Jackson is more than twenty feet away, but this time when he parts his lips, I can read them.
You are.
I soar. I could probably fly to the moon right now.
I face the crowd. “Do you know what I mean? He’s the one I think about. The one I want. The one I long for. I can’t imagine my life with anyone else. I can only imagine it with him.”
The audience turns into a chorus of awws.
“Ah, hell, this is why I love you guys. You get it. You get me.” I stop, take a breath, and go for broke. “And the guy in the picture? He’s here tonight.”
The screams are intense and electric.
I don’t look at Jackson, just in case.
I keep my eyes on the audience. “The guy in the picture is here. And I swear if he feels the same, if he comes onstage right now, I will smother him in kisses in front of everyone. Because that is what I want for the rest of my life. He is who I want.”
The cheers are electrifying.
I hold my breath, let all the hope I’ve ever felt fill me, and I wait.
But not for long.
Jackson Pearce is a man of action.
He steps out of the wings and strides across the stage, so incomprehensibly sexy in that button-down shirt, rolled up to show his forearms, those pants that hug his legs, and that smile.
For me.
All for me.
And for everyone.
Because here he is, declaring his feelings in return.
This most private man walks to me, and I swing my guitar behind me so it’s slung across my back.
When he reaches me, the first thing he does is press his cheek to mine, brush his lips against my ear, and whisper just for me, “I’m in love with you. That’s why I quit—so I can do this now.”
He clasps my cheeks and kisses me in front of all my fans.
The crowd goes wild, and so does my heart.
It is better than music. Better than poetry. Better than anything I’ve ever had.
This man is my love, and he’s kissing me in front of thousands of fans who are all cheering, clapping, hollering.
And taking pictures.
The guy in the picture is about to go viral, and I couldn’t be happier.
Jackson Pearce is kissing me in public for the first time, and I want the world to know he’s mine.
There’s one surefire way to do that.
When we break the kiss, I sling an arm around him. “This guy is mine. All mine.”
The audience erupts into another round of cheers as he raises a hand, waves to them, then returns to the wings.
I finish the show.
It’s the best show I’ve ever done.
And the best part is walking offstage to the love of my life.
36
Jackson
Stone is mobbed when he heads into the wings.
Candi. His manager. His brother. Sage. Ivy. Stagehands. Roadies.
Or, I should say, we are. Everyone wants to touch him, talk to him, congratulate him—and me too.
Guess that’s what happens when one of the world’s most famous rock stars kisses you at his concert in front of all his fans.
Stone gives his guitar to Zane then lifts his palm. “Give me a minute, peeps.”
He pulls me into his dressing room, slams the door, locks it, and lets out a long exhale. A vein in his neck pulses from the exertion of performing. His shoulders rise and fall from what’s pretty much a workout onstage. He stares at me, smiling stupidly.
Pretty sure my smile is of the stupid-in-love variety too.
“Holy shit. Did that just happen?” He shoves a hand through his hair.
I grab the neck of his T-shirt. “Are you backing out?”
Stone shakes his head. “No way. You’re stuck with me. I’m just feeling like this is a dream.”
“Does this feel like a dream?” I slide my hands down his sweaty shirt then under it, trailing over his abs, his pecs. He shivers as I touch him.
“I’m not going to lie. That is kind of all my dreams,” he says. He clasps my face. Looks in my eyes. Grins. “Jackson Pearce, I love you something fierce.”
I laugh. “Are you trying to rhyme?”
“Yeah. Or write another song. But I do. I love you something fierce.”
My heart thunders. It gallops away, and I let it because it belongs to him. “I am so in love with you,” I tell Stone. And nothing has ever sounded better to say, nothing in the whole world.
He quirks a brow, grabbing my waist. “But what the hell? What are you going to do? You quit?”
I shrug, maybe a little impishly. “I’ve got a plan. A brilliant one.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ll tell you later. I think you should do your VIP thing, and do it fast because . . .” I brush my cheek to his, my stubble rubbing against his skin. “If memory serves, I’m pretty sure we had a deal about the next time we fucked.”
He groans low in his throat, his eyes darkening. “Now I’m going to be sporting a flagpole the whole time I do the VIP event.”
I slide a hand over his erection, squeeze him, and drop my lips to his.
I kiss him hard at first, deep and possessive. My head goes hazy; my body heats. The kiss is both familiar and wonderfully new. It’s long and slow, and it tastes like forever.
As we kiss, his words from the stage float through my mind and all I can think and feel is love.
Deep, passionate love.
Then the kiss shifts to teasing and sensual as I nip on his bottom lip, tracing his lips with my tongue.
This, too, feels like a promise of our future. A long and amazing future. “We were never going to be one time only,” I say when I break the kiss.
Stone gives me a lopsided grin. “I know.”
I run a hand over his cheek, stroking that stubble that drives me crazy. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been falling for you. And ever since we first kissed, I was done for.”
Stone presses his forehead to mine, curling his hands on my shoulders. “You changed me. You changed everything. I can’t believe I’m thirty-four and never knew what it was like to be in love.”
“Get used to it, babe. I’m going to show you every single day what it’s like,” I say, joy filling every cell.
“Who would have thought? My bodyguard is such a romantic.”
I shrug, an admission. “Can you blame me? That I want to show you love every day?”
He shakes his head. “It’s the only thing I want now.”
“Good. Because you’re going to get it.” Then I smack his ass, narrow my eyes, and growl—go all bossy, since he likes that. “Now go. I need some good hard fucking from a rock star when you’re done.”
He grips my hip. “Did you ever hear the story about the rock star who fell for his bodyguard?”
I smile. “I hear it has a very happy ending.”
We walk through the casino together. I’m still on duty, so I don’t stray from the job.
I scan left and right, looking around, on alert. My hand is on his arm, but I don’t worry if it’s professional or not.
It is what it is—my hand on my guy’s arm.
Somewhere near an Avengers slot machine, Stone leans over, giving me a peck on the cheek.
“You sneak,” I say.