Page 46 of Don't Fall For A Rockstar

“Je t’aime, mon cher,” Nate whispered to me. “Toujours, je t’aime.”

“I love you, too, beautiful. Always.”

Then I showed him exactly what I meant.

Until the blaring sound of my phone buzzing interrupted our kiss. It was the car service. And shit, Nate was half-dressed. And our suitcases were still open.

“You get a shirt on. I’ll finish packing,” I directed, reluctantly tearing myself away from him.

“Yes, boss.”

I turned and playfully swatted his ass in retaliation.

“We’ll pick that up on the plane, too,” Nate teased.

“I’m holding you to that.”

Falling for a rockstar?

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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