Page 51 of Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door
I grinned. “Yup. This baby’s off to my editor.” I put my hands up in the air triumphantly and did the “my book’s finished” celebratory butt-wriggle dance. “Ooh yeah.”
He laughed. “No wonder you write romantic comedy. You’re cracking me up.”
“Don’t let the dance fool you. I’ve considered writing dark, angsty romance, too.”
“So why don’t you?”
“Because my first book was funny, and it took off. Lucy told me I should stick to what works.” Then I added, “Lucy’s one of my closest friends. She writes romantic thrillers, and she’s brilliant.”
He smiled, genuine pleasure lighting his eyes. “Does this mean you’re ready to head out to grab whatever you need to make us dinner?”
“Is it already time to start thinking about dinner?” I asked, looking around for a clock.
“It’s a little after four.”
The scampi itself wouldn’t take too long, but the shopping… Well, that was another matter. I picked up my phone and checked
to see if there was a message from the pest and animal removal company. Nothing yet. “Let me see what you have in your fridge. I don’t want to assume anything.”
“We’re gonna need at least the shrimp. But I’ll go to Sunny’s with you, to help carry everything.” He flexed his arm muscles ostentatiously.
I laughed. “Okay.”
His offer ended up working in my favor because I suddenly realized I didn’t have my keys. I’d left them in the house. And I wasn’t setting foot back in there until I knew it was safe to do so.
So Killian drove us in his SUV. The inside was surprisingly clean and tidy, and the radio played some music I didn’t recognize, not that I’d expected to. Some woman was singing, so it wasn’t his band. I snuck a peek at Killian from time to time, just moving my eyes sideways so he wouldn’t know. His long, lean fingers were wrapped around the wheel, the index finger drumming steadily to the beat of the song. My mind went back to what happened between us that morning. It had felt amazing, his hand wrapped in my hair, trapping me, while his mouth moved coaxingly over mine. Like he couldn’t bear to let go… Like he’d wanted me to want him with the same intensity.
My lips tingled. I placed three fingers over them, as though that would stop the sensation. But it only intensified the throbbing, and I pulled out my phone to pretend I wasn’t still affected by that kiss.
You know, if that kiss and the snake rescue had happened in your book, your heroine would be totally doing the hero by now, an unhelpful voice pointed out.
Yeah, but this wasn’t one of my books. In real life, women didn’t just sleep with men for that, especially when the man was a neighbor she had to see every morning. Things could get awkward real fast.
He’d said he’d need at least two hours. But what if he didn’t get to use up all one hundred and twenty minutes? What if the sex was just okay? Not that I wanted to make assumptions, but he was a rock star, and his groupies had undoubtedly told him he was a sex god no matter how he performed.
Although, based on how my body had throbbed every time we touched… Maybe he was better than average. But experience had taught me that there was no such thing as “mind-blowing” sex in real life. Just some nice orgasms here and there.
The air in the car seemed to grow thinner, and I squirmed. Must stop thinking about sex and orgasms with Killian.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I almost dropped my phone. “Writing out what I need,” I said, busily tapping the cool surface and pretending to be all nonchalant. Then I glanced up and saw his long, lean fingers again.
Bet they’d feel really nice between the legs, too.
I almost choked. Okay, hormones. I knew I hadn’t been laid in a while, but really? This was not the right place or time.
“I hate having to go back because I forgot something,” I added in an extra-smooth voice, as though my mind had never conjured up anything dirty. I stole a quick look at his face, wondering if he’d had any X-rated thoughts. But he looked entirely too calm.
Well, he probably kissed women all the time. I bet he’s forgotten about the kiss already.
The possibility peeved me. If I was thinking about it, he should be too. But since that didn’t seem to be the case, I decided to act like I wasn’t either.
“It’s been a while since I cooked, so I’ll have to pay more attention than normal.” Before he wondered if I could produce something edible, I said, “I’m good, but I might not remember to grab the parsley, for one. Cooking is almost like riding a bicycle. You never forget it, even if you might get a bit rusty and out of practice.”
“So why don’t you cook more often?”
I shrugged. “Too much hassle when it’s just me.”
