voice thrilled me far more than it should have.
“For your information, there’s a few billion women who’ve never put their lips on me…anywhere. And you have no right to be hatin’. You had your hot little mouth all over my man meat last night, and it felt ahhmazing.”
“You’re a regular choirboy, Oz.”
“Damn straight. Only a choirboy would get you that coffee you’ve been craving.” I pointed toward an exit about half a mile in the distance and shot her a cocky grin.
“Fine. You can pretend you’re sweet and innocent all you want, at least until my caffeine kicks in,” Mia drawled.
She said the right sassy words, but they lacked her usual bite. Her red-rimmed eyes only added to the gut-churning, blood-pressure-elevating, fury still blazing inside me. Somewhere in LA, locked in a private safe, were soul-crushing, career-slaughtering photos of Mia. I wasn’t going to rest until I’d destroyed them and the demonic, demented bastard who’d tortured her.
Twenty minutes later, with steaming cups of coffee in hand and bellies filled with frittata rolls, we continued toward home. As the truck tires ate up the miles, we passed the hours talking about the upcoming tour and other benign surface stuff. Clearly, neither of us was ready to exhume the graves of our past. I still had too many what-ifs and images of what could have been rolling around in my brain, all accompanied by the never-ending loop of Cher singing, “If I could Turn Back Time.”
When we reached the limits of Mesa, Mia directed me to a stunning, single-story beige and brown stucco Spanish-style home with tan slate-stone pillars and archway. The yard was a combination of decorative rock and large, lush desert shrubs. I couldn’t help but lift a brow and send Mia a sidelong glance as I eased to a stop next to her three-car garage. She might not be able to afford a two-or three-million-dollar home, yet, but Mia had spent a pretty penny on this place.
“How many toys do you have parked in there?”
“Just one, my Jeep. The rest of the space is still crammed full of boxes I haven’t unpacked yet.”
“It’s a damn fine house, Mia.”
“Thanks. If you want to come in, I’ll be glad to give you a tour. Or… I have some bottled water in the fridge if you’re thirsty. There’s no food yet. Obviously, I still need to go to the store, but…”
I found her uneasy stammering cute.
“I’d love a tour.”
It wasn’t a lie. I needed a bathroom at the very least. But mostly I had to see what brought Mia comfort and happiness…see what she surrounded herself with these days.
When I stepped onto the beige marble floor in the foyer, the bold red walls in the living room and open kitchen snagged my attention. From the overstuffed couch, love seat, and Native American rug in the center of the room to the wrought iron dinette set, a serene Southwest flair emanated. Several tabloids, with her and Nigel’s images gracing the front page, lay on the long, wooden coffee table. And above the fireplace, in a wide silver frame, hung her prized Platinum Record of “Fuck You Ozzy.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh, growl, or cry.
After grabbing us each a bottle of water from the spacious kitchen, Mia led me down the hall. I snagged the first bathroom I found before rejoining her for the rest of the tour. Gliding past a couple of tastefully decorated guest rooms, Mia led me into her music room.
Several acoustic and electric guitars hung on a light turquoise-colored wall. Across the room was an amplifier and keyboard near a long wooden desk adorned with half-written sheet music. Sidling up to the counter, I picked up the papers and scanned the notes, hearing the melody in my head.
“Will you play this for me when it’s done?”
“Sure.” Mia gave a pensive nod and nibbled her lip.
I had no clue what button I’d just hit, but her sudden change of demeanor told me I’d punched it pretty damn hard. Obviously, there were a bunch more landmines to dance around.
“There’s only one more room. If you want…”
“Lead the way.” I forced a carefree smile.
Following Mia through the doorway into her bedroom, I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut. Mia’s scent of wildflowers and spice permeated the air. The walls were painted the same shade of purple as the streaks in her hair. Dark, plum-colored curtains framed tall, wide windows.
Everything in the room screamed Mia.
From the feminine white tufted comforter on