With Me in Seattle Bundle One (116 page)

Chapter Four

I wake to my bedroom falling dark with shadows and a cold bed. We fell asleep after a particularly vigorous round of crazy sex, but I didn’t plan to sleep so long. I sit up and glance around the room, spying Leo’s shirt still on the bathroom floor, and suddenly realize I smell bacon.

Bacon in the evening?

I climb out of the bed, throw on a black silk robe and follow my nose. My feet come to an abrupt stop at the entrance to the kitchen, and I’m mesmerized.

Leo Nash, rocker superstar, is in my kitchen cooking.

Half naked.

He pulled jeans on—where did he get those?—but they’re loose, as though he didn’t button them, and he’s clearly not wearing underwear. He has the most amazing dimples above his ass.

His shoulders are wide, but the rest of him is lean. He’s muscular, although not like the Montgomerys. He has a runner’s body.

His hair is a mess from my fingers, and I want to bury them back in there and hold on to him.

He glances back at me with a half smile, and my stomach clenches.

Shit, I’m in so much trouble.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Hey.” I walk to him, wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his back, between his shoulder blades. He’s so tall next to me. Or I’m short. “You cook, too?”

“A bit. You had breakfast stuff, so I dug in. I hope that’s okay.”

“Mmm, I’m starving.”

Don’t get used to this, Sam.

“Meow.”

“Hey, little one.” I grin and scoop my fluffy white cat into my arms, nuzzling his face.

“You have a cat.” He glances at me, one eyebrow raised, as he scrambles the eggs.

“I do. Leo, meet Levine.”

“Hello there.” He pauses and smirks. “Levine as in Avril or Adam?”

“He’s a boy, Leo.”

“How did you come up with that name?” he asks with a laugh, scooping the eggs onto our plates.

“I guess I just have a thing for tattooed rock stars.” I grin and shrug.

“What was wrong with Nash?” he asks with a mock scowl.

“Oh, nothing. They’re okay, I guess.”

“I will hurt you later.” He laughs and then shakes his head.

“What?” I ask and set the cat on his feet.

“Never pegged you for a cat owner.”

“It’s one cat. I’m not the crazy cat lady or anything.” I hop up onto the counter next to the stove and watch his tattooed hands as he deftly makes our meal and the cat threads his way through Leo’s legs, purring.

“Well, the jury’s still out about the crazy part.” He winks at me, and I slap his arm.

“Don’t be a douche bag. I was thinking about having sex with you again.”

Leo laughs and plates our food, handing me mine.

“Wanna sit at the table?” I ask.

“I’m fine.” He leans against the island opposite me, crosses his jean-clad legs and digs into his food. He’s watching me as I eat, but we don’t say anything, just watch the other with smug smiles on our lips.

“What are you thinking?” he finally asks.

“How’d you get that scar?” I ask and point to his abdomen with my fork.

He has stars tattooed on his hips, right over those incredibly sexy V lines, and he has a surgical scar just above the one on the right.

“Appendectomy.” He shrugs. “Not a very exciting story.”

“I bet it hurt.”

“It almost killed me.”

“What?” My eyes find his, and I stop eating. “What do you mean?”

“I was a teenager, in a foster home. I told the lady I lived with my stomach hurt, but she told me to just go lie down.” He shrugs again and takes a big bite of bacon. “When I started throwing up and ran a temp of about one-oh-four, she took me to the ER. I had to have emergency surgery.”

He’s concentrating on his plate, not looking me in the eye, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal, but I can see that it is a big deal.

Of course it is.

I set my mostly cleared plate into the sink and hop off the countertop, take his plate from him and set it on the island behind him and wrap my arms around his middle, rest my cheek on his chest, and hold him.

Aside from my niece Olivia, I’ve never felt the need to cuddle anyone in my life.

He wraps his arms around my shoulders and hugs me close, plants his lips on the top of my head, and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and kiss his chest. I lean back just a bit so I can see his tats up close while I’m not in the throes of passion.

Who has time to examine tats when he’s inside me?

Not I.

