I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (22 page)

“How do you do, Mrs. . . . Davis?”

“Romano,” Violet clarified. “She’s Francesca Romano.”

He looked between the two then settled his displeased gaze on Violet. “So are you actually a Romano? Is Davis your married name?” He glanced at the porch.

“She’s not my mom.” He wasn’t a bad guy. She decided to give him something. “I met her through a job. In fact, she’s the one who got me started in my career.”

His eyes narrowed.

“As a
nanny
. I started as a nanny.”

“And you became?”

“I’m still in the role of caregiver. Just in a different capacity. There’s nothing sexual or illegal about what I do.”

His features softened, and she could tell he felt grateful for the truth offering. He seemed to relax.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Randall?” Francesca called.

“He’s not staying,” Violet said.

“Okay, well, your dinner’s getting cold.”

“I’ll be right in.”

“Nice to meet you, Randall.” Francesca went up the back porch stairs and spoke quietly with Derek. Then, hand on the screen door, she glanced at them before heading into the house.

“Why did you come out here?” It wasn’t like she’d misled him. She’d never even flirted with him.

“I’m out for the weekend at my parent’s place, but I also wanted to tell you that I’m going to take the case. I’ll do it gratis, and in return I want the truth about you.”

She couldn’t help looking at Derek, who watched her carefully. “Why, Randall? We never even dated. Why do you care?”

“For three months I watched you on Joe’s arm. You were . . . I swear, I just . . . you were perfect for me. All polished and reserved, yet incredibly sexy. Damn, I wanted you. But then I saw you one day in Chelsea Market. You didn’t see me, but
fuck
, Scarlet—I mean, Violet. Sorry, Violet. Your hair was down, all straight and shiny. And you wore this . . . dress.” He gestured to her chest, looking like he didn’t have the words to describe what he’d seen. “Even before I realized it was you, I went all crazy inside. And then when I saw you at Joe’s engagement party, and you were available, I thought,
Finally
. Here’s my chance with her.” He tipped his head back, running his hands through his hair. “And now you’re with someone else? How did that happen?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Look at you.” He shook his head, taking her in. “I come out here, and you’re a whole different person. All relaxed and sexy.
This
woman is fucking hot.”

Self-consciously, she touched her hair. Oh, God. She pulled a piece of hay out, discreetly dropping it to the ground. “I just . . .” She just what? Rolled around in the hay with Derek Valencia, bassist for Blue Fire? It sounded unreal just thinking it.

“No, you look amazing. Look at you. I’ve never seen
your hair like that, all wild and sexy. Even without makeup, you’re a knockout. You look . . . you look gorgeous.” He stepped closer to her. “Who are you?”

“I’m sorry, Randall. I’m with Derek now.”

He let out a breath, gazing down at the ground. “Yeah.” He looked up. “I’m still going to help you out with this case. And I won’t charge you.”

“But?”

“I’m not going to force you, but I hope you’ll come to know me better and see I’m probably a hell of a lot better for you than that guy.”

She looked at Derek, wound so tightly on that wicker chair, watching like a tiger waiting to spring.

In the long run, Randall probably was better for her, but what could she do when her body and soul cried out for Derek Valencia?

“Can we go somewhere?” he asked.

She gave him a doubtful look.

“Get a coffee?” His eyebrows rose. “To talk about the case, that’s it.”

“Sure. Let me just tell them where I’m going.” She started off, but Randall reached for her.

Derek launched out of the chair.

She pushed him back. “Randall, give me a second to tell him where I’m going, okay? I’ll meet you at the car.”

She turned back to find Derek leaping off the porch railing. Call her a silly girl, but she couldn’t deny loving his caveman ways.

And it wasn’t lost on her that she maybe even needed it.

•   •   •

“That
lick’s insane.”

Derek’s fingers froze on his bass. He’d thought he was alone in the barn. When had Slater come in?

Pulling his worn notebook out of his back pocket, his friend sat down beside him. “Check it out.” And then he began singing, using the backbeat Derek had just laid down.

