Page 14 of Wild Infatuation (Rebel Rockstars #3)

Chapter Fourteen

Terrance

WHEN I DON’T HEAR anything from Shawn after the photoshoot, I figure that’s the end of it. His need for discretion is greater than his desire to see me again.

So when I get a text from an unknown number one day, my heart hammers in my ears.

Hair needs a trim if you’re available tonight.

An address follows. His address. I don’t need to look it up to know.

Nor do I need to see him to know his hair is perfectly fine.

He still doesn’t entirely trust me, but he trusts me enough to invite me over, and that’s good enough.

I can show him over time that I won’t break his trust, that he can rely on my discretion, that whatever happens between us will remain a secret if that’s what he wants.

I tell him I can swing by after work, but give myself a couple hours’ worth of buffer.

I’m not going to his place at any less than my best. The moment my last appointment is over, I fly home and leap into my shower, stressing over doing my hair, shaving the stubble on my cheeks, choosing clean jeans and the nicest shirt I have that isn’t trying too hard.

I find a button down that fits me just right and roll the sleeves up to my elbows, trying to make it look like I wore this for work.

I even throw on a faint trace of cologne before rushing back to my car to battle the traffic heading south toward the city.

I check the directions more than once on the way there, but the GPS assures me I’m really, truly on my way to Shawn’s apartment, his apartment that he invited me to.

It doesn’t feel real, especially when I put in the code Shawn gave me and pull into a gated garage in order to claim one of the “guest” spots.

I have to punch in his apartment number to summon the elevator, and I’m a little surprised when it works.

I keep expecting this to be some kind of elaborate joke, yet the elevator carries me up and up …

and up, all the way to the top of a tall tower in downtown Seattle.

When it lets me off, I text “here” and head toward the correct door in the silent, sparse hallway.

There are clearly far fewer apartments on this level because they’re larger and unfathomably expensive for the average person.

Shawn isn’t the average person, however.

He’s a rockstar, a legitimate, famous rockstar, and he invited me over here for something I suspect won’t be a haircut.

He confirms my hunch when he opens the door and pulls me inside without saying a word about my missing beauty kit.

I didn’t even consider bringing it, sure it would prove useless, and Shawn solidifies this suspicion with the firm grip he keeps on my arm as he throws the door shut. He lets go of me to lock it.

His trepidation is clear when he faces me.

We stand in the hall that leads from the door through the apartment.

If it weren’t for the elevator ride, I would think I was in a house.

The hall is the kind I’d expect in a normal home, with doors on either side and pictures on the walls.

The warm tan walls give way to a sunny room that I suspect is a living room.

Shawn seems to collect himself as I blink at him in the hall.

“Do you want … water or something?” he says haltingly.

“No.”

“Okay. Um…”

I always thought rockstars would be smoother. I figured they’d know how to deal with this kind of situation, but as Shawn shifts from foot to foot, it’s me who reaches out and takes him by the hand.

“Why don’t you give me a tour?”

I don’t actually care what his apartment looks like, but it’s the easiest way to get him moving, the default ice breaker when you show up at someone’s house like this. I’m both younger than Shawn and, obviously, far less famous, but even I know that much.

Shawn accepts, pulling me along. He takes me down the hall, but doesn’t think to mention the pictures on his walls. I catch a quick glance. No family. Just posters from concerts. One frame contains old concert tickets. There isn’t a single photo of a human though. Weird.

We emerge from the hall, and I learn my guess was correct.

It is a living room waiting for us at the end, though it’s just about the biggest living room I’ve ever seen.

The walls are a bright, shocking red decorated with more music posters.

A guitar hangs high over a flat-screen television, but even the black leather couches pale in comparison to the huge balcony revealed by massive windows.

The glass towers far taller than me, allowing a panoramic view of the city.

Shawn stumbles when I stop, but I can’t help it. I gape unabashedly at the city slowly lighting up far beneath me as the sun melts into the horizon.

“This place is gorgeous,” I say.

Shawn rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Sometimes I forget. Can’t believe I’ve gotten used to a thing like that already.”

