The Revolution (8 page)

His touch sends shivers through my body. The attraction is more than skin deep and I’m starting to want to see that cute little dent in his chin more often. I sit up and lean against the headboard, taking my hand away from his.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Did I upset you? I don’t like to lie, but maybe I said too much.”

“You didn’t. What you said was… I liked it, Kaz.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“You’re dangerous to my heart.”

“I don’t want to hurt your heart and I won’t hurt you.”

“I know. That’s what makes you so dangerous.”

His tongue dips out and slowly slides over his lower lip before he bites that same lip and looks away. He repeats what I said earlier, “Now
I
don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything at all,” I say trying to recapture the ease of a few minutes earlier. “Just kiss me.”

A smile runs across his face as he turns and takes me in his arms. “My pleasure.” He makes love to me again and then I bring him to his knees with some of my own tender loving care before we fall back asleep.

The best conversations happen on lazy days.

There’s a spark in his eye, a fire from within that drives his soul. I could listen to him talk all day and night. Every once in a while I hear a slight twist on a word, an accent that doesn’t seem to fit. But he’s entirely too captivating to stop to ask. “You probably understand the high you get when something you created from your thoughts, your time, you own abilities comes together.”

Bringing my knees up, I snuggle into the covers a little more while facing him in bed. “I didn’t know you were a songwriter.”

“I’m a musician who likes to create.”

“I call it blood love. You do something you love so much that you bleed your passion to life.”

“Very visual,” he jokes. “But true. I bleed for music. I do every time I perform.”
That’s exactly what I saw when he played last night.

“It shows. You’re amazing to watch.”

“So are you,” he says, dragging his hand over my shoulder. I love the way it feels, like he can’t keep his hands off me. It’s as if he has to find ways to touch me.

“You never told me what you did before you joined the band.”

“You never asked.”

“I asked you to tell me about you.”

He rubs his eyes as if the topic is either boring or annoying. I can’t tell.

“My life before
The Resistance
was a life not worth living nor mentioning.” Rolling onto his back he takes some of the covers with him so I cuddle against him and rest my head on his chest. “I was living in an excuse. Saying and doing anything to avoid the expectations placed on me.”

“I think most of us spend our teen years rebelling. What were you rebelling against?”

“My parents.”

“Did they want you to become a doctor or a lawyer or something?” I laugh.

“No, worse—a professional musician.” He smiles this grin that borders on cocky, but fully embraces sexy.

“You suck at rebelling, you know that?”

“Ha!”

“So you failed.” It’s fun to tease one of the most famous musicians in the world.

He sighs heavily as if there’s more to the story. “If you only knew.” He looks at me again and says, “Lie with me. I leave tomorrow and want to remember this.”

I nod, letting the topic of his past go… for now, but hoping I get another chance to ask him about it later. I snuggle with him, wanting to remember this too.

I SHUT THE
door and lock it behind me, smiling as I walk into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Kaz and I had our first cup this morning and now after having a too-long-to-be-appropriate goodbye to him, I’m left lingering in my kitchen not sure what to do. He’s only been here once, but his presence has taken over the whole space. And I like it. I like him.

Damn him and his enticing ways.

My phone rings.
Kaz.
“Hello,” I answer aloud while swooning inside.

“I was thinking we should do it again.” His voice is free-spirited and I’m reminded of his sexy smile.

“I’m up for
it
again.”

His chuckles fill my ear. “Yes, that too, but I meant I want to see you again.”

“I thought we were, on Tuesday?”

“Oh, yes. I’d almost forgotten the business at hand, too sidetracked by the business of you.”

“I hope I’m not too distracting.” He’s too much fun to flirt with. “I could send my assistant over instead?”

“No. You’re just the kind of distraction I’ve been looking for.”

“Are distractions really a good thing?” I ask, smiling.

“In your case, most definitely.”

“You can be very charming, you know that, Mr. Fabian?”

“I do, Ms. Kessler.”

“And so humble,” I tease. “It’s a good combination.”

His laugh initiates my own. “I should go before we end up taking this conversation a whole other route and the driver overhears what I plan to do to you next time..”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want that.” Oh my God, so much. I want to know what he wants to do to me so much. I’m looking forward to seeing you on Tuesday. Drive safe and talk soon. Bye, Kaz.”

“Goodbye, Lara.”

He’s cute all right… yep, dangerously so.

LATER THAT EVENING,
I sink into a tub full of hot water and bubbles. I sip my wine and lie back. Closing my eyes, my head fills with naughty thoughts of the rock star too delicious to not think about.

The serenity in my bathroom is ruined when my phone rings. When I see the screen and Mark’s name, I try to hide my cringe. I hadn’t really thought of him in the last twenty-four hours, which seems like a lifetime considering he used to try to control every minute of my day. He’s trained me well and I push the answer button before I have time to think twice.
Shit.
“Hello?”

