All That He Loves (Volume 2 The Billionaires Seduction) (49 page)

But I was bound and determined to hang onto my anger for as long as I could.

No matter how illogical it was.

Shanna was cold as ice to me the next morning – and it wasn’t just her hangover. She gave me the glare of death the entire time I was getting ready, though she didn’t say anything.

Finally I turned around and blurted out, “I didn’t sleep with him.”

“What a coincidence,” she sneered. “Neither did I.”

I hustled out of there as fast as possible and went to my English class.

I know Shanna was pissed, and she had every right to be – but it’s not like I’d wangled a hot new boyfriend out of the deal.

In fact, I was absolutely sure I would never see him again.

Not like ‘see’ as in ‘go out on a date with,’ either.

‘See’ as in ‘run into around town.’

I had resigned myself to that fact for many reasons.

He was an incredibly good-looking guy (
incredibly
good-looking), in a band, cool, charismatic, funny, surprisingly smart – and he was used to picking up women and sleeping with them the same night.

He’d had a brief interruption the previous night, that was all. For whatever reason, he had abandoned a sure thing to hang out with me. (If Shanna’s drunk, she’s about as close to a sure thing as a guy can get.)

Then, when I’d ducked away from his kiss… that was it, I was sure of it. Never going to see him again.

I didn’t go to shows at the clubs, I didn’t try to sneak into bars, and I didn’t hang out where we’d ever run into each other. At best, I might see him walking down Main Street with some tattooed chick all over him. Our eyes might meet… a brief second of confusion on his part, followed by an amused look of
Oh yeah, aren’t you that girl who turned me down?
... and then he’d probably drag his breathless date into a hallway and commence making out with her, just to show me what I’d missed out on.

I have to admit, I was a
little
curious about what I’d passed up… so I asked around. I had a friend in my Sociology class who was known for crushing exclusively on guys in local bands.

“Hey, Lindsey… have you ever heard of a guy named Derek Kane?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she looked like she’d just had a spontaneous orgasm. “Oh my GOD he is SO HOT.”

I took that for a ‘yes.’

“Does he… you know… sleep around a lot?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why? Did
you
sleep with him?”

“NO,” I said quickly. “No, but, he, uh… he made a pass at my roommate.”

“That figures,” she snorted. “He’s the biggest man-slut
ever.
”

Ew.

“‘Made a pass’?” Lindsey continued with a frown. “She didn’t sleep with him?”

“No, she, uh… passed out before they did anything.”

Technically that was the truth.

Lindsey smirked. “Your roommate missed out
big
time.”

I got a very naughty feeling when she said that.

“Did you sleep with him?” I whispered.

She blushed a light pink. “…um… yeah.”

“Oh.”

I knew I shouldn’t ask, I knew I shouldn’t ask –  

“…was he any good?”

Lindsey’s eyes rolled back in her head again, and she looked like she was having a second orgasm. “Oh my GOD, he’s in
credible.
”

When she said that, I felt like somebody had stabbed me in the stomach.

“…did you guys… date?” I asked feebly.

Now she was back to blushing slightly. “…um… I don’t know if I’d say
that,
exactly… we were kind of…
seeing
each other.”

“Did you go out for awhile?”

“…um… three or four times.” She paused. “…not all in a row.”

“Ah.”

Things were becoming a lot clearer now.

She shifted nervously from foot to foot. “You know how it is… we’ll see each other at a show… or at a bar… and we’ll hook up again.”

“Does he call you afterwards?”

She suddenly frosted over. “No. Why are you so interested?”

“I, uh… I told my roommate he seemed like bad news, and that she should stay away from him.”

“Well, that’s probably wise,” she said as she walked off – and then turned around with an exuberant smile. “But if you see him again, tell him I said hi! And give him my number, okay? In case he lost it.”

Ew.

I asked another girl – a hot chick, one who lived in my dorm – if she knew of him. She did. She hadn’t slept with him, but she knew a friend who had.

