I couldn’t bring myself to feel those things because I also knew Rich was giving up the only thing he ever wanted but never got. He might have grown into a man and was beloved by millions now, but to me, Jericho was never far from that sad, lonely kid who’d been denied a single, true attachment. Loren and I had been his first and only until even that had been ripped away by distrust, resentment, and greed.

This time around it was Jericho walking away from that chance for the one his heart decided he needed more. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that Braxton was worth it, but it wasn’t my sacrifice. It was Jericho’s.

“Thank you,” I heard myself say to him.

Rich finally looked up from the floor, his gaze shocked by my fervent tone and the sincerity in those two words that made his lips tilt at the corner and his silver eyes kindle. “Fuck off, Houston,” he spat, making me laugh too. “We crossed swords once. Don’t make shit weird.”

The North American leg of the Bound & Bellicose tour had officially ended. It was mid-afternoon over a week later when my gaze traveled over to the bassist in the partially fogged mirror of his bathroom.

We’d just finished up in his shower, which I actually hadn’t minded Loren holding me hostage inside since it was the size of a small closet with black stone walls, a tiled floor to match, and water that rained from the ceiling like a gentle waterfall.

The bamboo bench built into the shower’s alcove was pretty sturdy too.

Shifting my feet guiltily, I told myself not to get hung up on how I’d ended up in his bed last night. I wasn’t sure I could explain since nothing had changed. I was very much scared shitless of his determination to move too fast.

I knew the conversation wasn’t over.

It was right there in his eyes that it wasn’t far from his mind.

Noticing me watching him, Loren slowed the circular motions his long fingers made as he worked the chemical exfoliant into his skin. It was his third cleanse since he started on his face after the almost painful-to-watch scrupulous flossing, brushing, and rinsing of his teeth.

“What’s up?” he asked when I continued to gape.

“Nothing.” I tried and failed to hide my smile as I brushed the tangles from my hair. Unlike Loren, I’d already finished with my face and teeth. “It’s just that watching you is like using a white towel after a long shower. It’s a truly humbling experience.”

I felt like I was still dirty even though we’d stayed in the shower until the water turned cold and my skin pruned.

I watched Loren’s pearl-white teeth sink into his bottom lip as the heat in his gaze turned up a thousand notches. My poor vagina emphatically protested his thoughts since she was still bearing the brunt of Loren’s attention last night, again in the shower, and Houston’s visit before the sun was fully up this morning.

Rich was back to being distant again, and I cursed myself for not keeping my word and getting to the bottom of it. I’d been too busy hiding to uncover their secrets.

Now I questioned if I cared anymore.

I wondered if I had the fortitude to chase someone who seemed so unsure about me.

The answer was no. I didn’t.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Loren said with all the confidence of a man used to getting what he wanted. “When we’re old and gray, and I’m struggling to get it up, rest assured there won’t be a part of you my tongue hasn’t touched.” Leaning over from his spot at the double vanity, he placed a sensual kiss on my neck that tasted like cherries and made my knees weak, even as he lewdly groped my ass. It wasn’t until he pulled away enough to meet my gaze that I caught his drift. “Not one.”

Giving my ass one last pointed squeeze, he resumed his high-maintenance routine.

I returned to my room to dress for the day, and by that time, Loren still wasn’t done perfecting his hair, so I tiptoed back out of the room and made my way downstairs. “Black is the Soul” by Korn was blaring, and it led me right to Houston.

I found him sitting at the island in their kitchen that was just as dark, Victorian, and gothic as the rest of their castle and scowling at the laptop in front of him. He was so into his search that he didn’t notice me standing next to him until it was too late.

“Are you writing a book?” I asked him when I read the headline of the medical article he was reading.

Quickly shutting the laptop closed, Houston regarded me long and hard. “You’re synesthetic.”

First, the song he’d written from my point-of-view as if we were one mind and now this. I was starting to feel uncomfortable, though strangely not creeped out, which was disturbing in itself.