It’s the clatter of silverware on the table

It’s the hum of quiet conversation

It’s your sudden burst of laughter

That tells me I’ve come home

It’s my laundry piled with yours

And your lipstick sitting beside my razor

Our shoes kicked off beside the door

Makes me feel like I’m home

Derek started playing again, and Slater reached for his guitar, pulled it out of the case, and joined right in.

Sometimes at night

I hear you breathe

Your body pressed into mine

Restless, like you can’t get close enough

You turn in my arms

Your hands on my skin

You whisper my name

And that’s it, I get it

It’s your blue sweater tossed on the couch

It’s the hint of your perfume left on my pillow

It’s waking up, your legs tangled with mine

Makes me know I’m home

Sometimes at night

I hear you breathe

Your body pressed into mine

Restless, like you can’t get close enough

You turn in my arms

Your hands on my skin

You whisper my name

And that’s it, I get it

I’m home

Derek rested his bass on his thighs, took in the expression on his friend’s face, and just lowered his head. Emotion swamped him.

All his fucking life, he’d been on the run. His home life had sucked—his mom always working and his dad constantly pushing him away. The moment he could bail, he’d hit the road, heading for Texas not even a week after he’d graduated high school. Gig after gig after gig. Chick after chick after chick. He’d just barreled through life. Chasing one thing he thought he wanted after another. Just this bullet train to . . . where? Where did it end up?

Once he went platinum, once he became a household name . . . then what? What would come next? He’d never thought about it because he’d just been barreling along, the world around him a damn blur.

But he’d slammed hard into Violet Davis.

So fucking hard.

And everything felt different. Smelled different. Looked different. Everything
was
different.

Because he loved her.

He fucking loved her. And he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

Violet was his home.

“I think we’ve got a song.” Slater put his guitar away, shoved the notebook into his back pocket.

But Violet didn’t want his life. The endless hours in the studio, doing press, months on the road. She wanted a quiet life on this little piece of land on the tip of Long Island.

She deserved the home and stability she’d never had. And he couldn’t give that to her.

But Ferrari man could.

As they headed out of the barn, Slater locked up, and Derek’s gaze lifted to the light on the second floor.

Violet. In the bathroom, getting ready for bed.

“You worried about the douche?”

“If Violet had wanted to date him, she would’ve dated him.” Would that be true after he headed back on the road? When he wasn’t physically in her life anymore?

“You’re worried about the douche.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, she’s never had a home. Never had a family. She needs stability.
He
can give her that. What can I give her?”

“You’re shitting me right now. You
have
to be shitting me.” He tipped his head back. “Do I have to tell you what you give her that the douche can’t?”

He didn’t want to be a pussy. But if he had to be one, at least he could be one around Slater. “Yeah.”

“Violet doesn’t give a rat’s ass about a Ferrari or a fancy law firm. She doesn’t want to
summer
in some gated mansion in East Hampton. Stability doesn’t mean a guy who can buy her shit and give her a couple of kids. Stability means the one guy who loves the shit out of her. It means knowing you’ve got the one person in the world who knows your crap, calls you on it, and still wakes up with you the next morning, every fuckin’ morning, until the day you die.” He pushed his shoulder. “You think you can do that?”

His gaze sought the light, watched her form move around, and his whole body answered in a rush of energy. “Fuck, yeah.”

“Good. Because we’re probably going to be neighbors.”

Derek didn’t understand.

Slater smiled. “Em wants to buy a place out here. She definitely wants to get married here.”

She does?
Why did that excite the hell out of him? “It is pretty cool.”

“When was the last time we wrote material like this? For me, it’s been a solid year. I don’t know. The ocean, the land, the quiet. It clears the head. I can’t get the lyrics down fast enough.” He looked to the vast fields, covered in darkness. “I like it out here.”

“V thinks we should play at a club in town.”

“Try out our new shit?”

Derek nodded. “When the new guy gets here.”

Slater nodded. “I’m down.”

“Think we should invite Irwin?”

“Fuck, yeah. Our new stuff’s the shit. Now
this
is why he signed us. Let’s get this done.”

Could he have it, though? Violet as his home? Because she sure as hell thought she couldn’t have him. And he had no idea how to get her to see the obvious.

She already did.

