Anything You Need (Cataclysm Book 1)

by Jerica MacMillan

I waited for him to make a move for a while after that. He’d slept in thin cotton pants. I’m still pretty sure he was commando underneath. And I felt him. With his arms wrapped tightly around me, he’d grown hard against me.

  But he never said a word. Never did anything to make me think he saw me as more than a friend.

  So I didn’t either.

  Closing my eyes, I let my forehead fall against my window. This weekend is going to be torture.

  His hand slides onto my knee, and he gives it a squeeze. “Talk to me, Ken. You’re freaking me out a little here. Are they expecting me to propose this weekend or something?” He gives a forced laugh that I know means he’s starting to get nervous.

  Pulling myself together, I place my hand over his. “No. Of course not. But they will expect us to act like a couple. Not two people on a date for the first time.”

  He flips his hand over and holds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure we can manage that. We’ve been friends for years. We have plenty of inside jokes, just like a real couple.”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. But couples do more than that. They … touch and stuff.”

  He squeezes my hand again. “And what are we doing now?”

  “So, what, this is practice?”

  “Sure.”

  I stare at our joined hands, and he shifts so our fingers are interlaced. “What about the other things?”

  His brows go up again, and a crooked smile pulls his mouth to one side. “I think we can manage to make it look real. I’m already used to having an arm around you when you’re my plus one to keep away the more aggressive fans.”

  Swallowing hard, I ask my real question. “What about kissing?”

  “What about it?”

  I force myself to look at him, taking in the planes of his cheekbones, his full lips. What would his scruff feel like against my skin? “Are you going to kiss me?”

  His dark eyes slide over my face, lingering on my mouth, then return to the highway in front of us as he drives easily with one hand. “Do you want me to kiss you?” His voice is low, carrying an edge of … something, but I’m not sure what.

  I force a light laugh. “Sure. Who wouldn’t want their hot rockstar best friend to lay one on them? Just for the sake of expanding horizons.” I gesture broadly with my free hand.

  He chuckles. “Of course.” But his eyes zero in on my mouth again, and he shifts in his seat, giving my hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Tell you what. We’ll play that by ear, alright? If it’s necessary to sell the relationship, I’ll kiss you. But otherwise, probably not.”

  “Sure.” My voice sounds croakier, unhappier than I’d like, and he shoots me a look, brow creased with concern. I clear my throat and give him a bright smile. “That sounds perfect.”

  Chapter Three

  Marcus

  “Good to see you again, son!” Kendra’s dad gives me a hearty handshake to go with his booming greeting.

  I let him aggressively shake my hand, plastering on a smile as fake as his. “Good to see you, too, Mr. Strickland.”

  “Oh, please, please, call me Richard.” Another fake, booming laugh. As though we haven’t played out this farce a number of times. Regardless of how many times Kendra’s parents tell me to call them Richard and Elizabeth, they’re still Mr. and Mrs. Strickland to me. While they’ve tolerated my presence in Kendra’s life all these years, I know that they’ve encouraged her to find other friends. Friends more in line with her social standing. Or at least their social standing.

  Fortunately, Kendra doesn’t share their snobbery. Or maybe unfortunately, as it might’ve made things much easier over the years if we hadn’t been friends. She could be the daughter they always wanted—the prim and proper debutante-turned-socialite, content to marry one of the sons of their wealthy friends. And maybe I’d be able to have a relationship that could be measured in months or years instead of weeks. A relationship that doesn’t end with an ultimatum to stop spending time with Kendra. Because anyone I’ve dated at all seriously demanded that I talk to her less, not help her when she asked for it.

  In short, they always got jealous, even when assured that my relationship with Kendra has only ever been platonic.

  Which makes wrapping my arm around her waist once her dad finishes trying to shake it off all the more surreal and torturous. Because at one point I would’ve given anything to be introduced around as her boyfriend. Knowing it’s all fake twists my guts into knots, but I can’t let that on.