There’s script that says
Never Kill What Burns Inside
over a heart held in two hands with flames. It’s totally rock star, but I have a feeling it means more than that. Maybe I’ll ask him about it later.

My eyes travel down his torso, over his sculpted, washboard abs, to his stars, and damn, I just want to lick them.

I look up into his face to find him patiently watching me with those stormy gray eyes. His teeth are clenched, a muscle twitching in his jaw, but otherwise his body is completely calm and quiet as he watches me explore him. In this moment, I forget about Leo Nash, the rock god, and he’s just a man, standing in my kitchen with me.

I pull my hands around his waist, brushing along the top of his jeans, and follow the outlines of the stars with my thumbs.

He sucks a breath in through his teeth, and his stomach seizes, and I grin to myself and sink down to my knees, so his hips and the erection straining against the zipper of these sexy, ripped jeans, are eye level with me.

“Sam,” he begins, but the words catch in his throat when I lean in and lick the star on the right side, following the path my thumbs took moments ago, and then lave the scar from his surgery. “Son of a bitch,” he whispers.

I plant tiny kisses over the blue and red ink, over the white scar of the incision, like I’m kissing it better.  I kiss my way along his lower belly, over his pubis, and switch sides, paying equal attention to the other star, enjoying the muscular line of his hip.

Any woman who says that V in a man’s hips isn’t sexy is a fucking liar.

Leo gently tucks my hair behind my ears as I run my hands up the outsides of his thighs and to the zipper of his jeans and lower it slowly, allowing the denim to fall off his hips to his ankles and his impressive cock to spring free.

He pushes my robe apart, and I let it fall off my shoulders and to the floor.

I grip his cock in my fist and pump up and down, loving how it continues to harden in my hand, and lean in to lick a drop of dew off the end.

“Samantha,” he whispers and buries his hands in my hair, gripping the strands in his strong hands as though he needs an anchor.

I look up as I sink down over him, pushing him all the way to the back of my throat, and then I grip him tightly with my lips and pull all the way up.

His eyes are on fire, watching me intently, panting as if we’ve just run three miles. I smile up at him and repeat the motion, up and down on him, teasing him with my tongue and the tips of my teeth, and then sucking vigorously.

“Fucking A, Samantha.” He pulls me to my feet and into his arms, stomping out of the kitchen.

“Where are we going?” I ask with a chuckle as I wrap my arms around his neck and nuzzle beneath his ear.

“Bedroom. I’m going to have to stock every room of your apartment with condoms,” he mutters and sets me down on the bed, pulls a foil packet out of the drawer and makes quick work of suiting up as he crawls onto the bed beside me.

I straddle him and run my hands up his arms to link our fingers and pin them to the bed beside his head, raise my hips and impale myself on his hard shaft.

“Fuck, you’re so ready.”

“You sort of turn me on,” I respond with a sassy grin.

“I’m so happy to hear that, sunshine.” He chuckles and then groans as I grip my intimate muscles around him and pull up, then push back down and begin to ride him, circling my hips, grinding my clit against his pubis, and the pressure begins to build, my stomach tightens, and I break out into a sweat.

“Damn, you feel good,” I whisper and move faster, chasing the orgasm that’s almost in my reach.

“Let go of my hands, Sam.”

I comply, and he palms my breast with one hand, and his talented thumb finds my clit and sends me over the edge in an overwhelming climax. Before I can resurface, he lifts me off him and flips me onto my stomach, pulls my ass in the air and shoves himself into me roughly.

“Oh God, yes!” I cry and push my palm against the headboard as I rock back onto him.

He grips my hips tightly and fucks me hard, growling and panting, in the most deliciously primal way I’ve ever experienced.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants as he pulls me back onto him and comes inside of me.

I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.

Jesus, what is he doing to me?

He collapses on top of me, pushing me into the mattress, and I don’t even care if I can breathe. I think he may have just killed me anyway.

And what a way to go.

He slowly pulls out of me and rolls to the side and off the bed to discard the condom, then crawls onto the bed and covers us both with the blankets, tucking me against his side, with my head on his chest.

Levine jumps onto the bed, eyeing Leo for a second, and then nudges Leo’s hand with his head.

