Cold, Hard, & Heartless: A Rock Star Romance (Heartless Few Book 2) Page 3

  Yeah, I know she travels the world modeling, but I couldn’t tell you what she did between shoots or who she hangs out with. As for her likes and dislikes—apart from my dick, of course—and hopes and dreams? I wouldn’t even know where to start. In truth, I couldn’t care less. It sounds cold, and maybe by other people’s standards it is, but not to us. Neither of us is interested in Netflix and chill or cozy chats in front of the fire. What we have is as much and as little as it needs to be.

  It doesn’t take a genius or even a shrink to see I’ve got issues. No need for a medical degree to see that those issues have issues. Two episodes of Dr. Phil and anyone would have me diagnosed with commitment phobia and a whole bunch of other pseudo conditions, all stemming from the trauma caused by my dad’s death when I was fifteen. So what is it about this chick that has me thinking and feeling differently? I want her in ways I’ve never wanted anyone, but damned if I know why. It’s freaky, and not in a good way.

  The way she’s responding to me right now, seemingly against her better judgment, tells me the attraction is very much mutual. With that thought in mind, I decide to put an end to the verbal foreplay. I’ve never been a patient man, so when I notice London making not-so-subtle moves to leave, I decide I’ve already wasted too much time with this cat-and-mouse routine. It’s time to shut it down once and for all. She slowly picks up her bag and gingerly steps back, clearly hoping to subtly put some distance between us. No way in hell am I letting that happen. I intentionally place myself just the wrong side of the polite distance away from a stranger. I want her to know what I’m about to do.

  Unable to wait another second before I find out what she feels and tastes like, I take hold of her chin, gently tilting it backward, angling her lips toward me. Then I lower mine and place them lightly on hers; it’s the merest suggestion of a kiss, just a promise, really, yet the feeling goes straight to my dick. As minimal as it is, it’s about all I can handle right now without disgracing myself. Besides, for the first time in my life, this kind of tender sensuality feels way hotter than the instant gratification of a dirtier kiss, or even screwing. In that whisper-light touch, I feel her body and mind yield to me. Yes! That’s my cue to move things to the next level, pressing down a little more firmly.

  As I push my tongue through the seam in her lips, desperate to feel more, she leans in to let me have it. My dick pulses in appreciation, and maybe a little in shock at being made to wait for something that would normally have been a done deal by now. We’re both quickly learning that London isn’t like the other women I’ve been with; far from it, in fact. She’s definitely the first to tell me to call the cops on her, as she did when I refused to believe her explanation for hiding out in my bathroom. She’s got fire, that’s for sure. Right now though, she’s all about softness and willing compliance, in contrast to my rock-hard anticipation and impatience.

  At some point, I must have caught her by the arm with my hand. I don’t remember doing it, yet here is her tiny fragile wrist in my big calloused palm. I use it to gently pull her closer and sink further into her upturned mouth. Jesus! As my naked torso presses against her wet T-shirt, she jerks closer to me, sending a bolt of electricity surging through my body. When I feel her nipples pebble beneath the thin, dripping wet fabric, I know for sure she’s as turned on as me. I release her wrist and loop one hand around her waist while the other snakes up to the base of her neck. I splay my fingers, pushing them into the mass of wet curls at the back of her head, and pull her to me, connecting our bodies from shoulder to waist.

  She returns the favor by stretching up to lace her hands tight behind my neck, pulling me in closer and intensifying what is already a hot and deep kiss. My body ripples in response, and I start grinding my erection against her. She grabs me by the waist to pull me closer, and at this point, I don’t even care if I come in my pants, which feels like a distinct possibility. All that matters is the two of us and the pleasure we’re experiencing. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever felt. If I died right now, I’d die a happy man. Truth.

  She’s an amazing kisser. Or everything about her is outstanding, so kissing her is a breathtaking experience. I don’t know which. What I do know is that our physical attraction is intense, and I suspect for both of us it’s overriding rational thought. She’s gone from not wanting to be anywhere near me to devouring me like I’m the last meal she’ll ever eat. I, on the other hand, have pushed aside my reservations about her presence in my home in favor of pursuing the most sexually charged encounter I’ve ever had.