  “Tone down the wattage on the smile, Marcus,” Kendra whispers in my ear. “It’s beginning to look a little unhinged.”

  I laugh at her, snuggling her in close to my side. “Noted. It’s hard to gauge at these types of things. Everyone’s smile is fake. I’m doing my best to blend in.”

  Turning to face me, she smooths the lapels of my jacket then straightens my tie before meeting my eyes, a real smile playing over her lips. “You’ve never been good at blending in. Just be yourself.”

  “Oh, Ken, I don’t think you’d actually appreciate that.”

  She rolls her eyes, her smile growing wider. “Ha ha. You’ve been to these kinds of parties with me before. Plus, you go to charity dinners all the time with your band. You schmooze at all of those just fine without offending anyone.”

  “At those parties we’re usually the guests of honor. Here I’m just a plus one.”

  Her eyes raise to mine, open and vulnerable. “And my boyfriend.”

  Only because I know her so well do I catch the slight hesitation before the word boyfriend. “At least for tonight,” I whisper.

  Her gaze darts around, making sure we aren’t overheard. “Shh! Don’t give us away.”

  I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her in like I might kiss her, but instead brush my lips against the corner of her mouth before whispering in her ear. “I won’t. I promise.”

  I have to let her go before she feels my body’s reaction to her, though. “Let’s go get a drink.”

  Because if I have to keep a hand on her waist, or her slim fingers threaded through mine all night long, I’m going to need a few drinks to get me to the other side.

  Not to mention the fact that we’re sharing a room tonight.

  Three hours later, Kendra and I drag ourselves from the elevator to the honeymoon suite. I stifle a groan as I slip the key card in the door and open it to the large room dominated by a giant bed with a puffy white duvet and mountains of white and blue pillows. Three stairs lead to a seating area with a couch, two armchairs, a coffee table, and a flat screen TV mounted above a gas fireplace. A wall of windows adjacent to the fireplace looks out over the resort grounds. “I still can’t believe they reserved us a honeymoon suite.”

  She gives me a sympathetic look. “I know. But you know how they are. They don’t want their friends to get a whiff that things might be less than utopian. They’re sooo happy their only daughter is dating a rockstar. Even if they would really have preferred me to be dating Mitchell still. Or worse, engaged to Mitchell.” She gives a shudder as she slips off her heels.

  With a groan, she flops onto the bed. “Oh my God, that feels so good.”

  Sweet Jesus, those sexy sounds are going to be the death of me. I clear my throat, looking at the windows, but that does no good. It’s dark now, and with the lights on in our room, the glass reflects Kendra moaning on the bed back at me.

  Running my hand through my hair, I head to the closet where I stashed my suitcase after we checked in. “So I’m going to change out of my suit in the bathroom. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

  Kendra sits up. “Don’t be silly. This bed is plenty big enough for the both of us.” She pats the mattress next to her, then runs her hand up it as far as she can reach. Worse, she scoots farther up the bed and flops back, her arms and legs spread like a starfish. “See? I can’t even reach the other edge.” When she sits up again, a few tendrils of hair have escaped her updo, framing her beautiful face. The alcohol I drank tonig
ht probably wasn’t such a great idea after all. Because mussed and flushed and sexy and inviting me to share the bed with her? My mind is going all kinds of dirty places.

  But Kendra’s my friend. My best friend.

  No matter what my lust and alcohol addled brain wants to believe, her invitation isn’t sexual at all.

  I clear my throat and look into the dark bathroom. “Right. You’re right. I’m being silly. I’ll, uh, I’ll go change now.”

  “Okay,” she chirps. “I’ll change and brush my teeth when you’re done.”

  “Good plan.” Yeah. Great. Now I get to think about her undressing in the next room when all I’ll be wearing is a pair of thin cotton lounge pants. Maybe I’ll keep the boxer briefs on. It won’t be as comfortable, but it might help hide the boner that just won’t quit.

