Page 67 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

My pulse jumps. Because of the almost falling. Obviously.

I look up, startled, and realize just how close he is. Close enough that the room blurs a little around the edges. Close enough that I catch the clean citrus of him under beer and old wood and the press of his body angled protectively between me and the worst of the crowd.

My hand is still in his.

His hand is still at my waist.

And for one absolutely deranged second, neither of us moves.

TWELVE

Gabe

The bar settles. The music has drawn a line through the noise and everything on either side of it has fallen away.

Julian has the room easily, as always. He leans into the next performance without ever seeming to push, letting people come to him instead of chasing them. It’s a skill that looks careless until you understand how precise it actually is.

Xander is the opposite. There’s nothing casual about him tonight.

He stands at the mic and I can see the song is a tune he’s pulling out of himself by force, voice rough and controlled in a way that suggests it could slip if he let it because it’s been too long.

He doesn’t look at the crowd. He doesn’t need to. The room adjusts to him anyway.

I’ve seen this before.

Built strategies around it. Negotiated contracts off the back of it. Watched entire rooms reorient themselves around the two of them without understanding why.

But that’s not where my attention stays.

It keeps drifting back to Willow.

She’s forgotten herself.

Not completely, not in a way she’d ever allow if she were aware of it, but enough that the edges have softened. The sarcasm isn’t there. The resistance isn’t front and center. She’s just watching.

And reacting.

Her hand is still in mine.

I don’t remember deciding to keep it there.

I’m aware of it now, though. The warmth of her palm, the way her fingers tighten during the chorus. The music caught her off guard, and she doesn’t know what to do with the reaction except hold on.

To me.

I shift my focus back to the stage, but it doesn’t hold. Not fully. Not when she’s this close, when I can feel the heat of her beside me, when I catch the faint scent of vanilla and coffee every time she moves.

It’s distracting in a way I don’t tolerate. I don’t let things distract me.

And yet…

She glances toward me for half a second, about to speak, then doesn’t. The moment passes, but it leaves a weirdness behind.

Because now I’m thinking about it.

About her.

About the fact that Xander took her out and hasn’t stopped watching her since.