You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) (16 page)

The screeching guitar riffs hurt his ears. “No. He’s not.” He grabbed her hips and jerked her to him. “You’re not going on a date.”

She pulled away from him. “Of course I am. He’s a pediatrician in Tiana’s office. He could be perfect for me.”

“Bullshit. He can’t be.”
Because
I am
. “And you know it. You’re running scared.”

She stilled. “Maybe I am. But I have a right to be. It’s all starting for you now. If they loved your demo and your band photo, imagine how they’re going to feel when they see you live.”

“But how do
you
feel? That’s all I care about. How do you feel?” He held her gaze, knowing he could always count on her for the absolute truth. And,
fuck
, if that music wasn’t making him crazy.

“I feel a lot of things, as you know,” she said slowly. “But given that we’re humans and not animals, we don’t have to act on every feeling we have. If I seem a little off, it’s because I feel like I’ve been on a roller coaster with you. But now I’m getting off. Because I’m pretty sure tonight’s going to change your life. And I’m going to stand back and watch you go.”

“Bullshit. I’m here with you every day, Em. I know how we are together, and this doesn’t happen very often, does it? What we have . . .” He had to take a moment, gather his thoughts, because his brain was revving too quickly. “Can you please turn that shit off?”

She looked worried. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s for shit.”

Reaching for the keypad, she hit a button, and the room quieted. He remembered what she’d said about Alex. Once he’d gotten signed, he hadn’t needed her anymore. Now that she’d scored Piper Lee, maybe she’d think the same thing about him.
Wrong
. And he’d just have to prove it to her. He touched her hips. “Emmie. A while ago you asked me what I wanted, and now I know. I want you.”

She reared back, cocking her head. “Who are you, and what have you done with my roommate? Because Slater Vaughn would never say those words.”

“Jonny, actually. That’s my real name.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Did she understand what he was saying? Because he’d never been more real in his life.

“I have to get ready. He’s going to be here in fifteen minutes, and I haven’t even put on my makeup.” She turned away from him.

“Emmie, don’t go. We need to talk.”

She stood there, watching him, her fingertips mindlessly rubbing the tile counter. He could see her struggle—watched her fingers curl into fists.

He closed a hand over them. “Em.”

As he held her gaze, hoping his expression could say what his words couldn’t, her features finally relaxed, her demeanor softened. His heart couldn’t take the whip-snap reversal from fear to happiness. But, hell, he’d gotten through. He hadn’t lost her after all.

She started to back away from him but stopped a few feet away. “We will talk. We will. But tomorrow. Right now, I have to get ready. I’m not canceling on him. That wouldn’t be right. Okay?”

“No. It’s not okay.” He had to stand there and watch her go. “You’re coming to the show, though, right?”

“Of course. It’s your big night. Piper Lee’ll be there.” She headed up the stairs.

*   *   *

Slater paced in his bedroom, listening for her door to open. The moment it did, he shot across the hall.

She startled at the sight of him, then her features fell in disappointment. “Not now. He’s waiting.”

Yeah, he knew. He was the one who’d answered the door. “Don’t go out with that uptight dick.”

She skimmed past him, heading down the stairs. He wrapped his hand around her waist, stopping her. Her sweet, feminine scent whirled around him, filling him with so much want he thought he might throw her down right then and there, lift up her dress, and press his mouth on her stomach. God, he needed her.

He pulled her to him, coming down until he was on the same step. With her back against him, his hands on her stomach, he said, “Be with
me
. We’re—”

“Stop this. He’s waiting for me.”

“He’s not who you want.”

“And
you
are? I mean, come
on
, Slater. We’re just . . . we’ve spent too much time together.”

“Don’t. Don’t reduce us to some physical convenience.”

“It’s not like it takes much to get your interest.”

His fingers curled into her flesh. “Don’t fucking insult me. You think I don’t know the difference between getting off and actual feelings?”

She stilled, turning in his arms to look up at him with wonder and, possibly, hope. Finally. His skin tightened. “Slater, what if it’s just . . . attraction?”

“Is that all you feel?” He practically shook her, trying to get her to see what they had. How deep it went. “Tell me, Emmie. Because I know the difference between getting hard over a pair of tits and getting hard because of you. What about you?”

