Page 11 of Behind the Lyrics
“It’s perfectly fine for me and Marky.” I popped a hot chocolate in the coffee maker then poured water in the reservoir, doing my best to ignore Farrow.
“Who’s Marky?” His tone of voice dropped to a growl, and he slid closer, his upper arm brushing mine.
The water heated, creating a softhissas it cycled.
Unable to stop myself, I looked upward into his face, following the line of his square jaw to the prominent cheekbones and sexy eyes.He really is spectacular.
“Well?” He pushed his head closer to mine, craning his neck downward, nearly planting his nose against my face. Some emotion flashed in his eyes. Anger? That didn’t make sense.
“Marky’s my cat.”
His shoulders sagged, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
What’s with him? Where’s that pissed-off rocker from the studio?
I fidgeted and shifted my feet, listening to the percolating water. With a thump, my phone fell to the floor, landing on Viktor’s boots.
That damn rip in my robe.
Before I could bend to retrieve the phone, Viktor crouched and held it in his palm, his eyes scouring the screen.
“Thanks.” I held out my hand.
“Hmm, what do we have here?” A corner of his mouth tipped upward as he tilted the screen toward him. “Have you been a naughty little angel listening to my record?”
Oh, dear God.He saw what I’d been listening to.Karma, you’resucha bitch.“Gimme that. Now.”
Slowly, he stood. A self-satisfied gleam shone from his gaze, and he propped a hip against the counter. “Why? I think this night needs a little music. Shall I push Play so we can listen to your brilliant choice?”
With a snarl, I thrusted my hand forward and snatched the phone away, my face a burning inferno.
“It was suggested by the app’s algorithm. Not like I went out looking for your crappy record.” Stuffing the phone in the opposite pocket, I bit my tongue to keep my mouth shut.
“Hmm.” His tone changed to playful, but he dropped the subject.
Thank God.
When the hot chocolate finished dripping, I grabbed the mug and handed it to him, thankful for something to do. “Sorry. I don’t have anything stronger.”
Dazzling me with a sensual smile, he took the cup, his fingertips skimming over mine, sending a zip of electricity racing across my skin. “Don’t need anything stronger, Angel. Not anymore.”
“Sure.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve heardthatonebefore.”Once an addict or alcoholic, always an addict or alcoholic.
He stepped back a few inches and propped a shoulder against the wall, peering at me over the rim of his hot chocolate and sipping slowly, his stance a hunting jaguar waiting to pounce.
I broke the stare and concentrated on making another mug. My hands shook, and it took me two times to get the cup positioned into the holder.
“Having trouble finding the hole?” His leathery scent, along with a hint of cologne, wafted to my nose. The heat from his body, now only a few inches from mine, felt like a fireplace roaring to life against my skin. “Ineverhave that issue. Sometimes, you must work it a bit, get it loosened up.” He bit his bottom lip and grinned, creating tiny crinkles at the corners or his eyes.
His deft hands twisted the plastic cup around then, with an index finger, he pressed the lid in place.
I shoved my fists into my old, ratty bathrobe’s pockets, wiggling a finger through one of the tears, unwilling to meet his eyes again.Am I really standing here with Viktor Farrow in my kitchen helping me make hot chocolate? Why am I not angrier at him for barging in on me?
“Mr. Farrow—”
“Uh-uh.” He wagged an index finger. “It’s Viktor, Angel.” He bent to the counter and placed both elbows on the top, angling his body so he could stare into my face.
“Okay, fine,Viktor.” I paused for a moment. His name on my tongue felt good, and that worried me.Nothing about this man should feel good.
