This wouldn’t do at all. In the middle of the afternoon, in my library, with children and my boss and reality all around me. I gave my boot an angry little stomp and stepped to the side. Ridiculous rock stars with their wicked fingers making the back of your knee feel sexy through a pair of leggings, I hated when that happened.
“Do you think it’s safe now?” he asked, giving me a crooked smile. Like a pirate from a swashbuckling romantic movie. My parents were in their 60s, so they liked classic films. I’d grown up on a steady diet of Erroll Flynn sailing through the air, brandishing a sword with his devil-may-care attitude. Maybe if I hadn’t I wouldn’t feel so swoony now.
I cleared my throat. “I think so.”
“Thanks for getting rid of them.”
“They have no business barging in here.” I meant my indignation. I had absolutely zero experience with paparazzi personally, but you heard stories. How they spied on celebrities from their trash bins and used telescopic lenses to capture their intimate moments. I liked celebrity gossip as much as the next person, but it got mean, those photos delighting in catching a starlet without make up looking tired, or an aging rock star with a paunch.
Not Ash Black, though. He had no paunch. Last photo I’d seen of him he’d had his shirt off, completely ripped and inked up like something out of a fantasy. But that hadn’t been the last time I’d seen something about him, had it? There’d been something about him in the headlines lately. What was it?
“Are you always so bossy? Or do you have a softer side?”
I shook my head, annoyed with the effect he had on me. Why did everything he said sound so sexy? How could his voice sound even more amazing in person, like a deep, sensual growl inviting you closer?
No wonder he had any woman he wanted. A notorious womanizer, I’d seen photos of Ash Black with countless gorgeous women. That was it! There was some new story out about him and some popstar. But I didn’t remember the details.
“Can you help?” a little girl asked me, holding a stack of books.
“Of course, honey.” Rounding the desk, I assisted her with checking out a few books. We had self-check stations all set up, but scanning bar codes didn’t always go as planned with five year olds.
Back on the other side, I have to admit my heart stopped as I caught full sight of Ash Black, sitting nonchalantly on the floor at my work station. All in black, a leather jacket across his broad shoulders, he stretched his long legs out like he didn’t have a care in the world. The brim of his cap accentuated his square jaw.
Celebrities usually looked way worse in person, that had been my experience. Living in New York, I’d run into my share. The women typically looked emaciated, and the men usually were tiny as well, except for their giant heads. Absolutely huge noggins.
But not Ash Black. He looked better in person, if that were even possible. All smoldering sex and sin, he had to be over six feet tall and looked broad and lean and strong. He crooked his head to the side and looked up at me.
“You had me at hello.”
“Oh my God.” I had to stifle a laugh. This was all so insane. I had the sexy lead singer of my favorite band literally at my feet quoting cheesy movie lines to me. Had I fallen and knocked my head? Maybe this was all some kind of dream sequence.
“Let’s go somewhere, you and me.” He continued, seeming to enjoy my laughter.
“What?” What was he talking about?
“Excuse me, where are the holiday books?” A woman came over and asked. Thankfully, she stayed on the other side of the desk, unable to see the insanity on my end.
“Right over there.” I pointed to the large, colorful display complete with the gigantic sign “Holiday Books.” I still had to answer the question about 20 times a day.
“I have to get you out of here.” I shook my head, looking down at the rock star at my feet. Another mob was sure to arrive any minute. And I couldn’t think straight near him, not at all. His lips looked way too full and delicious, yet still so masculine.
“That’s what I was saying.” He grinned up at me, all sinful mischief. “Let’s get out of here. Why don’t you ditch work and come with me?”
“Yeah.” I gave another dismissive laugh. He couldn’t be serious. “Come on, there’s a back exit. I can try to smuggle you out of here.”
Looking around, I assessed the danger. No sign of any cameras, no men lurking in trench coats. We had a clear line of sight to the Employees Only break room, which led to a hallway, which led to the way out. I extended my hand.
He reached out and took my hand in his. You know how in old-school romance novels, when the two main characters first touch there’s like this magic moment? The world stops on its axis and the hero and heroine look at each other and know, they just know they’ve met the love of their life?
This wasn’t like that. This was like the wickedly sexual cousin of that meet cute. The rough, large grasp of his warm hand against my smaller, soft palm. The way his fingers wrapped around me, controlling, owning. I could instantly imagine his hand pressing mine against a wall, onto a bed, pinning me there while he tormented me and made me beg him to take me, hard.
