Page 20 of Behind the Lyrics
A call vibrated my phone, and I peeked.
Unknown. No way am I answering that.For the first couple of months after moving here from Texas, I’d relied solely on my credit cards until I’d gotten this gig. The interest rates were killing me, and I struggled to keep up with the minimum payments. At least two or three times a week, a bill collector called.
They can leave a message.I couldn’t deal with any more drama this late into the evening.
My phone dinged with the incoming voicemail, and I stuffed it into my purse.I’ll give them something tomorrow to keep them off my back.
I unlocked the front door and stepped outside into the cooling night air, turning the key in the lock once more and giving the handle a tug to ensure it was secure on the outside. The single light post near the entryway reflected off the station’s tinted windows, bathing my hands in a warm glow.
Off in the distance, a pack of coyotes howled, their high yips bouncing across the flat desert, sounding closer than they probably were.
“Evening, Angel.”
I jumped a foot into the air and yelped, my keys jangling in my hand.
The smooth, accented voice could only belong to one person. Viktor Farrow.
My heart did a somersault, then tried to pound its way through my sternum.
Oh, shit.
Chapter 18
Viktor Farrow
I pulled up to the car park and switched off the motor, debating whether I should run inside and demand she accept my apology. Yet, another part of me whispered caution, that the way to her heart wasn’t with brute force but gentle persistence.
An old geezer, his long, stringy hair whiter than brown, pulled his twenty-year-old Volvo next to the bike. When he stepped out, his gaze landed on me and widened for a moment then he gave a quick nod, as if saying he knew who I was but wouldn’t bother me.
Well, thank fuck.
Unlocking the door, he stepped inside.Must be Angela’s relief, which means she should be off air soon, I hope.On the ride over, I’d switched on the radio and tuned in to her show. That soft, sultry voice slid into my ears, coiled inside my chest, and shot straight to my cock. The little vixen had a strange hold over me, and I felt like a drowning man grasping for something,anything, to keep from sliding under her addictive spell.
Yet, here I was, throwing the fucking life preserver toward shore and swimming out even farther. I sat on the hog and fretted. Should I or shouldn’t I dash inside and prove I was a half-witted imbecile?
While debating which path to take, my little angel wrestled the decision from me. Dressed in a dark-gray T-shirt and ripped black jeggings, she stepped through the doorway and turned to lock it. From the back, her attire and slight frame made her appear no more than twenty.
How old is she, anyhow? Twenty-six, twenty-seven?
Partially hidden by the Volvo, I hunched lower, feeling less sure of my harebrained, half-cocked plan. How had I sunk to such a low, skulking and stalking a woman I barely knew?
Fuck me, I’m turning into one of my fans.
As she locked the station, I gazed at the empty desert surrounding the building. I didn’t care for the idea of her being out here at night alone. Who knew what kind of crazy motherfuckers could be lying in wait, ready to pounce on her as soon as she exited the building?
The bloody hell, Viktor?I shook my head, confused at the possessive protectiveness overcoming me.
Click.The tumbler turned in the lock, and she moved her hand to stuff the keys into her purse.
“Evening, Angel.”
Like a frightened rabbit, she bounced into the air with a jangleof the keys and a breathy yell.
“It seems my messages aren’t getting through, so…”
With a careful turn, she faced me, her hand thrown across her chest and her eyes guarded. In her other fist, she clutched her purse in front of her stomach—a shield against the big, bad rocker. She was so fucking cute. My dick twitched in my pants, and I ripped my stare from her tantalizing body to her face.
“You could’ve called the station if it was that important.” She marched to the pickup truck from hell and mashed a thumb on the button beneath the handle.
