Page 16 of Hold Still

I don’t feel the need to share that I was with him yesterday—this morning, actually. “This is where he practices, though, am I correct?”

He nods. “Yes, but I don’t expect him here until closer to showtime today.”

I sigh. “Really? I have to start working on the project with him and was hoping to do some prelims today.”

“Give me your card and I’ll pass it along to him.”

In other words, time to get rid of you. Needing to play this to my advantage, I raise my chin. “I didn’t catch your name?”

“It’s Aiden. Aiden MacQuade.”

“Well, Aiden, as his assistant you must know the Project’s deadline is next month. Is he here in the hotel somewhere? I only need a couple minutes with him. No biggie.”

He looks around as if the answer is written somewhere on the four walls. Giving up, he says, “He’s not at the Jade.”

“But I understand he keeps a penthouse here?”

He rubs his hands up and down his jeans. “He does, but that’s not where he sleeps.”

Okay, I’m going to process this statement later. Right now, I need to talk with Ozzy. “Alright, I’ll bite. If he doesn’t sleep here, where does he sleep?” I nudge him in the ribs. “He’s not a vampire or anything, is he? I never noticed sparkles around him.” I smile broadly.

He chuckles. “I haven’t seen any coffins around, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, Aiden.” I tap his shoulder. “C’mon, help a girl out. I promise not to tell him how I found his lair.” I cross my fingers over my heart.

He runs his hand through his hair again. I’m winning. He’s going to cave any moment now. “I can’t give out his home address.”

“It’s not like I’m some groupie or anything. I only need a few minutes with him.” I drop my voice. “He told me he doesn’t have any new songs yet, and I’m hoping to help him out.”

His shoulders dip. Bingo! He gives me another once-over. “Don’t tell him I gave you his address, alright.”

He walks over to a desk and writes something down on a scrap of paper, then hands it to me. I kiss it. “Thanks, Aiden. You’re the best!” I turn and scamper out the door before he changes his mind.

I walk double-time through the expanse of the Jade, and hop into my car. Opening the crumpled piece of paper, I plug the address into my phone’s GPS and drive away from the Strip. The directions lead me to an upscale residential neighborhood, but it doesn’t scream “celebrity.” The lawns here are well-manicured and lead up to sprawling contemporary houses, which are modest for millionaire-plus-status. This is a place someone would live if they wanted to hide.

I pull to a stop in front of number 1785. This is it. Ozzy’s somewhere inside. All I need to do is talk with him about the status of his new songs. He must’ve been overstating things on the plane—I’m sure he has several written. His prior songs were megahits. He couldn’t have lost the ability to write them simply because he was banging every groupie who came his way.If anything, that should have given him even more creative inspiration.

Because there’s no fencing, I pull into his driveaway, next to a shiny motorcycle. Of course he has a bike. Taking a deep breath, I march up to the huge wooden front door and ring the bell.

Nothing.

I ring it again and wait. Still no response.

He has to be in there somewhere. I peer through a window but don’t see any movement. Perhaps he’s in the backyard?

Heading off toward the fenced in backyard, I curse myself for wearing my strappy, high-heeled sandals. They complemented my skirt and top so well, though. Oh well, the price of fashion.

At the gate, I raise my face toward the sky. “Please let this be unlocked.” Other than cameras by the front door, I haven’t noticed any security, so maybe I’ll get lucky. I test the latch and it opens. Score!

I slip into the expansive backyard, taking in the grassy area and pavers, leading to an outdoor kitchen and Olympic-sized swimming pool. Ozzy has it so hard. He probably wouldn’t know a money problem if it bit him on his nice, tight ass.

Stop! I’m not thinking about any of his amazing body parts.

All of a sudden, Ozzy’s head pops up of the pool—he must’ve been underwater when I came in—and he hoists himself out, muscles flexing on his arms and legs. The top of his curly hair is wet and slicked back.

The sun catches on his pierced nipples. Black ink all over his body stands in relief to the water rivulets coursing down his toned abs. I follow their path down his naked body. Hisentirelynaked body. Complete with a pierced cock.

Oh. My. God. His Prince Albert isnew. Saliva pools in my mouth.

And a gasp escapes my lips.

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