Moonlight shone through the lacy curtains, casting eerie shadows around the high-ceilinged living room. The blue velvet couch smelled a little moldy, and a spring dug into his back.

Derek wanted to be in her bed, his body wrapped up with hers, but he couldn’t sleep. And he didn’t want to keep her up with his restlessness.

Irwin had a keyboardist for them. They’d be back on tour in a few days.

Which was great—he’d still be on track to go gold by the end of summer. But what would happen with Violet?

Slater was fucking with his head, making him believe in things he might not be able to have. He made it sound so simple. You want her, you go get her.

But it didn’t work like that.
Violet
didn’t work like that. He didn’t doubt she was the one for him. He didn’t even doubt her feelings. She showed them to him every time she took him into her arms. She loved him so fucking hard. Let him in completely.

Physically.

Emotionally, that was a whole different story. To gain
her trust, dismantle her strange beliefs, he needed time. He needed a hell of a lot longer than a few days.

Not like he’d give up. But come on, the minute he got back on the road, Ferrari man would be “working” with her, trying to win her. How appealing would frat boy become when Derek was on the road and the press had shots of him half-naked with nymphs crawling all over him? They could turn any situation into a photo opportunity that made him look like he was fucking around.

A door creaked open. Awareness shot through him. Violet?

Floorboards groaned. And then footfalls on the stairs.

Her bare, beautiful legs appeared, then the sexy swell of her hips in her little sleep shorts, her breasts bouncing in a tight white tank top. And then that spill of wavy dark hair. Their gazes caught, and sensation exploded deep inside him. His body hummed with her approach.

She didn’t even hesitate, just settled on his lap, hands in his hair, mouth at his ear. “You didn’t come to bed.”

Her scent washed over him. He breathed her in, his arms going around her waist, his hands seeking the curve of her ass.

Christ, he was done for. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She touched him so gently, so soothingly, he couldn’t contain all this want. So he gently sank his teeth into the tendon at her neck, arms tightening around her.

She clutched him. “I don’t like sleeping without you.”

He tipped his forehead against her collarbone. “Needed some space.”

“No.”

He pulled back, smiling at her. “No?”

“No space. Talk to me.”

He let out a frustrated breath. “I’m falling so fucking hard for you.”

Her fingers scraped through his hair, but she didn’t say anything.

Fuck it.
He was just gonna say it. “Ferrari man.”

“Derek. We went for
coffee
. To talk about the case.”

“He wants you.”

“He doesn’t even know me—he saw me as a socialite and a groupie in one night. I’m a mystery.”

“I saw him. He
wants
you.” Which wasn’t even the point. All he really wanted to know was how much she wanted
him
. Enough to stick with him after he left?

“Okay, but I don’t want him.”

“Will you want him when I’m back on the road? In the studio for months at a time?”

She stilled. “What’re you saying? God, Derek, I’ve gone twenty-five years without a serious boyfriend. Suddenly, I’m the type who’ll go for a guy because he drives a nice car? Has a good job? I’ll be with someone I don’t have feelings for? I’ve done a damn good job of taking care of myself my entire life, but all of a sudden I need a
guy
to do it? Is that what you mean? I don’t understand.”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .” He smiled. “Okay, so I’m being an asshole.” Tilting his head back till it hit the cushion, he closed his eyes. “This shit’s new to me, too.”

She leaned closer, stroking his hair. “I’ve never gotten this close to anyone else. Which is pretty amazing, considering we’ve only known each other five weeks.”

He shifted lower on the couch, cradled her in his arms. Her hands played with the hair at the back of his neck, and she felt so good he wanted to stay in this moonlit room with her for-fucking-ever.

He slid a hand under the stretchy fabric of her tank, up all that soft, warm skin, and then he cupped her plump breast, giving it a gentle squeeze, and her eyelids fluttered closed. She sighed so sweetly, arching into his touch.

“You’re so beautiful, V. Come on tour with me.”

Her eyes opened. He could see her effort to concentrate as he caressed her breast, cupping the weight of it, enjoying the velvety skin, its heavy fullness.

“As your minder or your lover?” Eyes drowsy with lust, she shifted on him.

