“No.” She puts a hand up, keeps her attention on the stream sparkling in the moonlight. “Let’s make a deal. No specifics.” When he cocks a brow, she elaborates. “Tonight, I’m not me and you’re not you.”
He nods, appreciating her offer. Liking that he can pretend to be someone else. A man who didn’t lose his wife seven years ago. Who hasn’t been celibate for just as long. They’ll keep it light, even though a hundred personal questions race through his mind. What’s her name? What does she do? Why is she out here? How’d she get to be so damn beautiful?
He nods. Sips his whiskey. “Sounds good to me.”
Her smile makes his knees weak.
Christ. Howler was right. He needs to get out more. A smile shouldn’t send him to the grave.
She props herself up against a tree and picks at the bark. She takes a long swig from her whiskey, easily breathing through the sting. Then she tilts her head back, flutters those gorgeous lashes, and gasps.
“What is it?” he asks, following her line of sight.
“The stars.” She scans the sky. “I can’t see the stars where I’m from. Not like this.”
It’s what he thought. She’s from a big city.
“No light pollution,” Solomon explains, lifting his drink to his lips. “I know a better view.”
She lifts a brow, curious, but she remains silent.
“My hometown is one of the best places in the world for stargazing.”
“Really?” she asks, turning her head to watch him, her hair swaying, sending a waft of her scent his way.
“Yeah.” He moves closer to her. She smells like she’s been dipped in sunlight and vanilla. “One personal question. But keep it vague and slightly uninteresting.” He can’t help it. “Why are you here tonight?”
She shifts her stance to face him, her pretty face open and vulnerable in the darkness. With that move, the strangeness between them dissipates. Leaving only the comfortable quiet of two people who’ve known each other forever in its wake.
She releases a breath and focuses on something just over his shoulder. “Is running away an acceptable answer?”
“Could be.” He shrugs and takes another sip of whiskey.
“I work too much,” she starts softly. “I don’t have a life.” She looks away, like she’s embarrassed by the admission, then back to the sky. “Or love. I don’t have stars. My mom would always say, find your stars, but I don’t have any. I never did.”
The sadness in her voice cracks open his chest. “You sound lonesome.”
“I’m always lonesome,” she breathes, turning her attention to him again.
Her eyes flash, water, as if to say save me.
Take me.
And he does. He can’t help it.
Solomon steps closer, cleaves her in his arms, and presses his mouth to hers. He wants the scent of her on his skin. In his beard.
She whimpers, sliding her small hands up the wide expanse of his chest as she deepens the kiss.
Long-buried lust snaps inside him, clawing at the edges of his seven-year drought. His hand has been his only companion in all that time. As if reminding him of how much of an idiot he’s been in his monk-like devotion, a ragged groan leaves his mouth. Goddamn, there’s no comparison to these sweet lips on his, a beautiful girl in his arms, her warm, soft curves pressed against him on this cool night.
She’s small and so damn gorgeous. He just might be losing it.
This girl. His.
The thought’s a train wreck. A sucker punch.
Tightening his hold on her, he moves his hands to her face, her hair tangling between his big fingers. It’s torture. His dick’s a steel rod in his pants, and he wants more. He wants more, but she’s—
Shit.
He tears away from her. Takes a step back, holding her steady with his hands around her upper arms.
A gasp leaves her lips at the loss of his mouth on hers. “What’s wrong?” She blinks at him, her puffy pink mouth open in confusion.
“You’re drunk,” he grunts. He didn’t bring her out here to fuck her. “Can’t do this.” Even though his dick screams otherwise. He’s got three sisters. Some guy took advantage of them? He’d fucking kill them.
She laughs, a melodic lilt that sends flames of desire licking up the walls of his chest.
“Oh, I may have a very fine wine buzz going, but I have my wits about me. I’m not drunk.” She palms the scruff of his cheek, the touch like a snap of electricity. “Swear it. I can say my ABCs backward.”
And she does.
He laughs out loud for what feels like the first time in forever. “You still haven’t convinced me.”
“Don’t be such a gentleman.” She sniffs. Her full lips curl as she pushes herself to her tiptoes and presses into him. “Kiss me, you handsome idiot.”
Jaw set, Solomon shakes his head, even as lust and caution war within him.
That’s when he sees it. Her expression. Blazing brown eyes. The pout of her lips. The pink flush staining her cheeks. If he sends her back into that bar, she’ll find someone else.
Hell if he’s letting that happen. He wants to kiss her more than he wants air.
Leaning closer, he slides a hand into all that silky blond hair and captures her mouth with his. The kiss is hungry and tender and steals his breath.
Fuck.
He’s in danger of losing it. Of boiling over. An embarrassing as hell moan rattles out of him.
The girl breaks the kiss, breathless. The look on her face is wild, ravenous, radiant. “You live around here?” she asks, eyes heavy lidded.
“I have a room. At the motel around the corner.”
“Take me there.” She lunges for his lips again. “Show me all the stars.”
The girl pulls his face to hers, and he pulls her into his arms, holding her tight against him. Like if he lets her go, she’ll disappear.
He’ll answer this woman. Hell, he’ll give her everything she wants and then some.
One night, no names, two heartbeats, and all the stars in the universe.
Six Months Later
It’s been nine million, one hundred and sixty-nine days since Tess Truelove last had sex.
Or at least that’s what it feels like.
One hundred and eighty-two, approximately.
The roar of the spider crane’s engine drowns out the rush of LA traffic as the operator lifts a gigantic concrete statue into the garden of Penny Pain’s penthouse. She’s been told it’s a sculpture of three satyrs dancing merrily—Tess narrows her eyes and cocks her head—but to her, it looks like a phallus.
A penis.
A cock.
Big dick.
She bites her lip.
Big hard bearded—
The whine of the crane jerks her thoughts out of the gutter.
“Careful!” she shouts, throwing her arms in the air like she’s a football ref. She shoots a glare at the unconcerned operator. “That statue costs more than your rent.” Her withering gaze drifts to a lanky intern. “Slurp your coffee one more time, Ian, and I will unhinge your jaw.”
Inhaling a calming breath to control her skyrocketing blood pressure, Tess waits while she oversees the safe deposit of the statue into the garden and then begins her final walk-through of her client’s home, a gloriously gaudy penthouse in downtown Los Angeles. Her heels click-clack on the Moroccan tile as she examines her final touches. She inhales. Silk. Sunlight. Smog. Pauses at the fainting couch to finger the velvet texture of a pillow that reads KEEP CALM AND DIE HERE. Dipping as low as she can, she adjusts the small winged skull and hourglass gravestone used as a coffee table centerpiece.
A cacophony from above has her glancing up at the staircase. Penny Pain, hot pink hair flying behind her, runs toward her. “I love the house; I love it!”
Tessie laughs as Penny pulls her into a quick side hug. She may be exhausted, but the smile on her client’s face makes all the hard work and lack of sleep worth it.
Finally, she got her promotion. She has the Penny Pain account. An A-list scream queen who’s starred in a variety of successful slasher films. The project is a literal dream come true after years of putting in the hours and kissing Atlas’s ass and scraping by on pitiful accounts that barely paid for groceries, let alone her rent.