скачать книгу бесплатно
Thanks to the pioneering efforts of Christina Hendricks, right around the time I was hitting college, I made a kind of peace with my peaches and cream complexion, voluptuous figure and rusty hair, but I still never bought the pick-up lines. The guys who told me they loved my curves and dimples.
How easy it is to ignore flattery! But there’s something in his eyes, his face and his voice that renders me incapable of being dismissive now.
‘I know that your eyes show me everything you’re feeling and that your skin is like salt-water pearls.’
My laugh is a hoarse sound in the swirling atmosphere of need. ‘That’s all very cheesy.’
It’s not. It’s really not. Maybe it’s the fact he writes and sings some of the most famous love songs of all time, but he can totally pull this off. This guy, and this guy alone, can make those lines sound like they’re being spoken for the first time ever.
His laugh answers mine, and I’m smiling even as I want to acquiesce to his flirtation and do as he bids—live dangerously.
‘Even if it’s true?’
My breath catches in my throat and I look away—straight into the curious eyes of a woman a few feet away. She’s studying us and her cell phone is in her hand.
Strange how quickly I have forgotten that Ethan Ash is a celebrity. Heat spreads through my cheeks and he follows my gaze, quickly assessing the reason for it. Now he touches me with more urgency, placing a hand in the small of my back and leading me further down the street.
‘So?’
‘So what?’
I toss a look over my shoulder. The woman is still there, cell phone still in hand. Busybody! I guess this is par for the course for him, but I can’t imagine that. Being watched and observed all the time. Having people think they have a right to pry into your life, crack the lid off it whenever it suits them. No thanks.
‘Want to take a walk on the wild side?’
‘I...’ My footing stumbles a little as my eyes skid to his and all sense of gravity and order tips off balance. ‘I’m not sure.’
I look away.
‘How about we start with your name and you can make your mind up over a quiet drink?’
‘I...’
I’m struck dumb. I don’t think that’s ever happened to me in my whole life. Acknowledging that brings a smile to my face.
‘I think I’d like that.’
His smile shines bright light and heat into every microscopic corner of my world.
‘Then let’s get going.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ue713a764-20c5-501c-a0ed-19d3d1854161)
WE’RE SHEPHERDED INTO the obviously incredibly exclusive bar with a degree of fanfare that might make even the Queen of England envious. At the bar around the corner from our flat, with its neon lights and pumping songs, it was easy to miss the degree of Ethan Ash’s celebrity. Not to ignore the fact that he’s unique and different and special, but that these are qualities he has independent of his fame.
Here the deference is marked and reverent, his celebrity obvious and noteworthy. He is treated like the Second Coming, and some of that glory deflects nicely on to me, as his obvious companion.
And it is obvious. He kept his hand in the small of my back the whole way here, and he stays close by me as we weave our way through the establishment. I like him being close.
Close enough that I can smell his fragrance and enjoy his warmth.
Close enough that I can slip into the fantasy of what it would be like—will be like?—to touch his body all over. To kiss him. To taste him.
I stifle a groan, dipping my head forward to hide the liquid desire that is taking over my body. Desire is unexpected and yet it is welcome. After Jeremy I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel it again.
‘Here?’
He nods towards a cosy booth seat and every cell in my body ratchets up with awareness. Of him, of me, of the intimacy of that booth.
I nod slowly, then slide in ahead of him. ‘Do you come here often?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah, not really my scene.’
‘That’s interesting. It’s very much my scene.’ I wink at him. ‘At least more so than the place we were in before.’
‘Yeah, you were a bit of a fish out of water there.’
‘Really?’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘Why do you say that?’
He shrugs. ‘Gin and tonic?’
It takes me a second to realise he’s asking me a question—what kind of drink I want. A second longer to realise that he knows my regular drink.
‘How did you...?’
‘You ordered it right in front of me.’
‘I also ordered a Prosecco and a vodka gimlet.’
‘But you gave those to your friends.’
The certainty that he’s been watching me oozes pleasure over my skin. I think he knows, because his smile hints at the same kind of pleasure reverberating inside him. Heat is a burst between us.
‘So I did.’ I lean forward conspiratorially. ‘You’re not some kind of stalker, are you?’
His laugh is heaven. ‘Not until the last hour or so.’
More pleasure. His compliments are doing everything they should, and even though I’d like to think I’m genuinely hard to impress—thank you, Jeremy—I feel myself soften towards him.
Curiosity is as rampant in my body as desire. ‘So,’ I say, leaning in closer towards him. ‘What’s your name?’
