Page 55 of A Way Out
It didn’t matter, because the moment he moved, she fled.
A shadow fell over him. He glanced up to see that Travis had taken Maria’s spot. He frowned and practically growled, “Don’t make me be the bad guy.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Oz asked.
“You know damn well who I’m talking about. Holly’s sister.”
“Her name’s Maria.”
“Yeah, and she’s practically our publicist.”
He knew what Travis was saying. She was tied to the band, which meant she was off limits.
“It’s not like that,” he said, turning to walk away.
Travis grabbed his arm. “It’s exactly like that.”
Oz shook him off. “So what if it is? I like her. I want to sleep with her. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Bullshit.”
“You know what? Maybe you need to get laid. Maybe it will chill you the fuck out.” Oz deliberately knocked his shoulder into Travis’s as he finally pushed past him.
Chapter Twenty
Maria rushed to her bedroom to hide until she could get her breathing under control. She was hot and flushed and achy between her thighs, all because Oz had played his guitar and sang a song about sex while staring her in the eyes.
She went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cold water, pressing it to the back of her neck to cool herself off without ruining her makeup or hair.
Why did the man have to be so infuriatingly beautiful and wonderful and so utterly unattainable?
“Hey,” he said from the doorway to his bedroom.
“Speak of the devil,” she muttered without looking at him. She hadn’t flipped on the switch, so only the barest amount of sunlight filtered into the room through the two open doors.
“That sounds ominous,” he commented, leaning on the doorjamb, cool as a flipping cucumber.
She didn’t want him to be calm, cool, and collected. She wanted him completely unhinged. As desperate as she was.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked quietly.
She caught his eye in the mirror. “You can have sex with me. Right now.”
His eyes widened. She swore she could actually see his pulse rate kick up. Her gaze dropped to his shorts.
He was already hard.
“You do want me,” she whispered.
“I never said I didn’t.”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” It meant everything.
“Maria…”
“I need a release.” She grasped the front of her dress, began unlatching buttons. “If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.”
She didn’t ask him to leave.
