Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,216

stomach. I could swear he was studying me, looking at me differently than he looked at Jill. He could tell I wasn’t with the press. I had some look about me that must’ve said what I was doing was wrong.

He was going to confiscate my pass, we were going to get kicked out, and Jill was going to get in big trouble. Oh, fuck, how much trouble? Could she get fired for this, for sharing a press pass with a friend instead of an actual member of the press? He shook his head and chuckled, but then he opened the door that allowed our entry into Vail’s dressing room.

Instead of the nerves subsiding when the door opened, they only grew into waves that darted through my entire body, from the tips of my tingling toes to the tops of my buzzing ears.

The first thing I noticed were the women—mostly blondes. All had hair longer than mine, legs tanner than mine, and breasts bigger and faker than mine. I don’t know what I expected. I don’t even know if I had an expectation in my mind, but this seemed about right.

I glanced around the room, and my eyes landed on him immediately. Mark Ashton, the whole reason I was back here, stood off to one side of the room wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.

My breath left my body and I choked on a gasp.

The body I’d seen so many times in pictures was standing right in front of me. The tattoos I’d easily be able to pick out of a crowd marked his perfect skin. His feet were bare, his dark hair was damp as if he just stepped out of the shower, and his chest and abdomen were a mass of chiseled muscle. He was lean, though—not big and bulky, but limber and perfect. My mouth watered at the same time my throat dried. My face felt all hot, like I was blushing uncontrollably and involuntarily, and the wave of heat traveled through my body and into my blood.

In the periphery, I knew the three other members of the chart topping band were in the room. A party was in full swing; voices hummed around me over blaring rock music. A group of people started chanting as one of the guys from the band chugged a beer—Ethan, the drummer. He slammed the can to the ground as he finished then grabbed the blonde standing next to him to shove his tongue down her throat. But I couldn’t focus on any of that because my entire being was laser-focused on Mark Ashton, as if there was no one and nothing else in the room.

He held his phone to his ear as he spoke to someone—probably the reason he set himself apart from the group that had formed in the room. It was too loud for me to hear his voice. He held a glass tumbler with amber liquid in his other hand, and a blonde woman hung herself around his neck, clinging to him. He was paying her no attention, though.

He glanced in our direction as I followed Jill into the room as if this was all perfectly normal. He said something into the phone and ended the call, sliding his phone into his pocket with his gaze focused on me. He said something to the woman hanging on him, and she stuck out her puffy lower lip in disappointment before she let go of him and headed over toward her friends who were standing by Ethan.

Jill stepped right up to him as if meeting the biggest rock star on the planet was an everyday occurrence. She’d schooled herself to fangirl on the inside because of her position as a reporter. I had no such training.

“Jill Hart from the Sin City Sun,” she said, sticking her hand out to shake his and ignoring the glares from the women across the room. “I just have a few quick questions.” He stepped toward her and shook her hand, and a dart of jealousy passed through me. She got to touch him.

Little did I know what the night had in store for me.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked, his eyes moving over to me. “A colleague?” He let go of Jill’s hand.

“I’m a huge fan,” I blurted, restraining myself from throwing my arms around his neck. Jill shot me a dirty look. The whole agreement we had that I’d keep my cool flew right out the window.

He chuckled. “Oh, I’m a fan of