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“It’s not fair…You.” She scoffs, tossing pillows around in search of something.
“It’s not,” I admit on a half-shrug that has her spinning on me with squared shoulders and hands firmly on her hips.
“What’s your name, then.” It’s not a question because she doesn’t think I’m going to answer. I should, it’s the only fair thing to do, so I ask the only other thing I can think of at the moment.
“What music do you listen to?” Aria jolts at my words, a mix of attitude and confusion radiating from her lifted brow, another scoff pursing her lips.
“That has nothing to do with anything.” She spins away with a shake of her head and begins searching for her shoes. “Why would I tell him that if he can’t tell me his name?” She directs her comments to the man behind the lens, but he backs away slowly with his hands up.
“I am not at liberty to say, Ms. Scarlett.” She pins him with a look, picks up a nearby throw pillow from a pile we posed in not that long ago, and pings it off of his head. He’s flabbergasted, his lined lips dropping open with a gasp allowing me the chance and step toward her.
“What music, Ms. Scarlett?” She spins on me, one shoe in her hand and somehow another pillow.
“Fucking soul. I like oldies, ok?!” She grunts and wings the pillow that I dodge with a laugh. “And I don’t know how you find this amusing.” Aria’s yelling now, which leaves me snickering at her level of emotion.
“I like soul, too, sometimes,” I admit on a shrug as I step in closer to her and invade her space. She’s found her other shoe and is armed with yet another pillow, but I’m in her face, too close for her to throw it at me.
“So he likes music, too, but doesn’t have a name.” Her chest heaves with her words, her eyes betraying her annoyance with a roll. Stepping into the lion’s den, I lean into her and wrap my arms around her waist. She pulls at me, pushing at my chest, sweat beading at her brow.
“Babe,” I bring my lips to her ear, pushing the hair back there to tuck it behind her ear and I suck in a breath of everythingher.
Either she really has no idea who I am … or it’ll be on the news tomorrow.
I can see the headlines now:Rex Thompson spent the evening ravishing a female for the camera.
But I don’t stop the words that tumble off my tongue and seal my fate.
“My name’s Rex.”
Aria’s body tenses against mine, her fight long ago forgotten.
Does she know now?
Would she even believe it’s me?
My name has been chanted by the thousands. My band’s name screamed. Our lyrics replicated and sung and remixed. Hell, I’ve even felt pride in my brother’s moments of fan attention. But when Aria pulls back, meets my eyes with emotion I can’t recognize, and whispers my name back to me, my rigid muscles loosen and my skin chills all over.
Goosebumps. They’re called goosebumps, idiot.
She says it like she’s tasting decadent chocolate or fine wine for the first time. Savoring the flavors on her palate, yet preparing to devour the treat on the next bite.
Our lips slam together with a kiss that has my dick filling and my chest swelling like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
“Rex.” Her hands are on me, in my hair, pulling and tangling in ways that make my heart beat faster.
“Yeah, babe?” I say against her mouth, trailing kisses and licks down her neck, then back up to her swollen lips as my hands find her ass and squeeze.
“I like that name.” Her breath races down my throat, exhilarating me to my bones, and I growl out my response.
“Then say it again.”
5
ARIA
If wishes were bottled and I could be spared just one, it would be that this moment never ends.
The aura of mystery around Rex is more alluring than I should allow it to be, but isn’t that the whole point? To take a chance on something?