He stood up all on his own, though I had intended to help him up. All I did was stand there looking transfixed at our hands, the two of them intertwined, his skin slightly darker than my own.
At his full height, he stood much taller than me. His frame much larger. Swallowing, I nearly swayed into him.
He leaned in and asked in an intimate voice, “Where can we get out of here?”
Right. Getting him out of there. I nodded, and led the way swiftly over to the door. Damn, I needed to unlock it. Digging in my pocket, I found my keys and fumbled for the right one. I should have done that over at the desk when he was still hidden, but I hadn’t thought of that, now had I? Thinking was fairly hard at the moment. He still held my hand and I didn’t let go, either.
The right key in the lock, I opened it up and we slipped in together, unnoticed.
“Your secret backstage hangout,” he whispered into the empty room. Dim light filtered through a tiny, dingy window overlooking a fire escape. Our small break room came complete with two folding chairs and a card table, plus a mini fridge and microwave on a countertop.
“Is it just like where you hang out backstage?” I couldn’t help but tease. This whole thing was so crazy. It couldn’t actually be happening.
“I have this exact microwave.” He patted the old, stained boxy white thing. It had probably cost $19.99 from Walmart seven years ago.
“We have so much in common.” I pretended to marvel.
“What’s your name?” He smiled at me.
“Ana.”
“Is that your full name, or short for—?”
“Anika.”
“Anika.” So help me God, the way he said my name. It rolled off his tongue like a delicious treat, him savoring every morsel. And he still held my hand. I didn’t pull away. I’d let this ridiculously impossibly delicious moment play out for a few minutes longer before it popped like a bubble, vanishing without a trace.
“And you’re Ash Black.” I knew he was, I just had to say it. It was a little like meeting Santa Claus. You clearly knew it was him, who else would be in the red suit with the white beard and all that, but you still couldn’t really believe it. Even in SoHo with its high celebrity-to-square-block ratio, Ash Black was a next-level sighting. I’d spotted Jay-Z in a New York Yankees cap strolling down the sidewalk, Gwynneth Paltrow drinking a dark green smoothie, Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker with their twins. But none of them made my knees go wobbly and my chest feel tight and hot like I’d trapped sunshine inside of it.
“Thanks for rescuing me, Anika.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I rescued you.”
“They were out for blood.”
“I don’t like bullies.”
“So you helped me out because you didn’t like them. Not because you like me?” he teased.
“Well, I didn?
??t say that.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and looked down at my boots. I’d worn an old pair today, ones I’d bought when I’d first started college six years ago. And he’d been all up close and personal with them underneath the desk. Had I known, I would have chosen something cooler. Not that I had such a huge selection in my closet, but my roommate Liv might have let me borrow something. She had thigh-high leather stilettos. Those seemed like the kind of boots appropriate for a run-in with Ash Black.
“Have you worked here long?” He took a step closer to me, his fingers still intertwined with my own. With his thumb, he began to slowly stroke my hand, caressing that sensitive spot between my thumb and index finger. I swallowed nervously, a tingle running up my spine.
“Ah, about a year.” Maybe only around eight months? It was hard to think straight when the man I listened to every night, rocking out on my playlist, working me up and coaxing me to let go, live life, take chances and rawck out, stood right in front of me asking regular, everyday questions. And touching me. Yes, the kind of touching that would be allowed at a middle school dance, holding hands. But wow did he know how to hold hands, possessive and strong, intimate and promising so much more with that lazy sweep of his finger.
“Do you like it?”
“Like it…?” Him standing so near to me? The deep brown color of his eyes, so dark they almost looked black? The stubble on his strong jaw that looked so rough and appealing the fingers on my other hand twitched at my side, wanting to reach out and feel for myself.
“Your job?” he prompted with a sexy smile.
“Right, yes. Yeah, I do, a lot.”
Did he know he had this effect on women? I bet he knew. I tucked my hair behind my ear again, a nervous habit, and told myself to get it together. He was just a person like anyone else. A person millions of people worshipped and adored. A man people craved hearing the slightest news about, dreamed of capturing even a second of his attention. And now he stood alone with me in a room seeming somehow captivated by me, fascinated by my mundane little world.
“You seem good at it.” He took a step closer still, near enough now he could close all distance in an instant. He stood so much larger than me, so solid. He’d always looked big in pictures and he sure had his shirt off in enough of them so you got a really good sense. Big and thick with muscles, tattoos lacing along his skin.