Good Girls Don't Date Rock Stars(62)

She smiled into his shirt. “Ice cream.”

“I’ll remember that.”



TRAVIS PARKED THE truck in the driveway and looked down at Gemma, fast asleep with her head on his shoulder. Her lips were softly parted and deep breaths warmed the front of his shirt as she slept.

Kissing her forehead, he whispered, “Gem, we’re home.”

“Hmmm.” She stirred against him and squinted, a sleepy smile on her face. “You are so hot.”

Chuckling in surprise, he slid his arm down and squeezed her against him. “You’re pretty damn sexy yourself.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He couldn’t tell if she was kidding by her tone and asked quietly, “Is that what you think? That I’m lying to you?” Will she never trust me?

She pushed herself up to look at him. “No, that’s not what I meant. I was just kidding.”

He tried to relax, to believe her, but he couldn’t help wondering whether, if they reconciled and he went back on the road, she would always wonder and have doubts. Would she always worry about him cheating?

Someone knocked on the window, and Travis looked past Gemma to see Jenny Andrews, the babysitter, shivering outside the truck.

Gemma pulled away from him completely and opened the door. “Jenny, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, Gemma, it’s just . . . I really need to get home. If I’m out past twelve, my mom has a fit, you know?”

Travis got out and pulled his wallet from his pants. As he came around the front of the truck, he handed Jenny a stack of bills. “Thanks, Jenny.”

Jenny looked at the cash and him with wide eyes. “Mr. Bowers, I only charge four dollars an hour.”

“Put it toward college.” He walked away, leaving Gemma to say good-bye, and headed for the house, a cloud of darkness hanging over his head. Maybe he had reacted so quickly to Gemma’s joke because of her lack of trust ten years ago, but he needed to get a grip. He had been the one to suggest they let go and start over. If that was the case, he couldn’t read something into every little remark or they would never heal.





Chapter Twenty




* * *





TRAVIS SAT IN his room, stroking Stormy’s sleeping form. The tiny cat never moved; the only acknowledgment that she liked what he was doing was the loud purr shaking his hand.

A knock on his door sounded quietly, and Travis called, “Come in.”

Gemma peeked her head in, and her eyes flickered down to his hand. “I just wanted to finish that conversation we started outside.”

“It’s fine, Gemma. I really don’t want to get into it—”

“I don’t think you’re lying to me about making us work. About being a real family.” She walked across the room until she stood right in front of him.

“But . . .?”

“There’s no but. I said I believe you about the girl ten years ago, and I meant it. I trust you.” She reached out and ran her hands over his shoulders, moving them lightly down his arms.

“Yeah, but how are you going to feel when I’m on tour and you see pictures of me and my tour mates at functions, or fans hanging on me? Are you going to believe me when I tell you there’s nothing going on?”

She hesitated, and he figured he had his answer, but she surprised him. “If I see pictures of scantily clad woman hanging all over you, I can’t tell you I won’t be jealous, because I know I will. If I see you with your hands on any part of their body . . . well, I’ll just tell Gracie, and you know how ornery she can be.” She smiled as she continued, “But other than that, I’m going to try very, very hard to remember that I don’t want to jump to anymore conclusions where you’re concerned.”

Feeling a little better, especially as her hands traveled over his chest and down toward his stomach, he felt his cock stir with excitement as she flattened her palm, her fingers inching toward the top of his jeans.

“I always wanted abs with bumpy muscles like yours,” she said, bringing a startled laugh out of him.

“You wanted a six-pack?”

“I always thought it was so sexy, all that muscle popping up into hard ridges.”

Her hand slipped up under his shirt, and his erection jerked at the soft strokes. Fighting his desires, he reached down and laced her fingers with his. “Stop.”

“Was I tickling you?” she asked, and he could have sworn her tone held a teasing lilt to it.

“No, you were turning me on, and I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he said bluntly.

There was a pregnant pause, and then a soft whisper broke the tension. “You don’t have to.”

“Don’t have to what?” he practically growled.

Her hair fell forward as she leaned over him, and in a flash he was nineteen again, staring up at the girl he loved.

“You don’t have to be a gentleman.”

She dropped her lips to his, and he let her kiss him, her lips fusing to his. When she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he kissed her back, his hand reaching up to slide into her curtain of hair. Their mouths melded softly, tasting and rediscovering each other, and she shifted over him until she straddled his lap.

Travis used one hand to gently push the kitten out of the way as he scooted back on the bed. Stormy let out a disgruntled meow, and Gemma pulled back. “Did I smoosh her?”