Page 7 of Her Beastly Billionaire Rock Star
They walked to the room, and he paused to let her go in first. She turned, and the brightest smile he’d ever seen greeted him. “This is amazing. Oh, it’s so bright and airy and big. I love it.”
He hadn’t expected that reaction. What was this woman’s deal? It was like she’d never seen a house before. “It’s just a bedroom,” he said, shrugging and setting her luggage down. “But I’m glad you like it.”
“I love the whole house, or what I’ve seen of it.”
“Well, it’s home for the next several months. You’re free to do whatever you like. Just…no wild parties.” He smiled.
She stepped closer, and a warm, fruity scent wrapped around him. Placing her hand on his arm, she said, “Thank you. I’ll try not to bother you.”
The jolt of electricity pinging up his arm nearly made him jump back. He’d had plenty of dates, but he couldn’t recall ever having a reaction like that. “It’s a pretty big house, and you don’t strike me as a troublemaker.” He grinned.
No, the feeling he got was that she was someone who played by the rules—all of them, with meticulous detail. If the speed limit was fifty, that’s exactly what she did. It made him wonder what it’d be like to see her let her hair down.
A second thought hit. What would it be like to run his fingers through it? He’d never seen hair so shiny and soft.
She traced one of his tattoos with her finger. “I like your tattoos. I’ve always thought they were interesting.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I mean, on anyone that has them. I’m not sure I’d ever be able to get one, but…” She looked back down. “To me, they tell a story. Kinda like cave drawings. Reminders of past struggles and victories.”
His nerves were on fire from her touch. He wasn’t used to people talking to him the way she was, especially women. Most of the ones he’d dated were flirting with him when they were talking about his artwork, but he didn’t get that feeling from Charlotte. She was genuine. Something that made her all the more attractive to him.
“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? And by dinner, I mean pizza delivery and, if we want to get really wild, maybe some Cherry Sprite to go with it.” He smiled. “I don’t think it’d hurt to start getting to know each other if we’re going to be stuck together.”
He caught the tiniest downturn of her lips and cringed. For some reason, he didn’t like seeing her frown. Lips that pretty didn’t need to be anything but smiles. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
She pulled her hand away and nodded. “I know. It’s okay.” Looking down, she said, “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, and now, add this on top of it. It has to be hard.”
It was the same tone she’d used that day in Octavia’s office. Not mocking or derision like most of the people he encountered. From her, it came across as understanding.
“Thanks.”
She shrugged. “I guess I’ll get unpacked since I’m staying awhile.”
“Not much to unpack. I suspect you’ll have a few more pieces delivered soon.”
Looking over her shoulder, she shook her head. “No, this is all I have.”
He blinked. “That’s it?”
“I don’t need much. I work all the time, so I don’t get a lot of relaxation.” She took one of the handles and walked to the dressers facing the bed. “Thank you for letting me stay in such a lovely room.”
He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, having no desire to hurry off at all. He was interested in learning more about her. After all, when his house arrest was over, he’d be taking her to every event known to man. They’d have to be chummy enough to keep the press from getting wind that anything was off. “Have you worked for Octavia long?”
Seconds ticked by, and just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she said, “About three years.”
“Wow.” He was truly in shock. Octavia gave him a nasty vibe. If he weren’t desperate, he would’ve taken one look at her and run in the opposite direction. “That’s quite a long time to work for…Ms. Ellington.” He’d almost said something else, but until he knew Charlotte a little better and her relationship with Octavia, he was keeping that under lock and key.
Opening a drawer, she nodded as she set the bag on top of the dresser. “It is.”
Something in her voice pulled at him. Sadness? Loneliness? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t understand why. She had her anonymity and could go and do anything she wanted without someone always tracking her down. There were times he wished he’d never signed with his label.
“Have you always lived in California?” he asked.
“Yeah, I grew up not far from here. Our house wasn’t this big, though.” She laughed.
It was the first time he’d heard it, and he liked the musical quality of it. He liked it a lot. “Oh yeah? I grew up in the Midwest on a two-hundred-acre farm.”
“I thought you grew up as a Dallas socialite. Your parents don’t live there?”
It was a little piece of information most people didn’t have, but he’d shared it with her. An odd feeling since he never had the desire to share much with anyone. “My parents do live in Dallas, and when I visited them in the summers, I was a Dallas socialite. But my grandparents raised me.”
