still can’t quite believe that Miss Black just let me run off with Adam, and I suspect I’m going to be in big trouble of some kind when I get home. And Henry Thomas is going to be deeply unhappy with me. Not to mention that I’m kinda, sorta involved with a hedonistic rock star who essentially kidnapped me.
My fingers move the needles faster, the thin wool spooling out from a bright cake of the stuff that rests in my lap.
Amy eyes my knitting, her expression a bit puzzled, before she stomps off... probably to find Adam and do whatever it is assistants to rock stars do before a massive concert. The thought that she’s going to see him while he’s clearly avoiding me has my hands moving faster still, sliding one needle behind the other, looping the yarn around, bringing it under and off, over and over again.
At least I can control this .
The minutes tick by as I focus on what I’m doing, my busy hands keeping my mind blissfully blank. I’ve knitted about two inches of the first sock when t he couch dips. Someone sits down beside me, interrupting my little oasis, and I can’t hold back my scowl as I’m jostled and a stitch slips off of my needle.
I look up as I slide the stitch back onto the needle, catching it before it can unravel and force me to start again... and when I do, I lose all capacity for rational thought. Cobalt blue eyes with intriguing flecks of gold are looking me over with interest, peering out from beneath artfully shaggy hair. A ripped chest is on full view since this heavenly creature is shirtless, and his muscles ripple as he reaches up to toy with a ring that’s hanging from a chain around his neck.
Christ on a cracker, Trystan Scott just sat down next to me.
“Hello.” Leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, he pins me with the full attention of the stare that has captivated millions. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
His smile is pure sex, and I’d have to be dead not to feel a little thrill.
“You haven’t, no. I mean, I haven’t. Been here. Before.” Dude. Why am I babbling? Trystan Scott isn’t any more famous than Adam, and yet around Adam I’ve never really been affected by all that is rock star about him.
“I’m Trystan.” He smiles easily and gives me his hand, which I set down my knitting to take. It’s warm, and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
“Yes. You are. I mean, I know.” Stuck, I laugh at myself. “Sorry. I’m not used to hanging out with the rich and famous.”
“We’re no different than anyone else.” He winks at me and takes a bottle of water from a man standing behind him, a man I haven’t noticed yet... though how I missed him, I’m not sure, because his biceps are the size of my head. “Thanks, Bob.”
Bob—seriously, this giant is named Bob —grunts. “Stage time, kid.”
“Don’t call me that.” Trystan rolls his eyes, getting to his feet. “Sorry... duty calls. But it was lovely to meet you...”
“Carly.” I can’t stop the grin as he theatrically pulls my hand to his mouth and places a kiss to it. Our eyes meet, a pleasant frisson shooting through me, and a realization hits me.
He’s flirting with me, trying to see if a spark will ignite between one reasonably attractive woman and a screaming hot rock god of approximately the same age. He’s looking to connect with someone... just like Adam. Just like me.
There’s a mild pulse of attraction between us, for sure. Something I might once have pursued. But it’s so pale with even the memory of Adam’s lips on my own.
“Carly.” My head jolts up—that’s not Trystan repeating my name. No, this voice I would know anywhere.
“Adam. I—” What I am about to say dies in my throat when I find Adam standing in front of me, dressed in full costume, a deep scowl forming a vee between his eyebrows.
Daaaammnn.
Gone are the sexy suit pants, replaced by even sexier leather pants that are so tight I don’t know how he can possibly
My fingers move the needles faster, the thin wool spooling out from a bright cake of the stuff that rests in my lap.
Amy eyes my knitting, her expression a bit puzzled, before she stomps off... probably to find Adam and do whatever it is assistants to rock stars do before a massive concert. The thought that she’s going to see him while he’s clearly avoiding me has my hands moving faster still, sliding one needle behind the other, looping the yarn around, bringing it under and off, over and over again.
At least I can control this .
The minutes tick by as I focus on what I’m doing, my busy hands keeping my mind blissfully blank. I’ve knitted about two inches of the first sock when t he couch dips. Someone sits down beside me, interrupting my little oasis, and I can’t hold back my scowl as I’m jostled and a stitch slips off of my needle.
I look up as I slide the stitch back onto the needle, catching it before it can unravel and force me to start again... and when I do, I lose all capacity for rational thought. Cobalt blue eyes with intriguing flecks of gold are looking me over with interest, peering out from beneath artfully shaggy hair. A ripped chest is on full view since this heavenly creature is shirtless, and his muscles ripple as he reaches up to toy with a ring that’s hanging from a chain around his neck.
Christ on a cracker, Trystan Scott just sat down next to me.
“Hello.” Leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, he pins me with the full attention of the stare that has captivated millions. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
His smile is pure sex, and I’d have to be dead not to feel a little thrill.
“You haven’t, no. I mean, I haven’t. Been here. Before.” Dude. Why am I babbling? Trystan Scott isn’t any more famous than Adam, and yet around Adam I’ve never really been affected by all that is rock star about him.
“I’m Trystan.” He smiles easily and gives me his hand, which I set down my knitting to take. It’s warm, and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
“Yes. You are. I mean, I know.” Stuck, I laugh at myself. “Sorry. I’m not used to hanging out with the rich and famous.”
“We’re no different than anyone else.” He winks at me and takes a bottle of water from a man standing behind him, a man I haven’t noticed yet... though how I missed him, I’m not sure, because his biceps are the size of my head. “Thanks, Bob.”
Bob—seriously, this giant is named Bob —grunts. “Stage time, kid.”
“Don’t call me that.” Trystan rolls his eyes, getting to his feet. “Sorry... duty calls. But it was lovely to meet you...”
“Carly.” I can’t stop the grin as he theatrically pulls my hand to his mouth and places a kiss to it. Our eyes meet, a pleasant frisson shooting through me, and a realization hits me.
He’s flirting with me, trying to see if a spark will ignite between one reasonably attractive woman and a screaming hot rock god of approximately the same age. He’s looking to connect with someone... just like Adam. Just like me.
There’s a mild pulse of attraction between us, for sure. Something I might once have pursued. But it’s so pale with even the memory of Adam’s lips on my own.
“Carly.” My head jolts up—that’s not Trystan repeating my name. No, this voice I would know anywhere.
“Adam. I—” What I am about to say dies in my throat when I find Adam standing in front of me, dressed in full costume, a deep scowl forming a vee between his eyebrows.
Daaaammnn.
Gone are the sexy suit pants, replaced by even sexier leather pants that are so tight I don’t know how he can possibly
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