Page 145 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

He led me deeper into the space. Flowering vines twined up around three separate pergolas. He pushed a button and the windows slowly opened to the night sky. The coolness of the outside air instantly intruded on the wet heat of the space made for growing things.

“This is incredible.” I slowly turned around to bring all the details in.

Couches and tables were made up into little separate spaces. More notebooks and guitars were set more haphazardly. As if he lived here more than in the other space. A coffee cup, a bottle of water, even a Chinese takeout container sat on a table.

This was where the real Alex resided.

He came up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist. “My haven.”

I twisted my neck so I could look into his eyes. “It’s gorgeous and wild.”

He shrugged. “I like the sweet scents of flowers and tending plants calms the demons. I even added some that smell like you.” He pointed at the fresh shoots of orchids and night jasmine being trained to climb along a post stuck into an overflowing pot.

My eyes misted. Thoughtful and sweet. Words I wasn’t sure I’d ever associate with this man. And yet he’d brought me here, to a place that was so secret in some circles people didn’t really believe it existed.

Alexander Nash and his secret studio lair.

I turned in his arms. “So, where’s the secret studio?”

His eyebrow spiked. “Who says I have a studio?”

“Unless you’re doing mixing in your bedroom with a tape recorder—uh, everyone.”

He chuckled. “Is that really what you want to see right now?”

“No. But you’ll show it to me?”

“If you like.”

I went onto my toes. “I like. I need to see where the magic happens.”

He stepped back and led me to a huge U-shaped couch. “This is where most of the magic happens.” He sat down and patted the cushion next to him.

“Oh, is that so?” I curled into the surprisingly comfy vinyl. Nash suddenly lifted me and settled me astride him. “Well now. More magic?”

He leaned back against the couch, his long fingers on my hips.

I settled my hands on his chest, squirming a little to get comfortable.

“Easy, duchess. I’m hanging on by my fingernails here.”

I lightly scraped my nails through the hair on his chest. “I like your haven.”

“I do a lot of my work up here. I like the quiet. I have a very needy Rottweiler who likes all my attention.”

“Is that so?”

“He’s a cheeky little bastard, but I love him.”

“Nothing small about him.”

“You’ll learn that’s a very true statement when I take you to my bed.”

“Who says I’m sleeping over?”

“Well, it’s about twenty minutes until sunrise. So, I guess sleeping over is relative.”

“Is it?” Surprised, I looked at the horizon where the first wash of buttery yellow was peeking from the midnight blue.

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