With Me in Seattle Bundle One (118 page)

“What is there to say?” I pull my arm out of his grip and back away from him. The more distance the better. “Last night was a one-time deal, Leo.”

“What?” He frowns at me, not believing what I’m telling him.

“Did you think we were starting a relationship?” I sneer at him. “You don’t do relationships, remember?”

“You’re pissing me off, Samantha.” His hands ball into fists at his sides, and his eyes are shooting daggers at me, and I have to mentally square my shoulders to keep from sinking to the floor.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” I wave him off like he doesn’t matter. “You knew the score. It was just sex. Really good sex,” I concede. “But just sex. I finally fucked a rock star. Thanks.”

I wink at him and quickly turn away so he can’t see how badly it hurts to talk to him like this, to put that hurt in his amazing gray eyes. I pull a bottle of wine out of the fridge and pop off the stopper, but am suddenly twirled around to face him.

His eyes are feral, his breath coming in harsh pants, and his hands are gripping my shoulders hard.

“You wanna fuck a rock star, sugar?”

Before I can react, he plunges his fingers in my hair and pulls me to him. He kisses me hard, demanding I open my lips and accept his tongue. He licks and sucks my mouth, bites my lips, and takes some more, and I push on his chest, trying to shove him away, but he holds firm. His hands slide down to cup my face, and he pins me with my back against the fridge.

“I didn’t fuck you last night,” he growls. “But I’ll sure as hell fuck you now.”

He attacks my mouth with more violence than before, yanks my button-down shirt apart, scattering the buttons around the room, and pulls it down my arms and tosses it onto the floor. He unfastens my jeans and peels them down to my knees, spins me around the kitchen until I’m bent over the island and gasps when he sees my underwear.

I’m wearing black lace underwear with ruffles on the ass, and he deftly rips it into two pieces and tosses them aside.

“What the fuck? Those were brand new!”

“I don’t give a shit. They were in my way.”

“You’d better have a condom on you. I don’t know where your dick has been,” I bite out, deliberately trying to hurt him, and I know I hit the target square-on when he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

I hear him rip open a foil packet, and the next thing I know, he grips my hair hard in one fist and pushes my face down to the countertop, spanks my right cheek, hard, and plunges inside me, all the way.

He spanks me again and then grips my hip, bruising me, and does exactly what he promised. He fucks me.

Hard.

Angry.

Hurt.

And I hate myself for loving the way he feels inside me. For being so damn wet and ready for him that had I not already been sore from him earlier, it wouldn’t have hurt me.

But, oh God, it does hurt.

He releases my hair to grip my other hip and pumps himself into me, growling, as he comes, shuddering behind me.

He pulls out, yanks off the condom and tosses it into the trash, zips up and stands behind me, panting.

I can’t look at him. I’m so ashamed, and I just want him to
go.

“Now you’ve been fucked by a rock star. How do you feel?”

“Like everyone else you fuck. Used and ready for you to leave,” I respond without looking at him.

“Jesus,” he whispers, and I hear him scrub his hands over his face. “Stand up.”

“Go away, Leo.”

“Sam…”

“Go away,” I whisper and lean my forehead on the countertop. I will not look at him. I will not talk to him.

If I do, I’ll beg him to stay and forgive me, and it’s just better if he hates me.

After a long minute, he sighs and walks to the door. I don’t look up when I hear the door open, or for long minutes after it closes.

I just stay here, leaning against the countertop, and let the tears come.

Chapter Six

~Leo~

I shouldn’t have left her.

I shouldn’t have fucked her against her kitchen island like a complete arrogant asshole.

She shouldn’t have been such a bitch. How can someone who looks so sweet turn up the bitchiness so fast? Who the fuck does she think she is?

No woman is worth this bullshit.

I’ve been sitting in Meg’s town house for two days. I can’t write. I can’t sleep.

I’m fucking sick of myself.

So I climbed into my Camaro and have been driving around the city, windows down, the hard metal sounds of The End of Grace blaring through my speakers, with no destination in mind.

