Die For You: Catastrophe Series, Book 1 (13 page)

Adam nodded. “Okay then, here’s another problem. How’re you gonna convince a woman whose virginity I took two nights ago that ménage is the new normal?”

“Fuck,” Trevor exploded. “She was a virgin? How old is she?”

“Twenty. And she’s got a history of asshole boyfriends who smacked her around.”

“Damn, this is becoming as intricate as the Middle East peace process,” Trevor quipped. He took a deep breath, his surprise at hearing of Rachel’s mistreatment evident. “Okay, I hear you, I’ll—”

“No. You won’t do anything. Nothing. She’s mine. I’m taking care of her. I’ll feel this out and let you know the next step. You follow my lead.”

Trevor leaned back in his seat and lifted his chin. “Sounds like a plan.”

Adam left the kitchen, his talk with Trevor churning in his head while he tried to decide how to play this. He opened the creaky back door, kicked his boots off and left them to tangle with the other work shoes already littering the wraparound porch. He walked back inside, cut across the quiet living room and climbed up the stairs to the master bedroom on the second floor.

After the four of them had arrived yesterday, scouted out the lay of the farm and decided to stay, he’d insisted Rachel room with him. Originally, he’d done it to mark his claim, to keep her safe and to let Trevor know she was his and to stay the fuck away. But he had to admit as he opened the door and watched her sweet form sleeping in the king-size bed, he’d done it because he just plain wanted her there.

After their night in the tent, he couldn’t imagine sleeping without her in his arms.

He moved to the side of the four-poster bed, heart stuttering as he stood there taking her in. His woman as she lay on her side; his T-shirt riding up her bare ass.

His
woman.

He knew he was a huge bear of a man. A scarred pit-bull who wanted his sex rough and sharable. What woman would love that shit? He watched the rise and fall of her chest, her soft skin and glossy hair. She was so fresh and touchable. Silk compared to his scratchy wool. He knew he was too much for this nineteen—no, twenty-year-old girl, but dammit, she was his now. He’d fucked her and that was that. And no matter what, he’d keep her safe. Even from himself, that rule still applied.

Trevor’s words rang in his mind.

“I’m saying we share her at the same time, in the same bed. A ménage. You’re the primary—her man. I’m the secondary you bring in to spice things up occasionally.”

Adam’s groin tightened. It’d always been his fantasy to be in control of that type of situation, to direct another man’s actions while he touched his woman. That one time with his buddy and the woman they’d picked up from a bar had left a powerful image in his brain. Another man might want Rachel, might get a taste, but she knew who her master was, would always listen to his directives, would always know he was right there, seeing to her needs, her pleasure.

Here was his chance at a ménage relationship where he called the shots. And he’d take it in a fucking heartbeat.

But he couldn’t. Not with Rachel.

It had surprised the hell out of him, but she’d been turned on by his demands that first night, enjoying what he’d offered, asked for more. He clenched his jaw. But that was the way it had started with girlfriends he’d had in the past. At first, they seemed into it, then it became too much and it was over. And he never fucking saw it coming. No way would he start down that same path with Rachel. He had no idea if she wanted something like a ménage, or if the idea would disgust her. And if it disgusted her, she’d leave him in a hot second. If it had happened before, it could happen again now, even at the end of the world. And as Trevor had said, there could still be plenty of men out there ready to snap her up in a heartbeat.

And this time it would tear him apart. If Rachel left him, insisted on moving out of their room and chose one of the other men in their group, or someone else they had yet to meet, he would lose his ever-loving mind. Complete meltdown. Like one of those damn nuclear power plants going Chernobyl. He would beat the hell out of any man who touched her.

Mine.

Fuck. He shook his head, conflicted by the feelings tearing through him. When would he ever find a woman who accepted him for who he was, one who matched him sexually? Someone he didn’t have to pussyfoot around. Someone who accepted him, scars and all.

He sat next to Rachel on the bed, swept her hair aside and kissed her sweet neck. She murmured and sighed. He forced himself to remain sitting, because even though he was disappointed at the thought of never fulfilling his fantasies, fucking Rachel was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. There was something special about being a woman’s first. About the way Rachel’s pussy perfectly fit his cock, about how tight and hot she felt. There was something different there, something new. It was simply the best sex he’d ever had. And the good news was they’d just started. There was so much more for her to learn and discover. He smiled. Rachel was a quick learner. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever graduate to sharing, but even the bit they’d had so far, the way she accepted his directions, submitted to him in bed, that was enough. For now.

He placed a hand on her naked hip and whispered against her ear. “Wake up, babe. Time for our morning jog.”