  As my mind turns to my earlier suspicions about the press and all the shit that went down with Marnie last night, a shutter comes down in my brain. Maybe her going from cornered animal to sexy siren in the blink of an eye isn’t such a coincidence, after all. Maybe I should have trusted my gut when I first found her, and called the fucking cops, instead of thinking with my dick, allowing her to spin me those stupid stories. Had I done that, she probably would have been in lockup right now, and I’d be safely ensconced back in bed, sleeping the day away. I need to put a stop to this before it gets any more out of hand.

  “Turn around and bend over the counter”—my voice is barely above a whisper, by design, not by accident. I feel her tense against me, and I know I’ve got her right where I want her—“I’m going to fuck you from behind.”

  There’s a micropause while I wait for her to do as she’s told. The anticipation of being inside her, taking her from behind rough and raw, almost kills me. I note the anger sweep through her body rapidly like waves across the calm, glassy surface of a lake shattered by a skimming stone. Another second later I feel a sharp sting across my face as her hand connects with my cheekbone. She might be small, but her slap is mighty. Not that I want her to know that. I wince mildly, hardly reacting at all.

  “Yeah, no. That’s so not gonna happen,” she seethes. You think?

  My face throbs like a motherfucker, and I’m sure there will be a mark soon enough. I find the combination of her anger and indignation and my own irritation to be potent. Who knew that a woman slapping me would ratchet my libido up to 1,001 percent? I’ve never figured myself for the BDSM type, but maybe it’s something I need to look into after all. While my thoughts run wild, my mouth decides to do the same.

  “Oh come on, you can drop the little-girl-lost act with me. We both know you came here to get a piece of me. You don’t have to pretend otherwise. I’m not put off by a woman who knows what she wants; in fact, I find it sexy as hell.” The words slip out like a hot knife through butter before I can censor them.

  “I’ve already explained this. It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t stalking you, or whatever you think—” I silence her with my mouth, but this time it’s not the slow, sensual kiss that started us down this path. I press my lips firmly onto hers, all urgency and no finesse. Clearly not the way to go. She pushes against me, and as I step closer to her, I know I have to pull it back now before I do something regrettable.

  “Don’t mind me, just grabbing a coffee,” Luke booms from the other side of the room.

  I clench my fists, so ready to throw one of them his way, and as I stand there glaring at his stupid smug face, London takes it as her cue to exit. She grabs her shit and runs for the door, and out of my life forever.

  Chapter Five

  My face hurts like holy fucking hell! That was the last thing I expected from a tiny little thing like her. She doesn’t look like she’d have the strength to harm a fly, let alone half break a man’s cheekbone. I’d definitely give her ten out of ten for tenacity, and for a few of her other assets. I don’t have long to think this over before Douchey Lukey is in my face.

  “Dude, what in the living fuck is going on?” He’s practically screaming. Judging by his face, he’s about to burst a blood vessel too. Someone needs to find their chill, as always.

  “She fucking slapped me, man. Can you believe it?” I raise my hand to rub the aching cheek in question.

  “Well no shit, Sherlock. I hav
e eyes, I saw that much for myself, and yes, I can believe it,” he spits. “What I was asking was for you to explain the chain of events that led up to that point. Like what you did to upset her that much. Or don’t tell me, this is one of your kinky games and you’re both getting off on this?”

  He’s not far wrong, it was kinda hot.

  Every word is dripping sarcasm, and he’s grinning mischievously. I’m never going to live this one down. As is mostly the case, I’d like nothing more than to punch him in his smug face right now, but as usual, I rein in my temper and resist the urge. I swear to God, I deserve some kind of fucking medal.

  “So…? Care to enlighten me?” He arches an eyebrow, steeples his fingers, and rests his chin on top of them as he leans his elbows on the kitchen countertop. His pseudo-psychiatrist routine makes me want to stab my own eyes out. The effect is more Dr. Phil than Freud. What a dick.

