Page 7 of Trapped with the Growly Rock Star

“Hey now,” I warn, nudging his leg with my foot. “The gumbo’s damn good, but your music…loadsbetter.”

He chuckles. “Thanks, but what good am I if I can’t create new stuff anymore?” He stands quickly, as if he’s done talking about it. “How about something to drink? I don’t have anything with alcohol, but I can make a Shirley Temple that will blow your freaking mind.”

I laugh. “Oh my god, yes. I want my mind blown.”

He bites his lip, and it’s so sexy. I still can’t believe I’m here. After falling out of a tree in a blizzard! The world sure is crazy sometimes.

I get up too, taking our dishes. “I’ll help clean up.”

“You don’t have to do that, Hallie,” he says, pausing as he heads toward the kitchen.

God, I love how he says my name—all husky and low. “But I want to,” I manage to reply, filling the huge apron sink with warm water and soap suds.

“Well, okay,” he mutters, gathering ingredients from the refrigerator and pantry.

I find a container for the leftover gumbo and pack it up.

Then I hear the clinking of glasses and ice behind me. “Tell me more about Ciara,” Lennox says. “It sounds like she’s your top priority. Are your parents around?”

I turn around as I dry the pot I just scrubbed and rinsed. “I say baby sister, but she’s sixteen years old. Our parents have done so much for her, but they’re getting older so I decided to take on more of the responsibility. They deserve some time for themselves, you know? I do everything I can to make sure Ciara's happy and has everything she needs to thrive, including all the opportunities I got.”

Lennox finishes making our drinks and leans against the counter, all tall and broody and sexy, his dark gray eyes taking in my every move with a mix of curiosity and something else that makes my heart flutter. “What does she love? Like, what makes her smile?”

I share stories of Ciara's love for music and animals, tell him about her shy nature and her dreams of becoming a painter despite her condition. Lennox listens intently, asking questions and offering the occasional insightful comment. He really does seem to care.

“I know it must be difficult taking on so much responsibility at your age. You're a good woman, Hallie, putting your sister's happiness above everything else. A strong one, too.”

I feel a lump in my throat, the sincerity in his voice catching me off guard. “I… I do my best,” I manage to say, putting away the last of the dry dishes.

He hands me my drink and our fingers brush, sending a buzz of electricity over my skin.

“I can see that. It's admirable,” he continues, his gaze unwavering. “It seems like you two have a special bond. I’ll bet she's incredibly proud of you.”

I hope she is. My eyes well up and I silently curse myself. Why am I so emotional all of a sudden? He’s just being kind. Have I really been starved for that so much? “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my drink to distract me from any more embarrassing moments of sentimentality.

“What do you think?” he asks, nodding toward the Shirley Temple.

I take a good swig. It’s perfectly sweet and fizzy. Wow. “Yep. Mind. Blown.”

He grins—my god, the man has adimplein his left cheek. It’s barely noticeable with his scruff, but I can see it.

He’s killing me.

“How about some after-dinner music?” I ask, and his smile vanishes.

“You want me to play something?”

“Of course. You’re a rock star. I’d love to hear you play.” I put my hands on my hips. “Unless you’re going to make me wait until your next tour.”

He scoffs. “If I don’t write some new stuff fast, there won’tbeanother tour.”

“Is that why you’re tucked away here in Frozen Heights? To write music?”

His toned arms fold across his broad chest, causing the tattoos to stretch. “Yeah. My manager gave me until the start of the new year to get an album done, or else he’s finally moving on.”

“You’re okay with him giving you an ultimatum like that?” I ask, wondering if I would be able to be creative under that kind of pressure.

He smirks. “He’s been extremely patient with me. I’m not good business if I’m not making music. No musician is.”

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