Willow placed her hand on his cheek. “One data point isn’t a trend.”
“No?” Unable to stop himself, he kissed her again.
“No,” she muttered against his lips.
He kissed the tip of her nose, her cheek, the line of her jaw. “In that case, you’ve got five minutes to refuel and hydrate.”
“And then what?”
He licked her nipple, then sucked it into his mouth firmly. “Then we do it all over again.”
Eight hours later, after three hours sleep, Luke quietly tugged on his stiffly dried concert clothes. He looked to where Willow lay with her head precariously close to the bottom of the bed. Pillows were strewn, the comforter on the floor, and a white sheet covering the curve of her arse.
Her lips, all soft and bruised after the lovemaking, were slightly open. The remains of their late-night pizza order sat on the desk, right next to the lamp they’d broken when he’d taken her on the flat surface. Towels were in a pile on the carpet after their four a.m. shower, where she’d gone down on him before he’d pushed her against the wall.
He was exhausted, invigorated, and two hundred pounds better off from his bet with Alex.
Yeah. He’d remember Willow Warner for a long fucking time.
He grabbed a napkin from the tray and a pen.
It’s definitely not you. Luke.
With one last stroke of her hair, he placed the napkin next to the pillow, and quietly left the room.
2
Ten weeks later.
Rain battered the window of the taxi, making it impossible to check out the streets of what Willow hoped would be her new hometown for the foreseeable future. Her whole career and, more importantly, her exit plan relied on it.
Her father turned manager, turned all-around, money-grabbing thief, had no idea how much she had already found out after accessing his private emails. And he certainly didn’t know she was pregnant. The message she’d left him had been vague. An unplanned trip, some downtime, that she’d be in touch.
She realized her mom had been letting her down by living a lifestyle funded by her father’s deceit and Willow’s own hard work. There was no possible way her mother couldn’t have known. The lifestyle was too extravagant and the lies too elaborate for her to have not been involved.
Her ex had even been complicit in her father’s greed. Ansel, a rom-com typecast actor, had done a private deal with her father. And she’d fallen for Ansel without knowing that everything from the setup to the split had been orchestrated between the two of them. Cheating on a former child-star sweetheart with a porn star turned punk singer had dirtied his edges and made him less of a romance leading man and more of an antihero.
Their plan had worked. He was off filming some three-part space alien trilogy, while she licked her wounds.
Finding the emails between her father and Ansel had turned her stomach. She’d never trust anyone, especially not a man, to take care of her ever again.
Which was why she hadn’t even felt safe to contact John and Kelly, the loving parents of her best friend, Riley. Much of Willow’s childhood had been spent at their home instead of the massive Malibu beachfront house her father had bought in his name, with her money. John would have wanted to mediate between Willow and her father. He was a fixer, when what she really needed was a lawyer with a passion for winning.
Willow glanced down at Sad Fridays’ social media page that showed photographs of a party currently underway. She’d checked the music studio they’d tagged, which not only confirmed the opening night was happening right now, but that Luke was there.
Initially, she’d planned to stay in a hotel, then contact Luke through his social media or through Cerys at the studio. But once she’d figured out where he’d be that evening, it had felt like a safer bet.
Her stomach roiled; this could be a terrible idea. All she knew for sure was from the moment two lines had appeared on that test, she’d vowed to protect her baby more than anything else in the world. Protect her own child in a way nobody had ever protected her. She placed her hand on her still flat stomach and vowed silently to break free of her family once and for all.
For too many years, she’d let someone else set her direction and manage her affairs. She’d been naive, but no more. Fear filled her at the thought of managing her own business, but it was time to take control . . . of every part of her life.
And that had begun with hiring Sasha Serrano. Her own lawyer. Picked by her. Hired by her. Paid for by her.
The same lawyer who’d advised her that the contract she was drawing up was a bad idea, but hadn’t been able to suggest an alternative.
Then Willow had bought books on female empowerment and entrepreneurial guides and had listened to podcasts of the same on the flight. Skilling-up needed to happen quickly.
“It’s here,” the driver said, ending the trip.
Matt Palmer stood on the pavement in the pouring rain, waving someone off in a cab. “Hey, Willow. Good to see you,” he said as she climbed out.
“Hey, Matt.”
“Let me help you.” He took her cases from the driver, and they dashed inside the old warehouse lobby. Matt pressed the elevator button. “I didn’t realise you were coming. Cerys never mentioned it,” he said.
“She doesn’t know.”
“How come you’re here?”
She hadn’t considered what would happen if she saw anyone before she actually made contact with Luke, which was stupid really. “Just some business. I saw on your profile you were here. I’d like to see Luke.” Which was perhaps the biggest understatement in the history of the world.
When the elevator came to a halt, the door slid open, and she tugged her tote firmly onto her shoulder. Why hadn’t she changed at the airport? Everyone was ready for a party, and she looked as though she was about to hit the gym in sweats and a hoodie.
“Let me go get him for you,” he said.
When he reappeared, Matt muttered something to Luke, but then stepped back into the recording studio.
“Hey, Luke,” Willow said. If it was even possible, he was even more handsome than she remembered. Hair in seventeen different shades of blond and brown. Dimples that popped when he smiled, when he spoke, when he came. Broad shoulders with the lean muscular physique of a drummer.
He studied her for a moment, then grinned. The air crackled, and she was reminded how good it had been in Detroit when she’d felt the spark between them fiercer than she’d ever known. It had felt glorious to let him sink into her, knowing they’d never be anything more to each other than an incredible night.
“Hello, Willow Warner,” he said, stepping toward her. He was drunk. She could tell from the glassy eyes and animated welcome.
She slipped the hood from her head and his look changed to one of concern.
Yes, she knew she looked a mess. Dark circles ringed her eyes, her cheeks a little more sunken than he likely remembered. Nothing like the playful woman she’d been in bed that night.
Because that night had consequences.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Willow glanced around them, concerned about who might hear. “I need your help, Luke. You were the only person I could come to. And it’s been an ordeal of a trip. Can I come stay with you for a little while?”