Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
It’s not long, maybe a minute max, before she wriggles to give herself room. Tilting back, she rests her head on the pillow as her eyes find mine in the dark. “What do you do for a living?”
The question itself isn’t hard to answer. My career is part of my identity. It’s given me the life I live—the downfalls of fame and the upside of never wanting for anything. It’s only difficult to tell her because it has the potential to change what’s growing between us.
I take a sobering breath and then lean forward to kiss her forehead. With my lips pressed to her sweet and salty skin, I know I can’t hide forever, and I don’t want to. “I’m a musician.” Vague but honest enough to satisfy her?
“Guitarist.” The word is just a breath against my neck, so quiet between us.
I nod, wondering where we go from here as if that one word has broken our spell. I want to see her reaction, to know if she feels differently about me. “Wild guess?”
Fame affects everyone unpredictably, even if only being in proximity. I pray it doesn’t do the same to us.
“Not a wild guess. There’s a photo in the bedroom, and the tattoos gave it away.”
“They usually are.”
“There’s also a guitar in the living room, but it hasn’t been played since you’ve been here.” She grins as if she’s cracked the code. She has.
Caressing her cheek, I run the pad of my thumb over the apple of it. “I’ve had other things to keep me occupied.”
Her sweet smile falters, and she whispers, “You’re famous, aren’t you?” The burdens of the world infuse her pretty eyes as the realization of what that means begins to dawn. I know. I live it every fucking day of my life. No peace. No privacy. No sincerity. It’s hard to trust anyone, and I question everybody’s motives.
I don’t want that with her, but I knew I couldn’t hide my life from her forever, even if I wanted to protect her from it. “Not enough, apparently,” I reply, trying to win back her smile.
A laugh jolts her body, but then she playfully pushes me with a pout built on her mouth. “Funny,” she replies. “But I feel stupid for not knowing.”
“Don’t.” I grasp her wrists and bring her hands to my mouth, kissing each one. “I’m glad you don’t know who I am.”
“I felt I did. Inside . . . or was starting to.” A sigh carries her breath away, and she adds, “So much about you felt familiar.” She humorlessly laughs to herself, one of her hands slipping from me to rub her forehead. “I thought we were sharing something special.” Her eyes dart to the ceiling, but I can see her emotions distancing from me. “You’re only familiar because you’re famous. I feel like a fool because none of it was real.”
“It is, Poppy.”
“I probably saw you on TV or . . .” She doesn’t say in concert, but the inference is out there. Fuck.
Sitting up, I say, “I wouldn’t be here—”
“You mean, I wouldn’t be here. Not still. Not after we had sex.” She pulls back even more, her entire body shifting away. “Not in your bed. I would have been the fun you had in the hot tub or the girl you fucked on the couch.”
“Don’t say that.” Anger doesn’t come for me, but the fear of losing her hits straight to the heart. “Don’t doubt that I’ve given—”
“What have you given, Laird? Not your last name. Not even your profession until after I had sex with you.” She covers herself as if she needs the protection. From me?
What the fuck is happening?
She says, “You know so much about me, that I’m a chef, that I—”
“I don’t know your last name.”
“Stanfield. Poppy Stanfield. You can look me up. You’ll find more than I want out there. I’m the daughter of a CEO of some mega-corporation who doesn’t care about the planet or the damage he does to others, and he most definitely doesn’t care about me.” Her eyes haven’t left mine, but her expression has morphed, the doubt replaced with fire. “I was raised by a mother who told me to always marry for money because you can never have enough. To have kids quickly to trap that inheritance and secure the prenup payment for when they cheat on you and find a younger model. For reference, she’s worth more than she can spend in four lifetimes. I’m a—”
“You’re a trained chef and have three different knife tattoos to honor levels of achievement you haven’t shared with me, but I want to hear all about it or, even better, watch you in action. You laugh more when you’re drunk, and you don’t hide your feelings. Your eyes have these gold flecks, and every time I’m lucky enough to see them in the sunlight, I feel like I’ve discovered treasure. Little gold coins that are sometimes lost in the waves of sea green and driftwood. You’re spontaneous, but because of the accident, you hesitate more. A confidence that deserves to be there is now shaken.” I exhale but lower my voice and say, “I don’t know who was by your side after the accident, but I wish I could have been there for you. I wouldn’t have left.”