Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)(22)

“Yeah.” She dragged the tip of her shovel back and forth through the dirt. “It might be good to rehearse once or twice beforehand, right? It’s going to take the Jaws of Life to pry Sergeant from Jasmine and the new house.”

His throat started to ache. “What about you? Don’t you eventually want a house?”

Her laughter sounded forced. “I don’t know. Do houses come with room service?” They fell silent for a few minutes until she spoke again. “An apartment, I think. A two bedroom so I have a place for my kit. Maybe a balcony in case I feel like some late-night bungee jumping.”

“Lita…” James warned.

She turned sparkling green eyes on him, but there was a hint of sadness in them that made him miserable. “There we are.”

James wanted to erase the last five minutes and start over. Go back to when they were teasing each other and she was prodding him for information about his younger days. It had felt so good. Then he’d f*cked it up by reminding her he’d left the manager position behind. She was just playing defense by putting them back on more familiar ground of wayward drummer and killjoy.

Had he changed his mind about leaving Old News with a new manager? Since Lita had arrived dripping blood, his focus had been zeroed in on her. The sexual hum that followed them everywhere. Time had come to face facts, though. Before she’d followed him to Modesto, there had been zero chance of James severing all ties. He’d resigned himself to checking up on Lita through the new manager. Now? Now she’d shown up with the obvious goal of shooting down each and every one of his reservations. And Jesus, it was working. She didn’t think he was a monster. She…liked his aggression in bed. Encouraged it.

Could he let her go back to Los Angeles alone? Go on tour without him there to keep her protected? Just thinking about it made his skin feel like ice, even beneath the blazing sun. Still, there was a relentless prickle at the base of his spine. A doubt he’d been harboring since he’d woken up four years ago and seen the discoloration of her fading bruises.

Maybe she liked men like him. Men with violence in their blood. An unhealthy fascination that he would be taking advantage of.

James watched Lita as she dug much harder than before, her frustration with him and their conversation plain. Dirt flew to one side, filtering in through tall grass. He was familiar with this side of her. This shaken Coke can of emotion she turned into right before acting out. Doing something reckless. Usually, it put James on high alert, forced him to play offense before she could make a move. But it was a different Lita that had shown up in Modesto—Lita the planner, the fighter—and he couldn’t read her as well now.

He started toward her, but drew up short when the crew of workmen rounded the building. Five sets of eyes that landed on Lita without delay, widened with appreciation of her position on hands and knees. Feeling his control begin to strain, James cleared his throat loudly until they gave him their attention.

Only one of them had the decency to look ashamed. “Uh. Lunch time, boss?”

“Yeah,” James growled, watching Lita come to her feet. This was it. This was when she flirted with other men or exposed more skin to make him insane. He’d shaken the Coke can and now it would explode all over him.

“You want to come with us, Lita?” the apparent mouthpiece for the crew asked. “There’s a decent food truck back toward the main road. Plenty of room.”

Lita smiled innocently at James and it was a punch straight in the gut. He hoped she could read the warning in his no bullshit expression. Hell would be frozen over before she got into a car with five men he’d known just over a week. If she wanted a scene, he would damn well give her one.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Lita said to the men. “I’m good here.”

James barely managed to hide his shock as the men disappeared from sight. They stared at one another across the expanse of green until the sound of vehicles pulling away could be heard in the distance.

“I’m going for a walk.” Lita took off the gardening gloves covering her hands and tossed them onto the ground before reaching up to loosen her hair where it had been kept in a ponytail since they’d started working. It fell in messy waves around her shoulders and she pushed impatient fingers through the strands to tame it, but the movement had the opposite effect on his body. Her jean shorts slipped down onto slender hips, leaving a thin gap between her stomach and the denim. A place for his tongue. His hands. All the while, she glared at him. “Don’t follow me.”

James felt his blood go from simmer to boil, felt the weight of lust settle low in his abdomen, spreading down to his loins. His hands shook at his sides until he fisted them. Oblivious to the change taking place inside him, Lita turned on a booted heel and stomped toward the wooden area, those little strands of frayed denim taunting him as her ass worked side to side. His dick grew thick and ready for the spot between her legs. He f*cking craved her. There was no reason among the chaos. Just knowledge that others had wanted Lita, regardless if she’d turned them down. They’d still looked and coveted. Now she was angry and he wanted that anger beneath him. Wanted to harness it, tame it, mate it with his own.

When she turned at the forest edge to flash her middle finger at him, James put his head down and moved. His strides covered ground quickly, but Lita clearly had other ideas. James was about ten feet away when she turned and ran full speed in the opposite direction.