You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) (13 page)

“But you said that’s why we all do it. For the pussy. And that’s not true.”

“Then why do you do it, Slater?” She turned to face him, regretting it instantly. Everything she’d hoped to feel with Hector crashed over her at that moment. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tight. And a deep, compelling yearning twisted her heart. “Why?” She heard the plea in her own voice. Knew what she was really asking him. Why did he have to be the kind of guy who needed fame and groupie adulation? Why couldn’t he be happy with one woman? Why didn’t he want more out of his life?

Why didn’t he want her?

But he was who he was. He was an incredibly hard-bodied, gorgeous sex god. He wasn’t a guy who wanted true love, who wanted to work with his soul mate by his side as they strolled hand in hand through life. He wasn’t who she wanted him to be. And that wasn’t his fault or his problem.

So she gave him a smile, letting him know she didn’t judge him. Because the other artists she’d worked with over the years? She certainly hadn’t judged them. She hadn’t cared what they’d done. As long as they’d kept their hands to themselves, she was cool.

She reached for him, thinking to pat his arm, and head off to bed. But he caught her hand before it reached him.

“Are they still inside you?” His voice had grown husky, and he pulled her so close she could feel his beer-scented breath wash over her cheeks.

“Are what still inside me?” A tremor shot down her spine, and she had to whip her hand back. And then she knew what he meant, and her inner walls clenched against the remembered sensation of the Ben Wa balls. She shook her head. “I took them out.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need them.”

His finger stroked down her cheek, and her heart leaped into her throat. “Why is that? Because of
Hector
? Did he turn you on?”

Her mouth felt dry, and she struggled to take in a breath. She licked her lips. “No.”

“No? So you’re not going to see him again?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” She tried to step around him. “Maybe.” She couldn’t take all his badass energy and heat a second longer. “I should give him a chance.”

“Bullshit.”

“God, just back off, Slater. I don’t . . . I don’t know what you want me to do. I’ve been attracted to exactly one guy in my entire life, and he’s not exactly the kind of guy a girl grows old with. He doesn’t want to snuggle on the couch with me on Sunday mornings, hold my hair back when I puke, and come with me to Christmas with my family. So what do you want me to do? Have random sex with a guy who’d be happy to bang me once or twice and then dump me? Is that what you think I should do?”

He stared at her for too long. Long enough for every emotion to play out across his gorgeous features.

“That’s what I thought. Good night, Slater.” She stepped out of the bathroom. “Just . . . just leave me alone, okay? I don’t want to do this anymore.”

—

As he scraped the razor over his cheek, Slater’s hair kept flopping into his eyes. “Dammit.” He tossed the razor down, aware he’d left his soapy beard foam in the sink like Emmie hated, and blasted out of the bathroom. “Emmie?” he hollered. Her bedroom door was ajar, and he leaned in, saw the rumpled sheets, heard the whir of her laptop’s motor, and took in the crumpled heap of clothing she’d worn last night.

He hoped she never wore that ugly shit again. It didn’t look anything like her.

“Em?” he shouted, trampling down the stairs. He found her in the living room, headphones on, shaking her ass to a Piper Lee song. At the sight of her bare legs, the feminine curve of her shoulders, and the sweep of her long hair, his impatience snapped into agitation. “Emmie.”

She jumped, one hand covering her heart. Seeing him standing there, she tore off the headphones. “What?”

“It’s three in the afternoon. Why aren’t you dressed?” If he didn’t know her better, he’d think going without a bra and wearing those thin little pajama shorts were a ploy to get him to throw her down and fuck her senseless.

“What do you care what I wear? Besides, I’ve been writing all day. I’m on a roll.”

See?
She didn’t have it in her to manipulate a guy. And he totally understood staying in his boxers all day when he worked. “I need a haircut. I’m playing tonight.”

“I like it a little longer. It’s sexy.”

“Yeah, well, it pisses me off. Keeps getting in my eyes.”

“Women love that.” She looked so sweet and innocent, standing there in her tank top and bare feet, her face scrubbed free of last night’s nasty makeup.

“Can you just cut it?”

