Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
"Havoc?" I gape at him. "No offense, but you're a giant. You could probably squash people with your bare hands. Havoc is probably overkill."
He laughs loudly. "The name is Ambrose Havoc."
"Oh, okay then. I guess Havoc it is," I say, making him laugh again. "Got it."
"You're funny."
"Thanks." I scrunch up my nose at him. "I think."
"Go on in. He's waiting for you."
I bounce up the steps, not sure if I'm more excited about seeing him or the bus. The bus. Just kidding. Definitely him. It's only been an hour, and I already miss him. I'm such a mess for this man; it's ridiculous. It's all his fault, too.
I hear his voice and what sounds like a guitar before I pull the door open, and remember he said he wanted to come and work on something. I open the door carefully, not wanting to disturb him.
As soon as I step inside, the mournful notes of his song wash over me. I stop in my tracks, listening to his powerful voice.
"I don't want to sleep, don't even want to dream. Every time I close my eyes, I see you walking out the door. I thought I was strong. Convinced myself I could handle letting you leave. It was just a lie I told to keep myself breathing. But baby, I'm not breathing. I'm not breathing. Until you come back to me."
He trails off, setting the guitar aside to jot something in a notebook.
I don't want to interrupt, but my heart is in my throat, and I think I have to say something. I think…holy crap. I think he's writing about me and our conversation this morning. Is that what inspired this song? The thought of me leaving?
"Crue," I whisper, taking a step toward him.
He lifts his head from his notebook, his hazel eyes meeting mine.
"I…"
"There you are." A big grin overtakes his expression. He drops his pen, rising to his feet, his song forgotten as he strides toward me. In three steps, I'm in his arms, and his lips are slanting down over mine.
Everything I was going to say, the questions I meant to ask, get swept away in the maelstrom as he slides his hand into my hair and kisses the breath from my lungs. I forget about his song. I forget everything but the taste of him on my lips, the feel of his hard body pressed to mine, and the unshakable certainty that I'm falling in love with this man, not fan to idol but woman to man.
Chapter Six
Crue
"Twenty-three."
"What?" Ireland blinks at me like a little owl, far too fucking cute in those glasses as we stroll toward the arena, hand in hand.
"Twenty-three," I say again, leaning close. She's already dragged my ass through every bus in the fleet, demanding I show her everything. I've never met anyone who gets as excited about little shit as she does. It's fucking adorable. "That's how many questions I get to ask you."
Her lips curve into an amused smile. "You really counted yesterday?"
"Damn right I counted. You owe me twenty-three answers."
"Fine, but I'm not very interesting."
She's the most interesting person I've met in years, hands down. Everything about her fascinates me. But I decide to start off easy.
"You grew up in Texas?" I ask.
"Yep. A tiny little ghost town called Blackthorne in west Texas with more cows than people."
"How is it a ghost town if people live there?" I quickly hold up a finger when she opens her mouth to answer. "And that doesn't count as one of my questions. Everyone in the fucking world would have the same goddamn question."
"Fine. I'll let you cheat this time," she huffs at me. "But only because you answered my off-the-record questions yesterday. It's a ghost town because Blackthorne grew up around an old Wild West town. Except no one knows what the old Wild West town was named. There's no record of it that anyone has been able to find, so they named our town Blackthorne after the Wild West town in an old John Wayne movie."
We reach the entrance that gives us access to the backstage area of the arena. I shoot a quick text to Xander, requesting that he let us in the building. A few seconds later, he pokes his head out, sees us, and then holds the door open, letting us through.
"Thank you," Ireland chirps, unfailingly polite.
"Thanks, man," I murmur. "Ireland, this is Xander. Xander, Ireland."
"We've met. Sort of." She grins at him.
He grins back. I suddenly like him far, far less than I did sixty seconds ago.
"When did you meet?" I growl.
"Oh. Videochat."
I nod, slightly mollified. But only slightly.
Xander smirks like he knows exactly why I'm acting like a dick. Whatever. He shouldn't smile at my wife, and I wouldn't have to be a dick.
"How's it looking?" I ask.
"Fans are starting to line up out front, but it's not crazy yet." He frowns. "Some chick tried to sneak in earlier. We caught her before she made it past the lobby."