PROLOGUE

“I’m in love.”

Him, a famous rock star.

Me, a mere mortal witnessing greatness.

Hard abs and broad shoulders.

A guitar god in the flesh.

I’ve never been a groupie, but I’ll be one for him.

Across a sea of people, his eyes meet mine.

Kismet.

Destiny.

Whatever we call it, it’s real with him.

“What?” My best friend says, “The music is so loud.”

She’s got earplugs in and is still complaining. I laugh when leaning closer to her and yell, “Look at the guitarist on stage.” Of course the song ends, and everyone is now staring at me, including her boyfriend. I hope the shade of red I’m turning is at least flattering. Just going with the mortification, I throw my arms out and shrug. “What? Like he’s not perfect?”

A lady pressed to the railing in the front row yells, “Marry me, Laird!”

Laird.

I’ve never seen a more beautiful man in my life. That he’s shirtless, a rock star, and plays amazing music just adds to his perfection. While the lead singer of Faris Wheel talks about the sweltering heat and all of us being here together in Austin, I’m still distracted by the guitarist.

Tall. Dark. So good looking it’s hard to believe men who look like that even exist. I wish I had freshened up, but there was no time before the concert. So I sweat, beads rolling down my temples, and enjoy the view . . . I mean, the music.

Marina says, “He’s just your type.”

I take a sip of beer and then giggle. “He is.” Before I let my imagination run wild, I turn to watch this glorious man perform. His gaze latches onto mine, I swear. He singles me out, mesmerizing me under his spell. Stunned to the spot, I’m unable to look away, my heart thundering in my chest and my throat going dry.

Bumping my side, Marina asks, “Is he staring at you?”

“God, I hope so.”

When the song ends, he steps up to the microphone. Our eyes meet across the crowd filling the sold-out concert. With a killer smile that about knocks me on my ass, he points at me and says, “We’ve got a date with destiny, baby.”

And then the drums kick in.

CHAPTER ONE

Poppy Stanfield

“What are you craving?” Laird Faris runs the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes trained on my mouth as if he’s imagining what he can do with it. “I’ll give you anything you want, baby.”

Three o’clock in the morning is not the best time to make life-altering decisions. Fortunately, I know the answer. “You.”

“I’m yours.” At least for tonight.

Closing my eyes, I breathe him in and savor this moment deep in my lungs. It’s not something I’ll get to do tomorrow, so I take full advantage of the situation. I’m kissed, the sweet pressure turning firmer with each stroke of his tongue.

If I only get one night with this rock star, I’ll deal with the consequences of my choices come morning.

He pulls away, his piercing blue eyes that could give the sky a run for its money meeting mine. A grin punctuated with the slightest of dimples digging into his cheeks holds pure amusement. “You look like you’re concocting a plan I want to be a part of,” he says, running the back of his hand along the side of my neck and leaving a wave of goose bumps in its path.

I squirm under the intensity of his stare as he allows his gaze to drift over my body, drinking me in like a man fresh from the desert despite already having me bare in bed for hours. My heart beats faster, and my breath quickens. I almost hate how easy it is for him to incite a reaction from me, but I love it as well.

“How much mine?” I enjoy teasing him, maybe too much, but that lady-killer smile gets me every time.

“I’m all in.” The laughter I expect doesn’t follow from him, but he situates himself between my legs, which feels like a win.

One small shift and we’re back together again. It’s tempting to dare myself to take the plunge, but I haven’t lost all my senses . . . yet. “We need another condom.”

Darkness flares in his eyes, widening his pupils. He shifts, exhaling a deep breath as he hops off the bed to locate the box we bought on the way to the Capitol Hotel. That trip was a blur of whims, from the matching tattoos we got earlier to stopping at a convenience store for condoms, bottles of water, and more beer. The necessities for a good time.

Our attraction was instant, our chemistry undeniable, and the freedom to do as we please recklessly exhilarating. I’d forgotten what unadulterated happiness felt like until I met the famous guitarist from the band Faris Wheel. And smelled him. I don’t know what this man bathes in, but he’s intoxicating.

My impatience gets the better of me, the need to feel him inside me again becoming too much. I kick the sheets to the foot of the bed and prop up on my elbows to inspire him, “I want you.”

