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  There is usually no middle ground there, and I don’t give a fuck either way.

  She takes a deep, shaky breath and looks up into my face, her eyes a little brighter and pink lips slightly parted. Definitely turned on.

  I can work with this.

  I lift my hand to her cheek but she flinches, and I can’t help the surge of pure anger at her reaction. Who the fuck put that in her?

  “Easy.” I pull some lint out of her hair and show it to her before letting it drop to the ground.

  “Sorry,” she whispers.

  “So, what do you do for fun?” I ask.

  “Why?” she asks, her eyes narrowed.

  “Because I don’t know you very well, and we’re sharing a porch, so we might as well have a conversation.” God, she’s so cold.

  What would it take to warm her up?

  “I run.” She shrugs.

  “Run?” I ask.

  “Yes, you know, where you put on sneakers and move quickly in a forward motion?”

  She’s fucking adorable when she’s being sarcastic. She has a great, raspy voice, lower for a woman. She’s not squeaky at all. I can’t imagine her ever yelling, “Wooot!” when she’s drunk.

  Her voice is fucking amazing.

  “I do understand the concept, yes, but what kind of running do you do?”

  “Marathons.”

  My eyes travel down her small, firm body. She’s skinnier than I usually like, but she’s toned. I remember how her slim arms felt in my hands the other day and how light she was to pull to her feet.

  She loves to run.

  So do I.

  Maybe we have stuff in common after all. I wonder what kind of music she listens to.

  “How long have you been running marathons?” I ask and motion for her to sit beside me on the stairs.

  “Since high school. I ran track, and there are some great marathons here in Seattle throughout the year.”

  “I know, I’ve run in some of them.” I nod and lean back on my elbows.

  “You run too?” Her eyes are wide and happy, and I see those walls slowly begin to come down.

  “When I find time, yeah. I prefer running outside, but when we’re on tour I have to take advantage of the hotel gyms.”

  “I run outside too. Running on a treadmill is not the same thing.” She nods and offers me a half smile and my breath leaves me. Samantha Williams is beautiful, with her light blonde hair and big blue eyes, but when she smiles, she could make the gods weep.

  I might have to write a song about her smile.

  “I usually run in the mornings before the city wakes up,” she adds and I frown down at her.

  “Where do you live?” I ask.

  “Downtown,” she replies vaguely.

  “Downtown in which city?” I ask with growing impatience.

  “Seattle,” she responds and scowls at me. “Why?”

  I have to take a deep breath before I yell at her. “Do you mean to tell me that you run in downtown Seattle in the early morning? Do you have a partner?”

  “Yes, I run in the early morning. Alone.”

  I shake my head and run my hands down my face, trying to push down this sudden need to protect this little spitfire.

  “That’s dangerous,” I mutter.

  “What, are you gonna be my bodyguard, Mr. Famous Rockstar?” She asks, her voice heavy with sarcasm, and I can’t help but laugh at her. She’s funny, and smart.

  “Actually, yeah, I think I will.” Well, that wipes the smirk off her face, and she flounders for a second, her mouth dropping open and then closed, not sure what to say, until finally she pulls herself together and eyes me warily.

  “Sure. Okay, you wanna run with me, that’s fine. But I won’t slow my pace for you, just so you know. You’ll have to keep up.”

  “Okay.” I smile at her softly and inch closer to her.

  “I usually run at 6:00 a.m., but,” she loses her train of thought as her eyes settle on my lips, on my piercing. Yeah, she likes the tats and the metal.

  And I like her. A lot.

  “But?” I prompt her.

  “Huh?” She looks up into my eyes, and then clears her throat and I can’t stop the wide grin on my face as I watch her cheeks redden. “But since I don’t have to be at work anymore, I figured I’d run at about seven. Is that too early for you? I figure you probably go to bed around that time.”

  “No, I’m a morning person,” I run my finger down her cheek, happy that this time she leans into me rather than flinch. “I’ll be at your place at seven. Text me your address.”