“Of course.” She turned back to the sponge she’d left on the coffee table, continued wiping off the potato chip and pretzel crumbs.

“Now?”

She snapped around to him. “I’m cleaning up
your
mess. And not because I have to but because I can’t live with the filth. If I leave it to you guys, it won’t be cleaned up for a week.”

“I’ll personally clean it up tomorrow.”

She smirked, gesturing to the mostly clean living room. “Thanks.” Tossing the sponge on the coffee table, she grabbed a garbage bag that clanked with beer bottles. He snatched it out of her hand and slung it over his shoulder. He’d toss it in the garbage can while she set up in the kitchen.

Only when he returned did he realize he was wearing gym shorts and nothing else. He smiled. “I think we’re becoming too comfortable with each other.”

She cocked her head. She didn’t get it. Way to hit him where it hurt. Did she not notice he wore no shirt? Onstage, the chicks loved it.

“Oh. Right. Well, don’t put a shirt on now. I’m only going to get hair all over you.”

Hadn’t she indicated last night that
he’d
been the one to get her hot? That’s what he’d thought she’d meant. That’s what had prevented him from getting laid last night. He couldn’t even go back down to the party after that bathroom conversation had left him painfully hard, out of his mind with wanting her. He had no solution to this lust he couldn’t satisfy.

She turned on the faucet, fingers flicking under the flow. “Come over here.” She motioned for him to get his hair wet.

Leaning over the sink, he shifted until the stream of warm water hit the top of his head. She pulled out the side spray faucet, gently moving it around, saturating his scalp. Their bare thighs brushed together, hers were so smooth, and he could imagine grasping them, spreading them, gaining access to her slick heat. When her fingers slowly scraped along his scalp, desire shot through him with such potency he jerked his head up, banging it into the faucet.

“Shit.” Heat flooded him, and the moment she handed him the towel, he draped it over his head so she wouldn’t see his reaction to her.

Her hands landed on his head, as if to help dry his hair. He pushed her away. “I got it.”

“Okay, but don’t dry it too much. We need it wet.”

He whipped the towel off, and she led him to the chair. Once he was settled, she draped the damp towel around his shoulders.

Softly, gently, she ran a comb through his hair, smoothing it, straightening it. Desire spread, a slow burn, making his dick harden and his balls ache. Her fingers gathered small sections of his hair, and he could hear the quiet snick of the scissors. She hummed the Piper Lee tune.

He wanted to make a joke, ask why she wasn’t humming one of his songs, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. He was totally and completely caught up in
her.

When she came around to stand in front of him, he spread his legs so she could step closer to his head. And there were her breasts again, gently bouncing with each short, quick motion. No barber in his life had ever made cutting his hair so erotic. Each time she finished a cut, she scraped the comb through his hair, then sifted her fingers back into it and lifted a small section. All the while she hummed and swayed her hips.

He wanted to sweep his hands across her abdomen, trace the soft undersides of her breasts with his thumbs. If he didn’t get to feel the weight of those breasts in his hands, he might go mad. His mouth watered to taste her neck and his hands flexed to keep from cupping her ass. He wanted to bring her down onto his lap so he could finally, finally grind his aching, throbbing cock against her.

Slater snapped. Abruptly, he grabbed her ass, sliding his hands between her legs. His thighs snapped together, and he set her down so she straddled him. She exhaled, looking startled and a little scared. His hands dug into the delicious flesh of her ass, holding her tightly in place.

It took everything he had not to suck those pretty pink lips into his mouth, slide his tongue inside, and relieve all this want. He wanted to feel her fingers clutching him, her arms pulling him closer.

He closed his eyes and breathed her in. And then he leaned toward her, his mouth at her ear. “I can smell you.”

She sucked in a breath, her muscles tightening, her body pulling away. But he held her firmly.

“I think it wouldn’t take much to show you how wild you can be. I think if I slipped my hand underneath your little cotton shorts, I’d find you wet for me. I bet your juicy pussy would like my fingers inside you, and you’d be squirming on my lap, and in about a minute your body would go off like a rocket.”

