Page 38 of Don't Fall For A Rockstar

I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, beside a very familiar body.

Or, rather, I was lying on my stomach, my right arm and leg slung over Tommy. He was on his back, snoring gently, his long, dark lashes kissing his cheekbones.

The last thing I remembered from last night was watching a movie, Tommy’s arms surrounding me.

I brushed a lock of his black hair away from his forehead and softly kissed his temple, then lower, nuzzling his neck. Slowly, he blinked and looked around, his eyes locked onto mine.

“Morning, beautiful,” he whispered and reached for me. “You sleep well?”

The rush was instant, like a pack of sparklers igniting in my belly.

“The best I’ve had in ages. How about you, cher?”

When his dimples popped, I was a goner. I leaned over and kissed one, then the other.

“Did I fall asleep on the couch?” I asked.

“You did.”

“So, you carried me in here?”

His smile got bigger, his dimples deepening. “I did.”

Suddenly, he rolled over, taking me with him, flipping our positions. The move was so fast and powerful, my breath caught.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

I didn’t want to waste a second that we were together. I would have gladly traded my sleep.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Tommy cupped my face and held me steady. “You were exhausted, and your body needed to rest. I’m just glad you slept well. I know that being in a strange bed can throw your sleep off.”

“It’s not a strange bed. It’s yours.”

Tommy chuckled and kissed me. “True. But you know what I mean.”

I nodded. “I’ve always been a restless sleeper, but I make do. It’s part of what comes with being a musician. I’d gladly trade sleep if it means doing what I love. And being with the person I love.”

Tommy’s body clenched up tight, and his gaze turned molten. His morning wood rubbed against mine, and what started out sweet and tender quickly turned into a flash fire. My heart took off running, pounding away at a frantic clip.

“Baby, tell me I’m not dreaming,” he growled.

I slid my hands down his back and lower, squeezing his firm ass cheeks. “Not dreaming, cher.”

“Je t’aime,” he whispered, so low I barely heard it.

But I did. And knowing that he felt the same had me reaching for his lips. The kiss was as possessive and claiming as our words.

Falling in love was a heady thing. Falling for Tommy? It was like being in the middle of a Mardi Gras parade. An explosion of music, color, and life. Les bon temps rouler—the good times were rolling—and I was soaking up every minute.

“You’ve been practicing your French.”

“Still needs a lot of work,” he replied.

“I’m more than happy to teach you my mother tongue,” I quipped, teasing his mouth to prove my point.

I licked his lower lip, and he opened for me, our tongues tangling.

“In that case, I’m more than happy to be your student,” he moaned and moved his lips down my cheek and over my neck, nipping the sensitive skin and sucking on it.

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