Rockstar Romeo - Abbie Zanders Page 0,22

prescription drugs in my system. It was wrong on so many levels, not the least of which was the fact that Jace Logan was a client.

On the other hand, it had been one hell of a kiss. While it should never happen again, I couldn’t bring myself to fully regret it.

The rest of the evening flew by. Before we knew it, the clock was striking midnight, and Jace and Kurt were saying their good-byes and wishing the boys luck. Brian and Tommy went up to their rooms to finish packing, and Kurt went out to the rental. Jace lingered at the front door.

“They’re good kids, Eva. You’ve done an excellent job in raising them. They’ve got good heads on their shoulders, and they’re going to be fine.”

He wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t told myself a hundred times over, but it was still nice to hear someone else say it.

He followed that up with, “You’re going to be okay too.”

I looked at him doubtfully then, only to find him gazing back with an enigmatic smile. With one finger, he pushed a lock of hair from my forehead and tucked it behind my ear. It was a surprisingly sweet gesture.

“Yeah,” I replied, glad that someone thought so.

Jace chuckled softly, as if he knew something I didn’t.

“Eva?”

“Hmm?”

“May I kiss you good night?”

I blinked and then looked into his eyes, pure molten gold, and felt some small part deep inside me unclench just a little. My lips formed the words before my brain could stop them. “I’d like that.”

Once again, I was claiming temporary insanity. When a man like Jace Logan kissed you better than you’d been kissed in nearly two decades and then asked if he could do it again, it was pretty hard to say no.

He smiled, and my heart stuttered and skipped a beat. As before, he slowly lowered his head, giving me every opportunity to stop him.

I didn’t.

And like before, his kiss was soft and tender. He kept his hands above my shoulders, cupping my head and tilting it to the side to gain better purchase. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, infusing me with his mouthwatering, manly scent—pheromones!—and by the time he pulled away, I was breathing heavily.

“Good night, Angel,” he whispered, then turned and disappeared into the night.

Chapter 7

Dear Ida,

My teenage sons recently discovered that I led something of a wild life before I became their mom. How can I get them to understand I don’t want them to make the same mistakes I did without being a hypocrite? – Once Wild Mom

* * *

Dear Once Wild,

Treat them like the intelligent human beings you’re raising them to be. Talk to them. Be honest. Tell them you’re concerned and why. Today’s kids are savvier than we give them credit for, and chances are, they’ve been exposed to worse.

~ * ~

Eva

Morning is a relative term, I thought as the limo pulled up outside our home at the crack of noon.

Most adults—those with kids or regular jobs at least—generally defined the time as starting somewhere around dawn and lasting until fast-food restaurants switched their menu boards from breakfast to lunch. For those who lived the rock-and-roll life, however, morning was whenever they felt like getting up.

That meant that Brian and Tommy had a lot of time to ask me questions about my brief stint with Black Raven while they waited for Ross. I answered their questions honestly but invoked parental control and edited some answers. There were things that had happened between their father and me that they didn’t need to know, especially not right before they were going out on tour with him.

“What was it like, being up onstage like that?” Brian asked.

“It was exhilarating ... and terrifying,” I answered honestly. “Especially in front of large crowds. Stage fright can be paralyzing.”

“But you overcame it,” Tommy said proudly. “What did Dad whisper to you anyway?”

“He said, ‘We believe in you. Make them believers too.’”

I didn’t tell them what else Ian had said. That we’d worked so hard and come so far, and if I screwed it up, I’d be letting everyone down.

“Where did you learn how to sing like that?”

I laughed softly at the memory. “Believe it or not, I took private lessons from an opera singer.”

They answered in tandem, “No way!”

“It’s true. I loved to sing and was gifted with a great range, but honestly, school and church choirs bored me. It wasn’t the kind of music I particularly liked or wanted to sing, but