Paige opened it and he relaxed. She smiled at him as he walked in, and he stopped and kissed her—not their usual over-the-top, frantic kisses, but a soft one that lingered a little. She had amazing lips and that simple act put him back on even ground.
Stepping around him, Paige led the way to the kitchen, where she had the table set and ready for the food. She was dressed casually—barefoot and in cropped yoga pants with a plain white T-shirt—and though they clung to her and showed all of her amazing curves, he found he missed the sight of her in her skirt and boots. “How did the studio work go today? Did you work on anything good?”
As they worked together to serve up the takeout, Dylan talked about the different songs he’d played on and how he’d gotten a couple of hours to himself in a studio to lay down some tracks he was hoping to use with Shaughnessy.
“Do you guys have a timeline for when you’re going to get back in the studio?”
“Not yet,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t want to nag everyone. I know it’s going to be at least another couple of months until Matt’s ready. He wants to be close to home and ready to travel with Vivienne to all her gallery shows.”
“That’s so sweet,” Paige said with a wistfulness he’d never heard in her voice before. He was going to question it, but she spoke up first. “And all her shows are on the East Coast, right?”
He nodded. “So let’s say, in my mind, it’s going to be three months for him to be ready. Then we’ll be dealing with Riley and Savannah and them expecting a baby. The studio is close to home for him, but he’s not going to be as focused with that going on. So we’ll add another couple of months to that.”
“Realistically, it could be at least six months before you guys even start,” she said, reading his thoughts. “Wow. That is a long time. Will studio work be enough for you in the meantime? I mean, creatively?”
He shrugged and realized he liked this—liked how she took an interest in his music and that they could talk about it.
Just like Julian and Dena…
Okay, that wasn’t something he wanted to deal with or even think about. Paige was nothing like Dena. This relationship wasn’t batshit crazy like Julian and Dena’s.
Paige’s hand touched his, and he looked up to see concern on her face. “Are you all right?”
“Um…yeah. Why?”
“You got this weird look on your face, like you were going to be sick.”
Shaking his head to clear it, he replied, “No. No, I’m good. Sorry.” He took a bite of one of the dumplings on his plate. “So, yeah. Waiting is going to suck, no doubt. But I’m hoping during that time we’ll all manage to get together and talk and jam and plan, so that when we do get into the studio, we’ll be so prepared that it will be a no-brainer.”
“Is that even possible?” she asked, nibbling on her own dumpling.
“Yeah, definitely. Our third album was like that. We had been touring for so long and working things out on the road that when we finally got home and into the studio, we were able to lay everything down in ten days. We were pumped and knew exactly what everything was going to sound like, and we got it done.”
“That sounds awesome.”
“It was.”
She studied him. “But…?”
He laughed softly—she knew him well. “But…I love the time in the studio. Sometimes working stuff through is amazing because you end up with so much more—more music, more ideas. I love when we have to talk it out and try new stuff. If we go in with everything done in our minds, it’s just…”
“I get it. You like putting the puzzle together with them,” she said simply.
Yeah, she got him.
And damn if that wasn’t a turn-on in and of itself.
“Exactly.”
They talked about music while they ate and how he’d like to see the next Shaughnessy album go, and she asked all the right questions and seemed so genuinely interested that he had to ask: “You’re not looking into doing anything in the music business, are you?”
She looked at him quizzically. “Like what?”
“Like…making a record yourself or anything like that, right?”
She laughed out loud—actually snorted at one point—before she put down her fork and looked at him. “Are you out of your mind?” she asked around another round of laughter. “You’ve heard me sing, right?”
He had, and now he laughed with her. “You’re right, you’re right. Sorry.”
Paige was still chuckling as she picked up her drink and asked him, “Why would you even ask such a thing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Tonight you had a lot of questions about the music and the process, and well…it seemed like you were a lot more interested than usual.”
“Dylan, I’m interested because it’s what you do for a living. I’m curious. I want to know what you do and understand it so we can talk about it and so I don’t sound like an idiot when we do.”
And that was so like Paige—considerate in everything she did. He didn’t deserve her—he knew that.
“You do the same with me,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
“I do?”
She nodded. “Those first two weeks of us working together? You asked me, like, a million questions!” Smiling, she reached out and caressed his cheek before going on. “At first I thought you were being annoying, but then I realized that’s how you are—you like to figure out how things work. It’s probably why you’re the way you are about time in the studio. You like the whole learning process and I think it’s really cool.”
All Dylan could do was blink at her because she put it all in a way that completely made sense to him and managed to make him feel…worthy. He wasn’t a selfish prick. He was someone who put in an effort, just not in the way most people did. And what was wrong with that? Nothing.