“You don’t get hard looking at my tits?” She said it with a teasing smile, but he knew how important this answer was to her.

He touched his forehead to hers. “I get hard at the sound of your voice. I get hard when you turn our stupid beaver logo into a smoking-hot female weight lifter. I get hard when you say you don’t want to have sex with me because you’re afraid you’ll lose me.”

“Why would that turn you on?”

“Because it means you feel more for me than just checking off a box on your list.”

“But it might not be real. It might just be lust.”

“Have you ever felt
anything
even close to this? Jesus, Em, did you ever think you would? Because I sure as hell didn’t.” Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. Slowly, so he could watch her reaction, see her eyelids flutter closed, feel the breath shudder out of her throat. He kissed her, and thank the baby Jesus, she kissed him back.

The rush of sensation—the heat of her mouth, the pressure of her fingers digging into his sides—nearly buckled his knees.

Immediately, she pushed him away. “God, let me just . . . He’s waiting for me. I have to go.”

“No, you don’t. If he had feelings for another woman, would you want him to go out with you?”

She shook her head, pushed him away, and hurried down the stairs.

He followed right behind, watching the guy look up from his phone. He lit up at the sight of Emmie in a pretty pink sundress and tan sandals. She wore her hair up in a high ponytail, exposing her sexy neck.

“You look great,” the guy said.

“Thank you, Charles. Sorry I kept you waiting.”

The dick checked his watch. “That’s okay, but we better get a move on. La Maison d’Etre doesn’t take reservations.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to try that place.”

Slater stood in the foyer with them, arms folded across his chest, keeping his gaze on Emmie.

“Charles, you’ve met Slater. One of my many roommates.” She smiled at Slater.

The guy nodded, all business, and pulled his keys out of his pressed khakis. As he opened the door for her, he said, “You should probably bring an umbrella. It’s supposed to really come down tonight. I’m sure I’ve got one in my trunk, but you should probably have one of your own.”

“We’ll be fine. We’re just going from the car to the restaurant, right?”

“Well, I don’t want to get this shirt wet. It’s got silk in it.”

Emmie glanced up at Slater, humor in her eyes. “Okay, then. I’ll—” But the challenging look he gave her silenced her, and the humor dropped away. “You know what?” She tore her gaze from him. “I really don’t care about a little rain. Let’s just go.” She turned her back on Slater, reaching for the door handle.

Slater’s hand reached out and gripped hers. “Emmie.” His sharp tone caused the guy to jerk to a stop and look behind him, his gaze going from Emmie to Slater.

“It’s fine,” the douchebag said. “I can drop her off in front of the restaurant.”

Slater’s gaze bore into her, and he shook his head. “Don’t go,” he said, voice a low growl.

But she just turned and left him.

*   *   *

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing? We’re loading up right now.” Ben stood in the garage, completely drenched, watching Slater beat the shit out of the punching bag.

“Go on without me.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m not ready.” He continued pummeling the bag.

“Well, get ready. Get in the shower. We’re leaving in half an hour.”

Ben turned to go, and Slater tossed a boxing glove at his bandmate’s head. It clipped him, and he swung around. “What was that for?”

“I
said
I’ll meet you there.”

“It’s pouring. Everybody’s gotta help unload the van.”

Slater gave him a dull look.

“You’re seriously not going to help us?”

“Not this time. Not this one time out of the five thousand other times I’ve helped. This one time, I’m not going to. Got it?”

“Whatever. I don’t know what your problem is. Maybe you need to get laid.”

Slater tossed the other glove. Ben ducked, then picked up both gloves and chucked them at Slater like a girl. He finally cracked a smile, and the tension broke.

“You want to talk about it?” Ben asked, looking worried.

“Nah. Just give me some time. I have to get my head on right to perform tonight.”

“Yeah, okay. See you there.”

Ben left, and Slater collapsed on Derek’s bed. How could he get his head on right when Emmie still doubted him? It wasn’t like he felt threatened by her date. Emmie would never be interested in a guy who wouldn’t share a fucking umbrella.

But what if she didn’t want him enough to get over her fears? Because
he
did. He wanted her enough.

