Page 8 of A Way Out (Rock Star #2)

Chapter Seven

T he first thing Oz did when he returned to the house was kick off his muddy shoes on the doorstep and head straight upstairs to shower. He was exhausted, sweaty, and coated with a layer of mulch. Just another day at the office.

In his bedroom, he stripped out of his filthy clothes, tossing it all into the hamper, and strode into the bathroom, buck naked, just because he could.

If he were at home, he’d have to wait until he was in the bathroom to strip, and he’d be lucky to have five minutes to himself before someone was knocking, shouting that they had to pee.

With six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, Oz figured he could take an hour-long shower in peace, if he weren’t starving and ready to eat dinner.

The door directly across from him opened, and in that instant Oz recalled that he’d given Maria the other Jack and Jill bedroom so that she’d feel safe and have an easy escape route, as the room was at the top of the stairs.

And there she was, standing in the doorway, wearing a pale green sundress with a ruffled skirt, her smooth hair draping around her shoulders. Her gaze, which was focused below his belt, went wide while her mouth fell open. He glanced down himself.

Jesus, he was developing a woody.

Snatching the nearest towel off the rod, he wrapped it around his hips. “Sorry. I didn’t?—”

“Don’t even apologize,” she interrupted, shaking her head, her face reddening.

“I heard you come in, and you said you were working your landscaping job today. I should have realized you would want to take a shower first thing. I could have gone back downstairs. Or down the hall. I mean, how many bathrooms does this place have, anyway?”

“Maria.”

She blinked rapidly but wouldn’t meet his eye.

“It’s okay. It’s an honest accident.”

“I just saw you naked.”

He bit his lip and cupped the back of his neck. It was hot to the touch. “Yeah. It’s, uh, no big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal.” She flapped her hand at his groin. “You’re built like a Greek god. All those muscles. Well, except for that one, which is much larger than the statues, and oh my God, am I really talking about this? Out loud? In front of you?”

“You are,” he said, trying not to laugh. “And it’s really okay.”

“How am I supposed to look you in the eye?”

“By raising your gaze above my waist, for starters.” He gave in and chuckled.

It was flattering as hell that she found him so attractive, but it wasn’t like he planned to do anything about it.

She was a woman on the run from an abusive relationship.

Oh, and she was a wealthy woman to boot.

Two very important facts that equaled hands off .

Her face went even more red as she tore her gaze away from the bulge now tucked behind the towel and stared at some point on the wall that could not possibly be so fascinating.

“Maria.” He said her name quietly but firmly. “Maria.”

She finally dragged her gaze to his face, her frown so pronounced it might as well be etched onto her lips permanently.

“I’m attracted to you too.”

Jesus, why had he just said that? What good could possibly come from giving her that knowledge?

“You are?”

“You sound surprised.”

This time her gaze dropped to her hands, which she was wringing nervously. “I just…I don’t feel very attractive right now.”

He snorted. “You’d have to try awfully damn hard not to be attractive, and even then, I’m pretty sure you’d fail.”

A chuff tumbled over her lips. “Oh stop.”

“Nope. Not going to. Not until you believe it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mean literally. I mean, I don’t know. Figuratively? I’m not sure that’s the right word either. It’s just my situation…”

Yeah, there was that reminder. He should walk over and gently close the door and forget all about this conversation, because there was no way in hell he’d?—

“I’m a single mother. My divorce was final just three days ago.

I have no job, no clue what I’m going to do for the rest of my life.

I was a housewife, literally taking care of everything except bringing home the bacon, so to speak, but of course you can’t put that on a résumé.

I am normally a woman with a plan, and yet right now, the only plan I have is to fly out to Missouri for my sister’s wedding.

That’s it. Nothing else. I have no clue what I plan to do after next weekend, and it’s driving me insane. ”

There was a whole lot of information in that little diatribe, and all he could focus on was…

“Wait. You just got divorced? You aren’t running from something?”

She blew a raspberry. “Yes, my own stupidity.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve spent my entire marriage trying to emulate my parents’ relationship, which is so stupid because they aren’t happy.

For goodness’ sake, I accepted when my ex-husband asked me out because I thought my mother would approve of him.

It had nothing to do with physical attraction, which I know isn’t supposed to be the basis for a happy relationship, but, God, my mouth never watered when I saw him naked, and my mouth is watering right now.

Still. And Lord, I just said that out loud. This is so embarrassing.”

Why was he reeling so hard over this? He should be relieved that she was not running from an abusive relationship.

Except that meant one of the barriers to taking this attraction to the next level was now gone, and that was the real problem.

He forced his feet forward, eating up the distance between them, cupping her biceps. Her skin was soft under his calloused hands, and it was only by a sheer act of will that he was able to keep himself from stroking her arms. Instead, he gave her a little squeeze.

“It’s fine. I appreciate your honesty. Now, may I take a shower?”

Her eyes widened as her gaze darted to the bathtub, and if she even remotely hinted that she might want to join him, he did not think he’d have the strength to say no. Not after the way she looked at him. And told him that her mouth was watering. And that he looked like a Greek god.

Damn.

