Rockstar’s Accidental Marriage (Wild Band Rockstars #2)

7. Seven

Seven

Emily

There’s something almost eerie about how quiet the tour bus feels lately. Not in the literal sense—Luke is still constantly hungry, Nate keeps drumming on every surface he can find, and Vince hums under his breath as he tweaks new keyboard arrangements. But there’s a tension hanging in the air, thick and stifling.

It’s because of me.

No one says it outright, but I know they’ve noticed the change between me and Sam. I hear it in the way their laughter dies when one of us walks into a room. I feel it in the way their eyes dart between us like they’re bracing for an explosion.

The tension between us is different now. Before, it was all sharp edges and antagonism, but now it's charged with something else. Something that makes my skin prickle whenever he's near that makes me hyper-aware of his every movement. Even when we're deliberately not looking at each other, I can feel his presence like a physical thing, drawing me in despite my best efforts to resist.

The truth is, I’m not even sure myself what’s happening between us. Ever since that day in the office—those scorching kisses—We’ve been avoiding each other. And when we’re forced to be together, we’re both polite. Professional. Friendly, even.

It’s exhausting.

I watch Sam from across the bus—trying to be subtle about it. He's sprawled in his usual seat, those talented fingers moving over his guitar strings with practiced ease, but there’s a sharpness to his playing—it’s raw and edgy. His shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he shifts, and I force myself to look away, remembering all too well how those muscles felt under my hands. The memory of our kiss on the desk flashes through my mind—his taste, his heat, the way his body pressed against mine—and I have to cross my legs to quell the rush of desire.

He hasn’t looked at me once today. Not directly, anyway.

"Hey, Boss Lady," Luke says, breaking into my thoughts. His knowing smirk makes me wonder if everyone can see how flustered I get whenever Sam's nearby. Can they tell how my breath catches when Sam stretches and his shirt rides up, revealing a strip of tanned skin?

Luke tosses a bag of chips onto the table. “You okay over there?”

“Fine,” I reply, clearing my throat and forcing a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Luke raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “No reason. It just seems like everyone’s walking on eggshells lately.”

I bristle at his observation, but before I can respond, Sam’s voice cuts through the conversation.

“Maybe everyone’s just trying to be nice,” he says, his tone light but with an undercurrent.

I shoot him a quick glance, but he’s still focused on his guitar, his expression unreadable.

“Nice?” Luke echoes, smirking. “You mean like how you two have been acting?”

The rest of the band laughs, the tension in the air momentarily broken, but my stomach twists.

Because Luke’s right. Sam and I have been too nice to each other. Too polite. It’s phony, and everyone can see it. We’re trying too hard to act like we don’t affect each other.

By the time we roll into the next city, I’m grateful for the escape my hotel room offers. For the first time on this tour, I’ve booked myself a separate room instead of staying on the bus, and the privacy feels like a luxury.

I drop my bag on the bed and take a deep breath, letting the silence wash over me. No Sam. No band, no forced small talk. Just quiet.

But the relief is short-lived. My gaze lands on the envelope sitting on the desk, the weight of it pulling me back into reality. The divorce papers.

I had a lawyer draw them up a few weeks ago, and they’ve been sitting in my bag ever since. Every time I think about handing them to Sam, something stops me. Fear? Guilt? Or maybe it’s that stupid, lingering hope I can’t quite shake.

But tonight, I’m done waiting. I need to get on with my life.

I grab my phone and send Sam a quick text.

Emily: Can you come to my room in an hour? We need to talk.

His response is almost immediate.

Sam: Sure thing, Boss Lady.

I head to the shower and step under the spray, letting the hot water wash away my tension. I hear a knock as I step out of the shower. Quickly drying off, I slip into my silk robe, the material cool against my heated skin. Walking to the door, I tie the belt, aware of how the fabric clings to my still-damp body.

“Who is it?” I call.

"Sam." His voice sends an involuntary shiver down my spine, memories of how he used to say my name in darker, more intimate moments flooding back.