“Fuck it.” He grabs the box and returns to me. I admire the perfection of his body—eight hard abs, shoulders that rival his reputation in grandeur, and muscular arms with colorful tattoos covering sections of both. I can’t wait to touch him, to feel every hard hill of muscle, and get lost in the valleys of sensations this man creates. Again.

But it’s his striking blue eyes that capture me most. The strong jaw covered in a few days’ scruff and the lips that beckon mine to his have me foolishly imagining what it might be like if we could last more than one night.

He climbs onto the bed, taking center stage, ready for me. “Come here.”

I move to straddle him, locking our gazes and pressing my palms to his chest before I lift all the way. He wastes no time positioning himself at my entrance. The frenzy from earlier is gone, but the heat between us remains. He reaches up to squeeze my breasts and tease my nipples with gentle flicks, bringing them to life, awakening my entire body. It’s so tempting to slam down, take what I need, and chase the fireworks.

I don’t because this feels too good to rush toward the ending. I go slow, lowering myself over him inch by glorious inch. The stretch, the burn, the overwhelming sensation of him filling me so completely.

“That’s fucking perfect,” he says, groaning as I rock on top of him.

Our bodies move together and against each other. I take, and I give. I lift and fall while he thrusts so hard I’m not sure I can last much longer. “Laird.” His name falls out of my mouth, wistful among the sounds of our bodies coming together and apart, and together again. I drag my nails over his chest, hitting the edge of the plastic covering his new permanent art, causing me to open my eyes and admire what we did earlier.

He breathes against my shoulder, then kisses me there. “That feel good, baby?”

“Don’t stop. Please.”

An untethered emotion dominates his expression as he shifts, meeting me with a thrust so hard that I gasp. His grasp tightens on my hip as I track his other hand between my breasts and down to my stomach. My breath quickens when the tips of his fingers land between my legs, but I hold it all together in anticipation.

He sits up, holding me close as I continue to rock, the ache for more consuming me. His fingers tease, coaxing me toward the edge while the bridge of his nose runs along the crest of my jaw as he inhales my very soul, swallowing me whole. “Breathe, Poppy.” It’s only a breeze across my heated skin, but it does wonders in bringing me back to him. “Breathe for me.”

As if I needed permission. I exhale and then catch my breath as he pushes in again. “Oh God, yes.” But my head spins, and the torturous pleasure between my legs overpowers my will to hold on any longer. “Oh God, Laird.”

His mouth steals my next breath, his tongue finding refuge tangled with mine.

We kiss.

We thrust.

We fuck.

The push. The pull. The chase and the inevitable fall. Ripped from reality, I plunge into ecstasy, the bright lights rippling through every nerve ending until the tremoring ends.

Left unraveled, I become jelly in his arms.

But he’s not finished yet . . .

A growl rumbles through his chest while hot breath coats the side of my neck. “You feel so good, baby. Too good,” he groans, anchoring his body around mine as I grind to help him find his completion.

“Laird.”

“I’m sorry,” he says before fucking me so hard a moan is pushed right through me.

I cling to him, my hands pressed to hot skin and taut muscle as I’m pummeled and then caught in the undertow of his orgasm. “So good,” I spill through jagged breaths. I’m chasing the reward I crave, which hits quick this time.

Falling with me, he moans through gritted teeth, “Oh fuck.”

Everything.

Everything.

He’s everything.

My body trembles while wrapped around him in the blissful aftermath. Another breath is stolen as he punctuates his own finish, another “Fucking perfection,” following, making me grin this time.

Looking up at me, he smiles, and it matches the beautiful admiration reaching his eyes. “You’re incredible, Poppy.” He cups my face and kisses me once more before falling to the side with his arms going wide.

As if he hadn’t just made me orgasm twice.

As if he didn’t make me feel like the sexiest woman alive.

As if he can say my name like it’s the only one to ever touch his lips and expect me to survive without him after that.

Tonight’s been fun, incredible as he said, but I’d be a fool to fall for a rock star. I’ve been a fool before, but with Laird, I thought I knew what this was, and one night seemed to be understood. But something’s changed over the course of the past hour . . .

I’m falling for him.