Her breathing sounded labored. She arched her back, bringing those sweet nipples right up to his bare chest. Close, but not touching.

“But I’m not going to be the man that makes you go wild. And not because you’re Derek’s sister. And not because Derek’s right about me. He’s not. It’s because while I do, on some level, like your vision of sharing my life with a girl in a cottage on the lake, it’s not something I would even contemplate for years. Because I’m going to become the rock legend my dad groomed me to be. I’m going to play stadiums, tour the world, make acceptance speeches, and give interviews. And nothing—not even a pretty, sexy girl who tempts me like no one else ever has—is going to sway me.”

She stilled. Her breathing erratic.

He was glad he’d finally put it out there. No doubt he’d put an end to the whole braless thing every day. He’d probably hurt her, but it had to be done. They couldn’t keep torturing each other. He’d done the right thing.

But instead of getting off his lap, she leaned forward, mimicking what he’d just done by whispering into
his
ear. “I can see your arousal.”

Desire raged so fast and hard, his whole body tightened, blood surging into his cock. He shifted his shorts to better conceal the hard-on tenting them.

She licked her lips. “I can see how badly you need to release all that pent-up lust. But I’m not going to be the woman who gives you the release you so desperately need. And it’s not because I’m not attracted to you. You know I am.” Her hips tilted forward, rolling on his thighs.

He could feel the heat of her, and he didn’t think he could stand one more second of this intimacy without being inside her. Her expression, more sultry than any of the seductive women he’d ever met in his life, nearly gave him a heart attack.

Her breath at his ear singed his skin. “You know I can’t sleep at night for wanting you so badly. And you can probably guess what I do to make myself fall asleep. I have to kick off the covers, close my eyes, and pretend you’re there while I touch myself, imagining it’s your mouth, your hands on me.” She sighed. “But I’m not going to give you that release because, while I
do
want to know what it would feel like to have you in my bed, it’s not something I would even consider. I would never risk my heart to a virgin.”

He pulled back to look at her. Was she joking? What could she possibly mean?

“You may have screwed a hundred different women, come thousands of times in your life, but you’ve never once made love. You don’t know what it feels like to come inside the body of the woman you are madly . . .”

She brushed her lips over his cheek, rocking her hips gently on his thighs.

“Desperately.” She said it all breathy and seductive.

Her mouth brushed his ear, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life.

“In love with. So you’ll only ever skim the surface of your sexuality, much the same way you’ll only ever skim the surface of your life since you’re so set on living your dad’s idea of happiness and not your own. Why would I ever waste my love, my desire, my
longing
, on a man who’s only living a half life? I want a man who knows himself, knows what he wants, and lives a life that’s completely and utterly authentic. Not some guy chasing someone else’s dream.”

She leaned back. “Now, do you want the haircut or not?”

—

Three hours later, Emmie stood at the kitchen counter pouring spicy mole sauce into a casserole dish, spooning it over the cheese and chicken enchiladas.

“We don’t have time to eat,” Slater said, as he came into the room, keys jangling.

“This isn’t for you.”

She didn’t want to see him. She’d hoped he’d go right out the door. As ballsy as she’d sounded on his lap—and as truthful as she’d been—she felt awful. What game were they playing with each other? He wanted her—he’d told her so. That should make her feel good, but it didn’t. It just . . . rattled her. She didn’t know how much more she could take.

When she turned, she found him shoving handfuls of shredded cheese into his mouth. “Hey, that’s for my enchiladas.”

“I love enchiladas.” He peered over her shoulder. “Those look great. Who’re you making them for?”

She heard the accusation,
If not for me?
“Not everything revolves around you.”

He lifted a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Maybe I’m the one revolving around you.”

She froze. Her body hollowed out, turning her into a tin can with nothing but a huge, beating heart in it.

“I need to get going. Sound check starts in half an hour.” And just like that, the moment of intimacy passed. Again.

Killing her.

He snagged another handful of cheese, and she whacked his hand.

“Make yourself something to eat.”

“Don’t have time.” His finger took a swipe of the sauce. “Oh, that’s good.”

“You have three minutes to make a sandwich. You can eat in the car.”