Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“So I decided I was going start living for me. It started small. With a hair cut. My clothes. Got rid of the minivan. Started boxing lessons. Got a tattoo.”
His eyebrow quirked. “Where is this tattoo?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I said archly.
“Very much.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “Things like the house, the horse, the job, those are bigger changes. They’ll take longer. Addy’s twenty-one. She’s in college, and it’s not like she could take Whinnie with her. When I mentioned that I was thinking about selling the house, downsizing, she and my son freaked.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know if they think they need this place to come home to or maybe they can’t imagine me as anyone but the mom who’s lived her their entire lives. You’d think I told them I wanted to burn down an orphanage when I mentioned selling. ‘What about Whinnie?’ ‘Where will I store my six hundred boxes of Legos and action figures?’”
“So you stayed.”
“For now. I shifted my focus to the job portion of the Becoming. I started taking freelance jobs about two years ago. With the concert venues here it was easy to specialize in music. The editor at the magazine told me if I could get an exclusive with you on your thoughts and feelings about the farewell tour he’d make room on the staff for me.”
“Is that what you want?”
“A full-time job with benefits that lets me interview musical artists from all genres? Yes, please.” I took a breath. “But enough about me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think what?”
“I haven’t had enough of you.”
“Are you flirting with me, Vonn?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
I grinned at him, then changed the subject. “Do you want some tea? I have honey.” It had been with much amusement when I discovered that the tattooed badasses of hard rocking Sonic Arcade drank green smoothies in the morning and hot tea after shows. They did yoga, and some, specifically Vonn, even meditated before shows.
“Tea would be good,” he said.
I needed a few minutes of space. Because if I didn’t get it now, I was going to crawl into his lap and beg him to fuck me. And I was pretty sure that was a journalistic no-no.
Vonn rose when I did.
“Stay. I’ll get it,” I insisted, waving at the couch.
“You’re injured. I don’t want you waiting on me like I’m some guest.”
“You are a guest,” I said flippantly as I headed for the kitchen.
“Brooke.” A warm hand on my wrist stopped me. His grip was firm.
“What?”
“How do you feel?”
Hot and bothered. Hornier than a thirteen-year-old boy at the community pool. Wetter than Costa Rica’s rainy season. “I’m fine. Between the shower and the dinner, I feel pretty damn good.”
“Good.” He pointed up. There in the open doorway between the living room and dining space dangled a plastic piece of mistletoe.
“It’s not real,” I said, referring to the mistletoe, as if the plastic nature of the leaves had any bearing whatsoever on Vonn’s intentions.
“I’m superstitious,” he countered. He was, as was the rest of the band. Drummer Kaio had to walk on stage with a drumstick in his back pocket and one in his hand. Keyboardist Steve wore the same patterned socks for every performance. When the pattern was retired, he’d used his star power to convince the manufacturer to make a few hundred more just for him.
“I want to kiss you,” Vonn said, his voice low and dangerous. “But if I do, it’s not going to stop there. If that’s not something you want, I need to hear it now, babe.”
He used my wrist to tug the rest of me into his body. This time it was my stomach cuddled up to his hard-on. My thighs quaked.
Lazily, as if he had all the time in the world, he put his arms around me, sliding his hands under my cardigan and splaying his palms over my back. We were pinned at the hip. My hands went to his chest and fisted in the cotton of his T-shirt. Suddenly, launching my career with this story seemed much less important than being with a man I’d fantasized about for a few decades.
“You said you didn’t fuck strangers,” I whispered stupidly.
“Think we’re still strangers, babe?” he asked, amused.
He had a point…and an erection. Neither of which I felt like arguing with.
“Good point,” I whispered, mentally prepared as his mouth lowered slowly toward mine.
The kiss was warm, hard, consuming. Awesome. He wasn’t polite or tentative. He confidently plundered my mouth and set my soul on fire. I was melting, combusting in his arms.
His hands were on the move. One sliding lower to squeeze my rear end, the other traveling around to cup the outer curve of my breast. My nipple was painfully aware that the attention it sought was mere inches away.
I let out a low moan as his tongue swept into my mouth. He wasn’t just sampling, Vonn was devouring.