Taming the Storm
Page 83

It doesn’t go unnoticed by him. And I’m not alone in it either. His eyes have darkened with lust.
We’re frozen in a moment together, and I wonder…hope…pray that he’s going to kiss me.
Then, something clouds his face. His eyes harden just like they did before in the music room.
He removes his hand and steps away from me.
I feel the loss of his touch like ice on my skin.
“I don’t have a jacket that will fit you,” he says, heading over to a coat hook on the wall, where a bunch of jackets are hung. “You’ll have to wear one of mine. That okay?”
“Sure,” I say, steeling myself, not letting my disappointment show.
He takes two black leather jackets from the coat hook and brings one over to me.
I slide my arms in, pulling it on, and then zip it up. It’s huge and smells of Tom.
His scent is filling my lungs, choking my insides.
I look up to see him zipping up his jacket. He looks illegally hot in it.
Tugging at the big jacket, I grumble, “I bet I look stupid.”
He grins. “Nah, you look cute. Anyway, I like to see you in my clothes.”
He can say the sweetest things at times. Things that make me think maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe there’s more for us.
I smile at him. And his eyes harden again, and my hope fades.
He hands me a helmet. “Put this on.”
Doing as I’m told, I pull it on over my head. I’m struggling with fastening the strap, so Tom takes over.
“All set.” He gives me a gentle smile before pulling my visor down.
He pulls on his own helmet and fastens it with ease. Then, he climbs on the bike.
Kicking off the stand, he keeps his feet flat on the floor and pats the space behind him.
Hand on his arm, I put my foot on the rest and hoist myself on, swinging my leg over. I set my other foot on the rest and place my hands on Tom’s waist. He grabs my hands and pulls them around to his front, bringing me right up against him.
My breathing hitches.
He turns on the engine. The vibrations run through my body, highlighting every lusty feeling I’m having right now from being this close to him.
He takes out a tiny remote from his pocket and opens the garage door.
Slowly, he drives us out of the garage, maneuvering around the house. When he hits the gravel driveway, he starts to pick up speed.
My thighs grip him tighter, my fingers digging into his leather jacket.
He removes one hand from the handlebar and gives my thigh a squeeze. “Relax,” he says over the roar of the engine “You’re safe with me.”
Knowing Tom would never let anything happen to me, I let myself relax a little.
He slows as we approach the gate. It opens automatically. Tom drives through.
He gives the road a quick check, and then turning left, he hits tarmac and quickly picks up speed.
I let out a little squeal, squeezing my eyes shut, as I tighten my grip on him again.
I feel his laughter beneath my hands, rumbling through his chest.
After a while, I open my eyes, figuring I should just try to relax and enjoy the ride.
Enjoy just being close to Tom for this last time.
All too soon, we’re in Silver Lake and pulling up outside my building where I share an apartment with the guys, courtesy of TMS Records.
Tom kicks out the stand and pulls off his helmet. He hangs it on the handlebar. He runs his hand through his hair, mussing it up.
My heart feels as heavy as bricks.
I hold on to him as I swing my leg over. Feet hitting concrete, I take a minute to steady my wobbly legs. As much as I loved being close to Tom and a huge part of me didn’t want to let go, it is nice to be on safe ground again.
Removing the helmet, I shake my hair out. “Thanks for the ride.” I hold the helmet out for him to take.
“Keep it,” he says, pushing it back to me. “I can’t ride home with it. Keep the jacket, too. Not that you’ll have any use for them, but they’re yours.”
He’s rejecting me.
He would rather have me keep his things than have to chance seeing me again.
Just say fine and walk away.
But I can’t seem to stop my big stupid mouth from saying, “I could bring them to the studio for you.” And now I sound desperate.
Fabulous.
He stares straight ahead. “No, it’s fine. Keep them.”
He can’t even bring himself to look at me. “Okay.” I take a small step back. “Thanks…I guess.”
Keep moving, Ly. Say good-bye and get your ass into your building.
I’m trying—really, I am—but the ache of his rejection is stinging like a mother, and I can’t seem to move.
“So, yeah, um…thanks for the ride.”
You said that already. Just leave pride intact. Come on, look at him. He can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s itching to leave.
Then, it hits me. This is it. I leave Tom now, and I don’t know when I’ll see him again, if ever.
We don’t exactly run in the same circles. The only possibility of me seeing Tom would be at the studio, but if he really doesn’t want to see me, then it wouldn’t be hard for him to avoid me.
I don’t want to lose him.
The realization strikes me like a blinding, sickening panic.
I can’t envisage a day where I don’t get to see him or speak to him, and the thought of never being close to him again…never being able to touch him or have him touch me…