  “I don’t have your number,” she whispers.

  “I have yours,” I murmur. “I’ll text you so you have mine.”

  “Why do you have my number?” Her eyes are back on my mouth now, our breathing ragged.

  “I asked Meg for it. I was going to call you to check on your car.”

  “Oh.”

  She licks her lips and I can’t stand it anymore. I cup her smooth neck in my hand, my thumb firmly planted on her chin, and nibble the side of her mouth, sweep across those plump, pink lips and nibble the other side and wonder if the lips of her pussy are this pink.

  She sighs with a low moan as I sink into her, persuading her mouth open with my tongue and enjoy her. She’s sexy sunshine and I soak her in, enjoying every breath, every tentative flick of her tongue against mine.

  She grips onto my hips, anchoring herself against me, and I wrap my other arm around the small of her back, pulling her tightly against me.

  Her nipples pucker against my chest and I grin as I slow the kiss down, rub my nose on hers, and kiss her forehead, still holding her.

  “What was that?” she whispers.

  “If you have to ask, I didn’t do it right.”

  She chuckles, leans her forehead against my sternum and then leans back to look up at me.

  She’s so small.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable. All the men just inside the house would kick my ass if they saw me holding her, kissing the shit out of her, and I couldn’t blame them.

  But I can’t seem to stay away from her.

  “You’re kissable.”

  “There you are!”

  We jump apart guiltily at the sound of Meg’s voice in the doorway. She’s smiling happily, not at all angry for finding me in a compromising position with her friend, and I exhale in relief.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Meg tells us.

  “Good, I’m starving.” I wink at Sam, enjoying the blush on her cheeks. “Seven tomorrow.”

  “Seven,” she murmurs as I saunter inside, looking forward to tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  ~Samantha~

  I plug my earphones into my ears, que up the playlist that I’ve titled sweat on my iPhone and tuck it into my bra, pin my condo key in there as well so it doesn’t fall through my cleavage and pull my front door closed behind me. I’m in black yoga pants, a pink tank and a light pink hoodie to ward off the chilly Seattle winter day. I’ve already stretched, so it’s time to run and clear my head.

  As I jog down the stairs, rather than take the elevator, I can’t help but think of Leo. I knew he wouldn’t show up this morning to run. Who the hell was he kidding last night? And what in the name of Moses was up with him kissing me like that?

  It’s best if I just forget all about that kiss and focus on finding a job.

  I jog through the lobby of my building and wave at Frank the doorman; turn left on the sidewalk and set out, Adam Levine’s smooth voice heavy in my ears, asking me to give him one more night.

  No problem, Adam.

  Suddenly, there’s movement on my right and I startle, my heart climbs into my throat and I let out a yelp and stumble. Strong hands grip my upper arms, keeping me upright, and I look up into humor-filled gray eyes.

  “What the hell?” I stammer and pull the plugs out of my ears.

  “I told you I’d meet you this morning.”

>   “I didn’t think you’d show,” I respond and resume running, tucking my ear buds in my bra.

  “Interesting storage system you have there,” Leo remarks with a grin, blatantly looking down at my breasts and I can’t help but laugh with him.

  “I can’t carry a purse while I run.” I shrug and look at him out of the corner of my eye. Really? Does he have to look this good at seven in the damn morning?

  He’s much taller than my five foot two; at least a foot taller. He’s in basketball shorts and sneakers and a black long-sleeved t-shirt under a red short-sleeved t-shirt. I’m a little disappointed that only the tats on his hands are visible.

  I’d like to trace his tattoos, with my fingers and my tongue.

  Enough!

  We run in silence for about four blocks.

  “Do you want to know how far I’m going?” I ask him, pleased that I’m barely panting.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he responds. He’s also barely panting.

  Well, hell.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because I’ll run as far as you want.”

