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)
Tonight’s been fun, incredible as he said, but I’d be a fool to fall for a rock star. I’ve been a fool before, but with Laird, I thought I knew what this was, and one night seemed to be understood. But something’s changed over the course of the past hour . . .
I’m falling for him.
I can’t let my emotions get twisted. I hate that this is one night, and then we go back to our regularly scheduled lives, but I know what we are. Laird is with me on a tour stop in Austin, but I’ll be back in New York tomorrow, and he’ll be in another city surrounded by other women.
Why does he have to be so talented? Making me feel like I’m not just another groupie seems to be his MO, yet I still fell for him. But I know the truth and can’t let that get skewed.
“I love your tattoos,” he whispers. “These were little surprises hidden for me to discover.”
I smile, digging my fingers into his hair. “Sometimes I forget about them, and they’re a surprise for me, too.”
He chuckles. “I forget what half of mine are for.”
“No great meaning behind them?”
“Some,” he says, tapping his ribs. “The guitar on my side. It was my first. It’s a rendering of the first guitar I ever had.” He bends, kissing over the plastic of my new artwork that he designed. “This is my favorite on you.”
I don’t need to see it to know how I feel about the new tattoo. “That’s my favorite, too.”
“You didn’t flinch once while he inked you.”
I laugh, rubbing over the three others on my hip bone. “The knives hurt more.”
He reaches over to trace the small tattoos usually hidden under my clothes, fully exposed to the man who now owns all of me. My breathing stumbles as if my last breath hangs in the balance. “Bold choice.”
“What can I say? I earned every one of them.”
“I have no idea what that means. But . . .” He lies back and pulls me to him like I weigh nothing. “I want to learn everything about you and your bold choices.”
Talking about being a personal chef for the wealthy isn’t a turn-on for me, so I’m sure it won’t be that impressive to him. “You have to leave.”
Shock rattles his chiseled face, pulling his brows together. “You’re kicking me out?”
“What? No.” I push up on my elbow, confused by the accusation. “Oh wait. I meant you need to leave for your tour.”
“Right.” He exhales a laden breath. Draping his arm across his forehead, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “The plane leaves at ten in the morning.”
The idea of not seeing him pierces my heart. Knowing the magic of being with Laird will be gone by daylight is unbearable. And I’ll be alone in this hotel room.
I take a long, steadying breath, trying to ease the panic I’m feeling inside. “Is this where you let me down easy?” I thought I had more time before being faced with the consequences of my whims. Guess not. “It’s okay.” I reach over and rest my hand on his arm as if the contact will comfort me. “You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t give you trouble.”
Propping up on his arm, he angles toward me. His eyes are missing the levity of the night. In its place is a somberness I feel in my bones. “What if I want the trouble? What if I want to worry about you?” I don’t know what to say, but he does. “What if I already do?”
My heart clenches from the concern I spy in his eyes, but I force myself to stay strong. Lying to myself and pretending this isn’t goodbye won’t help in the long run. “You don’t need to, Laird. Time will heal, and I’ll get over it.”
He runs the tips of his fingers over the plastic stuck to my skin, careful to skirt the area. “Get over me? That’s too bad.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I can’t allow hope to grow where it doesn’t belong.
“Try as you like to forget this night ever happened, this tattoo will be a daily reminder that we once existed at the same time and place.” A smile splits his cheek while a hint of gratification drifts across his face. “Do you ever play games, Poppy?”
My thoughts are still spiraling when the change of topic blindsides me.
“It’s an easy one. I promise,” he adds while caressing my cheek.
I’m conflicted about what to think or even believe, but I play along to see where he’s going with this. “I’ll bite.” That elicits a dulcet hum in response. “What game?”
“Never have I ever.”
“That’s a drinking game.”
“I’ll go first.” He appears so serious, and that makes me nervous. “Never have I ever been wholly captivated by a woman before.”