Page 2 of Bulletproof Weeks

“Oh. Um, Riesling all the way.”

The woman nodded. “Agreed. Thanks.”

Bella leaned on the wine rack. Same outfit—almost. But this was an older brunette where the other had been blond and under thirty. “Oh yeah, way too many thrillers.” Sleep. What she needed was about six hours horizontal without dreams, without her too active brain, and most definitely without an airport.

Her bed.

Her space.

She’d take a few days and go home after this trip. Maybe even hole up and hope no one noticed her arrival.

The thought of going back to her gate held little appeal, but it was better than driving herself nuts at a newsstand or duty-free shop. Obviously that wasn’t good for her either.

She spun on her heel and bumped into a cardboard display. Little envelopes spun across the tiled floor. “Oh, crap.” Her shoulders sagged and she was fairly sure she was going to just sit down and weep at this point. She crouched, tucking her bags into her side and out of the way.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

She looked up at the man sprinting to her side. She held up a hand. “I am just not fit for human consumption today.”

He laughed and crouched beside her, gathering a handful of the environmentally friendly CD cases that seemed to be all the rage. Her heart stopped and she snatched one off the floor.

“God, you’ve got to be kidding me.” She flipped the case over and pair of eyes stared back at her. Eyes that were haunted and so obviously enhanced by a photo program. But that wasn’t the part that made her breath stall.

All the King’s Men.

The font was unmistakable.

“Have you heard it?”

She blinked. “What?” God, she sounded like an idiot today. She shook her head. “No. I—” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know they had a new single.”

“God, how could you have missed it? World release today. And let me tell you, it’s been on all day.” He rolled his eyes. “Lucky me, it’s on a loop in the duty-free shops.”

“I’ve been on and off planes all day.”

“Well, you’ll hear it. Don’t you worry.” He stood and righted the display. Logan King and his band hung crookedly before the store clerk slid the top back in place. Logan’s usual smile was missing. The carefree smirk that lined up people at his concerts even twenty years into a career had been his trademark.

This Logan was darker. His beard was heavier. Not the usual sexy scruff, but a full blown beard now. His eyes were shadowed and held a world of secrets. The band had followed suit. Instead of the colorful array of vintage t-shirts and vests she was used to, they all wore Logan’s signature black.

And they were just slightly separate from him.

Not the band of puppies that were usually hanging off each other with laughs and sexy grins.

Logan stood in the center of them, his arms crossed, black linen shirt rolled up to show his tanned forearms and signature stack of leather straps that climbed his wrist with their silver clipped edges. His vivid green eyes stared out as if he was looking right at her.

Marketing ploy.

An effective one. God, far too effective. She swallowed down the need to tear apart the cardboard likeness. With shaking fingers, she set the CD into the display.

“Sorry about that,” she whispered.

“No worries. Oh, there it is now. At least it’s a bit darker than his poppy bullshit. Makes you wonder what he did to break her heart.” The guy lifted a shoulder. “I like it.”

She stood and moved down the aisle. The exit in her sight. She was just starting to get his face out of her dreams. Now, those dark, sad eyes were burned inside of her again. She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears.

The song was soft and hazy like a dream to start, then went darker and grittier with each verse. The guitars were layered and the bass thrummed into her chest as if she was standing beside a speaker at a show. But it was Logan’s voice that shredded her.

Those topaz eyes are my addiction.

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