And there she went, dousing all his desire. “Both, either, I don’t care. I just want you with me.”

“You don’t want to think about it, but
I
have to. If I’m your minder, we can’t be lovers. It won’t work. And I won’t deceive Irwin.” She squirmed on his lap, her fingers fisting in his T-shirt. “And I can’t just be your
lover
. I can’t give up my whole life to follow you on tour. I have bills to pay.”

His fingers reached to her other nipple. She gasped as his hand scraped over both of them. Her thighs squeezed together. He knew exactly what she’d feel like between her legs when he did that, her honey flowing over his fingers.

“Derek.” He fucking loved when she sounded needy like that. It made him wild.

But seriously, what the fuck were they doing? She wouldn’t go on the road with him, so what did they have? A few more days together?

She had the power to crush him.

He pulled his hand out from her shirt. “You should go to bed, babe.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she sat up, looking fierce.

He knew immediately what he’d done. He hadn’t meant to fall back into that cavalier role she hated so much. But yeah, he had.

“Babe?”

He laughed, loving the way she got all fired up. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m a pissy little bitch.” His hips thrust up, his erection grinding on her. “I’m so fucking frustrated.” He drew her to him, found her mouth, both hands shoving under the elastic waistband of her shorts and gripping her ass.

Those gorgeous breasts pressed against his chest, her arms wound around his neck, and she rocked her hips over his aching dick.

“Oh, dammit, V. I want you so much. So fucking much.”

Her mouth shut him up, her tongue seeking his. One hand found her breast again, and he squeezed, tweaking her nipple; the other slid deeper between her legs, found her drenched.

The fuck was he supposed to do when he had this woman in his arms, wanting him as badly as he wanted her? They couldn’t be pen pals, for Christ’s sake. Her breath in his ear, her hands in his hair, and her hips rocking with the rhythm of his fingers, made him wild with need.

He found her mouth, needing to connect with her, feel her everywhere around him. Stroking her clit, he felt her buck against him, heard her strangled cries, and he wanted in. Had to have her.

He reached to pull off her tank, but she clamped her elbows to her side.

“Someone might come downstairs.”

“Every door, floorboard, and step in this house creaks. We’ll hear them a mile away. I’ve got you. Believe me, I’m not sharing you with anybody.”

Her arms relaxed, and she helped him pull off her top. Holy mother of God, she was so beautiful. He cupped both breasts, pushed them together, and sucked a nipple into his mouth. She thrust her chest out, hair spilling onto his thighs.

“Derek. Oh, my God.”

And then she tipped forward, her hand reaching into his gym shorts. “Mine.”

“Fuck, yes.” He urged her up, so she got up on her knees, and he yanked down his shorts. “You own me, sweet V.”

The moment his ass hit the cushion, her hand closed around him, stroked him firmly. She touched him like she loved his cock, and that drove him out of his mind. And then she guided him inside her. Slowly, with the slightest undulation of her hips, she sank down on him.

His eyes rolled back in his head as her slick heat fisted him. Nothing had ever felt as good as her body surrounding him.

Reaching for the wooden frame of the couch behind his head, she started riding him, hard and fast. Her silky hair slid over his cheeks, her breasts bounced between them, brushing his chin, and her tight sheath clamped around him, sensation spreading hot and thick through his body.

“Violet,” he whispered, completely lost in her. Everything about her. It was all too much. He couldn’t . . . oh, fuck, he wasn’t going to last. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come.” He reached between them, found her clit, and started rubbing her sweetness all over it.

She cried out, riding him even faster, her breath at his ear, urgent as she tried to quiet herself. And then she tightened around him, tucking into his neck and gasping his name.

He tumbled her back on the couch, a hand sliding under her ass, tilting her as he drove into her. He wanted her, only her. Desire burned in him, a reckless, frantic need for more. It wasn’t enough. It was never fucking enough. He wanted her all the time, all the way.

“Sweet V, turn over. I gotta . . . oh, fuck, I gotta have you harder.”

He pulled out, watching as she flipped onto her stomach, pushing her ass up in the air for him, and he gripped her hips, sliding deep. He watched her fingers curl into the throw pillow, drag it under her face. Watched her beautiful features turn crazy with lust, as her whimpers turned into cries, muted by the fabric.

