Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (reading a book TXT) 📕

into her pockets, not knowing what to do with them. “I don’t know what else to say except I wish things could be different but they aren’t. I regret ending it this way.”

“I wish you hadn’t ended it at all,” he spat out. “There’s more to this than you’re saying. How about telling me where you went last night? I know you weren’t home.” He glared at her. “When you didn’t answer my calls, I drove over here. The house was dark and you didn’t answer the door. I knocked so loud I was afraid the neighbors would come out and chase me away.”

“I heard what you said on the answering machine. I suppose you were worried about me. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You didn’t think I was just going to sit around and wait for you to give me some kind of explanation, did you? Or did you think at all?”

No, she hadn’t, and that was one of the worst of her sins. She’d been thinking of no one but herself.

His anger still shimmered in the air along with a healthy dose of bruised ego. He wasn’t letting this go, and Emma just wanted it to be over. Done. So she could be alone and figure out what to tell her parents who were sure to be all over her like a plague of locusts.

“I don’t really want to discuss where I went or what I did. That’s my business now. I’m very sorry, Andrew, but it definitely is over. And it would be better for both of us if you would leave. Now.”

Andrew was gripping the coffee mug so hard Emma was afraid for a minute it might shatter. Then he set it deliberately on the table and walked out of the room, Emma on his heels. At the front door he turned toward her, resentment still outlining his features.

“Just so you know, I’m not giving up. Whatever little brain fart you had last night will work its way out and then life can get back to normal.” He opened the door. “And I’ll forgive you.”

Emma stared after him, open-mouthed.

He’d forgive her?

How truly magnanimous of him.

If the door hadn’t already been closed, she would have slammed it.

Finally, she went back into the kitchen and rinsed out the mugs. Too bad she’d already taken her shower. That was the place where she did some of her best thinking.

And where I can conjure up Marc again, pretend my hands on my body are his. Pretend—

Crap, Emma. Get a grip.

***

Marc was jittery and unsettled. The episode at the grocery store had really put him off his game. After scarfing down a sandwich from the deli, he changed into old, faded jeans and a ratty T-shirt. Now he couldn’t figure out what to do with the rest of the day. He’d thought about going over to his parents’ house and immersing himself in the environment there. Being with his family always centered him. Maybe his brothers would be home from college for the weekend, and he could hang out with them. Sitting here alone was only driving him crazy.

He was aware most people didn’t think of rock musicians as having families. Someone once said to him, “I’m sure they just think we were hatched.” And truly, too many of the musicians he knew had no family support at all. Marc never took his for granted. They’d encouraged him with his music right from the beginning, and he always let them know how important they were to him.

But maybe today wasn’t such a good time to head over there. One of his brothers was sure to figure out why he was so fidgety, and he wasn’t at all ready to tell them about Music Lady. He didn’t even know her name, for God’s sake. Or have any idea how to find her. Get in touch with her.

Try explaining to my brothers I had mind-blowing sex with a woman who wouldn’t even tell me her name. And that the next day she acted as if she’d never met me. What’s that all about?

Why does her attitude hurt so badly? Why am I even thinking about her if she can blow me off this way, treat me like a stranger?

He didn’t like feeling unsettled. It had never happened to him with any other woman and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. One night with Music Lady and his emotions were all over the place.

He shook himself mentally, cursing himself for acting like an idiot. Finally, after wandering around his house, he thumped himself down on the couch. But try as he might, he couldn’t get his Music Lady out of his mind. Thinking about her now made his cock hard as a steel pole, and he shifted to a more comfortable position. When he closed his eyes, he could see her again gloriously naked in his bed, her satin, soft skin flushed with pleasure, eyes glazed, streaky blonde hair falling around her like a cape. His hands fisted convulsively remembering the feel of her breasts, the stiff pebbled nipples, the beat of her heart against his fingers.

He wished she were here, right next to him, so he could pull those luscious buds into his mouth again. Nip them with his teeth and soothe them with his tongue. Lick her body all over and plunge his tongue deep into her wet pussy. Taste that sweet pink flesh and suck the hot bud of her clit.

He wanted her to sit on his face and—

Marc jerked himself into awareness. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t sixteen anymore, having wet dreams about the cutest girl in class. No, he was thinking about a woman he’d probably never see again. He checked his watch. Four o’clock. Where the hell had the afternoon disappeared to while he’d been sitting here daydreaming like a fool?

It occurred to him that he’d spent most of the day alternately nursing his hurt feelings