Page 4 of Rumor Has It

I was totally going to say bow!

And oh, by the way, here I am shaking the hand of a guy who, before he was married, was the most sought after bachelor in Nashville. Did I mention I’m using my other hand to clutch my boobs so Isaiah Roomer can’t see my nipples poking out from the center of the Os in my white crop top that says “ho-ho-ho”?

Fantastic.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Isaiah placates.

Our hands are moving up and down in a wild, exaggerated manner. I whip mine back toward my body, crossing my arms over my shirt, and tucking my fingertips under my pits. Good Lord, what if I remove my hands and cover my red face by accident? Will Isaiah think I like the smell of my pits?

I inhale, positive the man has had ridiculous encounters with tons of rabid fans. There were celebrity and sports celebrity sightings at Kingsbrier when we were kids. My uncles taught us they were normal people. I’ve met way more famous people than Isaiah Roomer. Just not as hot, not as shirtless, and not me sans underwear.

That’s right, ya’ll. I’m going commando under these cotton pj pants.

“I’m sorry. I’m not normally this much of a spaz meeting anyone,” I concede. “I’m blaming Gatlin for not telling me Isaiah Roomer would scrounge for leftovers in my fridge.”

“It’s just Isaiah. And I was searching for the cream. I put on a pot of coffee.” He points to the gurgling appliance. “I’d found the sugar packets, but wasn’t sure if this was a place that used individual creamers. I wasn’t snooping… or stealing leftovers.” The corner of his mouth twitches.

“This is a place that puts the cream in a porcelain creamer.”

“Fancy. If I’d known I would have dressed for the occasion,” he adds as an aside.

“You’re fine.”He certainly is, my subconscious adds before I stumble out, “I use good china. My grandmother would haunt me otherwise.”

“But sugar packets are okay?”

I shrug. “It’s a compromise.”

Gran will forgive me about the sugar. I tried a bowl with a spoon. It got sticky and messy and I threw out a lot of clumped organic sugar. Although, she wouldn’t approve of me gawking at how fine our houseguest’s ass is as he crosses her kitchen.

Chapter Two

ISAIAH

I open the fridge for a second time. Finding the quart-sized carton I was looking for, I wait to remove it from the door. The cool air settles on my bare skin, taking my temperature down a notch.

I owe Gatlin Newhouse big time for finding me a secluded place to crash overnight. But no matter how popular the guy’s morning show is—or how much my PR team says I need the publicity being interviewed by Gatlin and Bellamy will bring to my upcoming tour—I also want to wring the DJ’s neck for not telling me his cousin was a bombshell.

As if it has a sixth sense, my dick started twitching the instant Cassidy walked into the kitchen. But reacting to female pheromones is giving my cock too much credit.

I made a rule to never mix business with pleasure before Kylie and I got married. Since she’s been gone, I’ve kept that rule along with the calluses on my right hand. Although I’m sure playing the widower card would have nabbed me my fair share of pity pussy.

I think I’ve had too much on my mind to consider rebound sex. I prefer the company of the women who work for me. It’s less pressure. And hiding out in my home in Nashville over the past six months to avoid the press at all costs and maintain privacy was a unique form of intimacy I’ve seldom experienced since hitting it big.

Giving Cassidy my back, I stride toward the gurgling coffee pot. It finishes perking and beeps. I had found mugs in the cabinet above, and I pull out a second one for her. I’m also using the lower cabinets to hide the bulge in my pants.

Being an entitled asshole who walks around shirtless in someone else’s house? That I can’t do much about.

I noticed last night I spilled something on my shirt and hadn’t brought a change of clothes with me. I’d rinsed the spot out, but the darn thing hasn’t dried.

I peek to the side and yup, the stunning blonde isn’t a figment of my imagination.

Cassidy is gorgeous. She has big brown eyes a man wants looking up at him while she’s on her knees and a pouty lower lip capable of rocking your world. Clutching her breasts, she’s forgotten it makes her top ride up, exposing the soft skin of her belly. It doesn’t do a damn thing to hide the bell of her hip, a place my palm wants to slide over.

My cup brimming, I stop pouring and clear my throat. Cassidy is beautiful and I’m struggling for a way to keep her attention

“Now that you know how I take mine, how can I make your coffee?”

“Cream. No sugar. But um,” Cassidy pauses. “Can I get another mug instead?”

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