SLEEP HAD ALWAYS been difficult for me. I wasn’t one of those guys who could just crash after a concert or a signing, I had to decompress, my mind was so aware of the constant conversations the chatter, the music, the noise — I had to just let my brain soak it all in, and sort it into the right places.

Some nights it took hours.

Other nights it took minutes.

Lucky me, that after one brief conversation with Ang — and I was leaning toward hour two. One conversation that no matter how many times I twisted it around, tried to make it fit, it just didn’t.

I was in a weird place.

A place where I wanted to hate her.

And a place where I was suddenly just exhausted from all the hate.

Keeping every single part of myself indifferent wasn’t something I was practiced in when it came to women.

I’d never been good at it.

Until she’d forced me to be.

Until I saw the way he looked at her and knew — the more I attached myself the more he would wonder what was so great about her — the more he would want to take.

I miscalculated.

The math never lined up in the first place.

And maybe that was the problem — I was always waiting for her to cheat, waiting for her to leave, waiting for to mess up — judging her from my stupid pedestal.

So when she fell. I turned around and walked away.

I told myself I was right.

I told myself I was better off.

I told myself a lot of lies in order to get through, and now I felt like a zombie as I walked through the dark beach house.

I had everything.

But her.

Money. Fame. An actual career I liked half the time that no longer had my face splashed all over every tabloid in the country.

And I was just as empty as the spare bedrooms in the house I was renting.

I just didn’t know how to get back to that place, the easygoing person I used to be, the guy who blindly trusted and didn’t give a shit, because when you’re that person you leave yourself open to pain.

But when you’re empty. Controlled. Boring.

Old.

I rolled my eyes.

At least it meant safe.

Safe from her.

Safe from hurt.

I paced the house for another twenty minutes and suddenly found myself at her door, leaning against the frame, watching her deep breathing as she tossed and turned in bed.

She finally shot up, scaring the ever loving shit out of me, and threw the covers over the mattress, and walked toward me, her sleep filled eyes heavy, her face irritated.

She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Neither of us is sleeping. And I only know one way to shut your brain down.”

My body went on high alert.

“Down boy.” Her groggy voice had my body burning, my hands aching to touch, my cock twitching. Great. That’s just what I needed as I laid down next to her. “I meant a duet.”

My heart dropped. “What?”

How the hell did she remember that?

“What’s wrong?” She threw an arm over my chest and sighed, “You’re shaking.”

I licked my dry lips and closed my eyes. “Sorry, Ang, just go to sleep.”

“I can’t, your knee keeps bumping me and you keep sighing and I could have sworn you were tapping your fingers against my shoulder a few seconds ago.”

I sighed, “Sorry I didn’t realize, sometimes I do that when—”

“When what?” Angelica was officially up, she moved to a sitting position and put her long hair in a ponytail. “When you what?”

“I get stressed.” I shrugged, unable to really explain the nervous energy that always swirled around me. “Don’t you ever just have problems shutting down?”

She looked away. Guilt marred her face. I should have seen through it, but I didn’t. “Yeah, I mean this is the life, all of us do, we have weird hours, even crazier fans, and our schedules don’t really allow for down time.”

I groaned, “Don’t remind me about schedules we both have to be up in two hours.”

“Sorry.” She yawned again.

And I knew, she was probably thinking about the last time we’d laid like this, the last time we’d sang. Before it all went to hell.

 

“Okay, so what do you normally do when you can’t sleep?”

I felt my body flush. “Nothing.”

She moved to her knees, leaned in and whispered, “Liar.”

I smirked and shook my head at her. “Fine. I sing, all right?”

“What do you sing?”

I looked away and wiped at my face, “Ah, you know… songs.”

“What kind of songs?”

“We really doing this right now? At three a.m.?”

She nodded.

“Hell.” I wiped my face again with my hands, “Fine, I sing… shit.”

“You sing shit.”

“No, I said shit because I panicked.”

“Come on, Will Sutherland, with your sexy smile and even sexier six-pack.” She ran her fingers down my stomach. “Just tell me.”

“Disney.”

“Disney what?”

“I sing Disney.”

