by BB Miller
“I expected nothing less,” she replies, giving me another grin before turning serious. “You can do this, Tess. It’s natural to be nervous, but we all have confidence in you.”
“Thanks,” I say with a hint of relief. “Knowing you and Abby have my back means more than I can say.” As much as I’ve loved being Abby’s assistant, I know I’m ready for more. I’ll have to work hard to develop the kind of contacts that Nadia had, but having Ralph, Abby, and April’s support is a godsend.
“Of course we do!” She stands briskly and gives me a bright smile. “We’re a team, after all.” Just before she walks back out, she pauses and looks out at the darkening sky. “Hey, don’t stay too late, okay? I’ll bring the lattes in the morning. I can’t wait to see Abby’s face when she realizes what he’s up to—it must be nice to date a rock star!”
Her good-natured laughter echoes down the hall behind her as my answering smile fades a little. April is only teasing—she’s as happy for Abby as I am. Abby and Kennedy are made for each other. Her comment draws my thoughts again to the exasperating Matt Logan.
My memory of that night is now mostly restored. Suppressing a shiver, I absently toy with the scarf at my neck. The marks he left on me have finally faded enough that I’ve graduated to scarves instead of turtlenecks. I don’t think he did it intentionally, but I’m still pissed.
Smirking to myself, I try to imagine his expression when he opens up my little delivery. That should knock that massive ego down a peg or two. Not that he’d ever actually be able to use anything that small, except maybe as a water balloon. I groan reflexively when I remember how I felt the morning after. The guy must be packing a howitzer in his pants based on how difficult it was for me to walk the next day. Do they make howitzer-sized condoms?
Snorting in amusement, I turn back to my box, pull out the photos of my parents and family, and place them on my desk. Mom was so proud of me when I called them with my news last night. I think they probably heard her squeal in the next state.
It wasn’t easy raising a large family, but they managed. A former chief petty officer in the Navy, my dad, Ron, now works as a security guard at Oakland Coliseum. He’d found a way to buff his hard edges when he’d met my mom, Julie. Mom is one of those premier seamstresses who specialize in duplicating the latest red carpet fashions for half the cost. I smile at the photo—it’s one of my favorites. Dad, tall, barrel-chested, and squeezed into a tux, while Mom looked incredible in one of her own creations based off a vintage Dior. They beamed at the camera, surrounded by my siblings and me. It had been their silver wedding anniversary and they were so happy. I swallow heavily, knowing that just a month later they had received news of my sister Paula’s diagnosis.
It had been hard to find anything to smile about for months afterward.
Turning back to my work, I bend over to open another box and freeze when I hear a low whistle. “My, my, my . . . it’s almost like you were expecting me.”
Whipping around, I straighten and grasp my chair for support. “What the hell are you doing here?” I gape at the sight of Matt Logan stalking into my office and closing the door.
“Now, is that nice? I think I much prefer the sight of your sweet ass sticking up in the air . . . kind of like a welcome-home banner.”
I scowl at his handsome, smirking face. “Are you going to answer my question?”
He ignores me. Instead, I find myself scrambling backward as he takes two quick steps toward me. “Nice office,” he comments, his voice a rough purr. “I heard that congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you.” I stand up straighter, refusing to be pushed around in my own damn office. “Message delivered. You may leave now.”
Instead, he chuckles lowly and peruses my new space. He stares at my Stanford coffee mug, and then his gaze settles on my family photos for a second, his brow furrowing in . . . concern? Or maybe in disapproval? “Big family. You look like you’d fit in just fine with Cameron’s ilk.”
“What?” All I know about Cameron is that he just got out of rehab. And if that’s what he meant . . .”The best thing about this office is that it has a door. Use it.”
“But I just got here.” He sits on the corner of my desk and runs his finger along the edge of the light-colored wood. “Look, I didn’t come here to be pissy.”
I cross my arms. “Why did you come here?”
“I just wanted to . . .” He frowns in frustration. “Um, what do you remember about that night? After the concert?”
My cheeks heat at the memory of his strong hands gripping my hips as I rode him that night. “It was fuzzy at first.” I take a deep breath and face him. “I remember almost everything now.”
He huffs and rubs the back of his neck. “I wish I did,” he mumbles, frowning at his knees. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. But before I can process that, he looks up at me, his eyes glinting with something fierce and predatory. “But what I do remember was good. Very good.”
“Oh.” I repress a shiver. “Yes, it was. Very good.” I close my eyes and take a calming breath. Having him so close to me again is confusing. I remember the feel of his hot breath against my neck as he surged within me. I also remember the outrage in his eyes when I argued with him about Landon Ravine’s band during the concert.
Both memories feel good.
He stands abruptly, startling me. “What if I said I wanted more?”
I blink. “More what?” He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying, can he? It was one night. From what I know of his reputation, he isn’t one for repeats.
And neither am I.
He steps closer and runs a hand down my arm. “More very good.” He slips his hand in mine, and my heart begins to pound. It was supposed to be easy. It was just a one-night stand after a night of drinking too much—that’s it. Why is he doing this?