I just need to drive.

I turn a corner and pull through an open gate and stop the car, throw it in park, and cut the engine, the sound abruptly cutting off with it, and stare straight ahead for a few minutes.

Jesus, I can’t even think straight.

I blink and look around and realize that I’ve driven to Meg’s place with Will Montgomery, and she’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over her chest, watching me with a frown.

Shit. She’s going to bust my balls. But I need to talk to someone, and she’s the only one I trust with this.

The guys in the band would razz me for the rest of my life if they knew I was this hung up on a woman.

What is wrong with me?

I climb out of the car and slam the door. “Why is your gate open?”

“Why do you look like shit?”

“Fuck you.” I push my hand through my hair and glare at her, and she smirks back at me.

“You’re not my type.” She loses her pretty smile and holds a hand out for me. “Come on.”

I take her hand and follow her into the house. She moved in with Will last weekend. I’m glad she’s happy. She deserves happiness more than just about anyone I know after the shitty way her life started.

But if he hurts her, I’ll fucking kill him with my bare hands.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

“No, Mom,” I reply sarcastically, and she sticks her tongue out at me.

“Coffee?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

She pours us each a mug of coffee, black, and we grab a stool at the breakfast bar.

“Gonna tell me who she is?” she asks.

Damn, she’s perceptive. She always was. I’d forgotten how much I missed that over the past few years.

I shake my head and look down into my cup. Isn’t this why I drove here?

“I’ve been seeing Sam,” I mutter softly and take a sip of coffee, ignoring her look of shock.

“Samantha Williams?” she asks.

“That’s the only Sam I know.”

“I just saw her on Saturday.”

I shrug at her.
I did, too, and it went from bliss that morning to the biggest fucking mess that night.

“So what’s the problem?” Meg asks.

“We both fucked up,” I respond and laugh humorlessly. “Big-time.”

“I need more info. Start at the beginning. Don’t leave out any of the sex.” She pulls her feet up under her on her stool and settles in for a story.

“I’m not telling you about my sex life.”

“Okay, tell me the rest.”

“I’ve been running with her every morning,” I start, and she nods thoughtfully.

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“It’s been great. And then we sort of fell into bed, and now she won’t speak to me.” I clench my hands into fists as the frustration returns full force.

“From what the groupies said back in the day, you were a better lay than that.” Meg laughs, and I know she’s trying to be funny, but it’s like a slap in the face all over again.

“I don’t fuck groupies, Megan.”

She flinches at my hard voice, and I swear under my breath. “I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath.

“Don’t tell me Sam thinks you sleep your way through the line of groupies at your door.”

“I don’t know.” I shrug.

I don’t know where your dick has been.

“She pissed you off,” Meg comments soberly, and she’s right.

She fucking pissed me off.

“She has such a fucking stick up her ass.” I can’t sit still anymore, so I start stalking around her kitchen. “We had a good week, and she was loosening up, and I enjoyed being with her. She’s funny as hell, and she can be sweet, and God, she’s fucking sexy.” I run my hands through my hair again.

“What happened, then?” Meg asks with a frown.

“I left Saturday morning, and by the time I saw her again that night, she put her fucking walls back up and told me that she didn’t want to see me anymore. We both tried to hurt each other, and it worked.”

I can’t get the image out of my head of her crying on her countertop. Bent over, jeans around her knees, arms folded under her body, shaking.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

“I don’t need her shit.”

Meg’s phone rings, and she frowns at the display, then holds her finger up to me to hold on a minute and takes the call.

“Hello?”

I lean against the granite and listen halfheartedly.

“Sounds like you have the flu. What’s your temp?”

Someone is always calling her for medical advice. I’m so damn proud of my little sister. She’s excellent at her job.

“You need fluids and rest. It’s a virus, but you need to take some Tylenol and watch that temp.” Her eyes flick up to me, and she shrugs and then ends the call. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I shrug her off.

“So, you don’t need her shit,” Meg prompts me.