  Only one more day, though, and everything can go back to normal. Where our friendship is clearly defined. And the torturous pleasure of tonight, when I got to keep a hand around her waist as often as I wanted and pretend to be her boyfriend, can be relegated to memory. To fantasy. Where it belongs.

  Shaving kit and lounge pants in hand, I head into the bathroom. I take my time brushing my teeth, washing my face with the hotel’s complimentary face wash. After stalling for as long as possible without faking some kind of digestive problem, I strip off my suit and put on my lounge pants. With a deep breath to steel myself, I open the door and head out into the suite.

  Chapter Four

  Kendra

  Marcus comes out of the bathroom in a pair of low slung gray cotton pants that look soft and worn, like an old T-shirt, the waistband dipping low around the V of his hips. And since the bed is in a sunken floor while he’s still on the landing outside the bathroom, that V is at eye level.

  I’ve seen pictures of that V in magazines and on posters. But this is the first time I’ve seen it in person. He didn’t have that in high school or even the first couple of years of college. And he’s been on tour for the last two years. Plus, it’s not like we have a habit of undressing around each other.

  Jerking my eyes up with a massive expenditure of willpower, I’m now confronted with the ripples of his abs, bearing a silky happy trail that I follow upward to his pecs. And shoulders. One of which is covered with an abstract tattoo that snakes and swirls down his arm and over his bicep, tapering off above his elbow. I remember him telling me about getting it right before his tour started, but every time I’ve seen him since, he’s been wearing sleeves.

  He looks nothing like he did almost four years ago, the last time I saw him shirtless as a scrawny nineteen year old. The tattoo. The muscles. The boy I knew didn’t have any of those things. And all those new muscles flex and bulge as he lifts a hand to run through his shaggy hair. Again.

  Dear lord, I need to get a grip.

  This is my best friend. Not some random hot guy that I can ogle without consequences.

  Biting my lip, I duck my head, tucking stray strands of hair behind my ear as I slide off the bed. I chance a look at Marcus as I move to the foot of the bed to unzip my suitcase and get my pajamas and toiletries case. His brow is creased and his dark eyes are smoldering at me, the same hallmark smolder on the cover of his band’s first hit album. I give him a quick smile, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “I’ll be right back,” I murmur as I slip past him in a rush to get to the bathroom.

  Once there I wash my face, brush my hair, and change into the cami and shorts I brought to sleep in, firmly pushing aside all thoughts of what I’ve gotten myself into by insisting that Marcus share the bed with me.

  But seriously. This is a nice hotel and all, but sleeping on the couch isn’t comfortable for anyone, least of all a guy that big and broad and … built.

  It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We’ve shared a bed before. This one is bigger, so we won’t be forced to snuggle, and I won’t be tempted by the feel of his rock-hard dick pressing into my ass.

  Nope.

  And I’m not upset about that either.

  Because nothing happened the first time. So there’s no reason to think anything would happen this time.

  He’s doing me a favor. Because he’s my friend. And he loves me, in a strictly platonic way.

  With a nod to myself in the mirror, I line up my face wash and lotions against the mirror and gather my discarded clothes, clutching them to my chest like a shield as I leave the bathroom.

  Marcus is lounging on the bed on top of the comforter, looking at his phone in one hand with the other arm bent behind his head. His legs stretch out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He’s all tan skin and hardened muscle, scruff and ink and man. And I’ve never been more aware of that than I am at this moment.

  His eyes raise to me, and his face softens. “Hey.”

  I gulp in air and blink, his simple greeting somehow bringing me back to the fact that this is Marcus. I offer him a small smile and take the few steps down to the bed level. The living area is past the bed, another three steps down from this tier. “Hey.”

  Crouching down, I put my clothes back in my suitcase. We’re only here one night, so there’s no sense in unpacking and hanging things up. I take my time arranging everything just so, adrenaline spiking and nerves pumping through me at the prospect of climbing into bed next to the man before me who’s at once strange and familiar.

