A Love Song for Always Read online

  A LOVE SONG FOR ALWAYS

  RIVALS #4

  Piper Lawson

  Are you a VIP?

  Join Piper’s VIP list for monthly book news, exclusive reads, giveaways, and more.

  Click here to join!

  A Love Song For Always

  (RIVALS #4)

  I spent years hating Tyler Adams.

  I've also envied him, longed for him, and prayed to forget him.

  He will always be my rebel prince. My childhood rival. My best friend.

  Soon, he'll be something new…

  My husband.

  And I dare anything in this world to try and break us apart.

  A Love Song for Always (Rivals #4) is Tyler and Annie's bonus wedding story and should be read following A Love Song for Dreamers (Rivals #3).

  1

  Seven days until the wedding

  “Can’t we move any faster?” I lean toward the partition between the front and back seats of the limo. “There must be another road. Let me check.”

  The driver shoots me a patient look. “Miss Jamieson, it’s the 405.”

  From the seat next to me, Rae laughs silently. “Forgive her. She has a serious case of Tyler Adams withdrawal caused by spending too much time apart from her hot fiancé.”

  Since I jumped out of bed in New York this morning ahead of the five-thirty alarm to shower and dress, every part of me has been buzzing with anticipation.

  Most of my day was spent on the flight to LA with Rae, but I was too distracted to work or read.

  Now, the stop-and-go traffic makes me want to roll down my window and shout at the world. Instead, I drum my fingers on the bare knee I nicked my second time over it with a razor.

  “Seriously. I don’t need to crash with you and Tyler while I play my gigs this week,” Rae goes on.

  “Yes, you do. There are five bedrooms.” Tyler took me on a virtual tour before he rented the house before our wedding. It gave him a home base to work on album release promotions with the studio until I could hand my Broadway role to another actress so Tyler and I could have the next month together before his tour. “Even when Dad and Haley show up with the kids tomorrow, that leaves plenty of space.”

  Traffic breaks, and the car surges toward the exit.

  Yes.

  “Did you see the news about Wicked Records?” Rae holds up an article on her phone about my Dad’s former label.

  I resolve to focus and not degenerate into a throbbing ball of need now that my fiancé is only minutes away.

  “Sounds like after years of mismanagement, they’re going down fast. Dad hasn’t been involved with them for a long time. Not since he was fighting over his songs.”

  “Have he or your stepmom said anything?”

  “Not to me.” But we haven’t exchanged more than a rushed voicemail or emails with wedding logistics in the better part of a month given how busy things have been preparing for this time off.

  My finger drumming on my knee starts again.

  “Just as well you’re dropping me at the club so I won’t be there when you see Tyler,” Rae offers. “I don’t want to be within earshot when you guys… reunite.” She enunciates each syllable.

  There’s no point trying to hide the flush that crawls up my face.

  I have been anticipating all the parts of seeing my fiancé. Not only because we’re getting married in a week, but because I haven’t kissed him, touched him, or shared more than a sexy FaceTime call with him in a month.

  I’ve been in love with Tyler Adams for a decade, long before he became a rock star and I wrote a Broadway show.

  Now we’re about to tie the knot.

  The obstacles that kept us apart felt insurmountable at the time. But our love, our tenacity, and maybe a little destiny kept bringing us back to one another. Next weekend is validation of all we’ve been through.

  “I grew up wanting to be on stage, but the whole bride fantasy skipped me,” I admit.

  “No parade with stuffed animals down a made-up aisle?”

  I shake my head. “But the moment Tyler and I decided on a date, it was like something took me over. I wanted all of it. The guests. The dress. The cake. The music.”

  “The man,” she finishes.

  And what a man.

  I swore I’d never fall for a rock star. Growing up with my dad’s fame rubbed me the wrong way. I felt I had to prove myself—to him and to everyone. It took years for me to realize I belonged, that I could carve my own path without being lessened by his or jealous of Tyler’s relationship with my dad.

  “Our lives have been anything but perfect. This week will be the exception,” I confide.

  Our destination wedding will take place on a stunning island with private beaches and exquisite accommodations. After, Tyler and I have cleared our schedules for nearly a month. There’ll be nothing but relaxation and enjoy newly wedded bliss with my best friend, who also happens to be my fiancé and the hottest guy on the planet.

  I’ve been planning it with crazed fervor.

  To be clear, perfect doesn’t mean glossy-magazine-worthy. It’s about having time with each other and the people we love in a beautiful, private place that feels like heaven.

  The car pulls up at the club, and Rae gets out before leaning in the open window. “Do me a favor and put a sock on the door if you’re not done when I get back.”

  “Does anyone even own socks in LA?” But I wave, and the car pulls off again.

  As we take the streets up into the Hills, excitement thrums low in my stomach. Tyler’s been finishing his album to earn the month off for our wedding before he goes on tour. Even while living together in New York for most of a year, I didn’t feel as though we had time together because we were doing eight shows a week. It was a thrilling and exhausting grind, but we decided to move him out of the lead role a few months after it started on Broadway so he could finish his album.