Her head bobbed, and she took a half step back. He released his hold on her arms. “Yes, right, of course.” Another step. “Um…”

“We’re good,” he assured her. Or was he assuring himself? “I’ll be down for dinner in a few minutes.”

More nodding. “Okay.”

“I’m going to close the door now.”

“Right. Uh, I’ll go find another bathroom. Um…”

“We’re good, Maria,” he said one more time, and then he gently closed the door and stood there, still grasping the knob, trying really fucking hard not to open it again and ask if she wanted to join him.

Instead, he did the smart thing and climbed into a ridiculously cold shower that, unfortunately, didn’t do much to tamp down desire for the endearing and incredibly beautiful woman who had just seen him naked—and told him how much she liked it.

Maria’s face reddened when Oz went downstairs for dinner, but other than that, there was no indication that their run-in in the bathroom had affected her.

He should be relieved, except he wanted to affect her. Yes, that was pretty fucked up of him, but there it was.

Elana had made chicken enchiladas for dinner. Riley turned her nose up at first—Maria quickly explained that she’d never had them before—but as soon as Izzie took her first bite, the toddler wanted to try them too. And then she ate two, much to her mother’s surprise.

Was it odd that he felt an odd surge of pride that his little family was helping to expand the toddler’s palate? Seriously, it didn’t even make sense that he’d feel this way.

After dinner, he received a text from Travis.

Be there in ten.

Oh shit. “Mama, I forgot I invited the band over to practice tonight,” he said in Spanish. “We have to work out our playlist for Holly and Sam’s reception.”

She nodded. “I will corral the children,” she replied in Spanish. “All four of them. Take Maria with you. I think she will enjoy the experience.”

“I don’t think?—”

“Go,” his mother commanded, in that this is final tone she’d been using for his entire life.

Maria darted her gaze over her shoulder like a cornered animal when he placed his hand on her back and gently nudged her out of the kitchen. “What just happened?” she asked.

“My mother is going to get the kids to bed. You and I are going down to the recording studio.”

“Why?”

“My band is coming over to practice. She thought you might like to hang out with us.”

Maria’s eyes went huge. “Really? How fun.”

He’d honestly hoped she would decline. Because he was fully aware of what watching musicians play did to women, especially one who was already attracted to the guitarist.

And he did not need Maria to be any more attracted to him than she already was.

The recording studio was on the lower level, a soundproof room with a drum kit already set up and a pile of drumsticks ready to go. This was the home of a drummer, after all.

There were also a variety of guitars, some for practicing, others that had once belonged to rock gods from bygone eras and were now for display purposes only.

The wet bar was always stocked with a nice variety of beer and bottled water and a few hard liquor options. So far, Maria had only drunk wine in Oz’s presence, so he might have to run back upstairs for a bottle.

“This is so cool,” she said. She seemed to gravitate toward the guitars, but that was probably Oz, reading into the situation. Wanting her to be impressed by the guitarist.

And yet, not wanting that. Because if she was, that made her just like every other wealthy woman who had ever hit on him, right?

The door was still open, so he heard the door buzzer. A few seconds later, feet pounded on the stairs, then Travis and Cash were strutting into the room.

They both gave Maria the once-over, and he saw the flicker of attraction mixed with curiosity in both sets of eyes.

“Maria,” he said tightly, “this is Travis Clutcher, our drummer, and Cash Torrence, our keyboardist. Maria is Holly’s sister.”

“Nice to meet you,” Cash said, shaking her hand and then busying himself with setting up his board.

Travis eyed her speculatively. “How come you’re here instead of in Missouri?”

“Long story,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But I am heading that way on Thursday.”

Travis’s gaze flicked from Maria to Oz, and Jesus, the guy could sense Oz’s interest in the woman. Travis had certainly called out Parker and Lacey early on, when they’d been trying to hide their relationship from the rest of the band.

Except Oz and Maria didn’t have a relationship. They hadn’t even kissed, so why was Oz so damn nervous?

“Where are Parker and Lacey?” he asked, trying to deflect.

“Probably fucking,” Travis replied. So much for deflection.

Maria’s cheeks had gone adorably dusky pink.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” Cash called out from behind his boards. “Got stuck in traffic.”

In truth, Lacey and Parker ought to be the ones staying here at the house. Lacey was Sam’s sister, after all, and when the band first formed, they had been living here while Panic Station toured overseas.

But both Lacey and Parker had hang-ups about “taking handouts” from people, a.k.a.

staying in Lacey’s brother’s house for free, so as soon as their first royalty checks cleared their accounts, they’d rented a tiny, overpriced apartment in a significantly less impressive zip code.

And now they were almost always late to jam sessions.

Five minutes later, they rushed down the stairs, apologizing (as usual) for their tardiness.

Oz’s gaze swept over them, for the first time curious as to whether they really had been screwing around instead of getting stuck in traffic.

Lacey did have a bit of a glow about her, and her lips were more swollen than usual.

Parker’s hair looked like he forgot to brush it today, and was his fly open?

They had been fucking.

Lucky bastards.

“Okay,” Oz said, picking up his favorite guitar and swinging the strap around his shoulders. “Let’s get to work.”