Rock Hard Love Read Online Free Page A

surprised at the sharp feeling of jealousy as he talked to the girl behind the counter.
    “Simone, you look smokin’. Do you always dress like that? Damn,” James said and I tried my best not to blush but was wildly unsuccessful. The blonde bimbo of the week behind the reception counter scowled as James turned his attention to me instead of her. “You ready?” James asked as he came towards me. I nodded as he approached and I felt as if he was about to kiss me but instead his hand found the small of my back and he led me out of the reception area to the elevators.
    “You like meat?” he asked abruptly as the elevator doors opened.
    “Huh?” I asked not quite sure where that came from.
    “Meat, steak, burgers, ribs , you know, meat,” James clarified.
    “Oh, yeah. I’m from Idaho and not the uppity part. Our house was surrounded by cattle pastures,” I explained.
    “ Cool, Benny has a place near Stanley. It’s nice up there. Steaks it is,” James said as the doors closed. He turned to face me and I instinctively backed against the side of the elevator car to put some distance between us. It didn’t work and James came way to close for comfort, so close I could detect his amazing musky, masculine aroma. James, in turn, inhaled deeply as he towered over me seemingly savoring my essence. He didn’t say a word as he stood over me and sighed. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. James smiled down at me, a devilish grin, and then led me from the elevator with his hand on the small of my back again. I swear I don’t know how my knees didn’t give out as we walked through the lobby.

 
    ~4~
     
    “Is that yours?” I asked as we exited the building. Parked out front in the loading zone was the biggest pickup truck I’d ever seen and I’m from Idaho.
    “Like it?” James asked like a proud father.
    “Um, how do I get into it?” I asked. It was a Dodge Ram, with four doors and a long bed - as I said, I’m from Idaho - with tires that nearly came to my bust line. It was all black, the wheels, the paint, the windows, everything. It wasn’t the lack of door handles that worried me; it was getting into the cab with my tight skirt without aide of a ladder. James pulled the keys to the behemoth from his jeans and pressed a button on the remote. The door clicked and swung open on its own as a set of steps unfolded from underneath the cab. James stood next to the steps and offered me his hand.
    I admit I was impressed. Trucks were a big deal in Idaho and James’ pickup would have been the envy of just about every man in my small town under the age of thirty-five. I took his hand and carefully placed a foot on the bottom step and then the other foot on the next. James used his other hand to help me in, placing it on my waist. I sighed as his strong hands touched me and I felt weak again. I looked at him, his eyes nearly level with mine even though I sat in his lifted truck. What was it about him, a man that by all accounts I should have had nothing but disdain for, that drew me to him and made me feel so vulnerable and excited in his presence?
    James closed the door and walked around the pickup. I luxuriated in the fine leather seats, each with a small guitar embroidered into the backrest. As I looked around, I noticed the back window had a life-sized guitar etched into the glass and the truck had speakers crammed into every open spot throughout the interior. I didn’t know it then, but that etched guitar was James’ favorite, the same one he’d been playing since he was in high school.
    James climbed in, not bothering to use the steps, and closed his door. He fired up the engine, a diesel I was sure by the rumble and noise, and said, “Buckle up, little girl.”
    I did and after James buckled his own seat belt, he slammed the truck into gear and off we went. I couldn’t help but smile as we towered over the downtown traffic. This reminded me of home and high school. Almost every boy had a pickup, as did