Page 5 of Rock On

And I definitely hadn’t expected to fall out of a tree and have him catch me.

Well, he’d tried to catch me.

It was more like he broke my fall and we landed in a heap on the ground.

Good thing I was drunk, or it might have hurt. Instead, all I felt was sore and embarrassed.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Harley.” My ex-husband was flat on his back, looking up at me in annoyance.

“Oops. Guess I lost my balance.” I couldn’t move at first, trying to catch my breath. And not notice how firm and hard his torso was. Or how handsome he still was. It had been more than three years since I’d been this close to him, and I’d almost forgotten the effect his proximity would have on me.

Oh, what the hell was wrong with me?

Tommy Bane was one of the most gorgeous and successful rockstars in the world. Of course, I noticed how hot he was.

Of course, he was strong and in shape.

Of course, I had no business thinking about his body. Or him.

I took a breath and tried to move, but I winced at the ache in my leg.

“Ow. Fuck.”

“You okay?” One of his hands travelled to the small of my back, his voice momentarily gruff.

Our eyes met and I wasn’t sure what I saw there.

Concern? Regret? Maybe a touch of arousal?

Yeah, that was definitely arousal, and spending another second in his presence was a terrible idea.

“Just a little sore.” I rolled to the side and managed to get to my knees.

“You sure you’re okay?” He reached out a hand to steady me as I tried to stand and wobbled a little, but that was probably more the alcohol than the fall.

“I’m fine!” I snapped, anxious to get away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

“Hey, no skin off my teeth.” He held up his hands. “Far be it for me to pretend to be a gentleman.”

“Fuck you,” I muttered, wiping my hands on my jeans.

This was always the problem with Tommy; he could be so sweet and thoughtful sometimes. Then he’d turn into douchebag Tommy. And this was a hard enough day without adding a dose of Tommy’s fuckery.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he ground out.

“Excuse me?” I turned, knitting my brows together.

“You’d like to fuck me.” His voice was practically a snarl. “Don’t even try to deny it turned you on being on top of me a minute ago. I know that look in your eyes. You still like it rough, Harley? Still like it from behind? With my hand on your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes roll back in your head when you come?”

“Oh, fuck all the way off!” I snapped, my cheeks burning with indignation.

The truth of the matter was that what he’d described was how I liked it.

And no one else had been able to give me what I needed in that department.

I’d had more than a few lovers since the divorce, but they had all been disasters.

Because no one else could make me feel like Tommy did.

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