  Now I want him to myself.

  I check my phone for Tyler’s texts from when I left this morning.

  Annie: Can’t wait to see you.

  Tyler: Can’t wait to taste you.

  My thighs press together under my short, black dress. I could text Tyler to say we’re a few minutes away.

  But that would ruin the surprise.

  Instead, I put on a song from his new album. His voice wraps around me, raw and sexy and the kind of earnest that makes fans go crazy.

  By the time the driver pulls up, passing two parked Rolls and a Maserati on the road before turning into the gates and entering the passcode I gave him, I’m so turned on it’s dangerous. The gates swing wide, and I get a clear look at the house. It’s stunning, white and modern with high trees surrounding it for privacy.

  The driver leaves my bags at the door at my request. The garage is open, revealing a black Lambo the owners left and a motorcycle. I bought the bike for Tyler as a gift. I hunted for ages for the vintage Triumph Bonneville. I’d considered having it fixed up before I gave it to him, but I knew he’d want to fix it himself. A way to blow off some steam.

  Now it’s pristine.

  I trail a hand along the chrome and the leather seat in appreciation. The things my guy can do with his hands…

  I open the door and step inside. My wedge sandals click on the marble as I steady my racing heart.

  “That bike is hot,” I call, pushing my sunglasses onto my head and scrunching a hand through the long, red hair I hope is still wavy after a day on the plane.

  “If only I could find someone to take me on it.”

  The evidence of my arousal fills every syllable as I step out into the living room.

  “And when I say, ‘Take me’? I mean…”

  I trail off, my throat tightening.
>
  The man I love stands in the center of the vast room, seeming to fill the entire space with his presence.

  Tyler Adams is breathtaking in profile. As gorgeous as ever in dark jeans that cling to his lean hips and strong legs, a white T-shirt that pulls across his chest and shoulders, revealing black ink that curls down his arm all the way to his fingers. His dark hair falls over his face, and when he turns to face me fully, he shoves it back.

  The light from the floor-to-ceiling windows streams across his tan face, his cut jaw, and the firm mouth that tastes better than anything on this planet.

  Tyler’s heavy chocolate gaze locks on mine, holding me prisoner.

  But it’s his guilty expression that has me stunned.

  And the fact that he’s not alone.

  2

  When a man asks a woman to be his wife, he shouldn’t have to be without her again. But life doesn’t obey “shoulds,” and for the past month, I’ve been working on promotions for my new album in LA while she wrapped up handing off her show in New York.

  Being forced to live apart from the person you love means you devote a lot of energy to reunion fantasies.

  In the hours between finishing my album, Annie and I have reunited on the marble kitchen counter. The walk-in-closet-sized shower. The hot tub. The pool.

  Fuck, have we reunited in the pool…

  None of my fantasies had her staring at me like this.

  “What’s going on?” She’s frozen in the doorway like some beautiful woodland creature realizing it wandered to the wrong stream to drink. Color has her cheeks pink under the trace of freckles. Her black dress skims curves I know in exquisite detail, leaving her shoulders bare and ending midway down the toned thighs I could spin endless fantasies out of, especially when they’re wrapped around me.

  “You’re early,” I say.

  Looking past me, she surveys the suits who’re covering their notepads and computers.

  “It’s okay,” I tell them.

  Only then do they relax an inch. I turn back to my fiancée and close the distance between us in a few easy strides. She smells as good as she looks, and I want to bury my face in her neck.

  And then other places.

  I’ve seen every expression Annie Jamieson owns, and with a few exceptions—like the way she looks when I’ve ripped her heart in two, which I swear I’ll never witness again—I love them all. But in this moment, there are few things I wouldn’t give to replace her look of stunned suspicion with one of wanton pleasure.

  “These are my attorneys,” I say, covering up my desires. “We’re working up an agreement.”

  She cocks her head, amber eyes flashing. “It’s a little late to talk about a prenup.”

  I’d laugh if she didn’t look so alarmed.

  My gaze strokes over the curve of her full lower lip, wishing I could feel it rather than stare at it. “It’s not a prenup. I’m buying Wicked.”

  She stiffens, turning before I kiss her so my mouth grazes her cheek instead.

  Annie heads to the kitchen.

  I hold up a finger to let the lawyers know I’ll be a second before following her. She sidesteps around boxes of merchandise I’m supposed to sign for my upcoming tour, and I avoid them too.

  Near the giant stainless smart fridge, she turns. “You’re what?”

  This is not how I wanted this to happen.

  “Your dad’s been working on a deal since he heard they were at risk of going under. Quietly.”

  Something clicks behind her eyes. “He’s been trying to get hold of me, but we’ve been playing phone tag. Since when are you involved?”

  “He needed additional partners.”

  “You mean your money.”

  “Yes. We’ve been discussing it for a few weeks—”

  “Not with me.” Her voice is sharp, but there’s an edge of hurt underneath. I hate that I put it there.

  Annie Jamieson experiences the world full throttle. It’s one of the things I love about her. It fucking ruins me how raw she is, and it makes me want to protect her—from the world and from herself when she feels everything.