The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Did you get my delivery?” I’m rewarded by the sudden flush on his face.
He chuckles, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Oh yes, I think it’s safe to say I got it,” he retorts. “Do you have any fucking idea of the crap I’m going to get for years to come from that gift?” he complains, his eyes glittering with ire. “I’m never going to live it down.”
I yank my hand free and wave it in agitation. “Let me guess. The same type of crap someone might get if she happened to open a package of underwear in the middle of a professional office, where anyone from the mail boy to the president of the board could walk by and see? Something like that, perhaps?”
He freezes, confusion crossing his face. “I just thought . . . This is the only address I have for you! How was I supposed to know you’d open it here?”
“Why wouldn’t I open it here? How was I supposed to know you were going to flaunt my stupidity in my face?” I mentally curse the tremor in my voice. “Wasn’t it enough that you won?”
He looks at me with a mix of concern and frustration. “You think that night was about winning?”
“Wasn’t it?”
We stare searchingly, warily, at each other for a beat, and I hold my breath as he cups my cheek. “No, it wasn’t. Not for me. And I hope not for you.” Then his lips cover mine.
It’s like my heart stops. His other hand comes up to rest lightly on my neck as he hums against my lips. The luscious scent of warm leather combined with a hint of machine oil swirls around me, reminding me of all things dangerous and fast. It’s a complete contrast to this kiss; he takes his time, sweetly reacquainting himself with my lips. Heat rushes through me and I can’t help myself—my hands fly to his head to pull him closer, and I lament the loss of most of his hair. Fucking Mohawk!
Too soon, the pressure lessens, and he pulls away. My breath catches as I stare into those beautiful blue eyes. His lips quirk in satisfaction; my scarf has slipped and my skin tingles under his rough fingertips. “You couldn’t have been too upset about my gift,” he notes, brushing the edge of my new
pale-blue lace bra, courtesy of his care package. “Are you wearing the matching panties, too?”
I smash my lips together in a thin line. Smug bastard.
He chuckles, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Go out with me. Please?”
“Why?” I step away from him, needing space to clear my head.
“Because I want to get to know you better,” he says simply. “Tomorrow night. Let me take you to dinner.”
I swallow down my conflicting emotions. “I can’t tomorrow. I have to fly to San Diego overnight.”
“That only leaves a couple days after that before I have to finish the tour.” He frowns and then nods to himself. “That’s fucking it. Come on then; get your purse or whatever,” he says with determination and grabs my hand.
“What?” I ask in surprise. “Why?”
“Because we’re not wasting one more fucking minute.”
Matt
I’D LIKE TO have a picture of her deep brown eyes widening in surprise as I shut her office door. Something tells me Tess Baker isn’t surprised too often. I like that I’m the one to do that, but the thought is also a bit unsettling.
I try to think about the last time I had any real interest in getting to know a woman outside of the few hours or minutes we have together as the case may be. Tess is definitely not shallow, no glimpses of the vapid string of women who exist simply to sleep their way through every band in existence.
This thing with Tess is a dangerous mix of want and annoyance. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. Women being as ready and willing as they seem to be for any rock star with a pulse isn’t something I’ve ever complained about. I’ve enjoyed myself, and so have they. It’s convenient and keeps me distracted from my past that wants to creep up and swallow me whole some days.
But the pull between us is off the charts. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way . . . if I’ve felt this way. Tess’s gaze follows the path of my tongue darting out to wet my lips, and I’m desperate to taste her again. One kiss and all I want is more.
Her hand tightens around mine, giving me a glimmer of hope that’s quickly dashed as she tugs me back, stopping my forward motion. “I can’t just leave because you want to talk. Whatever that means in your world.” Her words drip with indignation, but I can’t resist, pressing my torso against her devastating curves. An involuntary groan vibrates from deep in my chest as my hands frame her face, and her lips meet mine.
“Fuck, what is that?” I mumble against her lips.
“Wha—”
I let my tongue piercing roll across her tempting bottom lip once more. “Your lips taste like—”
“Cherry almond,” she says through a breathless whisper.
I’m consumed with this insane desire to devour her whole. Fucking hell.
“Cherry fucking almond.” It’s a growl under my breath, and my hand slips through the thickness of her hair, tightening against her scalp.
“I have a bunch of different flavors,” she adds absentmindedly.
“There’re more of them?”
“There’s a bourbon one and—” My lips crash back to hers, and she meets every wet desperate kiss with one of her own. She turns her head, exposing the sweet curve of her neck to me, and I rake my teeth against her smooth skin, tasting, wanting more.
“Do you remember this, hmm?” I rasp under her ear, feeling her hands glide up my arms against the worn leather of my jacket.
“God,” she whimpers so quietly I can barely hear. “Yes. I remember that. Your piercing.” I can’t help but smile against her lips. “You didn’t taste like an ashtray, though.”
Brushing the pad of my thumb over her cheek, her panted little breaths fan my face. “It’s a bad habit I’m trying to break.” My voice is rough, thick with want, the blood surging hot and dangerous through me.
“Is that what I’m going to be? A bad habit you try to break?” I frown at her, taking a step back at her brutal honesty. She always seems to know exactly what to say to put me in my place.
