Page 27 of Final Serenade

“Is the air okay?” Frankie checked. His voice filled me with a strange tremor.

“Yes.” My gaze captured his and electricity rushed through my veins. I was ashamed and confused because he obviously did something to me, something all good-looking men of power did to women, turned me on. Deep down I understood he was selling an idea. And not knowing whether I was talking to Frankie Blade, the rock star, or Frank Wallace, the real deal, was terrifying.

I matched his heated stare. Linda could go to hell with her instructions. If the man wanted to have dinner with me, he was going to endure the full spectrum of my audacity. This wasn’t work-related, and I had the right to do as I pleased. And I pleased to look at him for as long as I wanted or needed to make sure I wasn’t in trouble.

Frankie wore a light brown trucker jacket and a white T-shirt that outlined his toned stomach and chest. Thin fabric revealed splashes of ink scattered across his ribs. They must have been recent as well, because he hadn’t had any tats on his torso before the accident. Sunglasses perched up on top of his blue Dodgers hat were a nice touch. He checked every box in the useless-items-celebrities-absolutely-must-wear list.

“So, no eggs, no wheat, no soy?” he asked, shifting gears. The car responded with a roar.

“Unless you want to spend your night in the ER.”

“That bad?” A chuckle.

“My body just doesn’t agree with those three.”

“Any music preferences?”

I considered pinching myself to make sure this wasn’t some drunk post-party dream.

“Funny you should ask.” A nervous laugh escaped my lungs. “What do you have?”

“Everything.”

Now I really felt challenged. “Hmmm… What are you in the mood for?”

He jerked the gear lever again and the car moved. The engine was louder than the crowd last night at the Regency.

Frankie answered with a smirk, “Surprise me.”

“Well…I have no idea how this works.” I motioned at the stereo. “I don’t want to break anything.”

As the Ferrari drove down the street, he laughed. It was bright, sexy, and infectious. It made my tummy melt.

“Why are we having dinner again?” I asked.

“We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation last night.”

I needed a few moments to process what I’d just heard. “I thought we did.”

“You walked out.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. You totally did, Cassy. You walked out and never came back.” He paused for a second, then added, “And I don’t like when people walk out on me.”

I sensed there was a hidden meaning behind the last words but didn’t pursue the opportunity. His voice was a rough caress and I wanted him to keep talking to me until the end of days.

Frankie’s gaze never left the road as he fiddled with the stereo to get me started.

“Jeff Buckley?” I noted as the soft tune filled the car.

“Gracewas the first record I owned.”

“Really? How come you never talked about it?”

“I don’t know.” He gave me a shrug. I saw a hint of a smile on his lips. “I wanted to keep it to myself, I guess.”

I could understand why. I imagined always being in the public eye and having the entire planet discuss what you ate, liked, or shit could be overwhelming. What I couldn’t understand was the reason behind this invitation.

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