Suddenly he felt lighter, happier than he thought possible. This could all work! He and Paige? They could work because…they already were. That wasn’t to say there weren’t going to be times when they’d get pissy with each other or fight, but they’d done that already too and look at them—here they were, having dinner and talking and wanting to learn more about each other.
Pretty. Freaking. Cool.
“Are you okay?” she asked for the second time in a matter of minutes.
Reaching for her hand, Dylan took it in his and brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Yeah. I’m good.”
And he really was.
* * *
For the life of her, Paige didn’t know what had suddenly changed with Dylan, but things were definitely different.
Better.
At some point over dinner, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Things had been a little strained between them as of late, and she knew part of it was due to their different schedules and pressure from her job, but whatever it was that happened, she was enjoying the benefits of it.
They were cleaning up the dinner dishes and he was touching her and kissing her every time he got near her. It was sweet and playful and so much everything she loved about him.
A small gasp escaped and she froze in her tracks.
She loved him.
She absolutely loved him.
Swallowing hard, she looked over her shoulder to where he was standing and putting the leftover Chinese food away in the refrigerator, and her heart began to race.
This tattooed, dirty-talking bass player—the kind of man she never in a million years thought she’d find attractive—was the sexiest, most caring and considerate man she’d ever known. He understood her, he challenged her, and he made her want to go out and…and do things! Lately, she was so dissatisfied with her life—the life she’d chosen for so darn long. He’d taken her out to new restaurants and concerts and clubs, and it was obvious she had been living such a boring, sheltered, and structured life before he came along.
> And while she knew they never talked about it, the original plan was for them to be a couple until the end of the campaign. But she knew this was never about appearances for the press for her. It was always about how she felt.
“Dylan?” she asked cautiously and waited for him to shut the refrigerator door and turn around. He smiled at her and everything in her melted like it always did. “Do you remember the day I came to your hotel room?”
His smile fell a little as he thought about her words. “Which one?”
“Not the night of the gala but the next time,” she said slowly, cautiously.
And his smile was back. “Hell yeah. That particular visit is burned into my brain.”
With a soft laugh, she took a step toward him. “You know…” She paused and cleared her throat. “You know it had nothing to do with the press and the tabloids, right?”
Dylan’s head tilted ever so slightly as he studied her. “Of course I know that. Why? What’s this about?”
Taking another step toward him, Paige focused on looking at her feet rather than him because…well…she wasn’t sure how he was going to react to her little epiphany.
“It occurred to me that we got thrown into a situation together under one set of rules, so to speak, and then things…changed.”
Dylan stayed where he was and waited for her to look at him before he spoke. “Right…”
“And I was standing here thinking about all the things we’ve been doing together and how much I enjoy our time together, and now that the campaign is almost over…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was wondering if this was all going to stop.”
Now his expression was like stone. She couldn’t read him, and one of the things she had learned about him since they’d become involved was how she could always tell what he was thinking.
“Do you want it to stop?” he asked, and his voice was borderline fierce.
She took a steadying breath and let it out as she shook her head. “No. No, I don’t want it to stop. But—”
He closed the distance between them. “Enough,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “Don’t say another word. There is no but. I’m here with you, Paige, because I want to be. This was never about the press. I know it was the push that put us both…here,” he added, pulling her in until her breasts were pressed firmly against his chest, “but I think we would have gotten here on our own eventually.”
Tears stung in her eyes as she nodded. “I’d like to think that too.”
“It’s true.” Caressing her cheek, his dark eyes scanned her face. “I’ll admit that I didn’t like you being assigned to babysit me in the beginning, but you never made it feel that way. You were the first person in a long time to treat me like me—Dylan—and not a celebrity. I enjoyed our talks and watching you work and…just being with you.”
“I feel the same way. I hate how I was such a snob to you in the beginning.”
“Well, to be fair, most people act that way when they first meet me. I’m the poster boy for bad behavior. You were seriously the first person in my career to see past the tattoos and the attitude and the reputation to see me.”
It was impossible to hide how pleased she was; her smile couldn’t be contained. “I like who you are, Dylan. I like how you make me stop taking myself so seriously and step away from my job and go out and experience new things.”
“So it sounds to me that we like each other,” he said softly.
“Yes, it does.”
Paige was certain he was going to kiss her, that he was going to dip his head and give her the kind of kiss that made her knees weak and her heart race.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he caressed her cheeks one more time before wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.
And that’s when she knew it was more than just like for him too. As much as she wanted to scream out that she loved him, she didn’t. This moment was so good, so perfect, she didn’t want to change a thing.
