I deflated. It was disappointing that he kept a part of himself closed off from me. It hurt, and my confidence took a blow because of it. Maybe Matt was right.

The hardness in Sculpt’s face slipped away, and his arm slipped around my waist. “Do you need that plane flying by your window?”

I smiled.

“My past is real shit, Eme, and I’m not polluting you with it.” His phone went off, and his arm dropped away from me as he pulled it from his leather jacket pocket then scrolled through the text message. “Fight tonight, Mouse.” He typed something, then slid his phone back into his pocket, and linked his hand around the back of my neck, drawing me in for a kiss.

All thoughts of finding out his name vanished as his mouth roamed over mine in a slow, luxurious awakening. It was much different from the wild, out-of-control kiss earlier, but it was so hot and sweet, and I melted into him. He could have me anyway he wanted.

I sighed in disappointment when he pulled away.

“I want to go with you.” I didn’t particularly like the fighting, but it was better to hate watching him fight than to stay home wondering and not knowing if he was okay.

“No.” He started his bike, reeving the engine.

I placed my hands on my hips and raised my brows. “No?”

“Yeah, Eme. No. I don’t want you around those people.”

“So, I don’t have a say in this?”

“No.” He sighed, lowered his head, and looked back up at me. “Eme, I don’t want you hurt.”

“Hurt? You’re the one doing the fighting. And I want to be there. I want to make sure you’re okay. It’ll kill me to stay at home wondering if you’re injured. Please, Sculpt.”

He shut off his bike and stared at me for a few seconds, his face expressionless. Then he grabbed my hand and lifted my left leg over the seat of the bike so I was facing him. His hand drove into my hair and yanked back.

I gasped at the pain that instantly became pleasure. Then his mouth came down on mine. It was possessive and raw, almost painful, but it stole my breath, held it captive, and chained me to him.

He groaned, hand tightening in my hair as he nipped at my lower lip, kissing me again. My thighs were over the top of his, my pelvis was digging into his groin that was hard and pressing into me. Damp panties were riding into my crotch, and my limbs were shaking as only Sculpt could do to me with a single kiss. There was no going back. This was it. This was him, and even if he never told me anything about his childhood, I belonged to him.

“What the fuck?” Matt’s voice shouted as the front door slammed so hard the house probably shook. He strode toward us, and I quickly hopped off the bike.

“Sculpt, go.” He ignored me and climbed off then put his hand on the small of my back “What are you doing? He’s going to kill you.”

Sculpt’s brows rose. “Eme, really?”

Okay, that was stupid, but Matt was a big guy, and I really didn’t want to see two men I adored fight one another. I went to stand in front of Sculpt to intercept, but he caught my hand and pulled me behind him.

“Sculpt,” I objected.

“Mouse.”

“Emily, get in the house.” Matt stopped abruptly in front of Sculpt, his shoes making a skidding noise on the pavement. “I told you to stay away from her. I warned you.”

Matt threw a punch, and instead of defending himself, Sculpt pushed me out of the way just before Matt’s fist connected with his cheek. I heard the sound of bone smashing into bone.

“No! Matt, no. Please.” I scrambled forward just as Sculpt hauled off and hit Matt in return, but his punch was much harder and landed Matt on his ass. “Matt.” I ran over and fell onto my knees beside him.

Matt rubbed his jaw then tested it. “Nice punch, asshole.” He came to his feet, then helped me to mine. “And now you’re out of a gig.”

“What? Matt, you hit him first.” I pulled on his arm.

Sculpt shrugged. “Your loss, buddy. The club only makes it because of Torn. You want to flounder in shitty-ass bands then go for it.” Sculpt stepped forward and got right in Matt’s face. “I’m not giving her up. Ever.”

My breath hitched, and Matt must have heard, because he glanced at me.

“Shit.” He ran his hand through his hair muttering a few choice words under his breath.

“Matt.” Sculpt looked at me and then back at Matt. “I want her to come on tour with the band.”

My mouth dropped open. We’d never talked about me going with him on tour.

“Jesus,” Matt muttered then started pacing. “Emily’s like my little sister. And you, Sculpt . . . are dangerous. You know why? Because not a single person knows who you are. That’s what I don’t like, and that’s why Emily won’t be going anywhere with you.”

Sculpt got right up in Matt’s face, his voice controlled. “That’s her choice to make, not yours.” Sculpt didn’t wait for a reply as he turned toward his bike. He threw his leg over the seat, then looked at me. “Eme.” He disengaged the clutch then pressed the ignition.

I looked from Sculpt’s retreating bike to Matt and back again. Oh God. He said I could go with him. He was giving me a choice. But I couldn’t. I loved Matt; he’d been there for me growing up, but Sculpt . . . Was Sculpt my path ahead? Was I really going to have to choose between them?

“Fuck, Emily.” Matt sighed. “You’re going to get hurt.”

