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“No. Of course not. Why would you say that?”
I snorted. “Because it doesn’t exactly seem like your thing, Mr. Gruff Dominant Ex-Cop.”
And current romantic suspense author, I added mentally. Sometime soon I’d have to acknowledge I knew his secret identity, but I hoped he would voluntarily come clean before I had to.
“I’m not always gruff. Besides, you can’t claim to know mythingalready.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I’ve already gotten pretty acquainted with your thing.”
It was easier to act playful than to acknowledge the very real fears behind my question. I understood my music wasn’t for everyone, and if he didn’t go for it, that was just fine.
Half the time my music wasn’t formeeither.
No, that wasn’t true. I actually enjoyed most of the material I worked with. I just wanted to do more. Stretch a little. Try different arrangements, broaden my subject matter. I didn’t want to scare away all my younger more innocent fans, but they were getting older, just as I was.
Tonight had shown that to me with crystal clarity. This insulated box I’d been living in hadn’t done me any favors. With all the gifts I’d been given, and opportunities I’d had a chance to enjoy, I’d lost so much else.
A chance at a normal life, with a boyfriend and a home base that actually felt like a home. I was so tired of waking up in new beds in new cities. Just once, I wanted to go to sleep with someone holding me who wanted me for who I was, not my money or fame or what I could do for them.
“Peyton.”
Surprised at his somber tone, I glanced up. His gaze was trained on my face, detecting nuances. Unless I was way off, this guy had a finely honed bullshit detector.
Which meant I was in trouble, because I did the breast-stroke in poo on a daily basis.
I stifled a yawn that was half from fatigue and half a stalling tactic. “Yeah?”
His lifted brow made me reach for the title he seemed to wear so naturally. It felt like a game between us, laced with a seriousness I wasn’t quite ready to accept. Getting closer, though. “Yes, Sir?”
“Good girl. Now tell me why you’d ask me if I was making fun of you by listening to music many, many other people listen to quite often. At least according to your net worth—”
My spine locked. “Why would you look up my net worth?”
“Not because I’m trying to cash in, that’s for damn sure,” he said in a tone that made me look away, ashamed.
I couldn’t help being suspicious. Too many people wanted a piece of me. I was protected from so much of that by my bodyguards and my team but I never forgot completely that I was viewed as a commodity. One with a value that rose and fell depending on factors that weren’t entirely in my control.
Forget entirely. Trymostly.
“I’m sorry. Side effect of being—”
“You.”
I nodded, sure he could read my misery. I wasn’t hiding it very well. It was so hard to meet new people and trust that they cared for me, the person and not me, the performer.
Jed’s lack of knowledge about me had seemed like a present. Now he was playing my songs and searching for me online and somehow that tainted what had happened between us.
And that chipped off a corner of my heart.
“I wanted to know who was in my bed.” He cupped my cheek, feathering his thumb over my lower lip. Soothing me. “Not that some shiny pictures or overproduced songs or tabloid articles on how much you brought in on your last tour begin to touch who you are as a person. As a woman.” His voice dipped on that word, warming it just as he warmed my skin with his hand. “I know enough about that from having you here tonight.”
“From sex?”
“No. From watching the way you respond to every new thing. You have the kind of curiosity that could get you in very big trouble, Rulebreaker.” He shook his head. “Going home with strange men and letting them spank you. I’m shocked.”
My lips twitched but I fought the smile as I reached up to run my nail along the chain around his throat. The lack of light couldn’t disguise how he braced. “This made you not a stranger to me. My uncle was a cop.”
He didn’t speak for a moment. “Was?”