I glance at the clock—leave it to Sam to arrive forty-five minutes early.

I open the door with the chain still on. His eyes darken instantly, drinking in my appearance—wet hair leaving droplets that trail down my neck, the way the robe highlights every curve. I watch his gaze follow those water trails, remembering with startling clarity how his tongue once traced that same path. The memory makes heat pool low in my belly, and I see his fingers flex at his sides, his control visibly wavering.

"You're early," I manage, my voice huskier than intended. I clutch the lapels of my robe tighter, but the silk only serves to heighten my awareness of every sensation. “Can you come back in an hour?” I ask hopefully.

“Sorry, no. I’m supposed to meet the guys at the bar later.”

I tighten my lips but step back and undo the chain opening the door, as I try to control my breathing.

Sam leans casually against the doorframe, his gaze lingering a little too long on my damp body and bare legs.

“What’s up, Boss Lady?” he asks, his tone easy, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, wariness, and something else—something that sends a shiver straight down my spine.

“Come in,” I say, stepping aside to let him enter.

Sam's presence fills the room, and his familiar scent makes my head spin. He glances around, and I'm hyper-aware of the bed, memories of tangled sheets and our passionate encounter threatening to overwhelm me. I’m starting to regret asking him to meet me here.

“This is... nice,” he says, his voice laced with amusement. “Definitely a step up from the tour bus. A little too sparse for my tastes, but…”

I ignore the jab, close the door behind him, and cross the room to pick up the envelope. My hands feel shaky as I hold it out to him.

“What’s this?” he asks, taking it from me but not opening it.

“Divorce papers,” I say, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. “I had them drawn up a few weeks ago. All they need is your signature.”

He stares at the envelope for a long moment, his jaw tightening. When he finally looks up, his eyes are unreadable.

“You’ve been carrying these around for weeks?”

“Yes.”

“And you waited until now to give them to me?”

“I figured it was time,” I say, crossing my arms. “We both know this will never work. It’s not—”

“Stop,” he interrupts, his voice low but firm.

I blink, startled by the sharpness in his tone. “Excuse me?”

“How can you say it won’t work when we haven’t even tried?” he says, tossing the envelope onto the desk like it’s nothing. “That’s just your excuse for giving up.”

“It’s not an excuse,” I snap, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s reality, Sam. We’re opposites in every way that matters. You take nothing seriously. You’re reckless, and—”

“You think I can’t be serious?” he cuts in, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

“Yes,” I say, my voice trembling. “I think you use humor as a shield.” Closing my eyes in defeat, I say in a weak voice, “I need someone who takes being in a relationship seriously. I need stability, someone I can count on. Someone who wants to be with me.”

“And you think I can’t be that person?” he asks, stepping closer.

“Can you?” I challenge, my heart pounding.

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His gaze locks on mine, intense and unrelenting, and the air between us feels like it might ignite.

“I don’t know,” he admits truthfully, his voice softer now. “But I want to try. Emily, I don’t want to lose you.”

His words hit me like a physical blow, and I take a step back, shaking my head. "Don't pretend you care just because you're faced with divorce papers." Even as I say it, my body betrays me, responding to his nearness. The heat radiating from him, the way his muscles flex beneath his shirt—it's all so achingly familiar.

"That's not what this is," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes me weak. He steps closer, and I can feel the magnetic pull between us, that same electricity that makes him so hard to resist.

Before I can stop him, his hand cups my face. The rough pad of his thumb traces my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. His touch is gentle but possessive, igniting every nerve ending.

"You want me to sign those papers?" His whisper brushes against my lips, his forehead almost touching mine. "Fine. I'll sign them. But tell me this first—what if we're not a mistake? What if this thing between us is real, and you're just too scared to admit it?"

The words die in my throat as his other hand slides to my waist, the heat of his palm burning through the thin silk. My body remembers this dance all too well—the way we fit together, the intoxicating mix of tenderness and desire whenever he touches me.