He couldn’t stop his brutal hammering. He just wanted in, all the way in, he wanted her so desperately. “Violet, fuck. Oh, fuck.” The tingling in his spine burst into a fireball that streaked all the way up to his scalp as he exploded inside her.

Jesus,
fuck
, stars burst behind his eyes as his orgasm seized him so tightly he couldn’t even catch his breath. Finally, he collapsed on top of her, rolling onto her side, both arms wrapping around her.

“I love you.” He just lay there, panting, not even believing he’d said the words out loud.

Shit.
He had no idea how she’d react, but her arm pushed out from between them, her fingers reaching for his cheek, stroking. “Derek,” she whispered.

But she didn’t say it with love. She said it with fear. Her touch was tentative, her muscles tense. As the silence grew, expanded, and took form between them, she pulled her arm back. And, Jesus Christ, she looked like she wanted to run, be anywhere but near him.

Well, fuck him. His skin chilled as he watched her wrestle the emotion right off her face.

Finally, she got up and gathered her clothes. Once dressed, she stood there awkwardly, uncomfortably. “You coming to bed?”

So that was it? That was her response to his fucking confession of love? He’d never said those words to anyone in his life. He loved his mom, he loved Emmie. But romantic love?
Fuck
. “New guy’s coming. I feel like shit about Pete. I’m just . . . you know. I’ll be up later.”

He watched her walk away, and with each step the voice in his head grew louder to stop her. Half of him wanted to shake her, rattle some sense into her—he knew she had feelings for him; big fucking feelings—but the other half . . . Jesus, the other half felt her struggle as if it were his own. He knew she needed time. He couldn’t force her,
but dammit he wanted her to break through and just fucking love him back.

When she stopped at the foot of the stairs, reaching for the banister, his heart jumped into his throat. She turned to him, her vulnerability gutting him. Because he knew how hard it was for her to open up to him.

“I’ve never loved anybody before.”

Fuck, he’d never heard that voice, all shaky and raw.

“And nobody’s ever loved me. My grandma might have, but I don’t remember. I remember the flowers in her backyard. I remember the books. I remember her tired feet. But I don’t recall her saying, I love you. So I . . .” Her fingers caressed the wood. “I guess I’m not all that good at it.”

She waited—gave him a moment to get off his ass and come get her. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.

She gave him a moment, but when he still didn’t move, she turned and continued up the stairs.

•   •   •

He
lasted all of twenty minutes. After staring at the old man’s worn-out furniture, still too agitated to sleep, he got his ass up, snatched his gym shorts off the floor, tugged them on, and headed up the stairs.

Closing the door behind him, he pulled down his shorts, kicked them off, then climbed under the covers next to his girl. The minute he hit the sheets, she turned to him, arms opening, welcoming. He came up hard against her, cupping her chin and bringing her mouth to his. He poured all the passion he felt for her into that kiss. Maybe she couldn’t say it, but he sure as hell could. “I love you.”

She didn’t say anything. Not a word.

And the funny thing? This time he didn’t need her to.

•   •   •

She’d
hurt him.
Oh, God.
Violet thunked her head on the table. This amazing, sexy, powerful, wonderful man had declared his love for her, and she hadn’t said a thing. And then when she’d woken up that morning, she’d found him already gone. So, she hadn’t even had a chance to talk to him.

Not that she knew what to say.

God, she couldn’t get the look on his face out of her mind. She’d
hurt
him.

“They fixed the bathtub.” Francesca came into the kitchen in a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel turban. “I just had a cool bath, and I feel so refreshed.”

Violet’s head popped up. “That’s good.”

Her bathtub, her kitchen sink, a part of the porch that had collapsed . . . Violet couldn’t believe the work the guys had done in the couple of days since they’d gotten it into their heads to fix her house.

“The heat
is
awful,” Emmie said, coming in from the covered porch with a laptop. “But you’re lucky because you’ve got breezes going through the house all the time. Or maybe it’s the trees shading it. I don’t know, but it’s cooler in the house, for sure.”