Rock my world - By Cindi Myers Page 0,51
through an old issue of Guitar magazine when he returned. He’d changed into jeans and a cotton shirt that he left un-tucked. He was still barefoot. His hair was damp, curling up at the neckline of his shirt. He reminded her of the way he’d been at the Furniture Gallery. Casual. Relaxed.
He sat on the sofa opposite her. “What do you think we need to talk about that we haven’t already said?”
“You’ve done a lot of talking, but I don’t feel like you’ve really listened to me.” She got up and crossed over to sit beside him. “And I have some questions for you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her. “I’m not promising I’ll answer.”
“Those nights we spent together at the furniture gallery, after everyone else was gone, I felt so close to you. Even when we were only talking, I saw a side of you you’d never revealed at work.” She looked around the room, at the comfortable furniture but lack of real personal details. “You seemed to really relax with me, more than you do at the station, where you’ve always kept to yourself. Why is that, do you think?”
“You’re an easy person to be with.” He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on his thighs. “And I’m probably not as uptight when I’m turned on.”
“So you admit I turn you on.” She leaned toward him, her tone teasing.
The heat that flared in his eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t think there’s ever been any doubt of that.”
She put her hand on his thigh and began moving slowly up and down. She felt him tense, but he didn’t try to move away. “So which is the real Adam Hawkins? Is he the intellectual loner I first met at the station? Is he ‘the Hawk,’ the rock history expert and glib radio personality people hear on the air?” She turned and looked into his eyes, pinning him with her gaze. “Or is he the sexy, passionate guy I met under the covers at the Furniture Gallery?” She stopped her hand at the top of his thigh, the tips of her fingers almost, but not quite brushing against the fly of his jeans.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe I’m all those people.”
“But am I the only one who sees all those sides of you? I think right now, at least, I am.” She left her hand where it was, and brought the other up to rest on his chest. She could feel his heart beating, a steady pulsing against her palm.
“That doesn’t change things. We still work together on the air. Trying to be a couple off the air is risky.”
“I’ve never been one to be afraid of risk.” She leaned toward him, until her breath brushed his neck. “I think it would be much worse to risk losing that passionate, real Adam Hawkins to the other images you project.” She rested her lips against his throat and closed her eyes, waiting for his answer.
“You don’t know what you’re getting into, Erica. Seriously.”
“Then tell me. That’s why I’m here.”
He closed his eyes. He wanted to say the hell with it all and pick her up and carry her into the bedroom. But caution built up over the years held him back.
“I don’t expect you to say anything. I just want you to see where I’m coming from. While I was in prison, I enrolled in a rehab program. I kicked my habit. I thought I’d be able to go back to my old life. Only this time I wouldn’t screw up like before.”
“So you came to Denver to start over?”
“No, I came to Denver because KROK was the only place that would even give me an interview. Station managers took one look at my record—which I was required by law to tell them about—and said no way do we want to mess with this joker.”
“That’s horrible.”
“All I needed was one chance, and Carl gave it to me.” His eyes met hers. “I don’t intend to waste it.”
She rose and stood in front of him. “Did you think it would matter to me, that you’d been in prison?”
“I’d be surprised if it didn’t.”
“We all make mistakes. Some of them bigger than others.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He’d told himself kicking a drug habit had equipped him to resist any temptation. But he hadn’t bargained on the intoxicating pull of acceptance, or the power of longing to forget about everything in