“Oh, no,” she groaned and rolled onto her back.

He eyed the way her tits moved underneath his T-shirt. He’d always been a breast man, and damn if she didn’t have the most perfect tits, like they’d been ordered to his specifications. He wanted nothing more than to fall into bed with her. He’d fucked her last night. Twice. But if he lay down next to her now, he’d fuck her again and they’d never get going.

“Adam,” she whined and cracked open one eye. “Don’t you ever take a day off? Come on. Isn’t today Sunday? Even Jesus took Sundays off.”

“Jesus was a peacemaker, not a soldier. You take a day off, you get weak.” He offered his palm to help her up. “Come on, up and at ’em.”

She used her elbows to prop herself up, both eyes flashing at him with sudden fury. “That’s exactly my point. I’m not a soldier. You are. This isn’t an episode of
The Biggest Loser
. I already lost my weight. I don’t need a fitness coach.”

Totally fucking cute. Like a kitten or a baby tiger spitting and hissing.

“Uh, yes, you do. When I first met you, you probably walked a thirty-minute mile. Now you can already jog one in fifteen minutes. That’s still pathetic. Better, but pathetic. You can do better. Come on, let’s get going. I need to get a closer look at this farm. We might as well get some exercise while I’m doing it.”

“You’re a cruel taskmaster.”

“No, I’m not.” He chuckled. “I’m just trying to help you get in shape.”

“Don’t you remember what happened the first time we went jogging together?”

He smirked. “Remind me.”

“You kept pushing and pushing me until I finally fell to my knees and puked on the side of the trail. And then—” she poked him in the chest with a finger, “—and then all you did was hand me a bottle of water and told me to buck up and keep going.”

“Damn right I did.”

“Not a word of comfort. No sympathy. Nothing. You made me run some more. You’re hardcore, Adam. I’m not a recruit who is going to end up wanting to join the Marines after surviving boot camp.” Her cheeks were flushed, eyes flashing, silky auburn bed hair draped over her shoulders.

“Damn, you’re cute.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He leaned down, cupped his hand behind her neck and kissed her. Hard. With tongue, so rough their teeth clicked together. When he finally pulled back her blue eyes fluttered open, clear and bright. A smile spread across her swollen lips.

Gorgeous. She was beautiful in a fresh, clean way. Real, not fake and overdone like some women were. He liked her best like this, in bed, hardly dressed.

“Okay, babe, that’s enough.” He patted her hip. “You do this every time, and you end up loving it. Time to go.” He got up from the bed and strode over to a group of bags on the floor and pulled out some clothes he’d picked up the day before when they’d hit Fresno for supplies. “Here, put these on.” He threw them on the bed for her.

“What’s this?”

“These are your new workout clothes. I burned the gray sweats.”

“Oh no, you didn’t.”

He threw back his head and laughed at the expression on her face. “Oh yes, I did. When I told you I wanted you to stop hiding those perfect tits behind baggy-ass clothes, I meant it.”

“You picked them out? You don’t even know my size. How do you know they’ll fit?”

“I’m sure they’ll fit you a whole hell of a lot better than your old clothes did. Now go to the bathroom, do your thing and get dressed.”

She picked up a form-fitting top and eyed it with suspicion. “I don’t know, Adam.”

“Up,” he ordered. He grabbed her hands, pulled her out of bed and shoved the clothes in her arms.

“But—”

“Clothes on. We’ll go for a jog and get to work with the other two fixing this place up. Then tonight, Christian and Trevor are hosting a party on the tour bus.”

“They are? A party?” A bright smile transformed her whole face into something he could look at forever.

He reached a hand out, cupped her jaw and swept his thumb over her sensuous, full lips. “Are ready to loosen up tonight?”

“I haven’t done anything like that since…since…”

“Not since our first night together when you got shit-faced?”

She scrunched her nose at him. “Don’t remind me.”

He smiled, put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, smacked her ass and pushed her toward the bathroom. “Now let’s get outta here and burn some calories so I don’t end up with a beer gut after tonight.”

“Like you’d end up with a beer gut. Please, I think your body is wired to remain buff.” She snorted over her shoulder.

He chuckled again, realizing he actually felt happy. Happy? How could he be happy when the whole world had ended? How was this possible? But he’d never met a woman whose company he enjoyed so much, who was so easy to talk to, easy to be around. Fuck that,
fun
to be around. And damn, wasn’t that a good thing since they’d been joined at the hip, going through unrelenting hell together? Rachel was his one spark of hope this whole damn time. He’d needed to survive to take care of Rachel. She gave his life meaning and focus. A good focus.

