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I pulled at Dawson’s arm, but he was so strong. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Try your best,” he murmured gruffly in my ear. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you, your hands and arms least of all. Trust me.”
I did. I was safe in Dawson’s arms.
I could let go, and I knew he would catch me.
And that right there scared the fuck out of me. A man who could make me feel that way was damned dangerous.
Dawson’s legs tightened around my waist as he tried to roll us over. I pulled on his arm as instructed, and I managed to keep him from taking me back.
“Good, that’s very good,” Dawson whispered as he suddenly let go and shuffled away from me. “We’re done for the day.”
Then he scrambled off the mat and stood up, offering his hand.
I took it and noticed he was trembling. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just, uh, I need water. I’m dehydrated.”
“How about breakfast?” I smiled as I got up on my own shaky legs. “I’ll order room service.”
“I can order it when we get back,” Dawson turned away from me.
I grabbed a couple of towels from the nearby stack and threw one at him, covering his entire head and shoulders.
While I was doubling over with laughter, Dawson yanked the towel off and turned around. And, oh shit, judging by the fire in those green eyes of his, I was in for it now.
He stalked toward me in purposeful strides until loud voices interrupted, and the door swung open.
“Oh, hey, sorry. We didn’t know the room was occupied.”
Two fit-looking guys in their twenties appeared. From their accents, it sounded like they were American, too, but from the south. With shaved heads and wide smiles, I could hardly tell them apart. Then I noticed the shorter one had tattoos on his arms.
“We’re just leaving,” Dawson replied, motioning for me to follow him.
“Thanks,” the tattooed one replied and cocked his head when I walked past. “Wait a minute, I know you.”
“I’ve got one of those faces,” I replied and walked beside Dawson.
“You’re Iain Holloway! Wayward Lane!” the other guy yelled out.
Busted.
I nodded. “I am. Nice to meet you.”
The taller one held out his hand. “I’m Hawk, and this is Lewis. I can’t believe this is happening! The lead guitarist from Wayward Lane, this is so fucking cool!”
I reached out and shook his hand, smiling in return. It was always nice to meet an enthusiastic fan.
Lewis smacked his forehead. “Fuck, what a time for me to forget my phone!”
“We have to get going anyway,” Dawson reminded me, placing a hand on my lower back.
“We’ll be at your concert on Valentine’s Day,” Hawk announced.
“Really? Well, give Dawson your name and number and we can invite you backstage.”
“Are you kidding?” Lewis blurted out.