I looked at the ground, because I knew that was a big possibility, and I didn’t want him to see the truth in my eyes. Going with Sculpt . . . it wasn’t an option. I knew that. I had to make it on my own and going with Sculpt would just lead to me being a burden on him. A person he’d have to look after and ruin his chances at stardom. Shit, my mom had said, she couldn’t become an architect because she got pregnant with me.

Matt put his arm around me and pulled me into a hug. I rested my cheek against his chest hearing the steady rhythm of his heart. “He scares me, Eme. I asked around, and even his band mates know pretty much nothing about his past. Did he even tell you he and his mother moved here when he was sixteen? Do you know where he lived before? Has he mentioned anything?”

I shook my head.

The hardness suddenly shifted from him, and I saw the vulnerability in his face. The pierced lips softened and curved downward while his shoulders slumped as if his muscles had finally released all their tension. He sighed while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re going to see him anyway, aren’t you?” Matt asked, his tone was much softer, resigned.

“Yeah.” The knot in my stomach grew tighter. I didn’t like hurting Matt, but I needed Sculpt, wanted him. Though I did understand why Matt wanted me to have nothing to do with him.

Matt nodded. “No going to his fights. That shit is bad news, and I don’t want you to be a part of it.”

“I want to see his band play.” Once. That was all I needed before he left. A memory of him on stage, singing to me with his sexy gravelled voice. Something to hold onto. The knot in my stomach intensified.

Matt ran his hand over the top of his head, back and forth, then groaned. “I can’t believe I’m saying this . . . I should be firing his ass for blatantly dating you after I told him not to.” Matt did know me; when it came to my mind being made up I was stubborn. “Fine. Come to the bar, but Emily please think about what I’ve said? Maybe if he told you something about himself . . .”

I nodded, then I stood on my tip toes and kissed his cheek. “Love you, Matt.”

I sat with my phone in my lap and watched The Walking Dead while my nerves shot off in all directions waiting for Sculpt to text me after his fight. Not even the blood and guts of my favorite show could stop my mind from thinking about the man who was stealing my heart . . . no, he’d already stolen my heart. It was in his grasp; the question was what would he do with it?

Chapter 5

Sculpt was tense, had been ever since the fight three days ago. He’d won, so it wasn’t an ego hit, because I knew damn well Sculpt would take a hit if he lost a fight. He was pretty casual when he talked about his fights—until now. I thought I was reading too much into it, but when he passed the ice cream parlor without stopping on the way to the horse farm, I knew whatever was bothering him was big.

Was he thinking about me coming with him on tour? Was he regretting asking me? Had it been a spur of the moment decision because he’d been put on the spot by Matt? No, Sculpt wasn’t the type to do anything because of someone else pressuring him.

He drove to our favorite spot, parked his truck on the side of the road, and grabbed his guitar from the back. He came around the truck, took my hand, and we slipped through the fence.

“No ice cream?”

He kept walking, lips pressed together, face tight. “No.”

I pulled back. “Is something wrong? You’ve been . . . I don’t know . . . off since your fight. Is it Matt? Are you changing your mind about us?”

Sculpt set his guitar case on the ground then bent his knees so he became level with me. He cupped my face, and his eyes softened while his thumbs stroked back and forth over my cheeks. His attention made my insides turn to mush. I was sinking further and further into him when he looked all sweet and concerned.

“Eme, I’m not changing my mind. Ever. This has nothing to do with you, okay? It’s just some shit from my past.”

His past? I opened my mouth to ask him but he kissed me, and any insecurity about what was bothering him went flying up into the wind with the dandelion puffs.

“I don’t want you worrying.” His finger traced my lower lip, and I nodded. “Come on. I have a song to finish writing before you see me play.”

We settled on the hill, and I went and spent time with the horses while he fiddled on his guitar. When I came back, I lay on my side in the grass while he played.

When I woke it was dark outside, and I was snuggled in Sculpt’s arms, sitting between his legs, his lean, hard body draped around me. His fingers slowly stroked my outer thigh while his other hand rested on my abdomen, one finger circling my belly button. I turned to look up at him over my shoulder. He was staring out across the moonlit field, observing the horses in the distance.

“Eme.” He leaned into me further and kissed the side of my neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. It must have been your sexy, raspy voice.” I cuddled closer, and his arm tightened. “Did you finish the song?” His guitar lay in its case next to us.

“Yeah, Mouse. It’s good.”

I sat up, excited for him. He’d told me last week that he hadn’t written anything in a year. I had yet to see his band play, and I was excited to hear them, but nervous too. I mean, Sculpt was six foot three and all muscle. And he had ink running down his left arm to his elbow, which made the hot a scary, badass hot. Then put in that fact that he was in a band and did some illegal underground fighting . . . Well girls were no doubt all over him, and I wasn’t ready to face the reality of what dating Sculpt entailed.

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