I asked about her friend’s experience.

“Well, she pretty much raved it was the best sex she’d ever had… but he never called her back again.”

So he was talented in the sack… and a total scumbag.

Gross.

“Would your friend sleep with him again if he hit on her?”

“She’d probably say she wouldn’t, but… I know her. She’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Lovely.

Although, I can’t deny, even though I was disgusted by him… phrases like ‘your roommate missed out
big
time’ and ‘the best sex she’d ever had’ kept echoing in my ears.

Not that it mattered in the slightest.

I was never, ever going to see him again, I was sure of it.

So, of course, he came back two days later.

I was folding laundry at 4 PM when somebody knocked. Shanna wasn’t home, so I called out, “Yeah?”

“It’s Derek,” a deep, incredibly sexy voice rumbled.

My heart did two backflips, and it was hard to breathe for a second.

I started to race for the door – caught myself – and walked over calmly to open it.

I tried to ignore the fact that I was in sweatpants again.

He was standing there in essentially the same get-up as last night, except he’d changed out the Led Zeppelin shirt for – of all things – a faded Whitesnake tour shirt.

He pointed to it with a mock gangsta expression like,
Yeeeaaaah, boy, REPRESENTIN’!

I burst out laughing.

“Ohhhhh…
very
nice. You joined the fan club, I see.”

“Just for you,” he said, and grinned as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest. “I had to go to three Goodwills to find this puppy.”

God, he had great arms…

“Is that so? Orrrr were you secretly a member all along, and you’re just coming out of the closet?” I teased.

“You got me.” He put his hands on his hips defiantly. “Now I’m out and proud, baby.”

“Are we talking the Whitesnake closet, or is there something else you want to tell me?”

“Why?” he asked mischievously. “If I thought I might be gay, and I was all depressed because society hates me, would you try to help me… figure things out?”

Unnnnnhhh.

Despite the whole ‘I might be gay’ part, which normally would be a libido killer (but here was obviously just a joke), it was the idea of how I could help him ‘figure things out’ that got me.

I had to fight to keep down the fluttering in my belly.

Remember: man-slut,
the little angel on my right shoulder whispered.

Best sex of her LIFE,
the little devil on the left smirked.

Kevin – remember Kevin,
the angel urged.

Your EX-boyfriend,
the little devil shouted.

“No, but Shanna would be up for that,” I finally said.

“Shanna doesn’t need that excuse to take a guy to bed.”

I laughed. “True. But haven’t you heard? Society doesn’t hate gay people anymore.”

“Haven’t you heard?” he shot back. “We’re in
Georgia.
”

I laughed again. “Well, the Baptist Student Union is right down the street. I’m pretty sure they’ll help you ‘pray the gay away.’”

“Great, I’ll just go down there and – oh, you know what?”

He pulled out his shirt collar and looked down at his chest as though he were inspecting something.

I
sooooo
wished I could see what he was looking at right then.

He let go of his collar and looked back up at me. “We’re good. I just realized I’m 100% into women.”

And he gave me a look from my head to my toes that basically said,
I want to rip off your clothes and lick you up and down like an ice cream cone.

My knees went weak.

This… this was not good.

I turned away to regain my composure and went back into my room. “How nice for you. Shanna’s not here to take you up on it, though.”

“That’s even better, since I came to see you.”

Oh crap.

This was soooo not good.

Remember Kevin, remember Kevin, remember Kevin!
the little angel cried.

Your EX-boyfriend, your EX-boyfriend, your EX-boyfriend!
the little devil hollered.

I turned around and tried to sound surprised. “You came to see me?”

“Yeah.”

I thought about mockingly asking him
Why?
, but I was afraid he might tell me
exactly
why.

Instead I just stared into his beautiful green eyes for a few seconds…

…and then he grinned at me, like the whole thing had been in good fun.

As soon as he did that, I broke out grinning, too – I couldn’t help it! – and then I looked away, shy and embarrassed.

