Page 97 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Do you blame me?" He chuckles. "When I find an opening, I take it."
Speaking of taking openings...Noooo, stop, right there. Just because alphahole here likes to twist meanings out of words where none existed before, doesn’t mean I should, huh?
"I think you use it more as a diversion," I retort.
"Oh?" He lowers this chin, "How’s that?"
"You’re an asshole, that’s for sure, but there’s something inside of you, some mystery, something hurt maybe, something that keeps pulling me back even though I try my best to stay away."
"Like the Pied Piper?"
"You calling me a rat?" I bristle.
"In the story, the Pied Piper got all of the children to follow him too. Maybeyou’rethe Pied Piper. But I was thinking of you more like a little mouse who has run amuck and turned my life upside down. You know, if you give a mouse a cookie, she’ll never leave. No matter what you do to make her."
I slap his shoulder, "Seriously, you’re horrible."
He chuckles. "Comes with the territory."
"How is it to be a rock star, with so many people eager to find out everything about you?"
"First," he holds up a finger, I am a reclusive rock star and second, that’s why I am not on social media anymore."
"That’s brave of you."
He folds his arms over his chest, "Are you being sarcastic?"
"No, really. How many celebrities would take that step, and risk alienating their followers?"
He drops his arms and rotates his shoulders, "You means the ones I still have left?" He chuckles wryly. "For a while, I felt unconnected to the songs I was creating. I hoped that if I disengaged with the world it would help me to look inward more, connect with my imagination once again." He laughs, "I can't believe I admitted to that aloud."
He rakes his fingers through his hair. "Also, this way, I don’t have the incessant pressure to engage with my fans. I don’t have to justify what I say or do. I don’t have to worry about if I am pleasing people or not."
"And when you are on stage, what then?"
"Then I am ready to entertain, to be that other person. Still me, but different."
"I’d love to see you perform live."
"That’s not happening for a while."
"No," I protest, "I’ve seen videos of your shows and you are incredible."
"It doesn’t interest me anymore."
"Then what does?"
He looks over his shoulder, scrutinizes my features. He half turns, pushes back the bench, then wraps an arm around me and pulls me around to stand between his legs.
"You do."
"Oh." I stare at his gorgeous features—the high cheekbones, the hooked nose, that mean upper lip, the fat lower lip that I want to chew on.
"Like what you see?" He smirks.
"Very much." I swallow.
Heat from his big body pours over me, surrounds me, the strength of his dominance pushing down on my shoulders, holding me immobile as he urges me closer, closer.