I can’t let my emotions get twisted. I hate that this is one night, and then we go back to our regularly scheduled lives, but I know what we are. Laird is with me on a tour stop in Austin, but I’ll be back in New York tomorrow, and he’ll be in another city surrounded by other women.

Why does he have to be so talented? Making me feel like I’m not just another groupie seems to be his MO, yet I still fell for him. But I know the truth and can’t let that get skewed.

“I love your tattoos,” he whispers. “These were little surprises hidden for me to discover.”

I smile, digging my fingers into his hair. “Sometimes I forget about them, and they’re a surprise for me, too.”

He chuckles. “I forget what half of mine are for.”

“No great meaning behind them?”

“Some,” he says, tapping his ribs. “The guitar on my side. It was my first. It’s a rendering of the first guitar I ever had.” He bends, kissing over the plastic of my new artwork that he designed. “This is my favorite on you.”

I don’t need to see it to know how I feel about the new tattoo. “That’s my favorite, too.”

“You didn’t flinch once while he inked you.”

I laugh, rubbing over the three others on my hip bone. “The knives hurt more.”

He reaches over to trace the small tattoos usually hidden under my clothes, fully exposed to the man who now owns all of me. My breathing stumbles as if my last breath hangs in the balance. “Bold choice.”

“What can I say? I earned every one of them.”

“I have no idea what that means. But . . .” He lies back and pulls me to him like I weigh nothing. “I want to learn everything about you and your bold choices.”

Talking about being a personal chef for the wealthy isn’t a turn-on for me, so I’m sure it won’t be that impressive to him. “You have to leave.”

Shock rattles his chiseled face, pulling his brows together. “You’re kicking me out?”

“What? No.” I push up on my elbow, confused by the accusation. “Oh wait. I meant you need to leave for your tour.”

“Right.” He exhales a laden breath. Draping his arm across his forehead, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “The plane leaves at ten in the morning.”

The idea of not seeing him pierces my heart. Knowing the magic of being with Laird will be gone by daylight is unbearable. And I’ll be alone in this hotel room.

I take a long, steadying breath, trying to ease the panic I’m feeling inside. “Is this where you let me down easy?” I thought I had more time before being faced with the consequences of my whims. Guess not. “It’s okay.” I reach over and rest my hand on his arm as if the contact will comfort me. “You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t give you trouble.”

Propping up on his arm, he angles toward me. His eyes are missing the levity of the night. In its place is a somberness I feel in my bones. “What if I want the trouble? What if I want to worry about you?” I don’t know what to say, but he does. “What if I already do?”

My heart clenches from the concern I spy in his eyes, but I force myself to stay strong. Lying to myself and pretending this isn’t goodbye won’t help in the long run. “You don’t need to, Laird. Time will heal, and I’ll get over it.”

He runs the tips of his fingers over the plastic stuck to my skin, careful to skirt the area. “Get over me? That’s too bad.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” I can’t allow hope to grow where it doesn’t belong.

“Try as you like to forget this night ever happened, this tattoo will be a daily reminder that we once existed at the same time and place.” A smile splits his cheek while a hint of gratification drifts across his face. “Do you ever play games, Poppy?”

My thoughts are still spiraling when the change of topic blindsides me.

“It’s an easy one. I promise,” he adds while caressing my cheek.

I’m conflicted about what to think or even believe, but I play along to see where he’s going with this. “I’ll bite.” That elicits a dulcet hum in response. “What game?”

“Never have I ever.”

“That’s a drinking game.”

“I’ll go first.” He appears so serious, and that makes me nervous. “Never have I ever been wholly captivated by a woman before.”

Okay . . . he’s in it to win it, shooting an arrow straight to my heart.

Laird’s not playing for fun. He’s playing for keeps.

Bending to kiss my ribs, he says, “Your turn.”

I’m still distracted by his admission. What do I say to that? “Never have I ever been more attracted to someone than I am right now.” The words tumble from my mouth as if they’ve been there all along. Traitorous tongue.

“Mmm,” he hums, savoring my declaration, then hovering above the three tattoos before kissing each of them. “I like that.”

“The tattoos or the confession?”

He smirks. “Both.”

I smirk right back. “Your turn.”