“No, I don’t. I don’t know what the fuck her problem is, but I don’t need it.”

“So don’t see her again.”

Is it that easy? The thought of not hearing her laugh, not sinking into her soft body, just…hurts.

And that pisses me off, too.

“I don’t do relationships,” I remind Meg, and she shakes her head at me in disgust.

“I think you like her.”

“When she’s not being a cold bitch, yeah, I like her.”

“I think she has trust issues, Leo.” Meg looks down at her coffee in thought.

“Don’t we all?” I ask sarcastically.

“I suppose.” She shrugs. “Remember, her brother is super famous, and she had to watch him deal with that. It’s probably not easy being related to someone that famous.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “I bet a lot of people have used her to get to him.”

“Are people using you to get to me?” I ask, pissed all over again.

“No.” She waves me off. “Until recently, most people didn’t know you and I are connected. But she and Luke are tight, and people suck.”

“But I have no reason to use her to get to Luke. I knew Luke before I knew her.”

“I’m just saying that could be why she’s so difficult to get to know, and why she’s not quick to make friends.”

I cross my arms over my chest and frown.

“I don’t think she has a lot of friends,” Meg murmurs, and I silently agree.

“I don’t need her shit,” I state again, firmly.

“Okay, so then why are you so pissed?” she asks. “You would typically flip her the bird and go about your life.”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me, Leo.” Meg’s eyes are as soft as her voice, and she smiles gently at me, and I know I can’t fool her.

“She’s different,” I mutter with a scowl.

“Go apologize.”

“It’s going to take more than that.”

“Leo, if you pursue something with her, are you ready to tell her everything about before?” My stomach clenches at the thought.

Fuck. That should never touch her.

But I remember her reaction at the story of my surgery, how she just held me, the first person to do so since Mom died, and my chest suddenly feels heavy.

“Not yet, but she’s the first person since you who I would consider telling.”

Meg’s eyes go wide and, to my horror, fill with tears. She blinks them away quickly.

“Okay.” She nods. “Don’t make me regret telling you this…”

***

~Samantha~

I’m dying. God is finally punishing me for being such a bitch and is killing me slowly.

I deserve it.

My stomach heaves again, and I’m not sure if it’s because I have the flu, or if I can’t stop thinking about the horrible things I said to Leo the other night. The horrible things we said to each other.

It’s clearly best that we don’t see each other again. Any relationship between us would be toxic.

I’m an idiot.

No, it wouldn’t, because he’s not really an asshole, and I’m not really a bitch. We’re just two people who have baggage and don’t trust anyone.

More heaving.

Jesus, what is coming up? I haven’t eaten anything since dinner at Luke’s house on Saturday. There’s nothing left inside me except my internal organs.

Although, I’m pretty sure I just threw up a kidney.

I wash my face and rinse out my mouth for the fortieth time today and look for a clean sleep shirt. I sleep in concert T-shirts. They’re soft and big and comfort me. And today I need a Nash shirt.

I may never see him again, but I want him wrapped around me.

I pull a large, gray T-shirt out of my drawer and slip it over my head. The band’s photo is on the front, Leo in the center. It’s been washed a millions times since I bought it during their first major tour, and it’s my favorite.

I slip into another pair of clean panties and am moving toward the bed when someone starts pounding on the door.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I pad through the apartment to the front door and open the door without looking through the peephole and almost pass out at the sight of Leo.

Leo.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as my stomach rolls again.

“You’re sick,” he murmurs and smiles hesitantly, like he doesn’t know how I’ll react, and then his eyes lower to my T-shirt, and his smile widens.

It’s so fucking good to see him, but before I can say a word, my stomach heaves again. I throw my hand over my mouth and run for the bathroom.

There goes the other kidney.

I hear shuffling around in the kitchen and then in my hallway and briefly wonder what in the world he’s doing, but I throw up some more.

Finally, it stops, and I feel Leo move behind me and scoop my hair back and secure it with an elastic. He lays a cold cloth on my neck and rubs his big hand up and down my back.