Rock Chick (Rock Chick #1)(38)

I moved my head and, using the last shreds of my ragged control, tried one last time to talk. “We f**k this up, Lee, we f**k everything up. Ally, Hank, your folks, my Dad, are you prepared for that?”

His body became still.

After a moment he slid a hand in the hair at either side of my head and held my face to look at him.

And when I did, it felt like a lead weight settled in my chest at what I saw.

Something significant had changed. Something significant and scary. He wasn’t happy, the melty-chocolate look was gone and something hard had come into his face.

“You think I want a quick f**k?”

I shook my head and bit my lip. Honestly, I didn’t know what he wanted but at that precise moment, I wasn’t going to say that.

“You think I’d touch you unless it meant something?”

Holy crap.

I held my breath thinking about what that might mean, my eyes widened, the tears stinging them began to threaten to fill them.

His hands moved from my face to my hips.

“Christ, Indy, there’s more to me than this.” He yanked my hips, putting them in brutal, intimate contact with his and the hardness between them.

He held me there for a minute and stared into my eyes.

Then he said, “Forget it.”

He put his hands on the couch, pushed himself up and got off me.

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded, my body in temporary shock at the loss of the weight of his, my brain not caffeinated enough to think clearly.

He stared down at me, his face hard and blank. Just like it was when it closed down when Dad asked him if he hit me.

“Get dressed, I’ll take you home.”

I blinked.

“What?” I asked again.

He hauled me off the couch and set me on my jellied legs.

“I said, get dressed, pack your shit. I’ll take you home.”

I blinked again. Then I did it again.

Say what?

“Hang on a second…” I started.

He was walking away, muttering to himself. “I knew I shouldn’t have started this. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

Um, say what?

I narrowed my eyes at his back. “Excuse me?”

He was gone.

The tears were no longer threatening in my eyes, they’d filled them and they were flowing over. But instead of them being full of the confused emotions of a woman who was close to getting everything she ever wanted and was scared to death of it, they were tears of a pissed off woman-on-the-edge who was close to murdering someone.

Emotional tears were unacceptable.

Pissed off tears were perfectly fine, so I let them flow.

I stomped into the bedroom and started to tear through it. I pulled on a pair of jeans, my bra and my Def Leppard T-shirt, my black belt and boots from the night before. I found my handbag sitting on my clothes in the armchair which Lee must have recovered for me last night.

He’d get no thanks from me for that act of thoughtfulness.

I shoved anything I found that was mine in my bag, rifling through drawers and the closet, making an utter mess along the way. I didn’t care, I was way beyond caring about tidiness.

I went into the bathroom and got my face soap, he could keep the goddamn toothbrush, and saw that Lee was leaning against the doorjamb when I walked back into the room.

“Ready?” he asked, his face stony.

“Damn straight,” I answered, stalking to my bag and pushing stuff into it, zipping it with a vicious tug. “You’re a crazy man. You’re nuts. You and Tex should form a club. After years and years, you think you can crook your finger and I’d come running, no questions asked. I just wanted to talk! I wasn’t asking for an act of devotion akin to wrestling a tiger.” Some of my stuff poked out of the bag and I jammed it in and carried on with my rant. “Getting me all hot and bothered, twice…” I stopped and held up two fingers at him as he stood in the doorway, then I went back to my bag, lugged it up and looped the strap over my shoulder. “Then walking off leaving me that way. I’m more trouble than I’m worth? Ha!”

I grabbed my handbag and stomped toward him, with the intention of going right by him.

“Don’t bother taking me home. I’ll call a taxi. I’ll call Ally. I’ll call my Dad. No more favors from you!”

I had made it to him and said (maybe yelled) the last bit up on my toes and leaning into his face.

When I was done ranting, he stood in the doorway and I stood in front of him, too close for comfort. I was still crying and I was sure my face was red and wet with angry tears.

“Get out of my way,” I demanded.

He didn’t move.

“I said, get out of my way!” I shouted.

“Why are you crying?” he asked conversationally.

“Because you piss me off.”

“You’re crying because you’re angry?”

“Seems like it, now get out of my way.”

Quick as a flash, he grabbed my purse and threw it across the room.

I watched it sail, land in the armchair again and then I turned back to him, eyes wide.

“What the –” I started.

He pulled the bag off my arm and also threw that across the room. It landed on the floor with a soft “phunf” a foot away from the armchair.