  “I thought she was a crazy stalker fan chick, but apparently, she’s our ‘house cleaner.’” I air quote for emphasis.

  “I found her having a shower down in the gym, brought her up here, one thing led to another, and we started making out. She was hot for it one minute, and the next she was backing off like she thought I was Ted-fucking-Bundy.”

  “And you did and said nothing that could have precipitated this sudden change in demeanor, I suppose, Don Juan?” And there goes that smugness again. God, I really would love to throat punch him right now. That would shut the fucker up. I sigh heavily.

  “What do you think?”

  He pauses to pour himself a glass of water from the filter faucet. “I think that even though I’ve never met this chick, I’m more inclined to believe you’re in the wrong than she is.” Of course he is.

  “Thanks, brother. All I did was tell her that I was going to bend her over the countertop and fuck her from behind.”

  Luke freezes midgulp before suddenly coughing and spluttering, spraying water coffee all over the kitchen and himself. He continues to choke, water dribbling down his chin. My God, he’s a total dork sometimes. Once he’s gotten his shit together a little, although he still looks kind of bug-eyed, he continues giving me the third degree.

  “Wait, wait. Let me get this straight. You found our ‘house cleaner’ naked in the shower, kissed her, and then told her you wanted to bang her from behind. Am I hearing you right?” He’s still wiping drool from his chin. Loser.

  “Yeah. So?” He may be many things, but he’s definitely not deaf.

  “My God, Arlo, you’re fucking feral. It never ceases to amaze me just how much of a jerk you can be. You pull a stunt like that and then you’re stupid enough to be surprised when the poor girl can’t get out of your clutches soon enough. When I walked in you practically had her pinned to the refrigerator. Is that how you get all your women, by not taking no for an answer?” I think in his mind I’m ranked somewhere between Satan and Hitler on the bastard scale.

  “Puh-lease. You know I don’t have to try to get women, they come to me,” I scoff. And on me, under me, around me…. I stifle a smirk at my private joke.

  “That’s one of my standard lines and it never fails. In fact, it normally has their panties melting away, and them searching for the nearest flat surface before I can finish the sentence. Besides, if you’d walked in a little earlier, you’d know that she was as hot for it as I was. Something changed out of the blue. I was getting the message it wasn’t going to happen right about the time that you flounced in like Prince fucking Charming.”

  “I don’t flounce.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Whatever yourself. I’m not surprised you haven’t brought anyone home to meet Mom since high school, if you proposition women like that.”

  “You have a point.” I shrug ruefully. He’s an asshole, but I’m big enough to admit he’s got a pretty smart head on his shoulders most of the time. The point he’s missing of course is that I had no interest in a girlfriend in high school, and nothing has changed since then.

  “But who says I want to bring anyone home to Mom? You should know by now that’s not my bag. She’s got you and Brad to do the perfect son shit with—Brad has further secured his place in the favorite offspring hall of fame by giving her beautiful grandkids. Justin has the baby of the family role all sewn up, which just leaves black sheep for me.” I shrug nonchalantly.

  “This girl’s obviously not like the others, though, 0.126 or else right now you’d be fucking her into next Tuesday instead of sitting here with an ice-cold bottle of vodka pressed against your rapidly swelling cheek. By the way, why do you have a bottle of vodka on your face? Why can’t you use peas like a normal fucking person?”

  “First, I’m not a ‘normal’ person, am I? Second, and possibly related to point one, there aren’t any peas in the freezer. In fact, this bottle was the only thing in there apart from what appears to be a bag of coke, but the less said about that, the better. I mean, who the fuck do you think would have bought frozen peas, the fucking grocery fairy? Although maybe it is a possibility, because if that is coke in the freezer, it looks like the drug fairy has visited at some point.”

  “Oh God.” He rolls his eyes. “If we weren’t identical, I’d seriously be inclined to believe that we were switched at birth.” Well, that’s at least something we can agree on.