For a second I have him fooled. Surprise etches across his face and then he bursts out laughing.
‘What?’ I continue the charade, my eyes wide, expression droll. ‘Why is that funny?’
He sobers. ‘It’s not.’ He clears his throat. ‘I’m... Christopher Smith.’
A smile tickles my lips. ‘Pleased to meet you, Christopher Smith.’
I wonder how often Ethan Ash gets hit on by girls who are more drawn in by his rock god status than anything else? I wonder if that makes him cynical about women? Or if it makes him think he’s God’s gift? In my case, I’m definitely not doing anything to disabuse him of that notion. In fact I seriously suspect that if God did gift women a man purely for pleasure it would be this guy.
But, hang on. He’s hot, sure, and he has the voice of a husky alpha-angel—but he could be awful in bed, right?
The thought brings a frown to my face. Isn’t there some rule of thumb about that? The really gorgeous guys don’t have to work for it so they never learn to be good? Am I going to test that theory with Ethan one-look-will-melt-your-panties-off Ash?
I shift a little in the seat. Our knees brush beneath the table and I suck in a sharp breath. Apparently I am.
He catches the involuntary gesture and his smile is sensual. ‘You’re nervous?’
I don’t know if I’m nervous or surprised. This juggernaut has picked me up and it’s dragging me along with it, and I feel a strange disconnect with my own autonomy. ‘Maybe.’
He lifts a hand in the air without taking his attention from my face. ‘Because of me?’
I shake my head, biting down on my lip. His eyes roam my face like it’s a continent he must conquer. He sees everything.
The sense of familiarity is as overwhelming as it is bizarre. I’m sitting in a booth with a bona fide rock star. I should feel strange, but I don’t. It all feels so right.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Ally.’
‘Ally.’
He rolls it around his mouth as if tasting the two symbols. His accent is even hotter when he’s saying my name. He makes the A sound like a sigh...‘Ah’.
‘Is that short for something?’
I nod.
‘Gonna make me guess?’
I grin, and my eyes lift as a waitress approaches, her pale blonde hair pulled into a braid that wraps around her head like a crown.
‘Good evening. Here are some menus.’ She places two dark books on the tabletop. ‘Can I get you a drink to start?’
Ethan turns away to address the waitress. He orders a beer and a gin and tonic, then adds some onion rings for good measure. In profile, he’s fascinating. I hadn’t noticed until then the bump halfway down his nose that speaks, presumably, of it having been broken at some point in his life. In an accident? Or a fight?
Goosebumps dance down my spine as I imagine the rather sexy image of Ethan Ash in a fist-fight with someone. He’d be a good fighter. Not prone to aggression, I’d bet, but definitely able to take care of himself.
Wow. I didn’t even know that I found that kind of thing attractive.
‘Alexandra?’ he says as he spins back to me.
I don’t instantly understand what he’s saying, and then I realise. He’s guessing my full name.
‘No.’
‘Hmm...’ A low, gruff growl.
Help me, Jesus, I am about to sin.
Beneath the table his fingers find my knee and he strums it like a guitar, gently lashing his fingers over my flesh so that my breath is raspy.
‘Do I get a penalty?’
‘Definitely.’
‘And what would that be?’
I tilt my head to the side, my eyes dancing with amusement even as desire makes my lids heavy.
‘Every time you get it wrong,’ I say, after a long beat of silence has stretched between us, ‘I get to ask you anything I want.’
He lifts his brows skyward. ‘Sure. Sounds fair. So, what do you want to know?’
Great question. What do I want to know? ‘How does everything sound?’
He laughs. ‘“Everything” could take a while. There’s twenty-eight years to cover.’
‘Let’s start with what brings you to the Big Old Apple?’
‘A gig. And recording.’
‘An album?’
He shakes his head and leans closer, so that his words whisper gently across my cheek.
‘That’s a separate question.’
‘No fair!’
I lift a hand to playfully push at his chest, except the moment my fingers connect with his warm strength no pushing occurs. I hold my hand against him, my eyes meet his, and I feel like I’m sinking hard and fast, with no hope of saving myself.
‘Alita?’
I shake my head and dredge up a smile, but it feels heavy on my face because it has to wade through all the desire that’s chewing my insides up.
‘You’re recording an album?’
‘Sorta.’
‘What does “sorta” mean?’
He shifts his body a little, bringing himself closer to me. ‘I’m tinkering. Sketching.’
‘Sketching?’
‘You know... Getting a feel for some new stuff. Working on pieces.’
