Page 94 of Verses Of Us

She burst out laughing and threw an olive at him. “That’s a horrible title. And you’d be wasting a song.”

The strumming stopped suddenly. Ciarán glowered, setting his guitar to the side, and slid off the couch. He lifted the blanket and shimmied under it, pulling her against him. With her back to his chest, his arms, strong and warm, tightened around her body, his chin resting on her head.

“I’ve written many songs about you, love.”

“You haven’t.”

“I didn’t call themLexi is sexy, but there are a few.”

She turned, arching her neck to glare at him. “But none you’ve released, right?” She now wished she’d followed his career a little closer and knew which songs he might mean. “You’ve kept them for yourself,right?”

“Ah, that’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

She elbowed him, earning a chuckle, then his mouth came to rest where her neck met her shoulder, but something dark grew inside. He believed her important enough to write songs about, whereas she’d forced him out of her mind and had moved on. The thought made her insides clatter and her stomach cramp. She had nothing to feel guilty about, yet the feeling sunk into her like a winter cold.

Interrupted by a loud, shrill sound, Ciarán groaned.

“What is that?”

“Doorbell.” He sat up, then squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit.”

She tugged on his arm. “Ignore them. They’ll go away.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked out of the living room, grabbing some clothes as he did, leaving her alone in their warm cocoon.

Some words fluttered through the air. She listened to him speaking in the other room, his voice low. But then she made out another man’s voice and clutched the blanket to her chest, suddenly very aware of how naked she was.

“I know, I just forgot,” Ciarán said to whomever was there.

Alexis hurried to grab her clothes, getting dressed while crouched, fearing this stranger might see her.

“Hang on,” she heard Ciarán say before he walked in. “Lex?”

She yelped, then peeked out from behind the sofa. Finding him alone, she stood up. “What’s going on?”

He glanced behind him, then blew out a breath. “Bad news. I’m a twat and completely forgot. I’m so sorry.”

Her gut clenched in that strange way before sinking a little. “Sorry about what?”

A young man with dark skin and a black beard walked in. Ciarán’s head snapped back.

“I told you to give me a minute.”

The man moved right past Ciarán, ignoring him, and walked toward Alexis, extending his hand. “I’m Rajesh, Ciarán’s manager.”

She smiled back, but fought her instinct to cringe. Not because of Rajesh. He seemed nice, with a wide, charming grin and kind eyes. But because of her experiences with Ciarán’s managers. There was nothing about him that made her skin crawl like Clark and nothing about his messy curly hair and bubbly disposition that reminded her of Anthony.

“Hi, Rajesh,” she said, taking his hand. “I’m Ale—”

“Alexis.” His smile widened. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”

“You have?” She swallowed, unable to hide her blush.

“You bet.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “This guy has mentioned you more times than I can—”

“Rajesh, couldn’t you have called first?” Ciarán interrupted, stepping next to Alexis.

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