  “Okay.” I smirk and pick up my pace, my body warmed now and ready to just go. He easily matches my pace. I wouldn’t admit it to him right now, but it feels good to have someone next to me while I run. No one has ever been interested in running with me before. It does make me feel safer, even if we aren’t talking, just breathing and running side-by-side.

  “You can plug your tunes back in if you want.” He smiles over at me.

  “It’s okay.” I wave him off and continue running. I kind of like hearing him breathe.

  “What were you listening to?”

  “It was a Maroon5 song.” I smile at him. What is it about this guy that makes me feel so comfortable?

  “Maroon5 fan?” He asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who’s your favorite band?” He asks with a curious grin.

  Nash.

  I am so not telling him that. Instead I shrug again and try to think of another band. Damn, it’s hard when he’s so close I can smell him.

  He smells bloody fantastic.

  “I like all kinds of music. No one band in particular.”

  “Me too,” I hear the smile in his voice. “You were right, running at this time in the morning is great.”

  “I know. It’s relatively quiet, and I don’t even mind that it’s rainy. Are you ready to speed up again?”

  “Of course, I’m just following your lead.”

  I pick up the pace once again, and we are now running at a fast clip. My breathing is coming fast enough that it’s difficult to talk, and I can hear that it’s the same for him, so we fall silent and just enjoy the run, the constant thud, thud, thud of our feet hitting the pavement in perfect sync. I don’t care that it’s drizzling lightly, that my cheeks and the tip of my nose are cold. I wipe my nose on my hoodie and keep going.

  I told myself last night while in bed thinking about this sexy rock star and his delicious kisses that I’d give him a run for his money today, but damn if I’m not enjoying myself.

  Three miles in, I start to slow down, feeling the burn in my thighs.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, concern on his face.

  Why is he so nice?

  “I’m fine, I thought you might be getting tired,” I lie. I’ll die before I tell him my thighs burn.

  “I’m fine,” he frowns.

  “Okay,” I shrug like I’m fine and pick the pace up again. My thighs and calves cry in protest, but I keep my face blank and instead concentrate on my breathing and sound of our feet.

  If he can do it, so can I. I’ll go another two miles.

  Finally, I breathe an inner sigh of relief when I start to slow. My legs are a little rubbery. I do usually run every morning, but I haven’t trained for a marathon in a long time, thanks to my job.

  My ex-job.

  My body shows the lack of training.

  Leo slows with me and leads me into a park with picnic tables. He leads me to the nearest table.

  “Sit on top of the table,” he directs me, his voice hard.

  I follow his orders and frown up at him. “Why?”

  “Why did you do that?” He pulls my right leg straight and begins working his thumbs and fingers into my thigh muscles and I barely hold my moan of pleasure in.

  Dear God he has great hands.

  “Do what?”

  “You obviously went farther than you’re used to. Your legs are shaking.”

  “I’m fine.” I set my jaw and try to pull out of his grip, but he leans in and braces himself on his hand at my hip, his face a few inches from mine and tight with anger.

  “Don’t ever lie to me, sunshine. I don’t ever want you to run until your legs give out on you like this again. The only time your legs will shake like this is if I’m inside you.”

  My mouth drops open and my eyes go wide. He glares down at me for another heartbeat and then resumes his work on my legs, pampering them and massaging them.

  When was the last time someone wanted to take care of me? I don’t even remember.

  If I’m inside you.

  Damn.

  As tempting as that sounds, that just can’t happen.

  He rubs my other leg, and as I start to feel better, I pull away from him and stand up.

  “Thanks, I’m fine.” I can’t meet his eyes. It’s too easy to like this guy, to want to give in to his touch and his kindness.

  He’s family.

  He’s a celebrity.

  Not going there.

  He walks with me back toward my condo. We ran in a circle, so my place isn’t far. As we pass my favorite café, Leo grips my elbow to pull me to a stop and I can’t help the flinch as I pull away.

