Dare to Rock (Dare to Love 5)

“Grey—”

“Avery—” he mimicked, like he used to every time she’d tried to argue with him.

Her light laughter eased the heavy weight on his chest.

“Fine,” she said, giving in. “I already know you don’t need my address.” Her tone softened at the unspoken reminder of the many gifts he’d sent over.

“No, I don’t. I’ll see you at seven thirty on Saturday. And Avery?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t wait to see you,” he said, hanging up before she could answer … or worse, not say the same.

Chapter Two

Saturday night, Avery tried on a fourth outfit, finding something to criticize about each and annoyed with herself for caring so much about impressing Grey. But the fact was, it had been years since she’d seen her ex up close and personal, and she wanted to make an impact. She wouldn’t be a normal woman if she didn’t.

Finally, she decided on a bohemian-looking dress, baby-doll style with kimono-draped sleeves in a variegated array of blues, accented by her favorite silver necklace. She slipped on silver gladiator sandals and styled her recently highlighted hair in loose waves. A spritz of her favorite perfume, a new one with vanilla and amber undertones that Grey had sent her, and she was ready to go with—she glanced at her watch—no time to spare.

Just as she finished, the doorbell rang. She drew in a deep breath and headed to answer it, grateful Ella was at a business dinner with her boss and a designer in town for the weekend. Avery didn’t need her friend watching her first interaction with Grey in seven years. She was nervous enough without an audience.

She opened the door and stared at the man standing in front of her. When she’d seen him at the venue, she’d barely had time for a long look, not when he’d had a groupie clinging to him, and prior to that, the last time they’d been together, they’d both been kids.

The guy standing before her was all grown up.

He braced a hand against the frame and grinned at her. “Hey, Very,” he said, using the nickname he used to call her.

“Hi,” she managed to answer, taking in his hotness as she realized the years of seeing him on magazines and the Internet hadn’t begun to capture the changes time had wrought.

His features were the same but more mature. He’d grown into himself in a really good way. His jet-black hair was cropped short at the sides, a little longer on top, the rocker-like style suiting him more than the shaggy look he’d preferred when they were younger. She used to run her fingers through the long strands of his hair when they made love. She swallowed the pained sound that threatened to escape her throat along with the memory.

Instead she refocused on him. He was still lean, his faded jeans hugging his body, but now he was well built too. Muscles defined his forearms, and his pecs protruded from beneath his fitted black tee shirt, while drool-worthy tattoos wrapped around his skin, emphasizing those same muscles. The urge to trace the ink in his flesh, to feel the heat and bulk of those muscles overcame her, and she curled her hands to prevent herself from acting on the crazy impulse.

His body was powerful, and she understood how he had the stamina to sing, play his guitar, and grace the stage, running from one end to the next while enrapturing the audience. And she’d be a liar if she claimed to be immune to the masculine strength that exuded from him now.

Her gaze traveled up to his face, and she would have apologized for staring, but she caught his green eyes devouring her much as she’d done to him.

“You look fucking gorgeous,” he said, a sexy smile on the handsome face that women swooned over.

She pushed the thought of other women … groupies aside, reminding herself this was Grey. Her Grey once upon a time, but those days were over. “Thank you.”

“How about a hug for an old friend?” His voice, deep and gravelly, scratched over her already-sensitized nerves in a wholly seductive w

ay.

Her heart dipped, disappointment racing through her at his use of the word friend. And she hated herself for the brief reaction. Still, she stepped forward, and before she could prepare herself, he enfolded her in his strong embrace.

His raw masculine scent with only a hint of cologne enveloped her, heightening the sexual awareness she’d promised herself she wouldn’t feel. But her body didn’t lie. Her nipples tightened, and a coil of need twisted in her belly. He felt familiar … yet not as she hugged him back, noting he was hard everywhere, from his tight stomach to his solid arms. That insane urge to touch him returned, and she eased back before she could feel or do anything else.

“I’ll just get my bag and we can go,” she said, her voice too raspy, threatening to betray her. She was eager to take them to neutral, public territory.

“Good by me,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers.

She locked up her apartment, and he led her to the parking lot. Before she knew it, he paused by a black convertible. A black Aston Martin DB9 convertible.

Avery’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the beyond-luxury vehicle. “Holy shit, Grey, is this yours?”

She didn’t blink at the unladylike words coming out of her mouth. Her brothers knew and had taught her cars, and this was a car.