  “Although on balance, I’m still prepared to believe that instead of one egg splitting, you’re actually the result of some kind of genetic mutation, like Hulk, but not in a cool superhero way.”

  “Okay, enough with the mock indignation already, douchey. You and me both know you love living vicariously through me. Anyway, you should be thanking me. You look like Mother fucking Theresa most of the time compared to me, and you’re fighting off the pussy left, right, and center because of it.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I’m as successful with women as you are because we’re identical? Chicks who go for you generally go for me too, given that most of them can barely even tell the difference between the two of us. But because I actually treat said women like human beings rather than cattle, they’re more likely to stick around with me. A little bit of decency goes a long way where women are concerned. You should try it one day. You never know, you might even like it.”

  Seriously, fuck him. “Spare me the Saint Luke PR routine, this is me you’re talking to. Don’t forget that I know you almost as well as you know yourself. You love pussy as much as the next guy, and let’s face it, you’re only marginally less of a piece of shit than I am. We’re talking like, a bee’s dick less. Your good guy act is just that, an act. It’s your angle, and you work it. Mine’s the bad boy thing. We’re good cop, bad cop, the oldest double act in the book. And while we’re on the subject—I don’t see you saddling yourself with a girlfriend either, so don’t give me the ‘I treat women with respect’ routine. You’re really not that different from me, it’s just that I’m honest about being a wolf, whereas you’re dressing up in sheep’s clothing.”

  “Whatever, douche. So tell me exactly what happened with this girl. What you said before didn’t really make any sense.”

  He’s right there. “Don’t worry, the whole thing doesn’t make much sense to me either, and I was there. I’d been trying to work off my hangover in the gym—epic fail, by the way—and went to wash up when I was done. I found a trail of clothes leading to the shower. It was like some hybrid Hansel and Gretel meets Goldilocks vibe. Only she’s not blonde, and she wasn’t sleeping in my bed, she was buck naked in my shower.”

  “As you would be in the shower. It would have been seriously suspect if she was hiding out there fully clothed.”

  “Yeah, anyway. She’s in there with shampoo in her hair, suds and bubbles all over her body. You saw her. She’s fucking stunning. Walking in on her was like something out of a porno, but one that was actually hot. I had the boner from hell instantly, and that was no morning glory, it was the real deal. In fact, I’ve got a semi now just thinking about it.”

  Luke groans disgus
tedly, but I plow on, filling him in on the details of our recent encounter, finishing with, “I had her get out of the shower and get dressed and then gave her the Spanish Inquisition. She told me she was our house cleaner, and although I was skeptical, I called the number on the business card she gave me, and it all seemed legit. I figured that since the cleaning part seemed to check out, maybe she’d somehow found out we were back and engineered it so that I’d ‘accidentally’ find her naked.”

  “Hmmm….” He’s looking peeved again. “I suppose the whole thing could have been a ruse to get into your pants. But explain this to me, Einstein: if you were hoping to be found naked in someone’s house, why would you go to the most out-of-the-way part of said house, where you had no idea if anyone would come along for weeks, let alone at the exact moment you were taking a shower? Unless of course she’s psychic and knew that you’d be hungover as all hell and that you’d hit the gym as a result, and would finish at that exact moment.”

  I have to admit that it does sound a little far-fetched.

  “Or maybe she’s just an opportunist, came down to the gym, saw you working out, figured you’d have to be done at some point, and waited in the shower, getting prunier and prunier until you did. Umm… yeah, dude, up here for thinking.” He taps his index finger to my temple a couple of times.

  “Look, man,” I begin, swatting his hand away from my forehead. “I don’t know how it went down, but when she claimed to have no real idea who I was even after I told her the name of the band and my name, I figured she was up to something.”

  This time Luke throws his head back and outright guffaws. He grabs at his chest, laughing hysterically, stumbling all over the kitchen. In fact, he’s laughing so hard tears stream down his cheeks. “Wait… wait….” He holds up one hand while clutching at his side with the other, and he struggles to gain enough composure to speak a coherent sentence. It’s not looking promising.