SPARKED: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance (With bonus book, PERFECT) Read online

  "Nice to meet you, Kate," he says.

  It takes all of my self-control not to hurl a piece of toast at his head when he finally releases his grip on me. I quickly turn back toward the toaster, as if manning it is the most important task in the world. Blood has rushed to my cheeks, and my ears are burning. I almost slept with George's son. Would anyone notice if I just ran out to my car right now and left?

  My mom taps my shoulder and I jump. "Two more slices should be plenty, Kate."

  I butter the last pieces of toast as slowly as I possibly can. I try to think of an escape plan, and I consider feigning a stomachache; but I know I'd just be postponing the inevitable. I'm stuck here for the weekend with Billy, and I know I'll have to eat a meal with him at some point today, so I may as well just sit down and hope for the best.

  Maybe we can both continue to pretend that we've just met, and the whole situation will be forgotten. Yeah, right.

  I finally turn toward the table with a tall stack of toast on the plate in my hands. George and his sons are seated already; my mom is carrying a plate to Billy with two eggs on it. The wooden farmhouse table had seemed so large a few minutes ago when I'd first seen it. Now it seems much too small for the five of us. I take the seat next to Tommy, where I am unfortunately positioned right across from Billy.

  "So you got in last night, Kate?" Billy says, as soon as I sit down.

  "Yes."

  "How was your trip here?" He stares right into my eyes as he takes a big bite of toast.

  I want to kick him.

  "Fine," I say.

  "Kate was exhausted when she arrived," my mom pipes in, as if trying to compensate for my one-word answers.

  "I'll bet," Billy says, still not taking his eyes off of me.

  I can feel my face burning, and I'm so frustrated that Billy can see exactly how much he's getting to me. Last night I'd been sorry to have come off like a tease, but now I'm not sorry at all. I'm pissed. Why hadn't he told me who he was? How had he known who I was?

  "Kate, honey, are you okay?" My mom is now staring at me too. "You look flushed. Do you think you might be coming down with something?”

  Oh my god, I want to die. I really should have run out of here when I had the chance. "I'm just a little warm, Mom. I'm okay," I say.

  She gets up to open the window, and I take a long drink of water while I watch Billy hold in his laughter. Thankfully, for most of the rest of the meal, Tommy is the center of attention, as George talks with him about baseball and school, and I have no idea what else. I eat as quickly as I can, hoping to get the ordeal over with, and I'm overcome with equal parts embarrassment and anger.

  Just as I finish and am about to excuse myself, hoping it won't be considered rude to leave the table before anyone else, George and my mom exchange a look, then George clears his throat and speaks up in a slightly louder voice than he'd been using during the meal.

  "We were going to wait until later to talk to the three of you," he starts. He scoots his chair back from the table, and looks slightly hesitant. My mom beams at him, and then turns to give me a warm smile.

  "But since we're all here together," George continues, "I have an announcement to make. I'm very happy to tell you that I've asked Rebecca to marry me…" He takes my mom's hand in his. "And she's agreed. We're getting married." He leans over and gives my mom a quick kiss before they both turn and look expectantly at Billy, Tommy, and me.

  I smile warmly at my mom and quickly offer my congratulations to her and to George. They both look so happy; I can't be anything but pleased for them.

  Tommy says, "Wow, that's cool."

  Billy is looking at our parents and congratulating them as well. Billy, who's had his hands all over my body and his tongue down my throat. Billy, who deceived me before I even knew who he was. Billy, who's going to be my stepbrother.

  8

  I finally escape the kitchen, taking the stairs in a hurry, but it’s no use because Billy is behind me. He corners me at the top of the landing and stands way too close to be appropriate.

  "I wish I could've taken a picture. You should've seen your face when I walked in!" he says, his eyes flashing with amusement.

  I have an impulse to shove him back down the stairs, but even if I was a violent person, I know I'd never be able to move his massive body. He may have the name of a little boy, but his body is all man.

