Page 67 of Fame & Obsession

I just couldn’t make myself look at him. The asshole sangthatsong on purpose—the one from the album release party. He pulled out all the stops, trying to force a reaction out of me.

This whole night has been one giant slap across the face.

What was I thinking?

Deciding to cut my losses, I pull my phone from my purse to call a cab when a hand tightens around my waist from behind.

I know his scent in an instant.

“I have nothing to say to you, Julian,” I say, twisting out of his grasp.

His hands fist by his side. “Good. Then maybe you’ll listen for once.”

A confusing rush of anger and arousal courses through my veins. God, he’s infuriating. The man’s ego is bigger than his bank account.

As I meet his icy stare, all the fight drains out of me in a flood of exhaustion. Lowering my gaze, I let out a sarcastic laugh. “You’re such an asshole.”

“You’re probably right.”

My chin snaps up. I don’t know what response I expected, but it wasn’t that. I’m tired. I’m angry. I’m scared. I’m on edge, and I want to fight.

His indifference sets me off, and the internal torture I’ve been wrestling with implodes. Planting my hands firmly in the center of his chest, I shove him—hard.

“What the fu—” Caught off guard, Julian’s eyes widen as he tips backward, his shoulders wedging between one of the palm trees and the corner wall.

Unfortunately, the move also knocksmeoff-balance. As I struggle to stay on my feet, my dress tangles around my shoe, and with a gasp, I find myself catapulted into Julian’s chest.

The familiarity of his rugged scent intoxicates me, and my traitorous body molds itself against every inch of his.

“If you wanted to get on top of me, princess, you could’ve just asked,” he taunts. “No need to resort to theatrics.”

Lost in the intensity of his stare, I barely register the rapid flashes of light going off in succession behind us. By the time I finally tear my eyes away, I’m too mortified to do anything but huff out a grunt as I climb to my feet.

I straighten my twisted bodice. “You should gain more confidence, Julian,” I mutter. “It seems to be lacking.”

Still lounging against the palm tree, Julian lifts an eyebrow while raking a heated stare over me. “I didn’t hear any complaints in the hallway of my concert, or outside your office, or even earlier tonight in your building.”

Wanting nothing more than to knock cocky out of him, I tap my finger against my bottom lip. “That’s real classy, Bale. However, as usual, you’reinflatingthings a little.” I lower my gaze to the bulge in his tailored black pants, then settle my smirk back on his face. “Or alot, as the case may be.”

His eyes darken, and I know I have to get away from him.

Sober from my early lust-drunkenness, I bend over to pull my dress away from my heel, only to succeed in tearing a five-inch vertical rip at the bottom.

“Fuck,” I hiss, hating how being near him constantly reduces me to a bumbling moron.

Desperately needing to put distance between us, I step clear of any more material. Just as I straighten, his hands find my hips. My arms shoot out at the shock of his touch, landing palms down,again, against his chest. I jerk backward, knowing this time, I won’t have the strength to push him away again.

I never get that far.

Julian’s quick reflexes kick in, and his rough guitarist hands tighten around my wrists, holding me immobile. I stare at them, the connection searing my skin and senses, melting them both into oblivion.

“Why do you always do this, Phoebe?”

I continue staring at his hands. “Do what?”

“Try to push me away when we get close. Do you think I’ll hurt you?”

His hands are strong. They’re gifted. They play the guitar as if it’s an extension of his soul. They write amazing lyrics that bring me to tears. They have the power to take everything away from me in one split-second decision.