He nods. “Yeah, but do you really want to smell like a winery?”
I giggle. “Not really. But I also never think ahead and prepare for collisions at bars.”
“Hang on,” he says, jumping up and walking over to his table. He leans over, and I can’t help myself from gazing at his perfectly tight ass as he sinks to his knees and pulls something from his overnight bag. He walks back toward me, a flash of red clutched in his hand. He holds it out to me, a teasing smirk on his face. “This is a big step for me. I don’t even know your name, but yet I’m handing over my favorite soccer jersey so you can change and be comfortable.”
“How chivalrous.”
“Not really.” He shrugs. “It’s more selfish, really.”
“How so?” I ask.
“Well, I figure if I can keep you comfortable, you’ll stick around for a little longer instead of heading into duty-free to buy some tourist t-shirt that I can guarantee you’ll wanna burn as soon as you get it off later.”
“Uh-huh.” I smile, slowly rising to my feet and slipping my shoes on this time. “So you want to keep me around?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
The question momentarily stuns me into silence because, yeah, it’s a little hard to believe. This guy could make any woman lift her skirt with a flash of his eyes, but here he is…with me. I know I’m pretty and have a good figure from all of the dancing and working out I do for my tours, but I’m definitely not in the league of women who would turn this guy’s head. I’ve never been into makeup and clothes. I’m not a center-of-attention kind of girl unless I’m on stage. It’s always been about music for me. I’m simple, innocent, and conservative, and he looks to be a fan of experienced, sexy, and sinful.
But he wants to give me his shirt, so I’ll stay.
And he has no idea who I am.
“It’s definitely flattering,” I finally say, instantly berating myself for not coming up with a sassier answer. Damn, I really have to learn how to do the flirty thing better. A tiny shiver ripples over me as his eyes crinkle at the corners.
My breath catches.
Or maybe I don’t. By the looks of it, I’m doing just fine in that department.
“I’ll, um, be right back,” I say, flashing a quick smile, and without thinking, I grab my violin case.
He snickers. “I give you my prized jersey and you still don’t trust me enough to leave your precious case?”
Oh, shit. I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed it. “It’s just a h-habit,” I stammer as his grin widens.
“So much of a habit that you left it at the front desk,” he says with a teasing smile. “Sure, I get it.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t go anywhere without this case. Ever!”
“Except to a cozy little couch in the VIP lounge where you leave it exposed for anyone to grab.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “It’s fine. I’ll try not to be offended that you don’t trust me even after I saved your feet from being torn apart by glass shards.”
I chew the inside of my mouth and make a quick decision, releasing the case. Now this is reckless, at least for me. My lips curl upward. “Would you keep an eye on it for me?”
His eyes widen and he clutches a hand to his chest. “You mean, you do trust me?”
“It comes as a big surprise to me, too,” I say with a giggle. “I never do this.”
“Maybe you’d feel more comfortable if you knew my name,” he says.
“Oohh, that’s smooth. Good segue into the introductions.” I nod. “At least I’ll have a name to give the police if my case suddenly disappears.”
He laughs. “Okay, then. It’s Antonio Marcone. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
He lifts and eyebrow. “Your turn.”
“Julia Loren.” I wait for some kind of recognition of my stage name, but none comes.
Like I assumed, different musical tastes.
Eh, whatever.
He’s still hot as hell.
And I need something…or rather…someone to help me pass the time.
I take the jersey from him. “Thanks for this.”
“Prego,” he replies, reclining in the sofa opposite mine.
Heat rushes into my cheeks again and I turn in the direction of the ladies’ lounge, my heels clicking on the shiny floor. I have a tendency to walk fast, but something tells me he’s watching so I slow my gait, taking my time with each step, swinging my hips just enough to look sexy and not so much that I look like a complete amateur.
I pull open the door, and as soon as it closes behind me, I bring the jersey up to my nose and breathe in his scent. Just being in his hands is enough for it to be infused with his delicious cologne. I strip off my own shirt, wash off the sticky liquid, and blot my skin before pulling on his jersey. It swims on me since I’m so petite and he’s so…mmm…big, but the shiny fabric feels so good against my chilled body. I hug myself, taking a deep breath. I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.
How insane is this?
I don’t believe in fate or luck. I only believe in hard work. It’s all I’ve ever known. Things have never come easily to me. I put in the time and effort and reap the rewards. That’s how it’s always been.
This successful solo career didn’t just get dropped into my lap. And years back, my parents didn’t have the kind of money they do now. I was only able to go to the best schools and get the best training because I had a talent which I worked endlessly to perfect and polish. Skill and scholarships got me opportunities…opportunities I never once wasted.
I may have been born with ability, but nothing about my journey has come easily.
So it’s a little unsettling for this man, who is pure sex on a stick, to suddenly appear in my life and get me to leave him alone with my most prized possession because I feel inexplicably at ease with him and trust that his intentions aren’t seedy.
My inner circle is small because I want it that way. I don’t trust easily since there are too many people out there who are operating off of their own agendas. People always seem to have an angle, and when you co-chair a successful charity foundation and have a little bit of fame attached to your name, that angle gets worked a lot more frequently.
People always want something from me.
But nobody really wants me.
That’s what I’ve always thought, but maybe this time, fate has decided to get in the way and finally prove me wrong. Could it be that this man was dropped into my lap to show me that there’s more to life than just performing? That not everyone has an angle or an agenda? That maybe I can have something more if I open my eyes and heart to it?
Or am I who’s insane for even thinking these things?
I fluff out my hair, regretting not bringing my handbag with me. I carry the very basics, but I’m almost positive there’s a hairbrush in there. Maybe some lip gloss. Marisa packed an emergency makeup touch-up kit in my bag just in case I have to do an impromptu interview and she’s not around to primp me. She hems and haws if my lips are pale. Cheeks, too. I grab my cheeks with my fingertips, pinching them hard until they turn bright pink from the pressure.