When I woke it was dark outside, and I was snuggled in Sculpt’s arms, sitting between his legs, his lean, hard body draped around me. His fingers slowly stroked my outer thigh while his other hand rested on my abdomen, one finger circling my belly button. I turned to look up at him over my shoulder. He was staring out across the moonlit field, observing the horses in the distance.
“Eme.” He leaned into me further and kissed the side of my neck.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. It must have been your sexy, raspy voice.” I cuddled closer, and his arm tightened. “Did you finish the song?” His guitar lay in its case next to us.
“Yeah, Mouse. It’s good.”
I sat up, excited for him. He’d told me last week that he hadn’t written anything for the band in a year. I had yet to see them play, and I was excited to hear them, but nervous too. I mean, Sculpt was six foot three and all muscle. He has what I call sexy bedroom hair, always a little messy with the odd lazy curl that falls over his face. And he had ink running down his left arm to his elbow, which made the hot a scary, badass hot. Then put in that fact that he was in a band and did some illegal underground fighting … Well girls were no doubt all over him, and I wasn’t ready to face the reality of what dating Sculpt entailed.
We’d been hanging out ever since I asked him to help me learn how to fight a couple months ago. I was assaulted a week before I sought out Sculpt, coming home from my friend Georgie’s coffee shop where I work. I’d been so shocked and terrified that when my assaulter pushed me to the ground I just froze.
When I pulled my head out of deep freeze, I managed to bite his hand and scream my head off, which scared the guy away. After that I was on a mission to learn how to fight back. Sculpt, being an underground fighter was the perfect choice. I’d also heard he needed money to go on tour with his band, and I was willing to pay.
He never let me.
I reached up and ran my finger over the slight indent in his chin. “Can I hear it?”
He shook his head, and despite his lack of smile, because he rarely did smile, I saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “No, Eme. You’ll hear it with the band on stage and me singing to you.” The amusement left his eyes, and I felt him stiffen. “Did you think about what I asked?”
I knew exactly what he was referring to. I had a perpetual war in my head for the last three days—I wasn’t ready to have my heart blasted with porcupine quills when Sculpt left me to go on tour, but I also wasn’t ready to go on the road with a group of guys I hadn’t even met yet and have Sculpt responsible for me. I planned on starting college in a month. I had a life here with my best friend Kat and her brother Matt who were also my roommates and my only family.
Ever since grade school when Kat and I had started hanging out, Matt had been there for the both of us. He was eighteen and Kat ten when their parents died in a drinking and driving accident. He’d instantly become Kat’s guardian. Since I no longer had a dad, Matt sort of became the male figure in my life. I looked up to him.
I’d snuck in Kat’s bedroom window numerous times after running away from my mom’s when she brought a new boyfriend home. Matt never kicked me out, never told me to go home, nor did he call my mom. Instead, he bought me a cell phone, programmed his number in it, and told me if I ever needed to get out of my house that I was to call him, and he’d come get me.
The three of us were close and even though I didn’t want Sculpt to leave, I couldn’t see myself leaving either.
“Eme.” His arms tightened around me. “Tell me.” He shifted, easily picking me up under the arms and bringing me around so I sat facing him, my legs bent on either side of him. It was intimate, and Christ, it was hard to resist him and not just say screw it and tell him how I feel and go with him. “Eme, tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
He watched me carefully, eyes unwavering. “You know what I’m asking, but this once I’ll indulge you. Tell me you don’t want more.”
Shit. He knew I was crazy about him. I’d been trying to keep my feelings … well hidden, somewhat. It obviously wasn’t working. I licked my lips and tried to look away, but he was ready for that and held my head between his hands.
“Eme.”
I was so not good at this. The last person I expressed my feelings to was my dad while he lay in the hospital dying of lung cancer.
“Mouse.” He leaned in, and my hands went to his upper thighs feeling the flex of his muscles beneath my palms. “Look at me.” I did. “I want you with me. I’ll look after you.” His voice lowered. “I’m not happy leaving you here, baby.”
And that was the problem; I didn’t want to be “looked after.” I’d looked after myself all my life. My mom … I sometimes wondered if she even remembered she had a daughter.
“Emily. I don’t play games. I told you what I want, and I know you want me.”
I didn’t know whether to be pissed or laugh at his arrogance. What I did know was that I was turned on—big time. How could he do that? I mean, he was just looking at me, and yet … his eyes abducted me. “Sculpt … I …”
Sculpt tightened his legs around me. “Eme.” He gripped my chin and held me steady. He waited several seconds, and I finally inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll never hurt you. I know you’re worried about the women.” I opened my mouth to speak, but his eyes narrowed, and I shut it again. “I’m a fighter. I’m in a band. The women will always be there, but I’m with you.”