  His eyes go hot as he scowls down at me. I clear my throat. He’s watching me, like he wants to ask me something, but he just sighs.

  “Let’s grab some breakfast.” He gestures to the café and loses his scowl. I shouldn’t spend any more time with him. But the thought of going home with no job to go to and really nothing planned for today doesn’t excite me.

  “Okay.”

  He leads me to a booth and we settle in across from each other.

  “Coffee?” the waitress asks as she approaches the table.

  “Sure,” Leo responds.

  “No thanks,” I murmur and grab the menu. “Just orange juice.”

  “No coffee?” Leo asks as the waitress leaves.

  “No,” I wrinkle my nose in disgust and read the menu, as if I don’t already know what I want. “I hate coffee.”

  “You do realize that you live in Seattle, right?” He chuckles and takes a sip of his black coffee. “I think enjoying coffee is a law.”

  “Don’t call the coffee police. I never developed a taste for it. I love this place.” I close the menu and sit back in my chair and can’t avoid looking at him anymore.

  My insides do a double flip. It should be illegal to look like him. His hair is wet, but his style is a messy feaux-hawk anyway, so it looks fine. He’s casual in his running clothes, tattooed hands wrapped around his mug, and it’s easy to forget that he’s a celebrity.

  He’s just a guy.

  The waitress brings my juice and takes our orders and leaves us.

  “So.” He leans back and braces an elbow on the back of the booth. “Why aren’t you working today?”

  “How do you know I’m not?” I ask.

  “You said last night that you’re not working any more. Why not?” His eyes narrow slightly, and he’s watching me closely.

  No lying.

  “I got fired,” I answer and take a sip of juice, trying to clean the bad taste that word left behind.

  Fired.

  His eyebrows climb into his hairline in surprise. “Why?”

  I shrug and look down at my juice. I don’t want to tell him this.

  He leans in and takes my hand in his and I can’t stop the instinctual jump that comes with being touched.

  What
is wrong with me?

  “Why do you flinch every time I touch you?” he asks in a low, tight voice.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “Look at me.” His voice leaves no room for argument, so I look up into his angry gray eyes. “Tell me.”

  I shrug again and shake my head. “It’s stupid. I’m no victim, Leo. You don’t know me well, but I would think you’d know me well enough by now to know that I don’t take shit from anyone.”

  “Okay, go on.” He keeps my hand in his and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand.

  God, that feels good.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” And that’s the truth.

  “Okay, fair enough. We’ll save it.” He smiles reassuringly, but doesn’t release my hand.

  Where is our food?

  Not that I’m hungry now, but I’d really like to have my hand back. He runs his thumb over my knuckles again, sending a tingle through me. I slide my hand out and away from his against the table and grip my juice in my hands. My hand is cold not just because of the cool juice but because of the loss of contact.

  He smiles softly, and I find myself smiling back.

  “You are beautiful when you smile, Sam.”

  “Um, thank you.”

  “Tell me about your job,” he demands and sits back as our food is delivered.

  “I was the editor at Seattle Magazine for eight years.” I sprinkle pepper on my omelet and take a bite.

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Yeah, I liked it. I was good at it.”

  “So what happened?”

  “About a year ago, my boss wanted me to run a piece on Luke. He figured since Luke’s my brother, I should be able to get an exclusive with him, his new wife, run a spread in the magazine.”

  “But you’re not a reporter,” Leo interrupts with a frown.

  “No, but he wanted me to make an exception, since he knew I wouldn’t let anyone else do it.” I lower my fork to my plate and take a sip of juice. “I told him absolutely not.” I shake my head as I remember the anger on my boss’s face when I told him I wouldn’t do the piece.

  “What made you tell him no?” Leo asks.

  “Luke is fiercely private. There is no way in hell I’d put him in my magazine. Besides, it’s insulting to ask me to write a piece on my family, and then get pissed when I say no.” I scowl, pissed all over again.