do now? For a brief moment, they’d almost connected again. Levi had smiled at the mention of Martin and his over-protective
bluff, had played the guitar while Corbin listened.

  For a moment, one wonderful moment, everything that had happened, everything that was happening and may happen, faded to the background.

  Only to be lost again behind Levi’s walls.

  Corbin scrunched up his face, pinched the bridge of his nose and dragged his hands through his hair. If he was writing this scene, if this was a screenplay, he’d have the character—the emotionally wrought hero—say something witty. Something to break the tension for the audience.

  But this wasn’t a screenplay, and Corbin couldn’t, no matter how much he tried, find a single droll thing to mutter.

  “Damn it, man,” he ground out, scoring his blunt nails across his scalp. “Do something.”

  He looked at the guitar. He thought of Levi’s long-fingered hand sliding up and down its neck. Thought of the troubled light in Levi’s eyes. Thought of the tension in his body.

  Rising to his feet, Corbin removed his shirt. Toed off his boots. Unzipped his fly and lowered his jeans to the floor.

  He stood naked save for his socks. Christ, he hoped Levi would get the joke. Hoped it would make him laugh.

  Walking from the living room, he made his way to the far side of the apartment.

  The door to Isabella’s room was closed, as was Levi’s studio. Corbin stood and studied both, his heart fast in his throat. If Levi was in their daughter’s nursery, this…approach…was going to destroy them completely.

  He crossed the short distance to the studio door and knocked. Twice.

  A lifetime later, or maybe only a few seconds, Corbin wasn’t sure, the door opened.

  Levi’s gaze raked down Corbin’s naked body, a slow, lingering caress that made Corbin’s cock spasm with urgent anticipation. He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. He waited for his lover to take control.