  When I stand back up, he clears his throat, but when I look at him, his eyes are fastened on my chest. I look down to see my nipples poking through the thin fabric of my black cami. With an “Oh!” of surprise, I quickly cross my arms over my chest.

  He clears his throat again, and I see him bite back a smile as he sits up and looks down at his hands. “Seriously, Kendra. I can take the couch. It’s not a big deal. I’m sure there are extra blankets in the closet. Or we can call the front desk.”

  “Nonsense.” I move around to the unclaimed side of the bed, dropping my arms to lift the covers and slide in. “Besides, if we call down for extra bedding, word will get back to my parents. They’ll think something’s wrong. Or worse, suspect that we’re lying.”

  He smirks. “Well, we are lying.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Yes, I know that, but the point is for my parents not to know that.” I tug on the blankets underneath him. “Don’t be a baby. I promise not to bite. Climb in. We have to get through breakfast tomorrow before we’re home free. Deceiving my parents is exhausting. I need my beauty sleep.”

  With a snort of derisive amusement, Marcus slides off the bed so he can lift the covers and climb in. He arranges the pillows to his satisfaction before reaching over and turning off his bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness and shadows, the alien green glow from the digital clock on his table the only light in the room. Air whooshes as he lays down and gets comfortable.

  I hold myself still, all my limbs pulled in tight to my body so as not to inadvertently touch him.

  But then his voice drifts out of the darkness. “Have you thought about what happens after this?”

  I turn over so I’m facing him, my hands tucked under my face. He’s just a big shadow, the rise and slope of his shoulder all I can see. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how does this play out? We’re here, I’m your boyfriend for the weekend, everyone buys it, but then what? How long do we keep the deception going? Your parents are crazy nosy and involved in your life, which is part of the reason you orchestrated this whole thing in the first place. How long are you going to lie to them?”

  I squirm uncomfortably. I haven’t thought about that. I was just worried about getting through the weekend without Mitchell cornering me or my mother forcing me to sit next to him. “I don’t know,” I admit after a long moment.

  Marcus reaches a hand across the space separating us, his fingers skimming over my arm. “I meant it when I said I’d be whatever you need. And when you need our fake relationship to end, you can tell them whatever you want about why you broke up with me. Just don’t make me out to be too
much of an asshole, alright? Because I still plan on being friends with you, which seems like it would be easier if they don’t hate me.”

  With a chuckle, I put out my hand to squeeze his, the darkness somehow making it easier to touch him again, to fall back into the place where we talk and laugh and touch casually without pretense or self-consciousness. “I’ll tell them that we gave a romantic relationship a shot but realized we were better as friends. But not for at least a month or two. I need them to get over the idea of Mitchell and me as a thing before I’m willing to give you up as my fake boyfriend.”

  His shoulder shakes as he laughs softly. “Sounds good.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, the darkness amplifying the soft whoosh of his warm breath and the silky feel of his lips. “Goodnight, Kendra.”

  Chapter Five

  Marcus

  At first I’m sure I’m dreaming. Soft hair spread across my chest. The scent of raspberries. Soft skin under my hands.

  My dream girl smells like Kendra. She’s been using that shampoo since college.

  Then a very real leg nudges the giant boner in my sleep pants.

  And that’s when I know I’m not dreaming.

  Slowly drifting up through the layers of sleep, I wait until I actually feel awake before I open my eyes. Because if this is a dream, I want to hold onto it for as long as possible. And if it’s not …

  I don’t know what to do if it’s not.

  Since it’s not.

  Kendra’s head is pillowed on my shoulder, her hair all around us, one arm across my torso, one leg hitched over mine. Tantalizingly close to my crotch.

  My arm is wrapped around her, holding her close. As if we snuggle like this all the time.

  Kendra and I have always given each other affectionate touches—hugs, pats on the arm, playful shoves, the usual. But we don’t snuggle.