“I wanted to know if your skin was as soft as it looked since the first night we met.”
“Is it?” she asked, whispering.
“No,” I answered. “It’s softer.” I took a step closer.
Her eyes widened again before she blinked and shook her head. “No.” She pressed a palm against my abdomen, pushing me away.
The shove wasn’t harsh, but I took a step back.
“I am not in Harlington for any unnecessary entanglements.” She took another sidestep and held up her finger when I started to move closer. “No. I’m solely here to write. That’s it.” She pivoted on her heels and headed for her car.
“I’ll follow you home,” I said from the driver’s side of my car.
She paused, and the overhead lighting in the parking lot afforded me the chance to see the wrinkle in her brow.
“To make sure you get in okay,” I said. “These roads get dark as hell at night.”
I held up a hand. “There’s no talking me out of this. Either you allow me to follow, or I’ll put your ass back in my car and drive you home myself. What’s your choice? Option A or option B?”
I waited for it to sink in that I wasn’t budging on the matter. She was new to town and not used to the sometimes winding roads. It was dark. Who knew if a stray deer or another animal could run into the street?
“Fine,” she relented before getting in her car and slamming the door shut.
I let out a laugh as I got in my vehicle. This was bound to be a fun ride.
Chapter 8
Lena
Two days after that dinner out with Micah, Jodi, and Gabe, I laid on the couch in my living room, staring at the ceiling.
Nothing was happening in my head. Absolutely nothing. That’s not entirely true. There was plenty happening up there, just not what I wanted.
I tossed one of the fluffy, gold and white decorative pillows in the air and caught it, ignoring the balls of crumpled papers scattered around me and on the floor. Even after closing in on three weeks in Harlington, not one single line of a song had come to me.
What had come to me, unfortunately, were thoughts of Gabriel Townsend. They’d bombarded my every waking thought since the night the four of us went out to dinner. The man had a way about him. I didn’t like it.
His words about wanting to know how soft my skin was ran on a loop in my head. I’d come damned close to inviting him to feel the skin hidden beneath my clothes, to see if it was just as soft as the skin of my neck.
A gush of air escaped my lips on a sigh when I thought about the way his finger trailed across my collarbone. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to remember if I’d ever felt that sort of rush of energy when Nate and I began dating.
I’d been a young twenty year old when we first dated. After four years in the business and a breakup with my first real boyfriend, I thought I knew what love was when Nate and I got together. He was fun. He talked big about taking over the world and taking me with him.
I couldn’t lie and say Nate hadn’t done anything for my career. Once he became my manager, my career picked up. Which was why I thought signing with his label was the intelligent thing to do.
All these years later, I wished I could go back in time and talk myself out of signing that contract. Now I was stuck. The one thing that would release me from the agreement was the one thing I couldn’t do.
Write a damn album.
“What?” I yelled when my thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.
I tossed the pillow down on the couch and sat up. A few more of the balls of paper tumbled to the floor. I kicked them out of my way as I padded barefoot toward the door, expecting the knock to be a box of my favorite toiletries that I’d ordered.
With a yank, I pulled the door open and stumbled back a couple of steps. “Gabriel.”
My voice sounded strangely high-pitched. Suddenly, I had the notion of running my hands down my wrinkled T-shirt to smooth it out and to fix my hair, but I didn’t.
With my hand still wrapped around the door handle, I asked, “What’s up?”
