Since I know I won’t be able to fall back asleep unless I get up and close the blinds to darken the room, I decide it’s time to wake my Dirty Dancer. Did I say my? Sliding my fingers down his chest as it rises and falls with his shallow breathing, I trace every defined crease of his abs, sketching the line leading the way to his deep V.

Waking, he makes a pleasant noise in the back of his throat as he leans down and kisses the tip of my nose. I glance up at him and when our eyes meet he mutters, “Good morning,” while grinning his sexy crooked grin at me.

Raising myself up on one elbow, I continue to etch the deep lines of his muscles. With my fingertips heading back up toward his chest I whisper, “You were sleeping so soundly. Were you dreaming of rainbows and butterflies?”

Chuckling, he quickly untangles our bodies from the sheet and rolls me over onto my back. With him hovering over me, I stare into his eyes, now shining with need as he pins my arms to each side of my head and retorts, “I’ll give you butterflies!” Then driving me crazy, he glides his nose to my ear and whispers, “Can you wait a bit for your coffee?” And he proceeds to do just what he said he would do—give me butterflies.

Hanging up the phone with Aerie, I can hear River singing Beautiful Day in the shower. Having already showered, I’m working on the interview as I listen to him while smiling ear-to-ear. Hitting the send button in the email program on my portable notebook, and finally submitting the interview to Sound Music, I think how my dad would have really gotten along well with River.

Actually, I think my dad would have liked him a lot. River has the same taste in music as he did. He likes a lot of the same bands my dad used to like, and of course the same bands that I do, with the exception of Maroon 5. They have been one of my favorite bands for years. I wonder if it’s some kind of a band rivalry that makes River indifferent at the mention of Adam’s name, or just the fact that Maroon 5 is so mainstream. If the answer is the latter, River is very much like my father was. My dad always pushed for the underdog, supported all the Indie bands, and loved to watch them perform.

The only disagreement my dad and I ever had about music was concerning Top 40 songs. My dad disliked Top 40 music as did Ben, but I love it. Ben disliked it because he didn’t ever vary his choice of music. He listened to the same thing since high school. However, my dad disliked it because he didn’t like the commercialization of songs or bands that occurred with popularity. I’m not sure how River feels about Top 40, but from the songs I’ve seen on his playlists, I’d say he’s not a fan.

A thought makes me smile as I throw on my running clothes, having decided to make a quick trip down to the hotel boutique in search of some clean clothes to wear for the day. Grabbing my briefcase, I pull a sharpie marker out of it and pick my ripped white cotton panties up off the floor. Under the bow on the front of the panties I scribe the words, “You can push me up against a wall and do dirty things to me anytime.” Before laying the note at the foot of the bed, I pull out my girly pink lip-gloss, apply it heavily to my lips, and kiss the bottom of the note. Leaving a large pink pair of lips for my signature, and grabbing my now-charged phone, I finish the note by adding my cell number and head out the door.

Dashing into the boutique, I quickly purchase the outfit fitted on the mannequin, shoes and all as well as an extra pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Having selected some revealing undergarments including a pair of slinky black lace boy-shorts, a slinky black lace push up bra, garter belts, and thigh high hose, I change in the dressing room. My cell begins to ring as I reach for an elastic hairband in my purse. It is flashing blocked caller, so I decide against answering it and throw my hair into a messy bun. Applying a flick of powder and a touch of blush, I stop to look at myself. Wow, what a difference a few days can make. I stare at myself in the mirror, no longer wincing at what I see because what I see now, looking back at me, is sexy. Sure I’m still soft and boney with no br**sts so to speak, but none of that seems to matter to the adorably charming and attractive man waiting for me upstairs. Feeling very happy with my purchase of a short flared black skirt, a gray fitted off the shoulder sweater, and low-heeled, black studded ankle boots, I set off to get us some coffee and breakfast, feeling better about myself today than I have in a very long time.

Setting the coffees and scones down next to the door, I search for the room key I found in River’s wet jeans pocket before I left. Pulling it from the small purse crossed over my body, I unlock the door. As I open it I can hear chords of a guitar being played. Bending to pick up the coffees as I open the door, my mouth drops open and I almost dump the plastic lidded cups down the front of my new outfit.

