Rock Chick 08 Revolution (13 page)

“I think you’re convinced you’re
bulletproof like your brother and his boys but they’re not, Stark getting a gut
shot proved that. You’re
definitely
not
because I don’t care how often you’re target shooting at Zip’s, you got no play
in the field.”

I knew this was going nowhere and
it was making me beyond annoyed so I also knew it was time to shut it down.

“We’re not talking about this,
Zano,” I declared.

“Ally, we’re talkin’ about it until
you see reason.”

“I’m not being unreasonable.” My
voice was getting higher and tighter. “It’s
my
life and what
I
like to do. And it’s
none of
your
business.”

His eyes quickly skimmed my green
velvet strapless dress-clad frame (Roxie, totally stylin’ with her bridesmaid
dresses; they were
the shit
) then
came back to my face and he started the shift into Asshole Speak.

“That body’s mine and I don’t want
it filled with bullets and tossed in the Platte. So, for the hundredth fuckin’
time, babe, it
is
my business.”

“My body isn’t yours,” I snapped.

“You could have fooled me, the way
you went wild for me last night and let me do
all
I wanted to do to you, I got creative and the number of breathy
Rens I got meant you seriously got off on it.”

Total Asshole Speak.

Nothing flipped my switch like
Asshole Speak.

And having not a small amount of
tequila in my system, even in my bridesmaid dress, at my brother’s wedding, I
was not down with Asshole Speak and I was Ally Nightingale. So I was going to
do something about it.

Therefore, I took a step back,
cocked my arm and let ‘er rip, shouting, “Go to hell, Ren Zano!”

Unfortunately, Ren caught my fist,
kept tight hold and twisted it behind my back. This had the further unfortunate
result of my body slamming into his and Ren being close enough to put his mouth
to my ear.

“Challenge accepted,” he whispered
there.

Oh shit.

I struggled against his hold.

Seriously. When was I going to
remember he was a macho alpha Italian hothead and I needed to be cunning, not
reactive? Though, this would likely necessitate me laying off the tequila and I
liked my tequila.

He moved to my side, keeping his
and my arm behind my back and marched me out of the ballroom at the Denver
Performing Arts Complex where Hank and Roxie’s reception was taking place.

“Let go of me, Zano,” I hissed,
partly humiliated (with only myself to blame; still, I blamed Ren), mostly
infuriated.

“Not a chance.”

I yanked at my arm to no avail as
he pushed us outside into the cold air.

Once there and with no one around
and therefore not able to make a (further) scene, I wrenched my arm to get
free, shouting, “Let go!” and found myself shuffled down the wide walkway,
pressed into the side of the building with Ren’s mouth on mine, his tongue in
my mouth and both his hands at my ass.

Hell.

This meant Ren was done fighting
and ready for other things.

And this also meant Ren could
nonverbally talk me into being ready for those other things.

This, in the cold Colorado December
air, he did with mouth, tongue and hands.

He spent some time doing this. I
spent that time enjoying it. And when his mouth finally lifted from mine, I was
enjoying it so much I went after it to keep it.

When I didn’t get it back, my eyes
slowly opened and I found my hands were under his suit jacket. One was pressed
tight to the muscle of his back. The other was pressed tight to his hard ass.

Nice
.

I also found his lips were
quirking.

Annoying
.

“That body isn’t mine?” he
whispered.

I made no response and not just because
I was breathing too heavily to speak.

“Least that mouth is.” Ren kept
whispering.

I found my voice then.

“Kiss my ass, Zano,” I whispered
back.

That got me a smile which meant Ren
got a squeeze.

His smile got bigger.

My heart lurched.

“I can do that,” he stated.

I rolled my eyes even as my happy
place quivered because he could, he had and I liked it when he did.

Still smiling, he bent his head and
kissed my neck. Sliding his lips up to my ear, he murmured, “Let’s go home.”

Before I could say anything, he
grabbed my hand and walked me quickly to his Jaguar (seriously, he was a bossy
jerk, but his ride was sah-
weet
).

