Page 7 of Rock with You

“Red or white?” While she’d been in the guest room drying off, he’d also changed into an olive green T-shirt with some kind of abstract design on it. It looked soft and well-worn, and she wanted to run her hands over it…and him.

“Red.”

“This one’s supposed to be good,” he said, lifting a bottle from the rack. His biceps were yummy. So were the tattoos that ran the full length of his left arm.

She tucked her arms under her breasts to keep from touching him. “I’m easy to please.”

He turned, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Is that so?”

“Yes, I mean…no…are we still talking about wine?” Oh my God, what had gotten into her? Was she actually flirting with Sam Weiss? And was he actually flirting back?

“Depends.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he winked.

This was so not her real life. She never flirted with hot guys, let alone world-famous rock stars. No, she generally kept to herself, lost in her daydreams and listening to music while she baked or sat at home with her nose in a book.

Sam opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. “So, Carly from the bakery, unless I’m mistaken, you know a lot more about me than I do about you.”

“There’s not much to know.” She sipped her wine. It was bold and spicy, probably outrageously expensive, and one of the most delicious things she’d ever tasted.

“You’re from Haven?” He motioned for her to follow him into the living room.

“Born and raised,” she said as she sat in an overstuffed chair near the fire, tucking her feet underneath herself. “Now my turn—what brings you here to Haven?”

Something harsh flickered across his features, and she wondered if his seclusion here in the mountains had anything to do with the scandal with his housekeeper. There’d been some talk that Sam had fathered a baby with her, although Carly was pretty sure he’d been cleared of that accusation.

“Needed space to clear my head and write some new songs,” he said. “My turn. How’d you end up owning a bakery?”

“It was my grandma’s. I helped out a lot over the years, and I fell in love with baking, so when she retired, I took over for her.” And she was doing a great job of running the place straight into the ground. “Did you always want to be a musician?”

“Since I was a little boy.” He was sitting on the end of the couch closest to her chair, close enough that she could see the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes.

She’d taken only a few sips of her wine, but already warmth spread through her veins. “You’re really talented, you know.”

“You listen to my music?”

She nodded. “Renegade is one of my favorite albums to listen to when I’m baking.”

He leaned closer. “I can just picture you in the kitchen all covered in flour, singing along.”

“I don’t sing along.” Liar. She totally did. And she was sitting way too close to him now, close enough that she was looking at his lips and thinking about kissing him…

It might have been her overactive imagination, but Sam was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her, too. Her heart was pounding so hard, she could barely breathe.

A beep sounded in the kitchen, and she lurched upright, almost splashing red wine all over her clothes…or rather, Sam’s clothes.

“Meatloaf’s ready,” he said. “You hungry?”

She nodded. Actually, she was famished, which might be why the wine was going straight to her head. She’d eaten a sandwich at the bakery what felt like a million hours ago, long before her ill-fated trip up the mountain.

He stood and went into the kitchen. She followed, tugging at the waistband of his too-big sweatpants and wishing her own clothes were dry. Although admittedly, there was something intimate, sexy even, about wearing Sam’s. Yeah, okay, the wine was definitely messing with her head because she was thinking words like sexy and intimate when the only reason she was here in his house was that her poor little car hadn’t been able to make it up the hill before the ice sealed her in.

She picked up their wineglasses, pausing for a moment to take in her surroundings. This place was seriously awesome. The living room was huge and open, with exposed beams at the ceiling, an enormous, ornate light fixture hanging above them, and rich, wood-paneled walls. It opened to the kitchen, where Sam stood by the table overlooking the back deck and what she imagined were spectacular mountain views. Right now, it was too dark outside to tell.

“This is an awfully big place for one man,” she said as she walked to the table.

He’d placed two plates of meatloaf and mashed potatoes on the table. “It was starting to feel that way until you arrived.”

She set their wineglasses beside their plates. “Have you gone into town much?”

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