Page 35 of A Love Song for Dreamers

I’m sucked in already. She’s always had the power to fascinate me, to take my world and wrap it around her, like that towel by the pool, so she’s at itscenter.

“And you’ll star init.”

She shivers, her eyes sparkling in the dark. “I want that more thananything.”

I want to press her, but she’s scanning theroom.

A number of people have their phones out, but the cameras aren’t pointed atme.

“This show will make for some great clips,” she saysabsently.

“They’re at a concert and they’re not evenwatching.”

“They’re involving people in their experience. It takes two seconds. No wonder you drive your marketing people crazy. Give me yourphone.”

I unlock it and hold itout.

“Now put an arm around me and look at thestage.”

“You Annie Leibovitz all of asudden?”

But I do as she asks, pulling her againstme.

Instantly my body’s on alert. She’s slow curves and I want to drag the hem of that shirt up and trail my fingers along her skin. Turn my face into her neck and lose myself in her rosescent.

“Broody enough for your brand?” she teases, holding the screenout.

The image is a kick in thegut.

In it, Annie’s looking at the camera, though in the darkness, it’s hard to recognizeher.

I’m watching the music like I’m distracted—by it or the girl in my arms, it’s impossible to tell—but it’s tense and natural at once, as if she’s part of me, an extension ofme.

I want to back that photo up, to save it. To preserve it somehow so I never lose it, orher.

“Marketing’s gonna come in their pants,” I say atlast.

As I tuck the phone away—I’ll post the pic when I get back to the hotel, because otherwise, we’ll get swarmed—more than a few pairs of eyes are onus.

It’s understandable. We might not be dating, but she’s still fucking awesome. She’s got the same wonder at the world, plus a confidence that’s new. It’s fascinating, andsexy.

“It’s late,” she says when the show wraps up and the patrons stream toward the doors. “I shouldn’t have stayed out so long. Sophie’s already not sleeping. I don’t want to wake herup.”

A warning flashes through my brain, one I promptly ignore thanks to the concert or her closeness or the fact that it feels as if we’re the only people in the world despite the rest of the giddy crowd dispersing to the parkinglot.

“My hotel’s close. You can crash. I have to be at the studio early tomorrowanyway.”

She doesn’t answer, and when I clue into why, my abs tightening as the shitty reality comes back tome.

Not only is she not mine, she belongs to someoneelse.

“If it’s the boyfriend you’re worried about, I promise I won’t touchyou.”

“Ian and I brokeup.”

If she didn’t have my attention before, she does now. “What?” I glance back toward the building. “That time you went to the bathroom an hourago?”

She waves a hand. “We ended it lastmonth.”

---