Rock Chick Revenge (Rock Chick #5)(55)

“Stop it,” I hissed.

“What?” he grinned.

“She’s going to think we’re together.”

“We are together.”

“We’re not.”

“We are.”

I made a noise in the back of my throat and leaned into him so I was close (or, I should say, closer).

“When she comes back, I’ll go to the bathroom and you tell her this isn’t what it seems.”

“And what should I tell her it is?”

“That I’ve got some troubles, you’re helping me sort them out and I’m staying at your place until it’s sorted. That’s it, nothing more.”

He shook his head. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why?” I cried.

“First, because she’ll worry if she thinks you’re in trouble. Second, because she’ll wonder what you’re still doin’ at my place when it’s all over. Third, because that would be a lie because that’s not all it is, it’s a f**kuva lot more.”

My heart did a stutter and I ignored it. “It isn’t.”

His hand came to the back of my neck. “I’m not sparrin’ with you about this Ava.”

“You aren’t being very nice to your mother. She actually likes the idea that we’re together. You let her go on thinking we are, when we aren’t, it’s just mean.”

I should (again) have realized what it meant when his hand came to the back of my neck. I should have read the warning sign. I didn’t.

It was when his eyes got shiny dangerous, I read the warning sign. Too late.

“Tell me, after what happened in my bed this morning, how you figure we’re not together?”

“That was nothing. I was asleep,” I lied. “You took me off guard.”

Uh-oh.

His hand tightened on my neck and brought me even closer so we were ultra close closer.

“You’re too f**kin’ much. Throughout breakfast you’ve been decidin’ how to lie to me, and yourself, about what happened. That same time I’ve been strugglin’ with the urge to walk away from my mother, drag you back to my bed, rip your f**kin’ clothes off and bury myself so deep inside you, you feel me in your throat.”

Ho-ly shit.

Did Luke just say that to me?

He did.

“Luke –”

“Save it,” he clipped. “I figure next time you’re ridin’ my hand is the next time I’ll get the truth out of you. I don’t trust a goddamn thing that comes out of your mouth but your body, that I trust.”

There they were again, the words “next time”.

Shit.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” I snapped.

“Believe it,” he bit off.

“You’re way too blunt.”

“Deal with it.”

“You’re a jerk.”

His fingers went tighter on my neck. “Ava, one more word –”

I opened my mouth to give him one more word. He kissed me.

It started as a hard, angry, shut Ava up kiss but then his tongue slid inside my mouth and it ended up as an Ava holding onto Luke’s shoulders for dear life kissing him back kiss.

“Children,” Mrs. Stark whispered and my whole body jerked as my head whipped around to see Mrs. Stark sitting across from us, her lips tilted up in a mini-smile. “The other patrons can see you,” she warned us, but you could tell she didn’t care not even a little bit.

I was so screwed.

Luke and Mrs. Stark fought over who was going to pay (Luke won). We got back in the Range Rover, went back to Luke’s loft and Mrs. Stark came up to the loft with us.

His loft, I might add, magically now had a black lacquered desk in the corner with my computer and two of my wicker baskets filled with work files sitting beside it.

I made a (somewhat desperate) demand that she stay for a cup of coffee (Luke shook his head at this, totally knowing my game). She agreed happily. I made a full pot and she and I drank and chatted while we both cleaned Luke’s kitchen. Through this, Luke made a number of phone calls while I tried to ignore him. Then we sat on barstools and kept chatting.

Then she cried. “Oh, look at the time!” and I felt my stomach pitch because it was then I knew I was seriously screwed.

“We’re auctioning a homemade quilt at the church. I’m supposed to sell iced tea and cookies. I’m going to be late.” She was flying around in a dither, grabbing at her purse and rinsing her cup to put in the dishwasher.

She came to me and touched my cheek. “Ava, so lovely to see you,” she said softy.

Then Luke walked her to the elevator doors, they slid open, his arms moved around her and he bent to kiss her cheek as I watched feeling, I had to admit, something warm spreading inside me as I did so.

Luke had never been close to his Dad but he’d always been close to his Mom.

How Mr. and Mrs. Stark ever got together was beyond me. He was a macho man, like his son. She was Mrs. Cleaver. Why he and Luke didn’t get on, I never asked and I didn’t know. Maybe too much alike or maybe Mr. Stark knew his son would be more than him and he didn’t like it. Mrs. Stark must have felt like she was living in the depths of hell and it was a testimony to her quiet strength that she’d not only made it to the other side, she was auctioning quilts.