“Stephanie.”
I lead her through the crowd. Fuck knows I want this to be the kind of sex that gets me screaming her name.
This needs to be something real.
But from the way she’s pawing at my arm like I’m a fancy trophy…
Shit, I should invite Tom to watch. At least that would be interesting. But he’s lost in the fray.
Drew too. Not that he’d ever accept that invitation.
Pete’s always down to watch, or at least listen, when he and his girlfriend are in the off phase of their on/off drama shit.
But shit, they’re on right now.
And he’s off someplace.
Which means it’s just me and Stephanie.
Just our bodies.
I lead her into my room.
Onto my bed.
Out of her clothes.
She tugs my t-shirt over my head. Pulls my jeans and boxers to my feet. Then she’s dropping to her knees.
I let my thoughts slip away for long enough for it to feel good.
I slip on a condom, throw her onto the bed, get behind her.
But the way she’s grunting already, without me even touching her—
Fuck, this is bullshit.
My body is responding, but my head is off some other place, and it’s not coming back.
I’m tempted to call this off now, but I’m not going to be a selfish fuck.
I press my eyelids together, and stop trying to push my thoughts away. It’s almost fucking working when the door opens.
That must be the no-longer-M.I.A. bassist.
Only it’s not.
It’s a woman. She’s staring.
Staring and blushing.
Stephanie shrieks. She scrambles off the bed and pulls a sheet over her chest.
The newcomer stares.
“Miles,” Stephanie whines. “You fucker! I told you I don’t do threesomes.”
It’s too bad. The way this woman’s brown eyes are lighting up as she stares is intriguing as all hell.
A hundred bucks says Stephanie will stick around if I ask this woman to watch.
Fuck, I’m considering it.
But the way she’s staring… she looks more dumbstruck than anything.
I raise a brow. “You mind?”
She barely manages to take her eyes off my cock for long enough to offer an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry.” She presses her lips together. “Excuse me. I thought this was the bathroom.”
Sure, she did. It’s a bad excuse, but if I’m going to have bullshit sex, I might as well do something fun. The clueless fan being punished by the big, bad rock star…
Could be interesting.
I nod to the hall. “Next door on the left.”
Her gaze goes back to my cock. Again, she blushes.
Again, she barely manages to pull her eyes away from my hard-on.
• • •
Twenty minutes later, I’m washed up and back to mingling. The Steele brothers are nowhere to be seen, but Drew’s on the couch. With his friend. The two of them are drunk off their asses, but given the way she’s cozying up next to him—well, I hope he took my advice about clearing his bed.
A redhead in a tight dress and high heels paws at my arm. She shoots me that please fulfill my rock star fantasies look.
I used to get off on that kind of adoration, but it doesn’t do shit for me anymore.
I play my part. I make a joke. I offer her a charming smile. But I’m not here.
My gaze shifts over the room.
There she is, the “shy” girl from upstairs.
She’s cute—chestnut hair, brown eyes, long legs. Fuck that’s a short skirt. And she’s wearing sneakers. Those legs are all her.
She looks as out of place as I feel. Not just her casual shoes, but the tortured expression on her face.
Her eyes meet mine and her cheeks turn red.
She’s picturing me naked.
And god damn is it showing in the flush spreading over her chest.
I’m not about to let her get away with that Oops, I can’t believe I walked in on your tryst thing.
She forces her gaze to the floor, then makes her way through the crowd, to the kitchen.
I excuse myself and follow her.
“You’re not big on respecting people’s privacy, huh?” I ask.
She turns and gives me a long, slow once-over. This time, she manages to keep her gaze off my crotch.
She clears her throat as she makes eye contact. “No, I’m not big on alcohol. I can’t find anything else to drink.”
Sounds like Tom.
Sounds like bullshit too, but on the off chance it’s not…
Well, I’m not about to fuck with someone’s recovery.
I make a point of brushing the back of my hand against her shoulders as I pull open the fridge.
Her eyelids press together.
She takes her tongue between her teeth.
She wants me.
Badly.
I drop my voice to something low and seductive. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
She grabs a water bottle and holds it to her chest. Her eyes stay glued to mine. They’re going wide. She’s working something out.
Realizing something.
It spreads all over her face.
Then it stops.
She stops.
She’s just staring at me.
What the hell? “You okay?”
She nods. “I don’t walk in on casual sex very often.”
Uh-huh. No way in hell am I buying that story.
But there is something about her expression.
She seems innocent.
Like it really was an accident.
“I was looking for the bathroom.” She takes a step backwards. “Excuse me. I should go.”
Huh? Fangirls don’t usually run away when they finally have the attention of their celebrity crush.
But there’s no fucking way that story is true.
Something isn’t adding up here.
I have to figure this out. I offer her a smile. It’s as sincere as I get lately. “You’re not going to let me formally introduce myself?”
“Okay.” She pulls her hand from her side. “I’m Meg Smart.”
“Miles Webb.” I take her hand and shake. Fuck, she’s nervous. Her palm is clammy and her brown eyes are filled with apprehension. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”
“I don’t go to parties.”
“Guess that makes this my lucky day.”
There’s something about the earnest expression in her eyes.
I almost believe that shit upstairs was an honest mistake.
One more question and I’ll know.
“Why’d you decide to come tonight?” I ask.
Again, she blushes. This time, she manages to hold my gaze. “My friend convinced me I wouldn’t hate it.”
Shit, I do believe her.
That means no clueless fangirl roleplay.
But this—the way she’s looking at me like an actual human being who she desperately wants to fuck—is way better.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask.
“I still don’t like parties.” Her chest heaves as she inhales. She exhales with purpose. Her eyes go to the floor, then they’re back on mine. “Why’d you come tonight?”
She blushes at the word come.
I point upstairs. “That was my bedroom you burst into.”
That blush deepens.