Page 32 of Audiophile

His eyes dance as he leans forward with a smirk. “Darling Petra, are you interested?”

Darling Petra.I can’t handle it. I fight the clench in my stomach. “I’m just assuming, since you’re interested in my…habits.”

His voice drops low, melting in my ear and down my chest with a lover’s touch. “For someone who listens to my audios, you sure shy away from the word pussy, baby.”

My body spasms at the word, the endearment, the soft yet firm edge to his voice. My hand jerks across the tablecloth, and my fork goes flying.

“Reed!” I hiss. He’s been winding me up all night, desire curling deep into my bones. I’ve let the game go on too long. I want his words to wash over me—pound into me like a waterfall—until I come apart, dripping with them.

Reed’s laughing, yes, but there’s something under the surface. “Oh, damn.” The fire in his stare scorches me.

“What?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

“Nothing.” He signals a passing waitress to ask for a new fork, and he drops the subject of sex altogether. Time passes while the lava in my veins reduces to a simmer, and I’m able to get myself under control. Mostly.

Because then Reed talks about his nieces, who he spoils rotten, and I nearly melt through my chair.

Chapter thirteen

Petra

By the time we’refinished with dinner, Reed is an entirely different person. He’s surprisinglynormal.I tried to reconcile eel-sauce-guy with Daddy Knight, but Reed is both and neither. He’s a doting uncle, steadfast brother, and nature conservation enthusiast. He insists on paying the check, and when we walk to his car, I’m in a great mood.

“Why did you move to LA in the first place?” I ask.

“The Hollywood dream. To write screenplays.”

I’m surprised, though writing was the reason I’d moved, too. “Makes sense. I suppose that’s what you do now.”

“Oh, please, I’m much more. Writer, actor, director, producer,foley artist—you know what that is?” He winks at me. “All those sounds you enjoy?”

My face heats. “Shut up.”

“I do it all. Commercial voice overs, too. I’m popular with insurance companies, pharmaceuticals, and macho cleaning supplies.”

I laugh, because I have no idea what constitutes a macho cleaning supply. “And all that makes you happy?”

We stop next to the passenger door, but Reed doesn’t move to open it. The moonlight siphons all the color from him and his stubble catches the light, turning him into a hero from an old black-and-white film. “It did. I enjoyed DKP. It was creative, freeing, and allowed me to live my ideal lifestyle, with time to pursue side projects.”

“Was?”

Reed sighs, running a hand through his hair. “My ex wasn’t who I thought. She was a fan, and everything she did to get close to me was a calculated lie.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Suddenly, it’s imperative he knows that’s not the case. “I promise, I’m not—”

“I know. Trust me, I know. I can tell you about my sister and not stress out too much because, if anything, I’m stalking you.” He shakes his head, a shadow lurking in his eyes. “Kinley didn’t take the breakup well. The restraining order doesn’t—can’t conceivably—keep Kinley from being a patron. Knowing she’s listening taints the whole thing for me.”

“Restraining order?” Holy shit. “Why do you keep going?”

“The new uploads are all part of past recording batches. I’ve got one more and then I’m shutting DKP down. I’d be flaying myself open with each new scene if I tried to make more. It will become an archive for a while. Passive income. And then I might remove them altogether.”

“That makes a lot of sense. I’m sorry she ruined a passion for you. Maybe closing it will allow you to rediscover one of your other loves.”

“Maybe. I didn’t think Iwantedto write again, but…” His mouth tips up to one side. “You’ve been a muse. I wrote this morning. The first time in months.”

A scene for a scene—I wrote about him and he wrote about me. Knowing it’s mutual has my heart pounding fast, and my rapid breaths brush our chests together. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He pushes my hair away from my collar with a smirk that leaves me trembling.

---