Page 2 of You Rock My World
His jaw tenses, ticks, but it’s only a moment before the clench is released and his entire posture relaxes. “It must be some serious hotness to cause such a flight response.”
I smile at that. “Said the world-famous rockstar slash actor who every teenage girl on the planet has a poster of in their bedrooms.”
The teasing smile is back. “Every single one? I thought a few still went for Harry Styles, no?”
And now I’m full-on laughing. And see, this is the problem. Because since I got stuck in an elevator with this man a year ago, I’ve been madly, irrationally, hopelessly in love with him. And not the mega star, Rian Phoenix, who women all over the world fantasize about. No, much worse, because I’m in love with Dorian. The sarcastic, unapologetic, goofy, and still sexy-as-hell man behind the fame. The real him.
“Okay,” I concede. “We can settle for half the teenagers on the planet.”
“If you’re trying to avoid me, why come to a party for the release of my latest movie?” He changes the subject, taking me off guard. As if I needed to be any more off-kilter in his presence.
“I thought you’d still be on tour.”
“I’m on a break between cities.” His expression gets inscrutable. Now he must think I’ve been full-on stalking him, which I pretty much did, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Missy mentioned something about Arlington the other day at the general staff meeting.”
The company I work for does his public relations. I’m not on his account, my colleague, Missy, is. And thank goodness for that, or I would’ve lost my marbles a long time ago.
“I wasn’t drunk,” Dorian says on the defensive, referring to my Arlington comment.
“I know,” I tell him. “The press are jerks sometimes.”
He studies me, his too-perceptive eyes seeing more than I care for him to see. So, I panic and blurt, “I should go back to my date.”
Now both his eyebrows disappear under his unruly fringe.
“You’re on adate?”
“First date, actually.” I cross the room toward him, hoping Dorian will scoot and let me disappear into the safety of the crowds.
No such luck. He doesn’t budge an inch, so now we’re also standing too close for comfort.
“And how’s that going?” he asks in a blank tone I can’t interpret.
It’s going nowhere. Not after this little reminder of how a man’s eye on me should make my skin burn without a single touch and cause my heart to stutter violently in my chest.
But this man—icon, legend, idol?—is already taken and I’m no home-wrecker, so I paste a fake smile on my face and deliver an even more false answer. “It’s going great,super, in fact.”
Without a word, Dorian steps aside, his features carved in stone.
I’m beginning to hope I’ve made it out of this interaction alive, with my heart in one solid piece—maybe with only a few small cracks spreading, but still mostly beating fine—when Dorian’s parting salvo catches me as I brush past him.
“Do you always hide alone in a room on great first dates?”
2
DORIAN
One Year Ago
I step into the elevator, the leftover adrenaline of another near-scandal not quite gone.
Yesterday, I let my wife rattle me and acted stupid again. Today, the public fallout should be contained at least.
My security detail is waiting downstairs while my team is ironing out the press release that will keep the headlines in check. For how long? At least until the media gets bored and seeks the next fire to fan. I’m their favorite circus monkey.
I push the lobby button just as someone yells, “Wait,” and a petite foot in flat sandals wedges itself between the closing doors.
