Steal(Seaside Pictures Book 3)(23)

His eyebrows shot up, “Easy there with your comebacks, Ang.” He leaned forward, “Is that the best you can do? Because I sure as hell have heard a lot worse.”

I gulped, he was too close again, so close I could smell his aftershave, he’d changed it, just like he’d somehow changed his brain and turned into this crazy responsible man I didn’t even recognize anymore. This guy, this was the guy that used to order every item on the dessert menu for room service and ask for a tub of cherries so he could take a bubble bath with them.

He pranked his tour bus driver on a daily basis.

And when I asked him what he was going to do after singing, his only serious response was that he wanted to go on an African Safari or become a lion tamer.

Always kidding.

Never serious.

Did he not do in between? Was it always black and white?

“You know what?” I backed up. “It’s been a long night. And I don’t want to waste what precious hours I have left to sleep, trying to come up with a better insult when all you have to do is look in a mirror to realize who you’ve turned into.”

His eyes darkened. “Oh yeah, and who’s that?”

I sidestepped him, then stood up on my tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “Your father.”

It was his weakness.

It was his greatest fear.

It was his reality.

He sucked in a breath. “Bullshit, I’m nothing like him.”

“Hey, Will, maybe you should get some penny loafers tomorrow, might be more comfortable if your hip’s giving you trouble.”

I closed the door behind me amidst his cursing and ran to my room.

He didn’t follow.

Not right away.

I exhaled in relief and quickly changed into my pajamas then turned off my light and crawled into bed.

It took seconds for my eyelids to get heavy.

And when my body finally followed suit, the bed dipped under the weight of whoever was brave enough to interrupt my sleep.

“Are you saying that to piss me off or is it true?” Will’s gruff voice was so not what I needed right before my brain dreamed.

“Will!” I groaned and punched my pillow with my right hand, “You know I don’t do well with no sleep, and I’m already sucking bad enough as it is.”

“You don’t suck. You’ve never sucked a day in your life.”

I grinned up at him.

His stone-cold face sobered and then he cracked a smile. “I see someone still has a dirty mind.”

“I was talking about sucking oyster shooters.”

His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”

“Do dads still cuss? Shouldn’t you be saying something like, dag nabit or—”

He covered my mouth with his hand. “I’m not my father. My father’s…” He flinched, “He’s… in his seventies, he golfs on the weekends and eats the early bird special because it’s cheap even though he has enough money to do whatever the hell he wants. He goes to church every Sunday, never has a hair out of place, and told me I was going to hell for stripping on stage.”

It was my turn to flinch. “That was a good night.”

“Someone dared me.”

“You didn’t have to do it.”

“Yeah well, the crowd loved it, and I knew it would piss him off.” His hand fell at his side. “I’m not him.”

“Whatever you say, William.”

He groaned and leaned over me. “Keep insulting me and I’ll do a body cavity search…”

“You promise?” It was out before I could rein it back in.

His eyes flashed.

I gulped.

And then he was pulling away again, the intensity in his eyes faded right along with the sexually charged moment that had me itching beneath the suddenly too hot sheets. “Get some sleep, Ang.”

I yawned, “Good talk, Dad.”

He tossed a pillow at my face. Then, in a moment of what I’m assuming was either drunkenness or pure insanity, he leaned over my body and kissed my forehead. “Well, if the shoe fits.”

I held my breath, stunned, unsure of what it meant. Was he teasing me? Baiting me? Or just torturing me with his touch?

One thing was for damn sure.

When Will closed his bedroom door, sleep was the last thing on my mind.

Him stripping on stage took up all my thoughts, but the cherry on top was the feel of his soft lips against my forehead and the look in his eyes that matched it, the look that was more man than monster. More free than controlled.

More Will Sutherland than William.

More the guy I used to know.

Then the one currently possessing his boring yet hot as hell body.





SLEEP HAD ALWAYS been difficult for me. I wasn’t one of those guys who could just crash after a concert or a signing, I had to decompress, my mind was so aware of the constant conversations the chatter, the music, the noise — I had to just let my brain soak it all in, and sort it into the right places.