Rock with Me (With Me in Seattle, #4)(6)

“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.