“Wait.” She stopped. She turned back toward him, the pile of clothes in her arms. “We’re going to hang out with
both
Trevor and Christian? You’re going to drink with both of them like we’re all friends? I thought you hated Trevor’s guts. Now you’re going to party with him? What changed?”

Adam looked into Rachel’s wide, innocent eyes. She was only twenty, and a virgin up until forty-eight hours ago. She’d led an indulged, sheltered, upper-middle-class life, G-rated in every way. He couldn’t imagine this woman participating in what Trevor had proposed—taking on two men at once, two cocks at once. He felt sure she’d reject the idea immediately. He’d have to go gently and let this happen naturally, and possibly not at all. He couldn’t lose Rachel.

“He’s growin’ on me. I talked with him this morning. Turns out we have some things in common, and he wants to change. But he’s still an asshole,” he qualified. “So you can talk to him, sit with him…but only when I’m in the same room.”

She smiled at him. “Well, at least that’s a start. Because remember, survivors need to stick together.” Then she bounced up on her toes, kissed his cheek and sauntered into the bathroom with his gaze glued to the T-shirt barely covering her gorgeous ass.

Chapter Sixteen

“Nothing brings a group of people together faster than a drinking party. ’Specially one on a dead celebrity’s tour bus,” Trevor slurred. He slid deeper into a dark leather recliner, blond head lolling backward, an empty shot glass dangling from his fingers.

Rachel hardly heard a word he said over the thumping music pounding through the bus. Jeez. Who’d turned it up so loud? The bass seemed to be beating a hole in her chest. She leaned over and inched it back down. “My turn to pick the next CD,” she announced.

“Babe.” Rachel glanced over and locked eyes with Adam. “No more Jay-Z,” he ordered. “Time for some Kenny Chesney.”

A fissure of heat danced across her belly. Dear God, Adam was so freaking gorgeous. Tonight, he sported a sleek, black cowboy hat that cast a shadow over the top of his face. She didn’t know where it had come from, but he sure looked smoking hot. Like Tim McGraw on steroids. Yowza.

“Sorry, but I don’t do country,” she replied with a lift of her nose.
I’d just do Tim McGraw.
She chewed her lip to stifle her laughter.

Adam threw her a mischievous grin as if he could read her thoughts, tossed back a shot and slammed the empty glass on the table in front of him. An exotic bottle of extremely expensive-looking tequila, the kind she’d usually seen held under lock and key, rested at his elbow.

Trevor had stocked the bus with enough alcohol to supply an army. And this wasn’t the kind of stuff Rachel used to pick up at the grocery store. Oh, no. Apparently, soon after Trevor realized everyone had died and therefore no one really owned anything anymore, he’d taken a side trip, ransacking some billionaire’s mansion, making off with liquor so old and so expensive it defied comprehension. “It’s the end of the world,” he’d said casually, “why not drink the good stuff?”

She had to admit, she kind of agreed.

Rachel turned back and flicked through the CDs. Letters began to blur as she sipped on her fourth…or fifth glass of fancy French wine. So fancy, the bottle was dusty and the words were handwritten in calligraphy on a yellowed label. She supposed she should feel guilty for drinking something so rare and valuable it could’ve been auctioned off at Sotheby’s.

But she didn’t.

And it was so good, so smooth.

Hmm. Now, what song did she want? The Bee Gees? No. Trevor had brought along the Bee Gees? She laughed. She hadn’t pegged him as the type to have disco. 50 Cent? Nope. It was getting hard to focus on the words… Michael Jackson? Maybe.

Someone groaned and Rachel glanced over her shoulder.

Christian.

Adam poured him another shot. Christian looked glassy-eyed and unstable, his already pale complexion taking on a twinge of green. He licked his lips and picked up the glass with a shaky hand. Her brow furrowed. Someone had to stop this frat-boy nonsense.

She whirled around and gestured with her glass of wine, causing it to slosh over her hand. “Hey, cut him some slack, Adam. You guys are already shit-faced enough. The last thing I need is all three of you puking your guts out in the bathroom tonight.”

Her heart skipped as Adam leaned forward, muscled arms resting on the edge of the table. Black hat tipped down over his eyes. He looked like every woman’s fantasy. “Don’t listen to her, she wimped out a long time ago,” he said with a deep, manly voice that sent red-hot signals to all her female parts. “Are you going to be a sissy, Christian, or are going to man up and take that shot?”

The men were having a pissing contest, trying to see who could drink each other under the table first. She’d joined them, but then quickly wimped out because throwing up in the toilet wasn’t her idea of fun.