  “You knew who I was!" I sputter in a harsh whisper. The kitchen is far away in this big house, but I don't want to risk anyone hearing us.

  "Yep. You stood out from the crowd in there," Billy says with a laugh. "Your mom showed me pictures of you, but you look even better in person."

  I want to scream, but I know I can't. "How could you?!" I say.

  "How could I?" he says, emphasizing the "I," and putting his hand on his chest. "How could I? You asked me to follow you outside, and then you jumped on me."

  He's right. I kind of did that. "But I didn't know who you were!" I say.

  "I've been wondering," he says, as he trails his eyes down my body, making me feel naked again. "Do you make a habit of picking up strangers in bars?"

  I do try to shove him now, not down the stairs, but out of my way so I can get past him, but he is immovable. His muscles, which had attracted and fascinated me last night, are frustrating me beyond belief right now.

  "Because picking up strangers can be dangerous," he says huskily. He’s starting to sound dangerous himself. He puts his hand on my side, and his touch makes the memory of last night more vivid. I push him again. I try to move toward my room but he's blocking my way.

  "The other thing I've been wondering is, why did you leave?" he says.

  I straighten my body and try to move as far from him as I can in the small space he's giving me. "I don't pick up strangers, and I don't do… that… in parking lots, for god's sake!"

  He leans down, his mouth just a few inches from mine. I smell fresh air, smoky bacon, and that same soap fragrance from last night mingled on his skin. “Last night you did.” The grin on his face makes me want to smack him. “If you don't like parking lots, I have a bedroom down the hall. We could pick up right where we left off."

  "What is wrong with you?" I hiss. "We're going to be related!" This time I'm somehow angry enough that I manage to shove him out of my path. I make it into my room and attempt to slam the door, but he stops it before it closes.

  "Related? Our parents getting married doesn’t make us related. And I don't think we should let that stop us, darlin'." He gives me one last naughty smile before he finally lets me close the door.

  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I collapse on the bed and wish it would just swallow me up whole. This is why I always try to do things right. To follow the rules. To think things through before I act. The one time I act on total impulse, this is the trouble I get in.

  He lives at home. What is that about? A twenty-five-year-old man, still living in his dad's house. And he wears muddy boots out to a bar, and calls me darlin', and he's still coming on to me even though we're going to be stepbrother and sister. Everything about this is all wrong!

  At least, thank goodness, I didn't sleep with him, but my god, he's going to be my stepbrother, and last night he was making me moan. I need to make sure my mom and George never find out anything about that.

  My mom. She's just told me wonderful news. I'm so happy for her, but it occurs to me that because I left the kitchen so quickly to escape from Billy, she might think I'm upset. I need to go back down there, but what if he's still in the hallway? Argh! So much for having a relaxing weekend in the country.

  I spend a few more minutes wallowing in my frustration, and hope that Billy has gone back outside for more work in the barn. The upstairs seems quiet, but I don't know if that's a good sign, or if he's lying in wait in his bedroom down the hall.

  I briefly consider making some kind of excuse so that I can head back to the city today rather than tomorrow, but I just can't do that to my mom. She had looked so please
d when George made his announcement, and she's been alone for so long. She didn't even date when I was in school. I know she made sacrifices for me, and I don't want to do anything to take away from her happiness.

  I look out the window, but don't see signs of anyone outside. I move quietly over to the door, and open it very slowly. I peek my head out, and then I realize I'm being ridiculous. I'm a full grown woman, and Billy is just a man. He seems to enjoy antagonizing me, but if I don't let him know he bothers me, then maybe he'll just leave me alone.

  The worst thing that could happen would be Billy telling our parents about last night, but I really doubt he'll do that. It's in his best interest to keep it a secret too.

