Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(39)

I shook my head in his hands then nodded it.

“You’re right.”

He stared into my eyes.

“I’m…I…I’m…”

“Just take a breath,” he urged.

I did that.

Then I said it.

“I’m sorry.” I shoved my head through his hands so I could plant my face in his chest and I grabbed onto his sweater at the sides of his waist. “God, I’m so sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around me, murmuring into the top of my hair, “It’s okay.”

I let his sweater go so I could wrap my arms around him too.

Marcus held me and I held him back.

Eventually, still in my hair, he said softly, “Thinking this is one of those moments you were talking about.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, embarrassed, so I shoved my face deeper into his chest. “God, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

I tipped my head back. “That was…it was stupid. It wasn’t even logical.”

“You get a pass on being illogical. At least for another month or six or, seeing as you’re female, another seventy years.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

He grinned down at me.

His grin faded, his look grew probing, and he whispered, “Good?”

I stopped giving him the stink eye and nodded. “Yeah, honey.”

“Go to Aspen with me.”

“And the hot guy takes advantage,” I muttered.

His grin came back. “I didn’t get where I am pissing away opportunities either, Daisy.”

I rolled my eyes.

He gave me a light shake.

I rolled them back.

“Aspen,” he pushed.

“I need to take care of Smithie.”

He studied me.

Then he sighed.

It took a lot but I didn’t smile my triumph, just felt it warm me deep down inside.

But I got serious when I asked, “You pay me?”

“Yes.”

“Is that…uh, gonna continue?”

“Do you like stripping?”

“I’m f*cking amazing on that stage.”

He shook his head, but did it with his lips curled up, holding me tight. “Then yes, it’ll continue as long as you want to be on that stage.”

“I rocked a private dance, sugar, but I can’t say they were my favorite things. They were just below having my eyes burned out with a red-hot fire poker, having my nails ripped out at the roots, and having a really bad hair day.”

He started chuckling.

It looked good on him but I didn’t join in.

When Marcus noticed my seriousness, he sobered and asked, “What?”

“There’s nothing I can ever—”

He let me go with one hand to put two fingers to my lips.

When I shut up, he took his fingers away and said, “Something else my sister taught me. If you can give it, you don’t blink at giving someone you care about something they need or they want. No matter how deep it cuts, how much it costs, how steep the price might be in a different way. It’s an honor and it’s a blessing. So giving you the things I can give you means I’m honored and blessed, Daisy. Please don’t take that away from me.”

I stared up at him thinking Marcus Sloan wasn’t like a dream.

He was just a dream.

And on that thought, I blurted, “Miss Annamae would love you.”

Again, something new moved over his face and I held my breath at its splendor.

“Consider me paid back,” he whispered.

Lord.

He.

Was.

Killing.

Me!

“Oh my God!” I snapped. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

“Cry in your linguine, darling, it’s getting cold,” he returned, pulling me to his side and guiding me back to my chair.

I sat.

He sat.

Then I groused, “Who woulda thought some * cheatin’ on me or beatin’ on me would be easier to take than some hot guy honored and blessed to spoil me rotten.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Marcus murmured to his linguine.

I stared at his dark head bent over his plate right along with feeling my heart contract.

He lifted that head, swallowed, and asked, “What?”

“I don’t know whether to throw something at you or jump you.”

He grinned a wicked grin that set my coochie to buzzing.

“We’re taking it slow, remember?”

“Yeah. Right. Great.”

He kept grinning and the buzzing got stronger.

“Stop turning me on,” I warned.

“Stop being cute,” he fired back.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

He watched it then looked in my eyes. “That didn’t work.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, grabbed my bread, and gnawed off a huge chunk with my teeth.

Marcus burst out laughing.

And I loved the sound.

Whatever!





Marcus ripped his mouth from mine, rested his forehead against mine, and murmured a labored, “Christ.”

I stood pressed against the doorjamb of his bedroom, my chest heaving, brushing against his, this setting my nipples to tingling (or setting them to tingling more). My fingers were also gripping the back of his sweater in a way that I was sure would misshape it forever.