“I hope not.” It’s as candid as I can be. The fact is, I haven’t got a clue what I want, except more time with her. That’s a bit of a revelation right there.
“Despite what happened the other night, I’m not interested in being another one of your convenient fucks. I don’t want to be someone you’ll forget as soon as you’re done with me.” She might as well just slap me in the face. Unfortunately, I know there’s a lot of truth to what she’s saying. I don’t exactly have a stellar reputation.
Women are never around long enough to stick, and neither am I. I’ve preferred it that way, and despite what Kennedy thinks about me always trying to find the love of my life, it’s more like the love of tonight.
This whole thing with Tess, though? It feels different. It’s been a long time since I’ve even thought twice about a woman once she left my bed, let alone had her playing on repeat in my head for days.
I meet her darkened eyes that seem to see right through me and hit her with the truth. “You, Tess Baker, could never be forgettable.” Her breathing stops and I love her reaction to me; my gaze draws to the fading reddened marks that scatter her neck.
Slowly, I trace my fingers along her smooth skin. I love her curves—they drive me insane—and her long naturally black thick hair is gorgeous. It sets her apart from a lot of the bone-thin, shallow models that tend to follow us around. Her mouth drops open as I sweep my index finger along one of the lingering bites just beneath her collarbone. “I like seeing these on you.”
She seems to fight back a shiver, bracing both her hands on the edge of the desk behind her, like she doesn’t quite trust herself. “You’re an animal.”
I fiddle with both ends of the silk scarf draped around her neck, lowering it around her waist and tugging her forward. The feel of her breasts pressing against me does more than test my patience. She’s the picture of a seductive dream in her office-appropriate outfit. It makes me want to bend her over the desk and fuck her until she forgets her name. Judging from her palm that’s traveled up to curl into a fist against my jacket, I’d say I’m not alone on that. “You have no idea.” Leaning forward, I brush my lips under her ear, breathing her in. “It’s almost five—you couldn’t have much more work today. Come with me.”
A sharp knock at the door, and the spell is broken. “Tess?” An annoying male voice filters into the room, causing my guard to snap back into place. “I’ve got a delivery, and I wanted to check if we’re still on for coffee, you know? Our date?”
I bite back the bitter sting of disappointment and lean away from her. Still fisting my leather jacket, Tess’s gaze darts to the closed door, and I see it right there as plain as day.
Guilt.
Caught in the act before we even get started. So fucking typical. “Seems like someone’s been busy.” My voice is hard, bristling with anger.
“It’s not like—”
“Tess?” The door swings open and her hand drops from my jacket like she’s just received an electric shock. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.”
“She’s not.” My jaw clenches with pent-up rage, and I lock eyes on hers. “I was just leaving. Enjoy your date.” It’s hard not to size up the delivery guy as I move past him. Eager, excitable, maybe a bit intimidated sums him up. And short—well beneath my six-three height. I’ve never been happier to inherit something from my mother in my life.
Jeff, according to the little silver name tag dutifully placed on the pocket of his shirt, looks as if he might pass out. His eyes are the size of saucers as he gives me a panicked once-over, lingering on my neck tattoo like so many others do.
Looking down on him is easy, and it’s wildly tempting to use my size against him, but I’d just be giving her what she wants—yet another excuse not to see me. She’s probably got a pros-and-cons list going already. I don’t need to do anything to add to the flaws I already know are there.
“Matt.” My name is an exasperated sound falling from Tess’s lips
. Without another word, I storm down the hallway, ignoring the hushed whispers aimed at me. I’ve gotten used to that over the years, although it’s never been because of a woman. Cameron was right. I do love ’em and leave ’em. The sudden appearance of a date Tess conveniently failed to mention is a harsh reminder of why.
Stabbing at the elevator button, I can feel the tension rise and the walls closing in. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking coming here, or why I give a shit about who she’s dating. I’m not sure if I’m more disappointed in her or myself.
The elevator doors finally open, and I step inside, pushing the lobby button, glaring straight ahead at the light spilling out of her office. I can hear a flurry of activity from down the hall, and then she’s there, darting out of her office, hurrying in my direction.
She blows my mind. Just the sight of her makes my heart do things it’s not used to, and it almost makes me stop the doors from shutting. Almost.
“Wait!” she calls out, picking up the pace, although it’s difficult given those boots she’s wearing.
My eyes lock to hers and my heart drops seeing regret staring back at me. But because I’m an ass, I don’t bother to stop the doors as they close.
Straddling my motorcycle outside of the office building, I look up to the sky in frustration. Of course, it picks now not to start. Damn thing. I thought Tom and I fixed it the other night.
A mess of black hair from inside the revolving door catches my eye, and I try to start the bike once more. “Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath, watching as Tess wildly scans the street in both directions before zeroing in on her target.
Down the steps she marches. If she could breathe fire, I swear she would. The wind picks up, swirling her hair about her shoulders, some strands getting in her face before she stops at the curb beside the bike.
“What the hell was that?” she rants, both hands balled into fists at her gloriously rounded hips.
“That was me leaving you to your date.”