Christian’s eyes darkened with resolve. He cut her a glance. She shook her head vigorously.
Don’t do it!
she mouthed. Christian ignored her, picked up the glass and gulped down the liquid with a loud gasp. “Ten,” he shouted and slammed his glass on the table. “Take
that
, you rat bastards.”

Adam threw back his head and laughed. Deep belly laughs.

It looked good on him.

Trevor sat up and rejoined the conversation. “Ah, shit. Now we’re all even. Fuck, Christian. I thought it was going to be a hell of a lot easier to drink you under the table.”

Christian shrugged. “It’s well known that Armenians can hold their liquor.”

“You’re Armenian?” The words rolled off Rachel’s tongue before she could stop them. “I didn’t know that. I mean, you don’t
look
Armenian.” Like she was an expert on all things Armenian? She wanted to kick herself.

“I was born in Armenia, my last name’s Torossian and I look like I could hang out with the Kardashians. You can’t get much more Armenian than that.” He grinned at her.

She smiled at Christian, happy to see him relax, even if it was the alcohol talking. She studied him then, analyzed his dark hair, hawk-like nose, large brown eyes, pale skin with a hint of olive tone, and thought about it for a second… “Oh my gosh, you
do
look like a Kardashian. Like you could be their older brother.”

He laughed. Actually laughed. “So I’ve heard.”

Adam crossed his arms over his chest. “Armenians can’t hold their liquor any better than Mexicans, or Russians for that matter. I’ve drank with British, German and Russian soldiers, and I’m telling you, no one can out-drink a Russian.”

“Hey, my ancestors survived the Armenian Genocide, and I survived the damn apocalypse.” Christian threw an arm out. “After that, drinking amateurs like you two under the table should be a snap.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

“Is that so?” Adam growled. “Well, my last name’s Sanchez, so I’m throwing one down for the Hispanics of the world. Armenians vs. Mexicans. May the best man win.”

Trevor managed to push himself off his chair and stand up straight, a lock of long blond hair falling in his face. “Oh, hell no. Christian did
not
just say that. Hand me the bottle. I’m throwing down too. We’ll see who’s an amateur. I’m representing all the white guys who ever lived. I’m not Russian, but Okies can kick your ass.”

“And I’m representing all the women from right over here with my little bottle of wine,” Rachel yelled out and saluted them with her glass.

“You do that, honey.” Trevor winked at her.

Rachel smiled back. She pushed a CD into the Bose system, reclined on the leather couch that lined the wall opposite from the men and smiled indulgently. Maybe living with Christian and Trevor wouldn’t be so bad.

Rachel looked up and her gaze collided with Adam’s. Again. He’d been watching her all night. There were two other men on the bus, but Adam was the only man she saw. Really saw. His eyes darkened, and he gave her a slow, suggestive smile that caused her nipples to harden and warmth to pool between her thighs.

Oh, yeah, she was getting some tonight.

Adam turned away to answer a question, and she watched the men reload their drinks, arranging three full shots on their small table, laughing and joking with each other. She loved their male-bonding vibe. The cold war had ended, and Trevor and Adam had reached some sort of détente. Trevor had seemed scary when she’d first met him, but he was growing on her too. So having her men—she laughed to herself,
her
men? Since when were they her men? Having all three of
her men
happy and together, enjoying each other and getting along…this was good, very good.

And then Trevor suddenly flopped onto the couch.
Right
next to her.

Her breath caught in her throat.

What the hell? She cut him a sharp glance. Nothing good would come from this. Her eyes darted to Adam, waiting for his reaction. Adam’s gaze slid over them both and lingered on Trevor. He paused, as if he were making some sort of important decision, gave Trevor a curt nod and looked away.

She tensed. What was that, some kind of secret guy code?

Trevor had hit it hard that first day, trying his best to lure her away from Adam. But she’d shot him down. Since then, he’d flirted, he’d charmed, but he hadn’t crossed the line. But now he was sitting next to her, leaning into her, all man, all handsome and all bad-boy dangerous.

Yikes.

Since Adam had been no help
whatsoever
, she took a sip of wine and looked away, trying to pretend Trevor wasn’t there.

“Rachel.” He placed a hand on her thigh.

She sighed. How was she going to break this to him, again, without being rude? “Trevor, I don’t think…” She flicked a glance at Adam again, hoping for some support, but he was talking to Christian, and the two of them were casual, relaxed, as if nothing strange was going on over here. How could he possibly be okay with another man hitting on her, right in front of him? What happened to
what’s mine is mine
? Why wasn’t he already up in Trevor’s face?

This was crazy.

She turned back toward Trevor, gazed into his fantastic blue eyes and got stuck. They pulled her in like a tractor beam. He grinned and she was gone, unable to shake his extreme magnetism. What woman would be able to? Trevor was certainly swoon-worthy material in his own right, a movie star in the making.