You will note, I didn’t protest.

Because I might have been guarding
my heart.

But I was absolutely not guarding
my body.

* * * * *

Christmas
Morning…

I woke, naked, tangled up with Ren
in his bed.

I had my face stuffed in the side
of Ren’s neck, an arm thrown over his stomach and a leg thrown over his thigh.

He had an arm around me and the
instant I woke, it tightened and his deep voice rumbled, “Merry Christmas,
baby.”

I closed my eyes hard.

What the hell was I doing?

Just as quickly as my mind asked
it, I decided Christmas day was not the time to explore that question.

I opened my eyes, and being a
holiday person, a family person, and a person who found every reason possible
to party and/or celebrate, I didn’t have it in me to lay down the boundaries
during the most joyous day of the year.

Not with Ren close and his voice
warm and rumbly on Christmas morning.

Therefore, I lifted my head, looked
into his beautiful eyes and replied quietly, “Merry Christmas, Ren.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth as his
arm got even tighter and dragged me up his chest.

But once we were face to face, it
was me that went in for the Christmas kiss. And it was a kiss that I wasn’t
sure Jesus would approve of, but to me, it was heavenly.

When we broke the kiss, Ren lifted
a hand to my jaw and said, “Let’s get this part over with, honey.”

Oh shit.

Before I could intervene in order
to stop him from starting a joyous day in a non-joyous way, he went on.

“Before I give you your present and
you take off to be with your family, promise me right now, and mean it, that
you’ll stay away from dealers, growers, manufacturers, suppliers and
transporters.”

Oh my God!

He got me a present?

“Ally,” he called and I focused on
him.

I took in a breath, holding the
Christmas spirit close.

In other words, I replied calmly,
“Ren, when I promise to help, I have to do whatever it takes to do the job.”

He studied me. I waited for him to
commence the Talk or go straight into the Fight.

Apparently Ren was feeling the
Christmas spirit too as he didn’t do either.

Instead, he held me to him as he
mumbled, “Not gonna get into this shit on Christmas,” and he twisted toward his
nightstand.

He opened the drawer. I held my
breath. Then he pulled out a small, jewelry-sized, exquisitely wrapped present,
complete with bow.

Jewelry.

I was a Rock Chick. I accepted
gifts of all forms.

I also gave them the same way.

But I never thought I’d be a girl
who felt like I felt right then when a man was about to give her jewelry. And I
didn’t even care what was in that wrapped package.

It was indeed the thought that
mattered.

And jewelry from a man, that man
being Ren, said a lot about what he thought of me.

I pressed my lips together.

Ren settled on his back and offered
me the present.

“Open it, honey.”

I swallowed, looked into his eyes
and took it.

As best I could still leaning into
him, I pulled off the bow and wrap and unearthed a familiar blue box with a
white ribbon.

Oh crap.

My throat got scratchy when I
untied the ribbon and flipped open the box.

In it was a silver pendant on a
chain.

The pendant was in the shape of a
guitar.

Holy crap.

Tiffany’s didn’t only do elegant.
It did
cool
.

Totally righteous.

“Ren,” I whispered.

“I’ll take that as you likin’ it.”

I didn’t like it.

I
loved
it. It was
perfect
for me.

My eyes moved from the pendant to
him. “Thank you.”

His eyes were soft and sweet on me.
“You’re welcome, baby.”

I pressed my lips together again
then leaned in and pressed them to his mouth. Before I pulled away, he touched
his tongue to my lower lip which made me shiver both internally and externally.

It was the kind of shiver Ren
usually felt and did something about. But before he could, I pulled away,
leaned into him to put the pendant on his nightstand then pushed further over
him so my hips were at his gut and I was hanging over the side of the bed.

I reached under it to where I hid
my present days ago (don’t get excited—I hadn’t since learned how to pick a
lock—Ren had given me his key and his security code).

