“Like the Disney theme song or…” her face went from tired to amused, “…like, Under the Sea… Disney?”
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you!” I yelled while she fell over onto the mattress laughing.
“No, no, no, it’s adorable.”
“Great, just what a guy wants to hear from one of the sexiest actresses on the planet, gee you’re cute.”
“You are cute.” She wrapped her arms around my neck then brushed her mouth across my lips. “Should we go on a magic carpet ride?”
Before I could protest, she ran out of the room, only to run back in with a huge fluffy towel, she spread it across the bed, hopped on and started belting, “I could show you the world! Shining, shimmering—”
It became a tradition before we fell asleep.
Sometimes the songs changed.
Sometimes we sang them over the phone.
And when my mom died, and she was the only one singing — it was the only thing that helped keep me sane.
I shoved the memory back where it belonged.
“Come on, I’ll sing the girl part.” Ang’s voice transported me back to the present as she pulled me into bed and tucked the blankets over both of our bodies. She faced me. I scooted my arm underneath the pillow and sighed as she closed her. With a yawn, she started quietly singing. “I can show you the world…”
I didn’t say anything.
She opened one eye then two. “Will, it’s not my verse.”
“I should go.”
“All right,” She pulled back the covers.
I should walk the hell out of that room and not look back.
But I was suddenly cold.
And apparently paralyzed.
“Shining,” I sang in what fans dubbed a voice made for sex. “Shimmering… splendid.”
She sighed.
I closed my eyes.
And held my breath as she sang the next part.
And then it was my turn again.
And before I knew it.
I was asleep.
HOT ARMS WRAPPED around me, lips pressed against my neck, I jerked awake with Angelica’s legs somehow pretzeled between mine, her mouth on my neck, her breathing heavy.
I was so hot it was hard to breathe.
And then I had another problem.
I felt her.
Everywhere.
And though time had changed everything about us, our relationship, the way we both chose to deal with the pressure of fame — one thing remained the same.
Angelica Greene’s body was made for mine.
How could I forget? The way she fit around me like the missing piece I never knew how to mourn once it was jerked away from me.
Just as I was about to gently wake her up, her head moved, and then she blinked up at me, a dreamy smile flashed across her lips followed by sheer panic.
I barely managed to cover my balls before her knee came flying up at breakneck speed, sending her backward off the bed. “Ouch!”
“Do you always wake up so aggressively? Is this a new habit?” I rasped.
“I um…” She jumped to her feet, grabbed her cell phone, made a noise, and ran into the bathroom slamming the door behind her.
Two minutes later, she was back in the room throwing a ball cap on her head. She dipped down and peered under the bed, muttering something about flip-flops. Frowning, she stood and performed a slow spin, her gaze scanning the room.
“Need help?” I yawned.
“Now you offer to help?” She kicked one of her duffel bags open. “Ah hah!”
“What? Find drugs?”
Shit. Did I really have no filter anymore?
“Close.” Her voice had an edge to it. “I found my favorite pair of underwear.”
They went flying toward my face.
I caught the lacy thong with one hand and nearly punched myself with the other even though it itched to reach for her, or my own aching body whatever I could reach the quickest.
“Gotta run.” She snatched up a pair of sneakers from next to the dresser bolted out the door carrying them.
“Ang, wait—”
She paused, bottle of ready mixed protein in hand.
“I can drive you.”
“I’ll walk.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Should work off the drugs, right?”
The door slammed behind her.
And I felt hungover.
Even though, I hadn’t had any alcohol the night before.
What I’d had was harder stuff.
I’d had her body.
Better than any drug.
Not that I would know.
A few minutes went by, ones where I refused to think about the hurtful way I’d snapped at her and the reasons behind it, and just basked in her scent like a lunatic.
It was the first time since taking her on as a client that she gave me a brief glimpse into her old self — the pieces I’d fallen for.
If all it took was a glimpse, I was completely screwed if she did anything more, because already I was finding it hard to leave her bed, her room.