He slides against me until he reaches the corner of my mouth and kisses me again. “Never have I ever gotten a matching tattoo with anyone else.”

He has so many tattoos, from lyrics scrawled over his shoulder to several guitars and other symbols I assume are from his life, but the one we share seems to matter so much to him.

I’m emboldened. “Never have I ever fallen so hard for someone.” I lower my voice as if it makes a difference and add, “Before.”

Lying back, he puts his head next to mine on the pillow and stares at the ceiling.

Oh no, did I take it too far?

The lengthening pause thickens the air with expectation. Our connection has been wild and beautiful, unparalleled to any I’ve experienced. But am I on the verge of losing it all?

“Never have I ever,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face as I wait with bated breath, “believed in destiny before now.’

It’s easy to believe in such things as kismet with him. “Never have I ever either.”

“I’ve got another one. Never have I ever asked a woman to go on tour with me.”

The words are filled with hesitation . . . and hope. It’s the latter that I cling to.

“You could fix that, you know.” My heart thumps so loudly he might not hear me.

He grins cautiously. “You think?”

“It’s worth a shot.” What am I saying? If he asks, will I go?

I’m swallowed in his arms as he kisses the top of my head. “What would you say if I did?”

“Yes.” Without a doubt in my head or heart.

He pulls me even closer, burying his face in my hair. “Poppy?” The charm of hearing him say my name is lost in the sound of regret.

I brace myself, my heart flip-flopping in my chest. “Yes?”

“I don’t want you on tour with me.”

Pushing away enough to see his face, I search his handsome features for any trace of what he’s not telling me. “What do you want, Laird?”

Squeezing his eyes closed, he opens them, and the blue strikes like lightning. “You. I’ve never met anyone like you, never felt like this before—”

“Like what?” Would it be so wrong to believe we can make something from nothing? That one night could lead to something more meaningful?

Oh God, did I just fall in love with this man?

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Resting my hand on his cheek, I lean forward to kiss him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Until morning. Then we’re going to who knows where. I don’t know where you live. I don’t know where the tour is headed next. I just know I want to be with you wherever I end up.”

And there it is. His heart on display.

 Too happy to waste time with words, I kiss him. But I’m too giddy to contain myself. “First, tattoos, and now this. Next, you’ll be hitting me with a marriage proposal.” I laugh, and then indulge in another kiss.

But his lips don’t move, the buzz I thought we were riding tempered. Did I misread him? “What’s wrong?”

Would it be so far-fetched? People have done crazier things,” he says as if that makes this idea less ludicrous.

My jaw slacks, but then I ask, “Are you being for real right now? I know we’ve said a lot of things. We’ve been under the influence of beer and even each other in the past few hours, so if you misspoke or let that slip out—”

“I didn’t know how to say it before, but it’s how I feel.” The conviction in his tone has me believing he’s telling the truth. There’s no way. He can’t be.

“We just met.” I laugh, trying to pretend I’m in on the joke, but it sounds as fake as they come. He doesn’t even try to hide behind a lie. “You’re not joking, are you? Give me something, Laird. Some clarification. Repeat what you said. Are you feeling alright?” I reach out to check the temperature of his forehead.

His chest rattles with laughter, though the sound doesn’t escape him. He takes my hand between his, and the smile gives him away. “I don’t have a fever, babe. I’m not drunk. I’m not even tired. I just know what I want.”

“And that’s me?” Still staring at him, I ask, “For eternity?”

“If you believe in that kind of thing, then I do too.”

Dragging my other hand from his shoulder and down lower, I’m gentle when I place it over the new tattoo and smile when I feel his heart beating with the same conviction as his tone. Suddenly, the what-ifs infiltrate my thoughts . . .

What if he’s right?

What if we’re meant for more?

What if we’re supposed to be together?

What if we’re soulmates?

His hold on my hand makes me think I might never get it back. That it’s my left supports the thought. “We have a few hours to sleep,” he says. “I get on a plane in less than seven, though. I need to pack and clear out of my hotel room. Add in traffic, and that doesn’t leave much time to get to the airport, but I want you with me, Poppy. I want you there as my fiancée. We can get married in Nashville or anywhere on the tour—even Paris. Just the two of us.”