When his lips finally claim mine, it's like striking a match to gasoline. The kiss is hungry, desperate, filled with all the words we can't say. My hands betray me, sliding up his chest to curl into his shirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screams to push him away.

A soft whimper escapes me, and I feel him smile against my lips, his grip tightening possessively.

I know I should stop this—stop him and remember all the reasons why we won't work. Instead, I remember how he made me feel that night in Vegas. His thumb traces my jawline, and I shiver at the familiar calluses on his guitarist's fingers, recalling exactly how those skilled hands felt, exploring every inch of me.

Suddenly, the tempo of the kiss changes and his lips soften and move against mine with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. For a moment, I forget why I called him here.

He’s now taking his time, and it's like he’s savoring me—tasting me as he slowly explores my mouth. This is a side of Sam I haven’t felt before. It feels adoring, even loving, and it cuts through every one of my defenses.

As he deepens the kiss further, I give another soft whimper.

He nuzzles my neck, and I tilt my head back to give him more access. I hear his husky murmur warm against my skin, “It’s times like now that we are very compatible.” He continues to nibble his way across my damp collarbone, moving my robe out of his way. “Where our differences don’t matter. In fact, I like how different we are.”

I give a low moan as his hands find the belt of my robe, and he unties it. His warm hands reaching out to cup my full breasts. His thumbs rub across my nipples, creating friction that sends an ache right down to my core. I press my thighs together, trying to assuage the need for him.

I feel his hand slip between my thighs, finding me aching and wet. I gasp as he slowly parts my folds and inserts a finger into me, pressing in deep. My mind clouds with passion as he expertly pushes in another finger, working me, priming me.

Suddenly, I feel my back pressed against the wall as Sam hoists me higher. His hands around my bare waist. My robe, long forgotten as it hangs open, exposing my breasts to Sam’s seeking mouth. He covers a nipple with his hot lips as his hand continues pumping into me. The duel sensations leave me a quivering mess. As he works me like an instrument–building my pleasure.

I feel the first tremor, and my eyes flutter closed. Then my body clenches down on his fingers, my hands tightening as they grip his hair. But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow, and he continues until I let out a keening cry as my body orgasms.

When I finally open my eyes, I find Sam staring at me. I expected a smirk–an arrogant grin or for him to make some snide joke. But instead, his eyes are intense, filled only with desire–for me.

His gaze never leaves mine. The only sound I hear is his zipper being pulled down. God help me. I can’t wait for him to take me–fill me. My entire body is begging for more of him.

He doesn’t make me wait. He urgently lowers my body over his thick length, filling me in one deft stroke.

As my eyes flutter closed again, he demands in a guttural voice, “Don’t close your eyes.”

My gaze locks onto his, so brilliant green that it steals my breath. He pulls out just to surge into me again and again. It’s powerful and raw, and it only takes a few more strokes before we both cry out as the passion carries us over the edge of our desire.

Once the storm is over, Sam holds me tightly in his arms. He carries me over to the bed, and my legs lift, going around his waist. When we reach the mattress, he kneels down and gently lays me in the middle. As he leans down to kiss me, his cell phone buzzes.

Without ever bothering to see who’s calling, he ignores his phone. Instead, he leans down and brushes my lips with his.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” I finally ask, my voice breathy.

“No. I’m going to be busy all night.”

He makes good on his words.

Hours later, my body is spent as the dim light of dawn filters into the room. I slowly open my eyes. The bed feels empty. I glance to the side. Sam is gone. I reach out, and the sheets feel cold. My eyes dart to the hotel clock. It’s very early in the morning. He left without saying goodbye, and my heart gives a funny little pang.

Logically, I know he went back to the bus to protect me—us. But I’m still disappointed that he isn’t here, lying beside me. Sitting up in bed, I glance over to the desk. The divorce papers are still there—unsigned.

I draw in a shaky breath as mixed emotions flood my system. We had sex. A slow smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. No, it wasn’t just sex. It felt like something more—like making love.

But then reality comes crashing back. Did last night change anything?

No. Not really. So many things are still unresolved—mainly our marriage and now our divorce.