Oh wow, how insane was this new world? Men rarely hit on her like this in her old life, and certainly not men who looked like Trevor or Adam. Yeah, she’d weighed an additional sixty pounds back then, but still…

Trevor’s gaze took her in, concentrating on her chest and sliding up to her hair where his eyes seemed to soften. “You’re beautiful, Rachel.”

She blinked. What? He didn’t just say… “Beautiful? Thank you, that’s nice, but I—”

“And sexy.” His arm went behind her shoulders.

“Sexy?” She snorted into her glass of wine. “Now I know you’re really drunk.”

He leaned close, not touching her, but she was hyper aware of his gaze, which was glued to her tits. “Um, hello? My face is up here.”

His head lifted and his eyes glinted. “Your tits are stunning.”

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine. “Oh gosh, not you too. Adam says the same thing.”

A smile flashed across Trevor’s face. “Great minds think alike.”

“It’s just the tank top.”

He crooked an eyebrow. “The tank top?”

“I know you think I’m sexy, but I’m really not.” She turned toward him. “Let me explain.” Uh oh. The poor guy had no idea what he was in for. She always talked too much when she drank. No one would ever need to waterboard
her
to reveal state secrets. All they’d have to do was get her drunk.

“You see, Trevor, just before the outbreak, I lost sixty pounds. Then I was taking care of my parents, my sister, freaking out over everyone dying, the world ending, you know? So I was going around in a lot of my old clothes, and they were all baggy, which is how I used to like my clothes anyway when I was heavier, so it didn’t bug me. But yesterday, I picked up this awesome sequined tank—” she plucked at her magnificent shirt, “—in the juniors section at Macy’s.” She leaned in close. “The
juniors
section. Kinda cool. Anyway, Adam threw out my old clothes, and he’s making me wear things that fit now, so I wore this tonight. And…and…this is form fitting and it’s just so pretty, isn’t it? It’s like magic. It makes me look better than I really am. So you see, it’s not me, it’s the tank top. Tomorrow, I could throw on another over-sized T-shirt and you’d never know the difference.”

“Stop.” He held a hand up. “You’re telling me you don’t think you’re sexy and you think I’m just mesmerized by your shirt?”

“Yes.” She nodded solemnly. “Oh, and you think I might be the last woman on Earth, so I’m looking pretty darn good to you, and on top of that, you’ve got your beer goggles on, so I look all sparkly and shiny. Believe me, a few months ago, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s fucked up.”

“Trevor,” Christian said, cutting into their conversation. “Get your ass over here and take your shot.”

Trevor leaned in close. Close enough for her to notice how his eyes were a curious blend of electric blue mixed with hints of navy.

Wow.

“Rachel, you’ve got great fucking tits, ass and hair. Men die for that shit. Learn how to work it.” She watched him, slack jawed, as he stood up and rejoined the others.

Her shaky hand reached for the bottle and poured the last bit of wine into her glass. Trevor wasn’t right. She was…sexy and beautiful? Come on. She’d lost some weight and now her breasts were suddenly the topic of conversation? She glanced down at her chest, wondering what all the commotion was about. She lifted her gaze and locked eyes with Adam.

Heat rushed up her neck and face.
Great.
He’d seen her checking out her own chest. She was such a nerd.

And why had Adam allowed Trevor to make a move on her, had almost seemed to condone it?

Rachel bit her lip and closed her eyes, avoiding Adam, avoiding everything.

She couldn’t deal with this. Seduction and flirtation were foreign concepts to her. While at college, after Justin had dumped her, she’d always partied with girlfriends and their boyfriends, gay-guy friends and guys who were friends of friends and safe. So she was a complete novice when it came to flirting and sexual innuendo. Not that that was bad, right?

The darkness behind her eyes swirled around her, drowning out her environment. God, it felt good to let it go, let it all go. All the weight, the responsibility of being amongst the last survivors on Earth and trying to start a new life. All the gut-twisting uncertainty, the despair and loss of hope.

She let go of the anguish over whether Adam really wanted
her
or was just settling because she was the only woman available, and whether he would drop her like a hot potato the moment he met someone better. Someone older and more experienced.

She just let that go.

It was all leaving, floating away. She felt light, weightless.

Marvin Gaye played and the men’s voices were a low, relaxing hum in the background…

Rachel blinked, surprised and disoriented. She sat up fast and put a hand to her fuzzy head. Where was she? What had happened? Had she drifted off for a second? An empty wineglass rolled off her lap and thumped to the floor. She ignored it.