Shit. What was he doing? Tonight he was playing for Piper Lee, her manager, and her A&R guy. He had to focus. This was it, man. Their ticket to the big time. He couldn’t fail. He owed it to the guys, and he owed it to his dad.

Jesus Christ. He had to get Emmie out of his mind. Worry about her tomorrow.

He rocked forward, lowering his head into his hands, anxiety rushing through him. He’d run, he’d lifted weights, he’d punched the shit out of the bag . . . and he still had enough energy to lift a car.

Screw tomorrow. He couldn’t concentrate until he talked to her. Saw her.

Fucking devoured her.

*   *   *

Showered and dressed for the show, Slater jumped into his car and started the engine. Rain pounded the roof, completely obscuring his view out the windshield. He pulled out his phone and texted her.

Tell umbrella man your boyfriend’s coming to get you.

And then he carefully backed out of the driveway and headed to the restaurant. She buzzed back quickly.

Save the theatrics for your show.

He smiled, heading out of their subdivision and toward the main shopping district. At the stop sign, he responded to her.

Four minutes away. Just a heads-up.

Stop it.

You’re mine.
He sent that one, and then at the light on Pleasant Valley he wrote another.
Two minutes. You should probably meet me outside the restaurant, unless you want to give the patrons a show.

She didn’t text him back. He didn’t know if that meant she’d blown him off or if she was sending the jerk-off packing. Didn’t matter. He’d find her. He’d claim her. Game over.

La Maison d’Etre occupied its own property at the front of a big mall. It had a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree parking lot, the back of which was completely empty. He abandoned his car in the middle of it.

Just before getting out, he texted her once more.
Here. I’m coming for you.
Heart in his throat, he hopped out of the car and ran through puddles under a deluge of rain around to the front of the restaurant. Would she be there?

He felt too much, more than he’d ever felt in his life, and he didn’t think he could take it if she wasn’t in this with him. Rounding the corner, his heart slammed against his ribs.

She stood in her pretty pink dress under the blue-and-white-striped awning, her arms hugging herself. The look in her eyes told him she was with him all the way.

He walked toward her, swiping the hair out of his eyes, the moisture off his face. As he neared, her arms fell to her sides, and her lips parted.

“Fuck, Emmie.” He grabbed her, holding her so tightly against him she let out a huff of breath. And then he was kissing her, finally gorging on the feast that was her mouth.

She threw her arms around his neck and pushed up against him, their bodies touching from mouth to toes. And when she opened to him, when he felt the welcoming pull of her tongue, he went up in flames. Her hips squirmed against him, making him thrust into her so hard, her back hit the plate glass window.

He grabbed her bare thigh, lifting it, so he could fit more easily against her. Their tongues tangled, hands groped, and hips rocked into each other’s. Cupping the back of her head, he said, “I fucking need you, Emmie.”

She smiled against his mouth, her body trembling, and gripped a handful of his hair at the back of his neck. “I fucking need you, too.”

“Come on.” He bent and lifted her, her arms and legs wrapping around him, and dashed out into the drenching rain. She tucked her head into his neck. He moved as carefully but as quickly as he could. At the car, he set her down, one arm still around her waist, not letting her go, and he opened the back door to let her inside.

She hesitated, her hair as wet as if she’d just stepped out of the shower. Water droplets beaded on her lips, and he couldn’t stop himself from licking them, tasting every drop. He leaned into her, and she just melted around him, stroking the sides of his head, kissing, kissing, kissing, in complete surrender. They stood in the pouring rain, his car door open, her hands stroking him, her tongue swirling inside his mouth, and he thought he would die from so much pleasure.

And then she pulled away, struggling for breath. “God.” Quickly, she turned and crawled into the backseat. He followed, shutting the door and reaching for her. She went right back into his arms and climbed onto his lap. Her scent, sweet flowers fresh with rain, filled the car.

His hand slid underneath her dress, drawing her closer to him, clutching her ass in desperation to get more of her. He wanted it all, everything. She straddled him, her open mouth trailing down to his neck, sucking and kissing, as she unbuttoned his shirt, spreading it wide. Her hands stroked his bare skin, and her tongue licked a path to his nipple.