Kristen Ashley - Rock Chick Revolution

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

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.

“You fought over her that night.”

His head jerked and he asked, “What?”

“That night!” I shouted. “That night we hooked up. You fought with Luke over Ava.”

Suddenly, his body went completely still, as did the air in the room, and his eyes didn’t leave me but they’d gone funny as he whispered, “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I hissed.

He shook his head, not in the negative, like he was trying to clear it.

Then he asked disbelievingly, “You’re tellin’ me we’ve been in each other’s space for over a year and you’re throwin’ this shit in my face now?”

“Well, if that’s not enough…” I shot back instantly, slamming my hands on my hips, something Ren’s eyes watched before they came back to mine and I saw they were heating.

This was a warning signal I’d made a habit of not heeding. And at that point, I did the same and kept right on talking.

“There was the night at the art gallery where you said you had eyes on me but I never caught your eyes on me. But I did see you gazing at Ava!”

I sounded like a jealous bitch. I knew it. And I didn’t care.

Because the big bossy jerk asked me to Ava’s wedding!

Those eyes I was talking about narrowed and he returned, “I might have looked at Ava, Ally, but fuck, only because she was there.”

“You didn’t look, Zano, you gazed.”

He blinked then asked, “Jesus, have you lost your mind?”

“No.” I answered. “I’m a woman and I know.”

“You know,” he replied.

“Yep,” I bit out. “I know.”

“You know, for a year I’ve been bangin’ you, busting my ass to find a way in with you, you gave me every sign I was succeeding… and before you open your mouth to deny it, I’ll remind you about Christmas morning,” he warned me.

Since I’d opened my mouth to deny it, at his reminder, I snapped it shut.

He kept going.

“And that entire fuckin’ year you’ve been thinkin’ I’m in love with another woman and you didn’t say anything?”

God.

Was he serious?

“What do I say, Zano?” I retorted. “What questions do I ask when I don’t want the fucking answers?”

“If you’d asked, you might have found you wanted the answers,” he fired back.

Then, all Italian hothead badass, he lost it.