Thank God there was a pile of laundry right in front of me: something to do. I started folding.

“Um… well… hi,” I said as I folded a cotton shirt.

He kept leaning against the doorframe, just watching me. “So, how’d the Chaucer test go?”

Oh yeah!

Something neutral to talk about.

“Really well, I think – the essay was to write about what the knight learned from the old woman, how he used it, and what it implied in the battle of the sexes.”

“Battle of the sexes, huh?”

“That was the essay question.”

“You know, in the battle of the sexes, I’m more of lover than a fighter,” he said with a playful smirk, trying to gauge my reaction.

Best sex she’d ever had.

Your roommate missed out BIG time.

I chose to ignore the comment.

“I think I might have gotten an A or a B, if I didn’t screw up any too much on the grammar or spelling.”

“See?” he said, immensely pleased with himself. “I saved your bacon.”

I made a face at him. “Yeah, after distracting me for hours on end.”

“Aaaaah, you enjoyed it.”

I did, but I wasn’t about to admit it.

“You can’t claim to save me when
you’re
the one who put me in danger.”

“Danger?!” he exclaimed in mock offense. “I’m not dangerous, I’m good luck. You should always follow my advice.”

“Yeah, I can imagine what
that
advice would be.”

“Can you now?” he said with a seductive smile.

I’m pretty sure it would include clothes flying off and naked bodies writhing around.

Then I imaged
his
naked body – muscular, gorgeous, absolutely perfect –

STOP it.

“Yeah,” I said, and tried to sound as disapproving as possible. “Somehow, I think following your advice would be a recipe for disaster.”

He looked thoughtful as soon as I said it. “That’s good… I should write a song called ‘Recipe For Disaster.’”

“You should name your
band
‘Recipe For Disaster.’”

“How complimentary of you!” he said mockingly.

“I try.”

“But we’ve already got a name.”

“Which is…?”

“Inward Spiral.”

Okay, that was the best possible answer he could have given me.

It’s a lot easier to ignore a gorgeous, buff, Greek god’s advances when he starts talking about his pretentiously named garage band.

I tried to be polite, though. “Um… okay, that’s very…”

I must have made a face, because he became ever-so defensive. “Very what?”

I paused.

“Don’t
all
spirals go inwards?” I asked.

“Well, they normally go
down,
” he said in his deep, smoky voice.

Now I was thinking of him going down on me… those sensual lips kissing me beneath my waist…

STOP IT.

I forced myself to grimace. “What a clever double entendre.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” he said with faux innocence.

I gave him a tight little smile and squinted like,
Suuuuure you don’t.

“Are you one of those chicks?” he asked.

Again, best possible answer he could have given. I can deal with double entendres, but he was being
sleazily
brazen. I imagined him as one of those guys who unzipped his pants and expected girls to service them, and it offended me.

Unfortunately, the idea of unzipping his pants also excited me, too.

“One of those chicks who go down?” I asked angrily – a little
too
angrily. I must have sounded like the uptight prude from hell.

He grinned. “I wasn’t going there, but, sure, if you want to volunteer that information – ”

“I
don’t.
”

“Don’t do it, or don’t – ”

“
Don’t volunteer that information,
” I snapped.

“Okay, then, I was talking about super-literal, anal retentive chicks who talk about spirals going
inward
.”

“NO.”

He could tell he was getting on my nerves.

He could also probably tell I had been getting a little hot and bothered.

He seemed to be getting off on both of those things… but he played it smart and backed off. “I agree… it’s not the greatest name ever. If you think of a better one, let me know.”

“Recipe For Disaster,” I deadpanned.

He laughed. “It’s a little too home ec for a band name. But I’ll consider writing a song.”

“Oh, you’ll deign to consider it, huh? Thanks,” I scoffed.

“Has anybody ever told you you can be a little bit prickly?”

He didn’t say it in a pissed-off way. More like he was talking to a hilarious three-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.