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Can I believe him when he says this time, it is going to be different?
Wiping away my mascara, I stop when someone slams a hand against the front door.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” Probably Gunner picking up my bike for a tune-up. I grab the keys for my Harley out of my purse.
“Hey, Gunn.” When I open the door, it isn’t Gunner but Rone standing on the porch with a burning look in his eyes. He’s catching his breath like he has been running, when it has been raining nonstop.
“Navarone, what are you—”
He steps right through the door, no hellos. He is soaked to the bone.
“Sure, walk right in,” I say, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Are the guys here?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, they’re out. I thought you were Gunner picking up my bike. You want a dry shirt? I took a couple out of the dryer for the guys.”
He keeps staring at me, dripping water all over the hardwood floor. Slipping his wet hair behind his ears, he scratches his stubble. That serious look is back into his eyes, mixed with determination. He is hot and scary at the same time. His intense dark gaze takes my breath away.
“What?” I ask, smiling. It falls when he stalks over to me and grabs my head between his hands. His mouth slams onto mine, kissing the living daylights out of me. Rough hands move over my back, stopping at my ass and pushing me against him. I moan into his mouth, brushing my fingers through his wet hair, and fisting the long strands in my hands.
He growls, walking me back until my butt hits the headrest of the couch. I shudder, his tongue driving me wild.
“Navarone,” I moan against his lips while he keeps kissing me, his mouth chasing, until I give into him.
He searches my eyes when he pulls back, his hands still in my hair. “I can’t wait anymore.” His voice is hoarse. “I want you back.”
“Rone,” I say, shaking my head.
He lifts up my chin, the raw hunger in his eyes making me ache. “I’m going to repeat it until you give me an answer. This isn’t over. What we had isn’t over.”
“We were kids. It wasn’t our fault we burned up.”
“How can you say that?” His thumb moves over my cheek, making me shiver. He smiles when he notices it. “Of course it was my fault. I was the one who was always drunk off my ass, playing rock star.”
“Rone, come on.” My chest swells having him standing this close to me.
He goes on, “I wasn’t there for you. Not when you needed me the most. I was playing a role onstage, and I believed in the image I was selling. If I hadn’t blacked out that night, you wouldn’t have had to smack a bottle against my face and I would have been there.”
I hold his stare, resting my hands on his hips. “What happened wasn’t your fault. And if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be here.”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, the dark depths of his eyes clouding over, and I see the twitch in his jaw. “Why do you keep saying that? Because I’m the one to blame.”
Letting him go, I walk away from him.
“Honey, please,” he says, grabbing my arms and turning me around.
“What do you want? You know we can never go back to what we once had.”
“I don’t care. I’ll take all you have to give me.”
“Would it be enough?”
His eyes are pleading with me.
“I needed time. I still need—”
“Well fuck, I needed you. I hated myself for so fucking long and I wanted my best friend to tell me everything was going to be all right. And I’m fucking selfish for asking, because you were the one who lost the baby.”