“Like the Disney theme song or…” her face went from tired to amused, “…like, Under the Sea… Disney?”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you!” I yelled while she fell over onto the mattress laughing.

“No, no, no, it’s adorable.”

“Great, just what a guy wants to hear from one of the sexiest actresses on the planet, gee you’re cute.”

“You are cute.” She wrapped her arms around my neck then brushed her mouth across my lips. “Should we go on a magic carpet ride?”

Before I could protest, she ran out of the room, only to run back in with a huge fluffy towel, she spread it across the bed, hopped on and started belting, “I could show you the world! Shining, shimmering—”

It became a tradition before we fell asleep.

Sometimes the songs changed.

Sometimes we sang them over the phone.

And when my mom died, and she was the only one singing — it was the only thing that helped keep me sane.

I shoved the memory back where it belonged.

 

“Come on, I’ll sing the girl part.” Ang’s voice transported me back to the present as she pulled me into bed and tucked the blankets over both of our bodies. She faced me. I scooted my arm underneath the pillow and sighed as she closed her. With a yawn, she started quietly singing. “I can show you the world…”

I didn’t say anything.

She opened one eye then two. “Will, it’s not my verse.”

“I should go.”

“All right,” She pulled back the covers.

I should walk the hell out of that room and not look back.

But I was suddenly cold.

And apparently paralyzed.

“Shining,” I sang in what fans dubbed a voice made for sex. “Shimmering… splendid.”

She sighed.

I closed my eyes.

And held my breath as she sang the next part.

And then it was my turn again.

And before I knew it.

I was asleep.

 

 

HOT ARMS WRAPPED around me, lips pressed against my neck, I jerked awake with Angelica’s legs somehow pretzeled between mine, her mouth on my neck, her breathing heavy.

I was so hot it was hard to breathe.

And then I had another problem.

I felt her.

Everywhere.

And though time had changed everything about us, our relationship, the way we both chose to deal with the pressure of fame — one thing remained the same.

Angelica Greene’s body was made for mine.

How could I forget? The way she fit around me like the missing piece I never knew how to mourn once it was jerked away from me.

Just as I was about to gently wake her up, her head moved, and then she blinked up at me, a dreamy smile flashed across her lips followed by sheer panic.

I barely managed to cover my balls before her knee came flying up at breakneck speed, sending her backward off the bed. “Ouch!”

“Do you always wake up so aggressively? Is this a new habit?” I rasped.

“I um…” She jumped to her feet, grabbed her cell phone, made a noise, and ran into the bathroom slamming the door behind her.

Two minutes later, she was back in the room throwing a ball cap on her head. She dipped down and peered under the bed, muttering something about flip-flops. Frowning, she stood and performed a slow spin, her gaze scanning the room.

“Need help?” I yawned.

“Now you offer to help?” She kicked one of her duffel bags open. “Ah hah!”

“What? Find drugs?”

Shit. Did I really have no filter anymore?

“Close.” Her voice had an edge to it. “I found my favorite pair of underwear.”

They went flying toward my face.

I caught the lacy thong with one hand and nearly punched myself with the other even though it itched to reach for her, or my own aching body whatever I could reach the quickest.

“Gotta run.” She snatched up a pair of sneakers from next to the dresser bolted out the door carrying them.

“Ang, wait—”

She paused, bottle of ready mixed protein in hand.

“I can drive you.”

“I’ll walk.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Should work off the drugs, right?”

The door slammed behind her.

And I felt hungover.

Even though, I hadn’t had any alcohol the night before.

What I’d had was harder stuff.

I’d had her body.

Better than any drug.

Not that I would know.

A few minutes went by, ones where I refused to think about the hurtful way I’d snapped at her and the reasons behind it, and just basked in her scent like a lunatic.

It was the first time since taking her on as a client that she gave me a brief glimpse into her old self — the pieces I’d fallen for.

If all it took was a glimpse, I was completely screwed if she did anything more, because already I was finding it hard to leave her bed, her room.

And all she’d done was force me to do a duet so we could both sleep.

I grinned the entire way to set, and made a mental note to apologize.