I tear my eyes from the huge windows to find Shawn studying his feet.

“Well, it’s only normal, right?” I say. “You’re a rockstar. You should be used to stuff like this.”

He shakes his head. “It’s only been a year or so, but already everything is different. I shouldn’t be used to it, but I haven’t had time to stop and wonder how this became my life.”

He confesses quietly, still not looking at me. I suppose he’s right, though. It was only a year or so ago that I was watching him play in little dive bars. I don’t know where he lived back then, but I’m sure it was nothing like this.

“Hey, you worked hard,” I say. “You earned all this.”

Finally, he meets my eyes. “All I do is play a guitar. What’s so special about that?”

“It’s special when you do it.”

He snorts at the corny line, but he doesn’t argue. “Listen, I’m no good at this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not asking you to be good at it. I’m just happy you reached out.”

He regards me as though weighing the truth of that statement.

“Do you want to…” He waves vaguely, and I spot a spiraling staircase behind him.

It leads up to a massive loft that I assume serves as an open bedroom.

It looks incredibly stylish and impressive, though it would make hosting a friend or family member a bit awkward.

That’s not something I’ll ever have to worry about, though. All that matters to me is that he invited me into his bed, and he’s waiting for me to say yes.

“Yeah,” I say, “I’d love to.”

I offer a smile, hoping to dispel some of his nervous energy.

Surely he’s brought guys back to his place before, guys way more famous and interesting and hot than me.

Yet his slight scowl doesn’t change as he nods and leads me toward the spiraling stairway.

Our feet clang loudly on the steps, my heart beating harder as we ascend to the loft.

It’s way better than any loft I’ve ever seen. My whole apartment could fit up here, but all Shawn has is a massive bed and a guitar on a stand. There’s also a nightstand and dresser, clothes spilling out of the drawers. The window up here offers a view nearly as stunning as the one downstairs.

“Wow,” I breathe.

Shawn turns, facing me, pulling me toward him, ignoring the beauty all around him to stare at me instead.

He’s bolder up here, in a space with more human touches than that cavernous living room.

When he draws me close, one hand goes to my waist, the other cupping my face.

A flicker of the wild passion we unleashed in that wardrobe trailer flares in his eyes.

“I’m glad you came here,” he says.

Right, as though I’m the one doing him a favor. It’s absurd, yet the dark eyes gazing into mine hold a bright edge of uncertainty.

I act, bolder than I’ve been in my entire life, but I can’t stand anymore deliberation about something we both clearly want. I throw my arms around his neck, yanking him against me so I can taste the lips that seared mine on the set of that music video.

They’re just as hot and passionate as I remember.

I whimper against them, prying them open with my tongue so I can taste him more deeply.

I don’t understand how he can be so assertive on a photoshoot set and so timid at home, but maybe it was something about the urgency of the moment, the pressure of a time limit.

Here, we can explore as long as we like, and there’s no chance of anyone interrupting, yet somehow that scares him more.

Despite his wavering, his hand tightens on my waist. The other hand joins it on the other side so he can pull me against him, our hips meeting.

I shift, letting him feel my excitement, shameless about how quickly I’m ready for him.

I’ve waited years for this moment, whether it took place in a beautiful, expensive penthouse or a dressing room or the back of one of those dive bars.

It never mattered to me. I wanted him the moment I first saw him play, and that has never changed.

My head is light when he breaks free of my mouth.

I waver, but his hands are still on me, dragging me with him as he walks backward toward his huge bed.

The black comforter seems a bit impractical, but he throws it aside to reveal normal gray sheets beneath.

He releases me to reach in his nightstand, probably for lube, since we tragically lacked it last time, and I shoot my boldest shot yet.

“If you have a condom, you might want to … to grab that as well.”

He straightens up, cocking an eyebrow as the implications tremble between us.

“If that’s what you want…” he says carefully.

I nod vigorously. “It is.”

I’ve probably never wanted anything so much in my life, but I know it’s a big swing with a guy I’m seeing totally on a whim and in secret.