Page 58 of Kiss and Tell

I blinked, clutching the seatbelt with both hands, as my pulse raced through my veins.

“You’re so passionate,” he continued, unaware that my heart was close to jumping out of my chest. “It’s refreshing.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Weren’t your rock star friends passionate about their music?”

Connor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, making the leather creak.

“Some were,” he said stiffly. “The real artist types.”

“And the others?” I asked. “What were they like?”

His grip slowly relaxed, fingers uncurling, then he ran a hand casually through the hair at the back of his head, messing it up even further instead of smoothing it down.

“For some, the music was more of an afterthought.” He paused, as if looking for words. “Those guys loved performing, the rush of being on stage. They loved having screaming fans chanting their names. They loved the parties and having their pick of women. But real, actual passion for the craft of composing? That was rarer.”

“Which one were you?” I asked.

“Half and half, I suppose.” He adjusted the rearview mirror needlessly, tilting it one way, then putting it back to its original angle. “I love making music, don’t get me wrong, but my favorite part was performing in front of a cheering crowd.”

“You liked the ego boost?” I asked, teasing lightly.

“Maybe a little,” he said, a tiny smile crossing his face. Then it faded, his lips dipping into a frown. He tilted the mirror back and forth again.

“Do you miss it?” I asked.

“Sometimes.” His dark eyes glimmered, pain flitting across his face as he clenched the steering wheel again. “But it’s doesn’t matter. I’m done with that part of my life.”

“Do you ever think about going back?” I asked quietly.

He waited a beat, making me wonder whether he’d heard the question, or whether he was simply not going to respond. Then he answered softly.

“All the time.”

Eighteen

After Connor’s quiet confession,we settled into a melancholy sort of silence. He stopped his tapping against the steering wheel and I stopped fiddling with the seatbelt.

“You want to go over that media list again?” I finally asked.

“Sure,” Connor said, sounding grateful that I’d spoken up.

We went over the list of bloggers and journalists, looking at their previous work, deciding who to invite to cover the grand opening. Connor’s tight grip on the steering wheel eased, his tense shoulders dropping down from where they’d been hunched up around his ears.

As much as I had resisted taking this road trip with him in the same car, I had to admit we were getting a lot of work done. The business trip had been a success.

It had also caused a whole host of complications to go along with that success.

His hair was still tousled from when he’d run his hand through it — not that it was ever really tamed. Strands fell down over his forehead, framing his handsome face and jaw. I couldn’t help but remember what it had felt like to have that face, that mouth, so close to mine, close enough to taste.

The one eye I could see from Connor’s side profile was dark and serious as he nodded along to my suggestions and inserted a few of his own. That gaze had looked at my naked body in near worship. He’d stared into my eyes and I’d fallen into his, allowing myself to be submerged into that infinite darkness.

“Something wrong?” Connor asked.

I’d stopping speaking, lost in the memories of our night together.

“Just thinking.” I looked back down at the blogger list, tracing my finger down the paper to where we’d left off.

“You might as well put that away,” Connor said. “We’re almost home.”