  “I wanted to tell you in person.”

  Annie and I have talked about the need to make investments, even though we’ve discussed our finances before and agreed—technically, she insisted—most of our money would be kept separate. She’s so damn independent and doesn’t want to owe anyone, including me, anything.

  (Of course, the day we’re married, her name goes on everything whether she wants it or not. There’s no way I’m not taking care of her if and when she needs it.)

  “So, you’re going to run a label?” Her voice rises.

  “Fuck no,” I say firmly, reaching for her arms.

  This reunion is going nothing like it was supposed to. Her body should’ve been under mine by now. Judging by the words she uttered before she walked in, she wanted that too.

  Now she’s pissed, and I’m horny, and we’re fighting in the kitchen with half a dozen lawyers who charge for an hour what I used to make in a month listening from the other room.

  I wanted to keep her out of this deal because I didn’t want her worrying about it, or me, or the fact that Jax and I are doing it together. Annie and her dad have had enough issues in the past, and some of them have been my fault. He’s not only my future father-in-law, but my mentor. The man who helped put me on the map.

  But I swore I wouldn’t come between them again, which is why I insisted to Jax I wanted a transactional deal: my money and reputation as someone without any grudges in the industry in exchange for a share of one of the biggest record companies of all time.

  And it was supposed to be finished by now.

  Frustration has me biting back a groan.

  “It’s an investment,” I say evenly. “That’s all.”

  Still, Annie looks unconvinced. “I know the new album is doing well, but that’s why you have an investment manager. Buy a horse ranch or a vineyard or something.”

  I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “Six… I’d have to buy more than one.”

  “Oh.”

  God, I love this woman. She grew up with nothing. Then she learned her father was Jax Jamieson, and she was transplanted into a world with everything. She never takes a piece of it for granted.

  I swear I never will either.

  “Wicked has a lot of up-and-coming talent,” I say. “Talent that will suffer if the company goes under, and they don’t deserve that.”

  There’s another reason I want a piece of this deal, one that matters even more for our future. It’s been emerging for months, brewing in the back of my mind as she slept beside me, finally maturing in the weeks I’ve been without her.

  But I’m not ready to cop to it yet.

  Annie sighs, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling. “We’re getting married in seven days,” she starts, and I sense she’s thawing.

  “Believe me, I remember.” I inch closer, and her back bumps the fridge. “On an island. All our friends and family flying to—”

  “Don’t say it! You’ll jinx it!” She presses a finger to my lips.

  My mouth twitches beneath her touch. No money or shit in the world can hold a candle to Annie Jamieson. She’s my friend, my rival, my heart. The only woman I’ve ever loved, the only person I’ve wanted to own or be owned by.

  “I promise I won’t risk our time together for this deal,” I vow, tracing my thumb along her palm until she shivers.

  I nip her finger, and her lips part. My hand releases hers to skim up her side under the edge of her dress, and she shifts against the fridge, which beeps.

  She jumps, but I don’t let her shift away. My mouth brushes her ear, and I inhale her scent like an addict. “Give me twenty minutes to get rid of the lawyers.”

  Annie ducks out of my arms, smoothing down her dress and leveling me with a stare. “Take your time. I’m going swimming.”

  The cool challenge in her eyes only adds to my lust. I wan
t to drag up her skirt and claim her right here.

  “Twenty minutes,” I promise, but she’s already brushing past me and heading for the bedrooms.

  I adjust myself in my jeans before returning to the conversation in the living room.

  “Let’s wrap this up,” I tell the lawyers when I return and sit on the edge of the sofa. No point getting comfortable.

  “We have one week before the exclusivity clause lapses, which means the company goes back on the market,” the lead attorney says. “Problem is the executive team is carrying more debt than they disclosed.”

  “So get us an accurate version,” I say, irritated. When I signed on, I figured the dozens of attorneys and advisors would handle the details, but things are turning out to be anything but easy.

  “We’re working on it. But even if we get a complete accounting…” One of the lawyers looks up and trails off.

  I turn in my seat to follow his gaze out the doors to the patio.

  Marrying your best friend is a blessing and a curse. She knows your dreams, your ambitions, your secrets.

  She also knows your weaknesses.

  My fiancée, still in her high-heeled sandals, appears from the direction of the master bedroom.

  In a purple bathing suit and a wispy cover-up that covers zero fucking things up, she’s a witch. A siren. A magnetic north pole.

  She tugs off the cover-up and tosses it on a chair. Then she bends over, unfastens her shoes, and steps out of them.

  Ignoring every male gaze on her, she takes one step at a time down into the pool, then dives, reappearing a moment later. Her copper hair is darkened and hanging in a wet curtain down her back.

  A vein pounds in my forehead as I rise, dragging my gaze back to the lawyers. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

  The lead attorney shifts forward. “But, Tyler, we need to finish reviewing the—”

  “Later. You can see yourselves out.” My tone is final as I reach for my belt with one hand and turn my back on them. “I have a prior engagement.”