No, I was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that I would never be able to hide from Houston Morrow. Never.

Suddenly, I was on the defensive.

“Or maybe everyone else is just doing it wrong, and you’re synesthetic,” I elusively pointed out. “Ever think of that?” My heart thudded as I waited for his answer while Houston waited for mine with all his composure intact.

I sighed when the staring contest ended with me silently accepting that Houston was just as assertive without needing to speak a word.

“I didn’t find out until a couple of years ago that not everyone—correction—no one I’ve ever met perceives sound through color.”

“Chromesthesia,” he said simply for confirmation.

I nodded. “It’s not always just color. Sometimes it’s shapes and movements too. The only constant seems to be music. Regular sounds like a dog barking or a horn honking have no effect.” The faint scent of the ocean warned me of my distress when I wondered if Houston thought I was a basket case now.

“And this?” he asked me, tapping my wriggling nose when I tried to push the emotion away. “What are you feeling right now?”

I took a step back.

My lips parted, but no words came.

He couldn’t know that.

After three years of searching for articles and conversing with strangers through forums, I hadn’t been able to name how or why I tasted my emotions or even smelled them. I’d already been scanned, prodded, and tested for tumors and dementia. The closest I’d come to finding an answer was other synesthetes who feel their emotions through colors, temperatures, and spatial sense. But none whose emotions caused them to hallucinate tastes and smells.

Sometimes I wondered if I would have preferred it that way. My emotions, including the good ones, had ruined my ability to appreciate simple things like roses and cinnamon when I actually encountered them.

“What do you mean?” I was back to being elusive.

Houston closed the gap I’d placed between us, making it clear I wouldn’t get away with it. “Tell me,” he demanded softly, and I found I hated his casual confidence much more than his forcefulness. It was much easier to deny him when he was being a dick.

“Desire tastes like cherries, shame smells like olives, happiness tastes like chocolate, sorrow smells like roses…should I keep going, or do you get the point?”

Houston’s hands drifted underneath my sundress, where he placed his hand on my hips before backing and trapping me against the window behind me. “And what about me? What do I smell like?”

My heart skipped a beat as vanilla filled the air.

“How do you know I feel anything at all?”

“The same way I figured out you were a hundred times more complicated than you let on, Braxton Fawn. I haven’t stopped paying attention.” When he kissed me, he forced my lips to part and my mouth to accept his tongue. I moaned in response. It was a desperate, broken sound. Whatever emotion Houston was responsible for evoking, I was drunk with it by the time he let me up for air. “And I never will,” he warned me.

I shivered just as Loren sauntered into the kitchen, fully dressed and brazenly debonair. If there was ever a walking example of perfection, he was it. To my ears, I sounded like a love-drunk fool, but the way the three of them overwhelmed me, separately and definitely together, it was hard to care about anything other than giving in to them.

“Can you stop groping my girl?” Loren griped. His eyes weren’t even on us. He was focusing on fastening his expensive-looking watch as he stood by the door with a scowl. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“She’s not just yours,” Houston reminded him.

“Keep fighting over me like I’m a chew toy, and I’ll dump the three of you for me, myself, and I.”

Houston’s head swiveled back down to me, and his lips twitched as amusement lit up his eyes. “Damn, baby, Rich isn’t even here. He gets dumped too?”

“Yup.”

Just not for the reason the two of them believed.

Even now, Jericho was missing-in-action, and my pride wouldn’t allow me to ask. I didn’t want to know if he was avoiding me again.

Finished fastening his watch, Loren looked up, and then he leaned back with the bottom of his right foot planted against the wall. “What color panties are we wearing today?” he inquired with a smile.

Suddenly, I was standing in a field. There was grass as tall as my waist, and I could almost feel the flower petals slipping between my fingers as I walked. I knew the answer Loren was looking for because I hadn’t forgotten the day I became Bound, either.

“Black like my heart.”