club, and Rae gets out before leaning in the open window. “Do me a favor and put a sock on the door if you’re not done when I get back.”
“Does anyone even own socks in LA?” But I wave, and the car pulls off again.
As we take the streets up into the Hills, excitement thrums low in my stomach. Tyler’s been finishing his album to earn the month off for our wedding before he goes on tour. Even while living together in New York for most of a year, I didn’t feel as though we had time together because we were doing eight shows a week. It was a thrilling and exhausting grind, but we decided to move him out of the lead role a few months after it started on Broadway so he could finish his album.
Now I want him to myself.
I check my phone for Tyler’s texts from when I left this morning.
Annie: Can’t wait to see you.
Tyler: Can’t wait to taste you.
My thighs press together under my short, black dress. I could text Tyler to say we’re a few minutes away.
But that would ruin the surprise.
Instead, I put on a song from his new album. His voice wraps around me, raw and sexy and the kind of earnest that makes fans go crazy.
By the time the driver pulls up, passing two parked Rolls and a Maserati on the road before turning into the gates and entering the passcode I gave him, I’m so turned on it’s dangerous. The gates swing wide, and I get a clear look at the house. It’s stunning, white and modern with high trees surrounding it for privacy.
The driver leaves my bags at the door at my request. The garage is open, revealing a black Lambo the owners left and a motorcycle. I bought the bike for Tyler as a gift. I hunted for ages for the vintage Triumph Bonneville. I’d considered having it fixed up before I gave it to him, but I knew he’d want to fix it himself. A way to blow off some steam.
Now it’s pristine.
I trail a hand along the chrome and the leather seat in appreciation. The things my guy can do with his hands…
I open the door and step inside. My wedge sandals click on the marble as I steady my racing heart.
“That bike is hot,” I call, pushing my sunglasses onto my head and scrunching a hand through the long, red hair I hope is still wavy after a day on the plane.
“If only I could find someone to take me on it.”
The evidence of my arousal fills every syllable as I step out into the living room.
“And when I say, ‘Take me’? I mean…”
I trail off, my throat tightening.
The man I love stands in the center of the vast room, seeming to fill the entire space with his presence.
Tyler Adams is breathtaking in profile. As gorgeous as ever in dark jeans that cling to his lean hips and strong legs, a white T-shirt that pulls across his chest and shoulders, revealing black ink that curls down his arm all the way to his fingers. His dark hair falls over his face, and when he turns to face me fully, he shoves it back.
The light from the floor-to-ceiling windows streams across his tan face, his cut jaw, and the firm mouth that tastes better than anything on this planet.
Tyler’s heavy chocolate gaze locks on mine, holding me prisoner.
But it’s his guilty expression that has me stunned.
And the fact that he’s not alone.
2
When a man asks a woman to be his wife, he shouldn’t have to be without her again. But life doesn’t obey “shoulds,” and for the past month, I’ve been working on promotions for my new album in LA while she wrapped up handing off her show in New York.
Being forced to live apart from the person you love means you devote a lot of energy to reunion fantasies.
In the hours between finishing my album, Annie and I have reunited on the marble kitchen counter. The walk-in-closet-sized shower. The hot tub. The pool.
Fuck, have we reunited in the pool…
None of my fantasies had her staring at me like this.
“What’s going on?” She’s frozen in the doorway like some beautiful woodland creature realizing it wandered to the wrong stream to drink. Color has her cheeks pink under the trace of freckles. Her black dress skims curves I know in exquisite detail, leaving her shoulders bare and ending midway down the toned thighs I could spin