Page 13 of The Photo
Chelsea groans. “One bite of warm sugary dough is better than a dry hard stick thing from over there.” She salutes to the tea station where free breadsticks and watery coffee awaits. “Just be quick. My blood sugar levels are depending on you.”
I chuckle at her madness and turn for the door. There are people everywhere, this city sure loves an arty event. With the side door as my target, I lower my head and race for the exit. I burst into the warm air, and it’s like a cocoon of happy summer memories, when I ate ice pops and sat in the meadows with my dolls until sundown.
With the bright blue-sky overhead and hazy heat, my soul is nourished. I’ve got a small window of time to grab a donut and be back in place before anyone notices I’m gone. I hit the street with rushed steps. My patent Doc Martin’s pound the tarmac as I hurry to the street corner.
Now that I’m alone again, I swipe my phone from the bag bopping into my hip. When I visited Noah's profile page last night, as I usually do before bed, I noticed he was tagged by his manager, Alexa Rossi. She never posts pictures of herself. It’s always Noah, Noah and more Noah. This particular photo was a close-up picture of his face, wearing black sunglasses and a bright white megawatt smile. The caption read: That’s a wrap #HEBOSS88SPORT #Noahlife
The guy drips star power. In fact, he’s not just one bright star, he’s a mass of millions, all drawn together to make the best damn constellation in the galaxy.
Much to my huge disappointment, there hasn’t been any new activity since yesterday afternoon, and he’s gone silent in my private inbox too. The thrill of our contact was mind blowing while it lasted.
I lift my gaze once, then twice to make sure I’m on track for destination donut, but I keep zoning out from the busy streets to refresh the app.
I guess I was too dull and boring for the globally gorgeous model. Afterall, I sent him a pic of my feet, not my boobs, a dreary sky, not my ass and a mundane arrival sign that he’s probably seen a million times over.
“Way to go, Rowan,” I berate myself in a mutter. “You should have sent him a selfie wearing those four-leaf clover knickers that tie at the side with green ribbon.” Pfff! I'll never have the opportunity to wear those secret Santa panties from last year.
BANG.
In one almighty thud, I’m propelled backwards. My phone soars through the air in slow motion and smashes to the tarmac like a torpedo. I stagger without control, losing my footing and crash in a heap of limbs and swear words.
A broad figure shadows the sun, cooling the delightful warmth. The heels of my hands sting and bite, skinned from the heavy landing on solid ground. Large hands slide under my palms, turning them for inspection. I shiver with the intimate contact. Those fingers don’t tighten but hold my wrists high, carefully. Adrenaline kicks in. My eyes cut away from the scratches.
A beam of sunlight splices around the outline, blinding me. Through a squint, I search for features. Strong masculine musk clouds my senses, and then in a flash, the beam of light hides, and I stare into the earthy brown eyes of Noah Adams.
Seven
Instinctively, I drop to her side, clamping her wrists to assess the damage. Intense sunlight dazzles her view, but that single beam dances in those magical eyes of hers. I’m stunned. I’ve never seen such lively green eyes before, and suddenly, they’re welling up. She’s crying—or laughing—no, I think she’s crying.
“Are you okay?” Alexa crouches beside her. “Shit, look at your hands.”
An earthquake has cracked open my life with an irreversible split. It’s my fantasy girl in the flesh.
Unable to scramble words together in the aftershock, I’m grateful Alexa has taken the lead. Soft wavy russet hair frames the remarkable face of none other than Rowan Hudson. The same girl who has piqued my interest and lingered in my thoughts for days now. The blur of flouncy mustard colored cotton and rose scented perfume came at me like lightning.
One minute I was leaving the coffee shop with Alexa, and the next thing, a shoulder or a head rammed into me. The force stole the breath from my lungs and sent my coffee cup hurtling to the pavement.
I’ve stared at her pictures on Instagram for a second longer than creepy and used her face to get myself off in the shower. But nothing, and I repeat, nothing could have prepared me for the real thing. For this fascinating female to burst out of my dirty mind and crash into my life with a literal bang.
I didn't know it was Rowan until she crawled to sit upright, and long flowing lengths revealed pearly cheeks. A sprinkle of freckles dapple the bridge of her nose and exquisite deep green eyes widen when she finds blood.
Rowan sucks in sharply, and her eyes flick across to Alexa, who’s shaking out a paper tissue. When her eyes find mine again, she gulps and tugs her hands free. She forces herself to stand, and the hem of her short dress rises. I’m stunned, staring quietly like a pervert when I catch a peek of more than I should. The fleeting glimpse instantly rockets every drop of blood in my body to my dick. I’m painfully hard. It will take great skill and a lot of discretion to adjust the swell hitting my trousers.
“Here you go.” Alexa presses the tissue to Rowan’s wound, while I stand there like an idiot, awkwardly rotating my groin from the scene.
“Thank you.” Rowan winces with the pressure and shuffles back from us. “I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you. I was in a rush to get a donut before my event started.” The words break free from her throat with a strangled laugh like sob, and she keeps her eyes on Alexa until the very last second.
With a quick glance my way, she smiles shyly. Long lashes frame those astounding eyes, and her rosy lips draw in between her teeth. That innocent movement strikes a match inside me, and the flames catch my pulse, so it revs with the heat. In my obvious silence, she spins around ready to leave.
“Rowan?” Her name leaves my tongue like I’ve known her all my life.
Silky hair whips around. The blunt tips tease a narrow waist, cinched with a thin black belt that carefully matches her cool shiny boots. When she looks directly at me, I lose myself in her sheepish expression. A red raw palm lifts, and she gingerly tucks a few flyway strands behind her ear. I momentarily forget why I called her name.
“You know her?” Alexa grabs my arm and shakes it gently. “What is happening here?”
Rowan's innocence is breathtaking, and her phone is lying in the gutter. I stalk forward and scoop it up, noting the cracked screen. “You’ll need this.” I hold it out.
Her hand juts forward, and she retrieves the device from my fingers. We don’t touch. Big eyes barely blink, glazed with inquisitiveness and uncertainty. “You said my name.” Her accent flows with a feminine rasp. It’s sexy and seductive, layered with a whipped cream topping of ‘fuck me’ and a squirt of fluid Irish twanged syllables.