“Lara, where are you?” he asks.

“At home.”

“You’re coming over, right?”

“Why would I come over?”

“You didn’t call me yesterday. I left messages. You promised we’d talk.”

“Oh. Um. I’m sorry. I had my phone off so I could sleep. I guess I forgot to turn it back on.” More like I was too caught up in bed to even think about my phone.

“Practice sucked. I want you to come over.”

I let out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? That’s it?” he asks, his voice wavering between aggravation and hurt. “You’re not coming?”

“I just want to take a bath, go to bed early, and read tonight. I have a busy Monday.”

“You were never here for me when I needed you.”

“I was there for you every night, even when you weren’t. This weekend was the first time in a long time I was home for me.”

“You must be starting your period. You’re acting bitchy.”

“I am not. You’re just being an asshole.” I hang up the phone, fuming from his remarks.

I finish my wine, then dry off, and trek into the kitchen for more. There isn’t a bottle big enough to tamper my hot-temper tonight. Working my way back to the bathroom, my anger hasn’t ceased, but increased. Mark better be damn glad he hasn’t called back.

I have absolutely no doubt that I made the right decision in ending us. This is the ugly side of relationships, the ones that don’t work out. I slip back into the hot, sudsy water, lean back, and close my eyes again. My exceptional time with Kaz is at the forefront of my thoughts, taking over completely.

When the water cools, I get out, and dry off again. After pulling on some cotton underwear and a tank top, I crawl under the bed covers. I can smell Kaz’s cologne and take a deep breath, inhaling his scent from the pillow, and then smile. Giddy from the thrill of this new relationship and excited to see where it leads, I lie there with a smirky grin on my face and anticipate
our
next time.

My phone rings again.
Mark
. Nope. Sending to voicemail. I refuse to let him ruin my good mood. It’s sad to see what had so much potential early on deteriorate so quickly, but it’s obvious we were never meant to be.

We used to be fun… Mark Renner was coming off a winning season, voted MVP for his team, and had just been re-signed with a big pay raise. We met at a party in The Hills. The attraction was instant and mutual, but I’m thinking it might have been more physical than mental. Emotionally, we’re very different, want different things in life, and expect different things from a partner.

Partner
—that’s the problem. He never wanted a partner. He wanted a shiny trophy for his arm, a prize to add to his collection. I’m more than my looks. I’m not unaware that I get attention for the superficial stuff, but I’ve worked hard to build my business. I’ve earned every accolade I’ve won.

I take a gulp of wine and lean back against the headboard, fuming. How dare he call me bitchy just because I didn’t cater to his whim?
Spoiled!
He’s spoiled and believes his own hype. I roll my eyes.

My phone rings, startling me. Moving to see the screen, the sheets bunch at my feet, sheets that Kaz and I were tangled in all night. Seeing Mark’s name on the screen ruins my memory. No way am I answering it. I’m already too riled up to deal with his shit again. Then the banging on my front door begins.

Grabbing my robe, I wrap it around me as I make my way to the front door. I peek through the peephole.
What the hell? When has he ever come after me like this?
Never. Possibly because I always turned up when he beckoned. My mistake. Another lesson learned.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself and my thoughts, then exhale and open the door. “What are you doing here?” I ask, no patience for this man.

He pushes past me. “Is someone here? Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?” He walks around the living room and then into the kitchen searching for suspects while I remain at the front door with it held wide open.

“You have no right to be here. I want you to leave.”

His eyes narrow, a vein exposing itself in his forehead. It’s one I only see when I’ve seen him in playbacks of his losing games. It means he’s pissed. This time though he’s pissed at me. That bulging vein is aimed in my direction. “What the fuck, Lara? Who’s here?”

I close the door not wanting the neighbors to hear the fight I can feel brewing. “You need to leave. Now.” He takes off down the hall and kicks my bedroom door all the way open. Running after him I yell, “Stop searching my house and leave. I mean it, Mark.”

He turns in an instant and pins me by my shoulders. My breath escapes me as my back slams against the hallway wall. “Are you cheating on me?” There’s a rage running rampant in his eyes that turns my blood cold. I was scared before, but now I’m terrified. My hands fly up to push him away. My wrists are grabbed and ground against the stucco wall, the rough surface scratching my skin as his thumbs rub harshly over the veins on the underside. “You’re so… breakable. Perfect and small.”

“Mark,” I start, my voice trembling. I clear it, needing to gain my composure, concerned for my safety if I don’t calm him down. I’ve seen him mad, but now it’s channeled completely at me. “You’re hurting me. I know you don’t want to hurt me.” I wiggle my wrists until his grip loosens.