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“What is that supposed to mean?” I almost shout.
“Guys,” Evan begins.
We both look at him at the same time.
“I don’t need this shit,” I tell Evan, standing and giving Rone the finger. I walk back into the house and the conversations pick up again. Rone swears and slides his chair back, coming after me, shutting down the guys’ protests with a growl.
“Alice,” he roars, catching up to me.
I almost start to laugh. “Navarone,” I counter, walking through the house, not caring where I’m going.
“Fuck, will you wait?” he pleads, following me into the laundry room. He closes the door behind us.
Giving him one of my angry stares, I lean against the washing machine.
He scratches his chin, taking a step toward me. He reaches for my hand, but I flip him off. Glaring at me he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t take the bait. I cross my arms, waiting for him to start talking.
“What the fuck was that back there?” he begins, brushing an angry hand over his stubble. And there he is again—the Navarone I once knew. Nostrils flaring, he punches the white wall leaving a dent. I jump; his apparent rage makes my body tremble. He turns me on, even when I know I shouldn’t fall for this whole caveman vibe.
“Like you don’t know, when you were the one who about set our house ablaze with your fucking Marlboro Reds,” I say, my voice rising. I can’t help myself.
“Fuck you,” he spits out, and my mouth drops open. “You were the one that pushed me away when shit went bad between us. Or don’t you remember all the times I held you when you cried yourself to sleep?”
I groan, thinking of something to say, to make him hurt as much as he hurt me. “You were on tour for the better part. And I’m surprised you remember, being fucking drunk and high off your ass ninety-nine percent of the time.” I hope the venom in my voice reaches my eyes.
“Fuck, you’re a bitch,” he grinds out from between clenched teeth, his body shaking with anger.
“Maybe I am, but you’re still the same fucker that broke my heart. And right back at you, asshole.” Pushing past him, I try to open the door but he blocks my exit.
“We need to talk this shit out,” he says, his hand still on the knob, heat radiating from his body.
I turn around before leaning against the frame, raising my eyes to him. I begin to notice how small it is here, how big he is towering over me with a look on his face that I don’t want to be on the receiving end of.
“So talk,” I say, crossing my arms again.
He leans in closer, presses his lips against my ear, and I shiver pinching my eyes shut. With a start, I open them because I don’t smell the booze like I thought I would.
“I want you back,” he states. His hand moves south under my skirt and cups my ass, and goose bumps break out all over my body.
And I hate to admit I’m already soaking wet.
My mouth drops to the floor and he lets go. Not before he raises one eyebrow in a taunt. Bastard knows he is getting through my armor. Fuck, he smells good. He trails a lazy finger over my chin, and I quiver. His eyes flash and he leans in, towering over me in the small space. “Don’t fuck with me like you didn’t know. I didn’t come back here for the fucking songs—”
I hold up my hands. “Stop.”
A look of disdain crosses his face.
I shake my head. “You want me back, since when? After all these years, you’re here to tell me what? Go fuck yourself!”
He grits his teeth. “We fucked in California, almost fucked in the alley behind the strip joint. You weren’t drunk, so do not pretend you don’t remember, or look at me with those fucking doll eyes so I won’t notice the way you are pressing your thighs together. You still want my dick inside you, don’t you, babe?” he says before biting on his bottom lip and tilting his chin in the air.
I roll my eyes. “Such precious memories. And fuck your dick!” I yell, sarcasm ringing through my voice.
“Damn it, Allie.” He stops abruptly, trying to find his words. All the seriousness is back in his eyes and his voice when he says, “This love still means something. Hell, it’s fucking worth fighting for.” He grabs my head between his big hands. “I don’t care that you’re trying to push me away. I know you pretend you still want to kick my ass, but, that night in California four years ago was the beginning. Being here, working with you on the album, I know you feel it too.”
My breath hitches and I want to push him away, to let him know his touch doesn’t mean shit. I want to pretend my panties are not soaked through having him stand this close to me. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I hope he will leave like he always does. Heat streaks up my body. My cheeks flame when his thumb dances over my cheekbone. And there’s a little voice in the back of my head again, asking him to stay.
Licking my lips, I quiver from his body heat, and I can almost taste him on my tongue.
