Two

“Shit, shit, shit!” Slush and wet snow dumped him on his ass and soaked into his jeans as gravel bit into his hip, but none of that mattered. “Don’t be hurt.” Christ, Richie would kill the fucker if she was. Hell, he’d kill him—her, whatever. Probably a him considering the car.

Jamison was draped over the door, her fingers dangling just past her dark hair that hid her face. What the fuck had happened? It had been over a year since he’d seen her. Hell, he didn’t even know it was her when he’d pulled over. Just saw what anyone saw when you were only half paying attention—two cars on the side of the road.

When he slowed, he recognized Richie’s green POS, but he’d never expected to find his little sister in the car. Pink and purple strips fluttered like ribbons in the icy winter wind. She’d done something with her inky dark hair again—heaven forbid she be normal.

Reaching a hand out, he snatched it back. He was afraid to move her and afraid to leave her for help.

He looked over his shoulder, but the black Charger was long gone. The highway was deserted. It was two in the damn afternoon—no one would be around until at least three as the first shifts got out of work in the factories.

She moaned, her fingers twitching.

“James,” he whispered, falling back on his nickname for her. She only groaned in response. “C’mon babes, tell me you’re okay.”

“I was hit by a damn semi, how do you think I am?”

He sat back with a half laugh. That whisky rough voice—the one that matched her eyes when she wasn’t upside down—he’d never been so happy to hear it. “Charger actually.”

“Fucking Jerry,” she pushed up, slumping back down almost immediately. “Fucking Jerry!” she growled.

“Hey, hey,” he pushed her hair out of her face, tried the door handle.

“Do you think I’d be hanging out the damn window if the door worked?”

Even with the situation he couldn’t help the laugh. That was Richie’s sister—ever the ball buster. “Ahh, I’ve missed you, Jamison.”

She pushed at the outside of the door to get herself upright and hissed. “Bite me.”

He wished. Christ. She flipped her hair back and glared at him, but the effect was lost when he saw the pain pinching at her golden eyes. He hooked his hands under her armpits. “All right, let’s just try to ease you out—“ The yelp followed by a colorful array of ways she was going to unman him made him stop. “Okay?”

“Just get it over with,” she snarled through her teeth.

He pulled her out the window slowly. Leather and jasmine curled around him. Damn if the woman wasn’t a constant source of confusion for him. She looked like a tough rocker girl in her leather and jeans, but smelled soft and—the quick pinch of her fingers killed her sweet factor. “Ow! Dammit, brat.”

“Stop pulling you ass, can’t you see I’m stuck?”

He heard the tear and jerked to a stop. He wrapped her arms around his neck and slid his hands around her slim hips. His jeans tightened viciously. Shit. This was why he stayed away from Richie’s family—specifically, James. Control meant jack when he even breathed the same air as she did. “Where,” he cleared his throat as her hair slipped around his neck and into his shirt. Fuck. Swallowing, he tried again. “Where are you stuck?”

“Damn, Jerry. Not only did he screw up my car, but he messed up my favorite jeans!”

“Jamison, focus.” He’d get down to the Jerry portion of the question and answers soon enough.

She rested her forehead on his shoulder. “It hurts,” she said softly.

Anger burned hot and fast when it came to James--you could always count on that. Right now he could hear the pain and the fear she was trying to so hard to fight...start to win. Right now he needed her anger. “What the hell did you do to this guy to run you off the road—I’m assuming it’s a guy. You attract the craziest fucking men.”

She stiffened. “I didn’t—“ she broke off, trying to struggle out of his grip. When he only held on tighter she gave up and leaned on him again. “Just get me out of here. The perfect rips in my jeans, that I worked all summer and winter on—thank you very little—Ruined!”

“They’re just jeans.”

“So you say, leopard print boy.”

She made his head hurt almost as much as his dick. “James,” he said warningly.

“Along my knee, it’s caught on the handle or the window roller thing.”

Hell. He reached inside, his hands smoothing down her endless thigh. Touching her was off limits of course, but this couldn’t be helped. When the faded and worn denim turned to the silky skin of her knee he bit back a curse.

“C’mon, you’re used to taking off clothes, Jonny.”

Her husky voice was sex, it cut deep and hard. Fucking hell, stop thinking about naked time with Richie’s sister. “I’m better with buttons,” he said infusing sly attitude into his voice. The minute she knew she was under his skin there was hell to pay, usually in the form of him and blue balls for a week.

She turned her face into his hair, her nose brushing his ear. “My buttons are up a little higher, you know you’re always welcome.”

“Goddammit,” he growled.

“What? Just sayin’.”

He shifted her and heard the quick intake of breath. “Stop hitting on me, you probably have a busted rib or something. Stupid woman.”

“Hey now!” She shifted and swore again. “Okay, so it’s probably just bruised,” as he pulled her out another inch she hissed. “I can just have Steph tape me up and I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’re going to the hospital.”

“Hell no, I’m not! I have a show tonight.”

“Show?” He jerked back. “What show?”

“Devotion has a gig tonight at Benny’s.”

“What the hell is Devotion and why don’t I know about it?”

“Well, Mr. Important, obviously Richie doesn’t tell you everything, now does he?”

Jon freed the last of the strings and yanked her out of the car. She landed on top of him, her warm chest and belly collapsed against him and she rearranged those long, distracting legs of hers until she straddled him. What had he done in his life to deserve this?

Leather and flowers followed by a silky shower of dark hair covered his chest. The feathering ends teased inside the edges of the ripped T-shirt he was wearing. He was so hard his teeth ached for fuck’s sake. “Get off me.”

She sat back on his thighs, the pain evident in her eyes, but calculation lingered there as well. Her fingers fell low on his belly at the thick belt that hooked low around his hips. “Whoops.”

“Hospital,” he growled.

“I’m serious, Jon. I’ve got a gig tonight. It’s one of our first. I am not missing it. Even if I have to play with my ribs wrapped like a Victorian debutante.”

Jesus, when had Richie’s little sister joined a damn band? Why didn’t he know about it? “Richie would kill me if he knew about this.”

“Don’t tell him.”

The fierce light in her eyes is something he knew all too well. Hunger was there, not the kind he was accustomed to seeing when she tried to tease him within an inch of murder—no this was something he knew all too well. The need to prove herself. The hunger to get the hell out of the small town, factory working, dead end life that sucked the life out of so many—that he understood. “James,” he began.

She stayed where she was. The black hip length jacket open against the biting cold. A skin tight black CBGB’s t-shirt, with its red lettering, made a bulls eye across tits that would fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. Firm, gorgeous, and so off limits he should be castrated for even looking at her. Don’t poach on friends little sisters. Period. “If you can back up and stand up, then we’ll see.”

She leaned forward to get her feet under her and bit back a hiss of pain.

“See, you can’t do it. There’s no way you’re going to—“

Her hair slithered over his chest, tangling in his chest hair before she stood up on the sheer force of will. Her legs shook as she tried not to breathe.

He stood up, his ass was completely numb with cold. There should be no way he had a hard on right now. None. He shifted his belt across the front of his jeans and led toward his car. “Hospital.”

She lifted her chin, defiant and so beautiful it was sinful. “No.”