Home > Rock Chick Reborn (Rock Chick #9)(14)

Rock Chick Reborn (Rock Chick #9)(14)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I was not.

He pulled into my drive, put the truck in park, turned it off and then twisted to me.

“Boys home?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I told them to text me when they got home. They’ve learned to do that without fail. And they haven’t done that, so no.”

“I’m walking you to your door.”

Moses bringing up my boys made me think of them and the fact they wouldn’t be home any time soon since it wasn’t yet eleven and that was their curfew when they were working at NI.

But maybe Jack at the office who usually manned the control room for the night shift was feeling some alone time and let them go early.

This was my last thought before Moses opened my door.

The man opened a woman’s car door.

Oh sweet Lord.

He offered me his hand.

I took it and the warmth and strength of his long fingers wrapping around mine made me freeze solid as I stared at our hands. His unrelentingly masculine, mine had long fingers, rounded knuckles with the skin darker there, my nails long and now coated in a silvery metallic with a hint of soft purple.

And staring at them, it hit me there was nothing more beautiful than two clasped hands.


I tore my eyes from our hands and forced myself to shift my body to get out of his truck.

He held me gripped tight as I negotiated my dismount.

And he kept hold on me as he guided me out of the door, closed it, and walked me up to my front door.

He stopped us there and I stared at it so I wouldn’t turn my head and stare at him.

Or burst out crying.

Because there I was, Shirleen Jackson, fifty-three, with my history, being walked to her front door after the best date I’d had in my life.

“Uh, baby.”

Forced to do so due to manners, when Moses called, I turned my head.


Best date of my life.

“You got the key?” he asked.

It was then, I didn’t know what came over me.

Well, I knew what came over me. I just didn’t know how I let it come over me.

You see, I tugged my hand free from his.

Then I put my hands to either side of his head and pulled it down to mine.

And I kissed him.

His beard was bristly.

But his lips were soft.

I slid my tongue between them.

Lord God, he tasted of panna cotta and man.

Nothing more beautiful had ever touched my tongue.

Overwhelmed by it, I shoved him back until he hit the side wall to the alcove that shadowed my front door, protecting it from the elements.

And I kissed the ever-lovin’ hell out of Moses Richardson.

Then suddenly I wasn’t kissing the ever-lovin’ hell out of him.

Even though I was pressed up to his big, solid body having shoved him into a wall, his arms were tight around me, his head had slanted, and he was kissing the ever-lovin’ hell out of me.

Oowee God!

Shirleen was dizzy!

Suddenly (and regrettably) I became conscious of the fact that I was a woman raising two boys and I had neighbors.

So I tore myself out of his arms, took a step back, and smoothed my dress down my hips.

“Uh . . .” I mumbled.

I found my jaw cupped by a big warm hand and a handsome face right in mine.

“How we feelin’ about watchin’ that movie on my couch?” he asked, the honey gone, all that was there was smooth gravel.


“Um, I’m thinkin’, uh . . .”

I couldn’t finish because what I was thinking about was lying-down couch action and if one of the boys would miss it if I took a condom or two.

No, no, no. A woman did not steal condoms from her boys.

That was what drugstores were for.

And anyway, wasn’t that Moses’s territory?

I didn’t know. It had been too long.

And I wasn’t asking a Rock Chick as I’d decided I wasn’t speaking to them (any of them) for at least a week.

“We’ll pick a movie for both and decide Thursday,” he stated.

“Sounds like a plan,” I forced out.

“That was a nice kiss,” he murmured.

“Um, yeah,” I murmured back.

“Real nice.”

“Uh . . .”

His eyes started twinkling. “Never been body slammed into fake adobe before.”

My eyes narrowed.

His eyes roamed over my face and hair and the look in them changed.

“Fuck, could you get more perfect?” he whispered.

I went solid.

His gaze locked onto mine. “Don’t go back there.”


“In the now.”

“I’m not—”

“In the now, right now, after that kiss, you bein’ so cute, you . . . are . . . perfect.”

Hell and damn.

I wanted to cry again.

He bent in, brushed his lips across the apple of my cheek and pulled away, dropping his hand from my jaw, and the loss of it felt like the loss of a limb.

I drew in a steadying breath.

He bent and nabbed the Minkoff clutch I hadn’t noticed I dropped.

“Please tell me there’s a key in there,” he joked, offering my bag to me.

I took it, opened it and slid the key out.

I held it up and showed it to him.

He took it from me and turned to the door.

Then Moses Richardson, like a gentleman, let me into my own house.

Of course, I had to push in to reach and punch in the code for the alarm that was beeping.

But still, the move was smooth.

And it was sweet.

Like honey.

Like Moses.

Standing just inside my door, I turned to him.

He moved close and rested a hand on my waist.

“Please don’t kiss me again,” I begged in a whisper.

“No way,” he replied. “I’d rather not meet your boys when I got you naked on the tile of your foyer.”

I huffed out a breath that I wanted to be a huff of irritation, but it was more a huff of relief because I didn’t want that either.

Though I did.

Just not the meeting my boys while it was happening part.

He knew what it was and smiled at me.

Then he bent in and I sucked in breath while he touched his lips to the skin right in front of my ear.

He pulled away.

“Great night, Shirleen. Perfect.”

“Mm-hmm,” was the only thing I trusted to move between my lips.

“Thursday, baby.”

I nodded.

His fingers at my waist gave me a squeeze.

After that, he turned and I watched him walk away.

He wasn’t as fabulous from the behind as from the front.

But it was a close call.

He got in his truck and gave me a finger flick before he pulled out.

I was closing the door as he was driving away.

Once I got the door closed, I locked it.

Then I put my forehead to it.

I closed my eyes.

After that kiss, you bein’ so cute, you . . . are . . . perfect.

I opened my eyes.

And like I was addled . . .

I smiled—huge—at my own damned door.



THE NEXT MORNING, I walked into the offices.

I didn’t miss a step as I marched to my desk, regardless of the fact that Luke Stark had his thigh leaned against the extension where my computer was, Vance Crowe had his ass up on the corner, Kai “Mace” Mason was leaning against the opposite end, Hector Chavez was lounged on the couch across from it, boots on the coffee table . . .

And Lee Nightingale was sitting in my damned desk chair, leaned back, elbows to the chair arms, his hands linked on his abs.

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