When he stepped back a few minutes later, Paige looked around the kitchen and saw everything was clean and put away. Taking one of Dylan’s hands in hers, she led him straight to her bedroom.
They walked slowly and silently. Next to her bed, she turned and slid her hands under Dylan’s T-shirt and lifted it up. He took over and pulled it over his head. The sight of his tattoos did it for her every time—she loved to look at them, to touch them, to kiss them. And she knew he loved it when she did because every touch of her lips and hand had his breath going ragged.
One of his hands anchored in her hair and gripped it—not too hard, but with enough pressure that she knew he wanted her to keep doing what she was doing.
So many times they rushed this part—the exploring and the touching—but tonight, she wanted to take her time.
And hoped he’d want to do the same with her.
Her hands caressed his warm skin. Her lips kissed and explored all his ink. Her senses were on overload as she inhaled his clean scent. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t perfect to her.
“Paige?”
“Hmm?”
“I want to touch you.”
“I want that too.” Their words were like breathless whispers. “But I’m enjoying touching you too much to move right now.”
Dylan reached out and stilled her hands, and Paige looked up at him. “How about we crawl onto that bed two feet away and touch each other?”
Her lips curved up in a sexy grin. “I do like the sound of that.”
Before she could move, he reached down, grasped the hem of her shirt, and pulled it up and over her head, exposing the white lace bra. She held her breath as she waited for him to touch her, to cup her breasts with those magnificent hands.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he slid his hands into the waistband of her yoga pants and slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them and loved the look on his face when he saw the matching white thong she was wearing.
He muttered a curse before saying, “Get on the bed.” She took one step back toward it when he stopped her. “Uh-uh. I want you to crawl on the bed. I need to watch that sexy ass as you do it.”
Oh. My. Dirty talk was also something she didn’t know she loved until Dylan.
Turning, she did as she was told. Her moves were slow and deliberate, and she was rewarded with a growl from Dylan.
“You are such a good girl, listening to me like that,” he said gruffly.
She was on all fours in the middle of the bed when she turned and looked at him over her shoulder. “Should I lie down now?”
He was kicking off his shoes and unzipping his jeans as he said, “Fuck yeah.”
Dylan’s eyes never left hers as she stretched out on her back and waited for him. “Promise me something,” she whispered.
“Anything.”
“Promise you’re going to touch me now. That you’ll do it with your hands and your mouth.”
His boxer briefs hit the floor and he climbed on the bed, stretching out beside her. “Baby, I’m going to do all that and so much more.”
And he was true to his word.
For the rest of the night.
* * *
The next morning, Paige was getting ready for work as Dylan lay in bed watching her.
Something had changed last night. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there had been a point when he simply knew he didn’t want to leave and go back to his hotel alone. So here he was, in her bed, watching her scramble around the room. It was a favorite pastime of his—watching her. She was efficient in everything she did, but watching her get ready in the mornings was completely different.
For starters, it was a complete transformation—she went from soft and sleepy to composed businesswoman in thirty minutes.
It normally took him that long to get out of the bed.
It never did.
Once her outfit was picked, she’d slip on her underwear.
She could rival an entire Victoria’s Secret store with the selection she had. They’d been sleeping together for almost two months and he couldn’t remember seeing the same selection twice.
It was a complete turn-on.
Then, in nothing but a bra and panties and her hair wrapped up in a towel, she’d put on her makeup.
So. Damn. Sexy.
She’d be on her tiptoes to get closer to the vanity mirror as she put on mascara and then step back and study herself before going on to the next task. Hair. He remembered the exact day she stopped pulling it back in clips and combs and bands and let it hang loose and wavy. He loved her hair and watching her dry it was far more erotic than it should have been—mainly because she spent a lot of time bent over to dry the layers, so he was either getting a fantastic view of her ass or her cleavage.
Yeah, he made sure he was positioned perfectly on the bed to see it all.
And he had a feeling that Paige left the door open for his entertainment.
She was so perfect it was almost like it was too good to be true.
As if reading his mind, she turned and looked at him. Today’s lingerie was a deep shade of purple. The bra was sheer and the panties were too. Sitting up, he gave her a sexy leer. “How about going in late today?”
With a smile, she walked across the room to her closet and then… Holy hell. She bent over and slipped on a pair of stilettos. Dylan almost swallowed his tongue.
“Where…? When…?” he stammered. “Baby, why are you torturing me so early in the morning?”
“It’s almost nine and I didn’t think this was torture,” she replied, but he knew that tone. She was teasing him and loving it. Standing there in sheer lingerie and heels? Who was this vixen?
“Please, you’re almost preening over there. So what gives? Why the shoes?”
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