“He likes you,” I whisper and smile as Leo pets the cat’s head.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fantastic, thanks. You?”

Leo laughs and shoos the cat aside, who then flips his tail at him and curls into a ball at the end of the bed and begins to take a bath.

“Fantastic is a good description.” He kisses my forehead lightly.

“Are you leaving now?” I ask, ready to put some distance between us, yet hoping he says he wants to stay.

He stills for a moment and then tips my chin back so I’m looking him in the eye. “Do you want me to leave?”

“You can stay.” I shrug. “I might have a use for you in the morning.”

He lowers his face to mine and nibbles my lips softly, then rubs his nose against mine. “I want to stay.”

“Okay.” He’s running his fingers up and down my back, making me sleepy.

“You don’t have any tattoos,” he murmurs sleepily.

“Nope,” I confirm.

“No desire?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Gee, you’re so chatty.” He chuckles. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just never found anything that I wanted on me forever.” I shrug and trace one of his stars again with my fingertip. “I like yours. I’ve seen them in photos, of course, but they’re better in person.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you gonna get more?” I ask.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Probably.”

“They photograph well.”

“That’s what I’m told.” He chuckles and kisses my forehead again.

“Are you starting to miss it?” I ask, and he doesn’t even pretend that he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“Sometimes, but I’m enjoying the break. I’m writing music, and I talk to most of the band just about every day.”

“You’re close to them.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah, they’re my brothers.” He turns on his side so we’re facing each other, wraps his arm around my low back and holds me close. “We spend a lot of time together.”

“Are any of them married?” I ask, although I already know the answer. Nash is my favorite band. I’ve seen interviews.

“Yeah, a couple are. It’s not easy for them to be away from their families for long stretches. We’re all enjoying the break.”

“Can’t they take their families on tour with them?”

“They do part of the time.”

I nod and trace his jaw with my finger. “How have you managed to stay single?” I ask. “You’re the most eligible rock-star bachelor in the US right now.”

He frowns and then laughs and me. “Whatever.”

“You are.” I push his shoulder and smile at him. “Spill it.”

“I don’t ever want to get married,” he replies, his eyes sobering.

This surprises me. “Never?”

He shakes his head, watching me closely.

“You don’t necessarily have to be married to be committed to someone,” I remind him.

“My job is really hard on relationships, Sam. Trust is hard to maintain, on both sides. I’m gone a lot.” He shrugs and looks sad for a second, but then covers it up with a grin. “Why are you single?”

I just had to go there, didn’t I?

“Never been even close to marriage and don’t intend to be.” I withdraw automatically, school my features, and give him a bland look.

And piss him the fuck off.

“You’re lying.” His gray eyes heat.

“No, I’m not.” I shake my head and focus on tracing the letters on his chest.

“Why did you just pull away?” he asks, watching me closely.

 I continue to trace the ink on his chest, and he stills me by gripping my hand in his.

“I’m sorry I asked,” I whisper.

“Sam, we’re just having a conversation.”

I shake my head, but he leans in and kisses me softly, and I relax instinctively.

He calms me, and that makes me nervous.

“I was in a relationship that ended very badly,” I whisper. “I don’t trust people easily, and don’t see myself ever trusting anyone enough to commit to them like that.”

“Look at me.”

Instead, I lean in and rest my forehead against his sternum.

“Look at me, sunshine.” His voice is almost light, and I risk a peek.

He’s smiling.

“Am I funny?” I ask and give him a mock glare.

“Actually, yes, you can be.” He continues to grin, and I just want to lean in and grip that piercing in my teeth and tug. “This might sound selfish, but I’m glad it didn’t work out with the other guy because then I wouldn’t be here with you, and I’ve never enjoyed myself more.”

My mouth drops, and my eyes widen. That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

How pathetic am I?

“But I also want to kick the shit out of him for hurting you.”

“Maybe I hurt him,” I reply with a smirk.

He watches me closely and then exhales as he shakes his head. “No, he hurt you.” He pulls me against him and wraps his arms around me tightly. “Did he ever hit you?” he asks, his voice just a whisper.