I pulled it out, pushed up and sat
on the side of my hip as I set his present on his stomach.

“Fuck,” he murmured, eyes on his
present.

“Well, that wasn’t the response expected,”
I remarked.

He pushed up to rest against the
headboard but did so looking at me, eyes warm but lips quirking, all the while
asking, “So, fuck buddies give Christmas presents?”

It was Christmas. I was
not
going to get annoyed.

I told myself this, smiled and
said, “Shut up.”’

He smiled back. My heart squeezed
and he opened his present.

Then he burst out laughing when he
shook out what was inside.

“Do not take this as me supporting
your Bears habit,” I warned and his warm dancing eyes came to me. “But Sweetness
is Sweetness and everyone is allowed to worship at the shrine of Walter
Payton.”

This I’d proved by giving him a
number 34 Bears jersey.

Ren’s hand shot out, hooked around
my neck, and he pulled me to him for a hard, closed-mouth kiss.

When he let me back an inch, he
said softly, “Thank you, honey.”

The way he said that hit me
someplace deep, where he lived in me, where I kept him and what I wished we
could be.

I kept it there. I locked it there.
And part of me hoped I’d have those slices of our times together for eternity.

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled.

Then the jersey was crushed between
us because Ren was on me, his hands were all over me, and I was on my back in
his bed.

“Christmas quickie,” he murmured
into my neck.

Excellent.

My hands started moving on his
skin.

His head came up and his eyes, lit
with humor, caught mine.

“And, just sayin’, babe, you lock
my pendant away ‘cause you don’t want the questions the Rock Chicks will fire
at you when they see my present around your neck, that’s cool. I’ll wait ‘til
you let me in for you to wear it.”

He
so
knew me.

Everything.

That was a bit scary.

What was scarier was that he knew
me in all my stubborn crazy, and it seemed he found it amusing.

I reminded myself it was Christmas
and I was not going to get annoyed.

But even if it was Christmas, I
couldn’t allow myself to hope.

So I just rolled my eyes.

On the downward roll, he was
kissing me. While doing that, an extremely proficient multi-tasker in bed, he
commenced doing other things with me.

It was the best beginning of a
Christmas ever.

Like a dream.

* * * * *

The rest of the day wouldn’t go so
well as the Rock Chicks, Hot Bunch, Tex, Duke and a variety of other people
witnessed my scene with Ren at Roxie and Hank’s wedding and they were in my
business about it.

I’d had some experience staving off
such enquiries so it wasn’t tough to keep the wolves at bay.

The problem was, after that scene,
the Rock Chicks were on the scent. And this was not good.

But I couldn’t concentrate on that.
So I put it off (and put it off and then more putting it off) and decided to
face that particular music if and when the time came.

I had enough on
my
 
hands
dealing with Ren and me being
fuck buddies.

Or, as Ren saw it, Ren and me
being a
Ren and me
.

A game where I made my plays, Ren
made his.

A game where our plays were the
same even when I tried to convince myself they were different.

A game that would end on a
morning in May in a moderately priced motel in a small Colorado Mountain town.

And it ended decisively.

Fast Forward—Hit Play

Chapter Seven

Unconscious

May in a moderately priced motel in a small Colorado Mountain town…

I got into the bedroom, my hands on
my jeans and was about to shove a foot through when they were yanked clean
away.

I reared up and made a grab for
them as Ren clipped, “Ally, what the fuck?”

“Give me my jeans!” I snapped
loudly but he held them away.

Thus began a stand up tussle that
included some slapping and grabbing (me), defensive maneuvers (Ren); my part
desperate, his part possibly confused. Finally, he tossed the jeans behind him
and since he was a tall, powerfully-built Italian hothead standing between me
and my jeans, an obstruction I was not likely to breach, I grunted in
frustration and shoved his chest (also in frustration).

He took two steps back and lifted
both his hands, palms out my way.

“Right. Enough. Calm down and tell
me what the fuck you’re talkin’ about,” he demanded.

I locked my eyes with his.