He exhales as if freed from the burden he was carrying and gives me the smile that got us here in the first place. Sincere and full of charisma. “I won’t pressure you,” he adds. “Just think about it, okay?”

The word fiancée floats around in my head, keeping me from formulating a reasonable answer. “Think about marrying you? Laird, it’s so fast—”

“I know,” he says without shame. “But I know what I feel. If you feel the same, meet me before I get on that plane. Tell me you’ll consider my proposal.”

He’s been nothing but confidence and sexual prowess, going after what he wants without apology. I should expect nothing less when it comes to getting married, but he nods, allowing a rare shyness to come over his expression. The corners of his eyes soften, and his smile barely shapes his mouth. He’s attractive no matter what, especially on stage, but I might prefer the man before me—the quieter one who wears his heart on his sleeve only for me.

“We’ll get those pancakes you’ve been talking about since we left the tattoo shop,” he says.

“Gingerbread?”

“Yeah. Magnolia Café.” His breath deepens as sleep tries to control him, but he wraps his arm around me, holding me tight. “Meet me there at seven o’clock.”

It would be irresponsible for me to even consider marrying him on a whim.

A tattoo is one thing.

Marriage is quite another.

We haven’t even exchanged I love yous, though I could say it in all honesty.

“Be right back,” he whispers and places a kiss on my shoulder. Slipping out of bed, he disappears into the bathroom, leaving me enough space in thought to wrap my head around what’s happening.

Pros: My heart feels too big for my chest, and I’ve never felt safer than when held by him. I’ve not regretted one decision I’ve made since we met—not eating too much barbecue and getting drunk on beers, not having sex with him on the first date, not even the tattoo.

Cons: We barely know each other.

A responsible person could probably list a thousand more, but nothing else comes to mind at the moment. I care about him. I know that for a fact. Enough to marry him? If we were in Vegas, I would have already walked down the aisle.

Through the dark, I watch him when he returns but stops at the nightstand. He scribbles something on a piece of paper and then rips it from the pad. Crossing the room, he slips it into my bag.

I don’t ask him about it, thinking we’ve said all we need to tonight. We have tomorrow to fill with more questions and details.

When he returns to bed, he silently wraps himself around me as I feign sleep. I memorize everything about him—his breath against my shoulder and the feel of his hard to my soft. I don’t want to miss anything when faced with such a monumental decision.

I’ll either win his heart or break it altogether.

I can’t be rash. I need to be careful and think this through, but my heart wars with my head, leaving me more confused than ever. I close my eyes, hoping sleep gives the answers I need and a clearer head because I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. But I know where to find him when I do.

CHAPTER TWO

LAIRD FARIS

“More coffee?”

I cover the mug with my hand and look up, spying the server’s nametag—Emmie. “No, I’m good. Thanks.” The pity in her eyes is easily seen in the sunshine flooding the diner. I really believed Poppy would show up.

I feel stupid for leaving a note telling her I love you. L.

Humiliated for putting myself out there in the first place.

What was I thinking? I wasn’t.

She’s drop-dead gorgeous, witty, could hold her own against my bad reputation, and unpredictable. So fucking unpredictable that I read her all wrong.

Fuck.

I’m an idiot.

Not again, though. I’ll never leave myself open to being humiliated again. Feelings are for fools. I knew better than to trust someone I barely knew. Never again.

Just as the server begins to walk away, I stupidly hold on to one last thread of hope and ask, “Do you have another location?”

She shakes her head. “We used to have several around Austin, but only the original still stands.” Her gaze drops briefly, and she adds, “I like your tattoos.”

I glance down at my arms as if I could forget I had them. I can’t, just like the new one I’m sporting on my chest will now haunt me for-fucking-ever. It’s already a part of who I am, ready to torture me further. “Thanks.”

The bell above the door chimes, directing me to look up like Pavlov’s dog. Sitting here for over two hours has me well-trained. But like every other time, it’s not who I want it to be.

Poppy could have told me if she changed her mind or needed more time to think things through. I would have waited even longer than I already have. We would date long distance or when the tour ended. I’d have waited however long she needed me to. But to not show . . .

I push away the plate of pancakes I ordered for her, leaving them untouched as the realization finally sinks in. She’s not coming.

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