There he sits in faded worn blue jeans, shirtless, his guitar on his lap. The hot Nevada sun streams through the open glass doors, highlighting the magnificently lean muscles of his perfect chest. He’s the epitome of sexiness. He glances up at me, and motions with his head for me to come sit next to him, but I stand there mesmerized by the view and the sound of the music. As I watch him play, my eyes dart to his nimble fingers picking the fret board on the neck of the guitar. His fingers flow with such ease and the sound they make is so mesmerizing. My eyes travel upward to the muscles in his forearm, flexing sexily with each move. Continuing my visual journey up his spectacular arms, I eventually land my gaze on his taut biceps, and then finally his adorably beautiful face so engrossed in the music.

His whole body seems to be moving to his own beat. His sculpted definition and full soft lips work together in one single beautiful rhythm. Obviously staring at him, I’m unashamed. I can’t help myself, but as soon as the words, “I want you to want me,” leave his lush mouth, I close my eyes and absorb his tone, his music, and join him in his own beat.

Opening my eyes when he stops singing the lyrics, I glance over at the couch. I see his Cheap Trick t-shirt lying on the back of it and smile. Now I know where he got the inspiration for the song he’s singing, or at least I think I know. As he continues to sing the chorus while strumming his guitar, my body comes alive. My cheeks blaze and my pulse quickens. Sauntering toward him, I bite my lip hard, and my heart skips a beat as I feel the need to kiss his songful lips, to touch his bare chest.

Raising his head, he scans my body. When his eyes reach my short flowing skirt, he immediately stops playing. We stare at each other, and he cocks his head to the side as he sets his guitar down. His eyes are simmering. The look on his face tells me everything he wants. He actually looks like he wants to devour me. His tongue slips slowly out of his mouth to lick his bottom lip and when he pulls it back in, ever so slowly, I nearly faint from the raw sex appeal of his simple non-verbal statement.

I’m a few steps away when he combs his fingers through his disheveled hair, leaving strands sticking up here and there.

Setting the coffees down, removing my purse, and placing the items on the coffee table, I straddle his lap. “Hey sexy.”

He kisses the very corner of my mouth as he runs his hands from my boots to the bottom of my skirt. “Hi yourself.”

Tangling my fingers through his wet hair, I tug on his bottom lip with my mouth. “I really like that song.”

My thighs tingle as his hands glide under my skirt, I know the moment he feels my new undergarments because his body stiffens, and he lets out a short gasp. “I really like your . . .skirt.”

Sucking in a deep breath through his teeth, his explores the soft skin between my garter and my exposed thigh. “Did you buy this just for me?” he murmurs against my lips as he runs his fingers up and down the straps of my garters.

Laughing against his mouth I answer, “Maybe . . .”

Caressing my tongue with his, tasting me completely, he pauses to mutter, “Then your leaving was worth it.”

Moving my hands to his chest and grinding into him a little I quip, “Glad you approve.”

Sliding his nose to my ear, he gently bites my earlobe before whispering, “I loved your note.”

I smirk at him as his lips crash to mine, and he runs his palms up my back.

As his fingers move to the knot in my hair, he pulls out my elastic tie. “I called you.”

Crushing my body against his, my hands wander down his bare skin, along the sides of his torso. “Oh, the blocked caller was you?”

Running his fingers down the slight curve of my br**sts and along each of my ribs, he says, “Let me see your phone.”

Not wanting to break our closeness, I say, “It’s behind me.”

“Can I see it?”

Twisting around, I reach for my purse and pull out my phone, fully exposing the top of one of my thighs.

“Fuck.” I hear him mutter as I turn back and say, “Here you go, sir,” with my southern belle accent. The one I find myself using every time he demands something or does something extremely charming. Odd. Not sure why I’m doing that.

Smirking at me, he takes my phone and taps on the screen before handing it back to me. “There you go, now you’ll know who I am when I call you,” he says with a wink.

“Do I get a picture?” I say, standing up to snap one before he answers.

Shaking his head at me with a ridiculously adorable grin on his face, he says, “My turn.” He gets up to retrieve his phone from the kitchen counter.

