Page 10 of Heart Break Her

She’s dressed like she spent the evening drinking milkshakes with her girlfriends, not at a rock concert. She’s so simple, so innocent, so pure. It’s magnetizing.

Maybe this is it.

I’m dying.

Cassie is a figment of my imagination. She’s death wrapped in a gorgeous package, coming to claim me.

“You’re staring,” Cassie says, eyes still closed, and I wonder if she feels it like I do—the energy that radiates off her. Blooming roses and raising the dead with the life that’s expanding with every heartbeat.

“I am.” I brush my leg against hers and lap up the current that hits when her gaze meets mine.

I can’t figure out if Cassie is a groupie or an angel, but I want to bury myself inside her and never come out.

“We’re here, Mr. Kane.” Boris, my driver, is standing with my door propped open. Time must have skipped because I swear we were just driving a second ago.

“Thanks, man,” I say, turning back to Cassie, who’s chewing the inside of her cheek.

I reach for her hand in her lap, expecting she might pull it away, but she doesn’t. She laces her fingers through mine and lets out a forced exhale.

“Boris can take you back to your car if you’ve changed your mind,” I say, recognizing her hesitance. “Or… no pressure. We can just chill and watch a movie if you want.”

I’ve never wanted to just chill and watch a movie with a fan before. It goes against the reputation I’ve happily embraced. But Cassie disarms me. And if I have to sacrifice getting my dick wet tonight to spend more time with her, I’ll do it.

Her eyes move from me to the hotel, and I’m certain this is when she’s going to bail. She’s not like the girls I’m used to bringing back to my room, desperate for my attention. Why Cassie even agreed to come back here with me in the first place rattles my brain. Not that I’m complaining.

“Cassie?” A question, or an out.

Her sharp, blue-green eyes dart my direction. The color of island water at sunrise. Peaceful, warm.

“Show me your room,” Cassie says.

Damn, it takes all my power not to drag her out of the car before the last word leaves her lips. Instinctively, that’s what I want to do. Instead, something compels me to circle the car and open the door for her like some kind of gentleman.

Maybe she’s not the angel of death. She’s the devil, finally here to drag me home. Because right now, I’d do anything for her.

We make our way into the back of the hotel to avoid the lobby. Usually this is the point where groupies start clinging to me. Either to get caught in a photo by the press for their five minutes of fame, or to start taking my pants off.

Cassie doesn’t.

She keeps her distance, a good few feet of it. Even in the elevator, she stands with her back against the opposite wall. It isn’t until we’re in my room with the door shut that her shoulders finally relax.

Her eyes scan the suite. It’s a mess, like the inside of my head. My luggage is on the floor, half unpacked. Bed unmade in the other room. Most people find this kind of chaos stressful, but that’s my life.

I strip off my jacket and toss it into a chair, my body right behind it, while Cassie pauses at the door.

“I don’t usually do this,” she says when my eyes meet hers.

“Okay.” I pull the joint from my pocket and light it up.

It’s cute she thinks I’d care if she did. Being a rock star and banging random chicks around the globe means I reserve judgment. Besides, I don’t read her as the kind of girl whodoes this.

“So what do you normally do then?” I ask, bringing the joint to my lips and letting the inhale float my brain back up to the stars.

Cassie finally comes forward, leaving her purse and jacket on a table by the door, showing off a hint of skin where her T-shirt doesn’t quite reach her jeans as she drops into the chair beside me.

“Like, what do I do in general, or when I go to concerts?” she asks.

I laugh because that’s the second time tonight she’s clarified a question. This isn’t a pass or fail, but I get the impression she’s used to giving the right answers.

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