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  “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 them 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 counter top, 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 fucked 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 a few long minutes after it closes.

  I just stay here, leaning against the counter top 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 the townhouse for two days. I can’t write. I can’t sleep.

  I’m fucking sick of myself.

  So I climbed into my Camero 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, 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 her house. She moved in with Will Montgomery 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 her 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 coffee. 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 in 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 any more, 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 of her crying on her countertop out of my head. 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 half-heartedly.

  “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 my 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 in 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, grey 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 move 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 into an elastic. He lays a cold cloth on my neck and rubs his big hand up and down my back.

  “Are you okay?” He asks softly.

  “It’s stopping,” I whisper. “I need the bed.”

  “Come on, I’ll help.” He takes my hand to help me to my feet, stands guard while I rinse my mouth again, and then scoops me into his arms and heads for my bed.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Leo. I’m a mess and I can’t talk to you when I’m like this.”

  I rest my head on the soft cotton t-shirt on his shoulder and enjoy his warm, strong arms around me. He kisses my forehead and frowns down at me.

  “Your temp is still high. Did you take some Tylenol?”

  “I don’t have any,” I whisper, my eyes falling closed. I’m just so weak, I can’t keep my eyes open.

  “I brought some.” He tucks me into the bed and leaves the room, returning quickly with a glass of water and pills. “Take these, and then I want to take your temp.”

  I comply, too weak to argue. I should kick his ass out of here, but I’m too weak for that too.

  He takes the water from me and sticks the thermometer into my mouth, sitting at my hip on the side of the bed. His fingers are trailing down my cheek and then my neck, softly, soothingly. He’ll put me to sleep.

  God, I just want to sleep.

  “One-oh-two,” he mutters and exhales deeply. “Too high, sunshine. The Tylenol should work. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours for more and to take your temp again.”

  “Don’t need you to stay,” I whisper. “Don’t want you to see me like this.”

  “I’m not leaving, and you’re too weak to kick my dumb ass out of here, so deal with it, sugar.” I feel his lips on my forehead again and then nothing as sleep finally claims me.

  ***

  “Wake up, baby. Sam, wake up.” A cool cloth is being rubbed on my forehead and Leo’s smooth voice is calling to me. “Sam, I need you to take more medicine. Wake up.”

  I open my eyes and there he is. He wasn’t a dream. His eyes look worried, and his hair is messier than usual.

  He looks tired.

  “What time is it?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

  “About two in the morning. Here, take these.” He hands me two small white pills and water and then takes my temp again. “One hundred even. It’s coming down.”

  “I’m a sweaty mess,” I mutter in disgust.

  “Do you want a shower?” He asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go.” He pulls the covers back and helps me to my feet, but I’m wobbly with weakness.

  Fuck, I hate feeling like this.

  “A bath it is.” He smiles down at me and scoops me into his arms.

  “I thought I dreamed you,” I whis
per and bury my nose in his neck.

  “That explains why you were telling someone they were sexy and talented and wonderful in your sleep.” He winks down at me and I can’t help the small smile that finds its way across my lips.

  “That explains it,” I agree. He sets me gently on the toilet while he runs the hot water in the tub, pulls the soaked t-shirt over my head, helps me out of my panties and scoops me back into his arms so he can lower me into the water.

  “It feels cold.” I frown at him.

  “I can’t give you a super hot bath, honey. I’m trying to break your fever.” He scoops up my dirty clothes and tosses them into my hamper. “Where are you pajamas?”

  “Sleep shirts are in the top drawer of my dresser. Panties are in the second drawer down.”

  He nods and leaves the bathroom and I just push my hands through the water, watching it fall over my knees. He’s really good at this taking care of someone stuff.

  “Where did you learn to be a caretaker?” I ask him.

  “I took care of Meg for a long time.” He shrugs and smiles down at me sweetly, that piercing catching my eye, and I can’t help but remember what he can do with that little piece of metal. He holds up another Nash t-shirt. “What’s with all the concert t-shirts?”

  “I see a lot of concerts.” I look back down at the water, embarrassed that he’s seen all of my Nash shirts. “I always get a t-shirt and use them for pajamas.”

  “You have quite a Nash collection.”

  “They’re my favorite,” I whisper, my eyes falling closed again. “Happy now?”

  “Getting there,” he whispers and kisses my forehead. “Come on, baby, let’s get you back in bed.” He scoops me out of the bath and I gasp at the cold air that feels even colder on my over-heated skin.

  “So cold.” I watch him wrap a towel around me as I start to shiver. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” He asks.

  “That you’re taking care of me.”