  Feeling much calmer, I take a deep breath and head downstairs. No one pounces on me or traps me against the wall. Against the wall. That thought brings up another memory of last night, when we were against the wall of the building. I do regret last night — a lot — but not entirely. He made me feel things I've never felt, and we hadn't even gotten very far. How would he have made me feel if we'd gone further?

  I shake my head, trying to clear it. My mind is betraying me! I should probably bang my head against the wall instead. Why am I thinking thoughts like that about him?

  My mom is alone in the living room, sitting on the couch, tidying papers on the coffee table. I sit next to her and give her a side hug.

  "Congratulations, bride-to-be."

  She laughs lightly and returns my hug. "I hope that wasn't too much of a shock. Maybe I should've talked to you about it before George made his announcement."

  "No, it's wonderful. I'm so happy for you, mom." I give her another squeeze and then sit back on the couch. "What are your plans? I assume you're going to move in here?"

  "Yes, George loves this place, and I do too." She must see a funny expression on my face that prompts her to justify her feelings. "I know, I'll bet you never thought I'd live in the country. It was an adjustment at first, when I started visiting here, but I love it now. Wait—you haven't even seen the farm yet, have you? Get your shoes. I'll show you around."

  I run upstairs to retrieve my shoes, and am relieved there's still no sign of Billy. When I'm back downstairs, my mom leads me into the kitchen and out the way George and Billy had entered this morning. There's a large laundry room, with part of it functioning as a mud room; and in this case, the mud is literal.

  I notice that most of the footwear by the door, just like Billy's boots, is dirty, and the carpet is streaked with mud.

  My mom notices my gaze and says, "It's impossible to keep this area clean. At least the guys are good about taking their boots off out here and not tracking dirt into the house."

  Then she looks down at my feet. "Did you bring shoes you don't mind getting dirty?"

  I'd brought the most casual pair of shoes I own, but they probably won’t hold up to mud. "These are old. It's okay," I fib.

  She slips on a pair of boots and I'm again struck by how different my mom seems. Different, and happy.

  As we walk toward the barn I take in deep breaths of the cool, fresh air. The ground is soft, but not as bad as I'd feared. It looks like my shoes might survive. When we approach the building, two big dogs trot out to greet us.

  "These filthy beasts are Milo and Charlie," my mom says with a smile, gesturing first to the retriever, and then the hound.

  "Aww, sweet." I stop to let the dogs sniff me, and then I rub their heads. I'd always wanted a dog when I was growing up, but wasn't allowed. And now I don't have the space or the lifestyle to give a dog a good home.

  We continue on and find George in the barn grooming a horse with a big, round brush. "Oh, I didn’t realize you had horses," I say, stopping a few feet away from him. I look around and see two others from where I stand.

  "Yep, sure do," George says. "Maybe you'd like to go riding later?"

  "That sounds like fun," I say. And a little scary, I think. I have vague memories of being on a horse when I was little, but it was probably at a carnival or a fair. Horseback riding has always looked like fun, but now that I'm this close to one of the huge animals, I'm intimidated. I hadn't remembered them being so large.

  We watch George care for the big, brown horse for a few minutes, and then we continue our tour. We don't walk far from the house; instead we make a big circle around it as my mom gestures to far flung areas of the property, telling me about distant, unseen neighbors, and about plans she has for planting flowers and vegetables later in the spring.

  I want to ask her what they do for fun out here with nothing around, and whether she really thinks she'll be happy living here full time, but I can't think how to word my questions without sounding negative.

  Like me — well, like the me I typically am, not the me who was in the bar last night — my mother isn't a person who rushes into things, so I'm sure she's thought it all through.

  "When do you and George plan to get married?" I ask.

  She slows to a stop and looks at me. “At our age, we see no reason for a long engagement. I was hoping you’d help us with wedding plans and… do you think we’d be able to throw something together in a month’s time?”

  My first thoughts are about how impossible that would be, but again I stop myself before I voice anything negative. Instead I ask, “What do you have in mind?”

  "We've talked about having it here at the farm.” She gestures around the yard as she speaks. “What do you think?"