Holy shit! He has my lip-kissed underwear tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. Is he planning on keeping my panties as a souvenir? And that’s not all I notice. Walking his sway of a walk to the counter, I notice his jeans are a tad loose, exposing just a hint of the gift that lies beneath them. Of course he turns to see me gawking, but I just don’t care, as I stand there open-mouthed, gaping.

He grabs his phone and walks back to the couch. “Yeeesss . . .” he exaggerates while pulling up my skirt and running his phone up my leg.

I look at him quizzically, unable to comprehend anything right now until it clicks. “You are not taking a picture of my garter to store in your contact file,” I quip, pushing his hand away and lowering my skirt.

“What makes you think that’s what I was doing? But, thanks for the suggestion,” he chuckles while feigning innocence.

With a devilish look in his eyes, he raises an eyebrow and moves his phone to playfully finger the inside top of my hose and continues, “And besides, I thought you bought these for me?”

Nudging him in the shoulder, I retort, “Well, your mind seems to always move to the opposite end of the innocence spectrum.”

“Hmmm . . . really? I never noticed,” he says with a wicked grin. Setting his phone down, he picks mine back up. He checks out the picture I took of him before tapping the screen a few more times.

I watch him and remember that it wasn’t too long ago when I thought happiness was only for those who believed in fairytales, that my future held nothing but sadness and a stoic existence. Yet, in this moment, as he juggles our phones, I think my future is bright, and maybe it’s my time. Maybe it’s our time to begin a new chapter in our own fairytale.

So as River sets my phone back on the coffee table, he picks his up and turns to face me. “Smile, beautiful girl,” he says, and just like that, I melt at his heartfelt words; and for the first time in a long while, I feel hopeful.

Chapter Sixteen

SPEECHLESS

It feels like I’ve always known you

It’s like we’ve been together forever

I think the time apart was worth it

I’m falling head over heels for you

And you leave me speechless.

With the windows open, the sun is shining and the wind is blowing through my hair. The radio is on, but it’s not even loud enough for me to hear the song that’s playing. Even now, I can’t help but notice his extreme attractiveness. He is wearing his black leather jacket and Wayfarer sunglasses, and he looks incredibly hot. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this with the conversation we just had, but I can’t help myself. My mind is a jumble of thoughts that keep leading back to the man sitting next to me, and how he makes me feel.

His hands are gripping the perforated leather bands wrapped around the steering wheel. His hair is whimsically dancing around his face, just barely reaching past his ears. His lightly stubbled jaw is tightly clenched. Everything I see, everything about his body language, is giving me the indication of his emotional state right now; he seems uncertain, unaware of how to proceed, maybe even unsure of what to say.

We have been driving for slightly more than two hours. River just exited onto the I-10W merge, and we’re that much closer to LA. Looking at him now, even driving, he oozes confidence, and this confidence is just one of the many things that has enamored me. The more than sexy man, driving this sexy car has completely turned my world around in a matter of days. I’m hoping our recent conversation hasn’t put a kink in our connection.

Up until about twenty minutes ago we were talking non-stop since leaving Las Vegas. I found myself telling him things I’ve never shared with another living soul, not even Ben. He absorbed every word I spoke and actually wanted to hear more. I told him about my parents, what their hopes were for my future, about the dreams I once had for my own future, the ones that would have made my parents smile down on me from Heaven. I told him about my life when I was younger, the one when I had parents I loved and who loved me. I even shared with him how my parents died, which I rarely ever did. Something about him just makes me want to open up. It’s one of the many feelings I’m experiencing that I don’t understand.

He talked about his family. He has a brother, eighteen months older, and a sister, fifteen months younger. His father died when he was sixteen, but his mother is very much a part of his life. She has since remarried. His mother’s sister lives in Paris and has one child. He has never met his cousin. His maternal grandparents died before he was born, and his paternal grandparents died a couple of years ago. His father was an only child. He talked openly about his grandparents’ deaths, but he never mentioned how his father died and I didn’t ask. He was elusive about it, and I felt I shouldn’t ask. I respected his right to keep some things that are difficult to talk about private.