  I look around the property and switch into planner mode. There is certainly plenty of space available. I picture a tent large enough for tables and maybe even a dance floor for the reception, and the hillside to the left of the house would be the perfect place for an archway and rows of seating for the ceremony. The backdrop of green and golden fields would be beautiful.

  "Let's start planning!" I say.

  As we head back into the house, Billy and Tommy pass by us on their way outside. Both are wearing baseball caps and carrying mitts. Billy looks at me with narrowed eyes and a lewd smirk that no one else can see. When he passes, he brushes against me even though there is plenty of space around us.

  "Lunch will be ready in half an hour, guys," my mom calls after them.

  "Lunch? Already?" I ask.

  She laughs. "I know. Big, frequent meals have been an adjustment for me. These boys are always hungry. It's really strange being in a house with three males."

  "I'll bet.”

  We talk wedding plans while I help her prepare a lunch of soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. When the food is almost ready, my stomach starts to tighten into a knot as I dread seeing Billy again. I'm not hungry, and I'd like to skip the meal, but good manners again prevent me from hiding in my room.

  "Kate, can you let the boys know lunch is ready? And ask Tommy to run and get George?" I'm about to leave the kitchen to do as she's asked, when my mom laughs, almost to herself. "Just think, sweetie, you're finally going to have some siblings. Two brothers.”

  I try to make some sort of reply that sounds like I'm excited about the idea, but all I can think of is Billy’s hand on my ass. Brother. What a joke.

  9

  Before I call out to Tommy and Billy, I watch them through the window. They're playing catch, and though I can't hear them, I can tell from their expressions and body language that they're having fun and probably taunting one another.

  I'm going to have stepbrothers. It's a strange thought. Growing up, I'd liked being an only child, and I think it's the reason my mom and I are so close. But now that I'm older, I envy people's relationships with their brothers and sisters.

  However, I've also seen a lot of siblings fight with each other, but George's sons seem to get along great, maybe because of their age difference.

  Billy is throwing fly balls high into the air, making them challenging for Tommy to catch. Billy's body truly is a sight to behold. For a moment, I disconnect the thought of his frustrating personality from his physical appearance, and just gaze at him in wonder.

  Hi
s arms are like small tree trunks, and his shoulders are ridiculously broad. When he stretches his arms up to throw the ball, his t-shirt hitches up and I catch a glimpse of his tightly muscled abs, and—what was that? I watch closely as he throws again, and see a dark, detailed tattoo right above his hip. I wonder what the ink portrays, and how far downward it extends…

  What is wrong with me? Maybe if I'd done the deed with him last night, I wouldn't still be having these inappropriate lingering thoughts. Maybe he wouldn't even have been good at it. A beautiful body doesn't automatically equal good sexual skills.

  But as I watch the ease with which he moves as he plays catch, and see the control he has over his massive physique, I know I'm just trying to tell myself lies.

  Lunch goes so smoothly that I almost start to relax. There is some light conversation, but for the most part, everyone focuses on their food. I'd forgotten how good my mom's grilled cheese sandwiches are, and my appetite grows after I take the first few bites.

  Then I feel a nudge against my leg. At first I think one of the dogs has come in and is under the table, but when I look up, I see Billy staring at me, smirking.

  I stare daggers back at him. He returns to eating his soup while his foot moves higher along the inside of my calf.

  I fidget, but there is no where I can move to get out of his reach without drawing attention to myself.

  "Are you up for horseback riding after lunch, Kate?" George asks.

  "Sure, that sounds great," I say. My apprehension about the horses is overridden by my desire to get out of here and away from Billy. But then he speaks up.

  "I'll take Kate out," Billy says. "I invited her to go riding after breakfast, but she wasn't up for it then." His words carry an artful touch of innuendo. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough to make it perfectly clear to me that when he says "riding," he's referring to his invitation to join him in his bedroom earlier today.