ramblings
and
she could spend the rest of Saints and Sinners locked up in her house.
I should be so lucky
.
This
was what came of trying to be nice to Connor. At least when he was insulting or irritating her he didn’t throw little
double entendres
into the conversation to trip her up and mess with her mind.
That explains it
. Relief washed over her. She wasn’t insane; she just wasn’t used to Connor acting like that. He’d taken advantage of her politeness and gotten flirty as if she was just another simpering fan.
That
was what had thrown her off her game. Her world didn’t seem quite so off-kilter now. She straightened her shoulders and got ahold of herself. No more Miss Nice-Vivi. It was dangerous.
And how dare he talk to her like she was one of his slobbering, sex-starved groupies? Anger flashed through her. There was a time and a place for that kind of banter andhere and now were neither. And she certainly wasn’t the right audience. Anger at Connor gave way to anger at herself when a little voice piped up to remind her how quickly she’d jumped to a full-color visual of Connor…
Ugh. Do you have no self-respect at all?
Okay, note to self: no more tossing Connor a rope
.
It might end up tied around her neck next time.
Connor had hoped that the physical labor would occupy his mind—or at least focus his thoughts someplace other than south of Vivi’s belt. It wasn’t working.
What had possessed him to flirt like that with Vivi? After yesterday’s awkwardness he shouldn’t have said anything even remotely risqué, but neither the words nor Vivi’s reaction should have affected him so strongly. A few stupid little remarks, and now all he could think about was Vivi: those long legs, the shapely curve of her butt covered by faded denim clinging to it like a second skin, the way her hands-on-hips stance had called attention to her breasts and the gentle flare of her hips. He’d had a handful of those curves just yesterday, and he was insanely curious to know what they felt like without the fabric separating them from his hands.
Which was totally wrong and crazy because this was
Vivi
, for God’s sake. Who didn’t even like him. More important, he didn’t like her.
But, honestly, that was getting harder to justify as well. Vivi hadn’t just helped him shoo off the press—who’d spent more time this morning asking about his next album instead of about the news they were actually supposed to be covering—she’d done so in a way guaranteed to make the biggest splash. The image of Vivi in the middle of the street calling him a pretty boy had done more than save him. She’dprovided the press with a money shot and the lead to the story.
That could backfire on her and make her look foolish, but it had solved a problem
and
ensured they’d make the local news tonight. They’d probably make several blogs as well.
Vivi was too media-savvy not to know that, so it had to have been her intent. If nothing else, he had to give her props for caring about the cause.
His muscles protested as he hauled an old tire to the refuse pile. This was backbreakingly hard work, especially for someone who’d spent six of the last eight months on the road. Sweat rolled down his spine, and he was glad he’d agreed to do this in January rather than August.
The pain in his wrists and hands reminded him that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to this activity at all. He went to the cooler full of water bottles, leaving his hands submerged in the icy water for a few seconds longer than necessary in order to get a little relief.
If he couldn’t get his thoughts under control he’d need to be sitting in that ice water soon. And he’d have no one to blame but himself. One thing he was very sure of: Vivi hadn’t intended for her words to come across with a double meaning. He’d looked back briefly once safely on his side of the street, just in time to watch all the color drain from her face before she turned bright
and
she could spend the rest of Saints and Sinners locked up in her house.
I should be so lucky
.
This
was what came of trying to be nice to Connor. At least when he was insulting or irritating her he didn’t throw little
double entendres
into the conversation to trip her up and mess with her mind.
That explains it
. Relief washed over her. She wasn’t insane; she just wasn’t used to Connor acting like that. He’d taken advantage of her politeness and gotten flirty as if she was just another simpering fan.
That
was what had thrown her off her game. Her world didn’t seem quite so off-kilter now. She straightened her shoulders and got ahold of herself. No more Miss Nice-Vivi. It was dangerous.
And how dare he talk to her like she was one of his slobbering, sex-starved groupies? Anger flashed through her. There was a time and a place for that kind of banter andhere and now were neither. And she certainly wasn’t the right audience. Anger at Connor gave way to anger at herself when a little voice piped up to remind her how quickly she’d jumped to a full-color visual of Connor…
Ugh. Do you have no self-respect at all?
Okay, note to self: no more tossing Connor a rope
.
It might end up tied around her neck next time.
Connor had hoped that the physical labor would occupy his mind—or at least focus his thoughts someplace other than south of Vivi’s belt. It wasn’t working.
What had possessed him to flirt like that with Vivi? After yesterday’s awkwardness he shouldn’t have said anything even remotely risqué, but neither the words nor Vivi’s reaction should have affected him so strongly. A few stupid little remarks, and now all he could think about was Vivi: those long legs, the shapely curve of her butt covered by faded denim clinging to it like a second skin, the way her hands-on-hips stance had called attention to her breasts and the gentle flare of her hips. He’d had a handful of those curves just yesterday, and he was insanely curious to know what they felt like without the fabric separating them from his hands.
Which was totally wrong and crazy because this was
Vivi
, for God’s sake. Who didn’t even like him. More important, he didn’t like her.
But, honestly, that was getting harder to justify as well. Vivi hadn’t just helped him shoo off the press—who’d spent more time this morning asking about his next album instead of about the news they were actually supposed to be covering—she’d done so in a way guaranteed to make the biggest splash. The image of Vivi in the middle of the street calling him a pretty boy had done more than save him. She’dprovided the press with a money shot and the lead to the story.
That could backfire on her and make her look foolish, but it had solved a problem
and
ensured they’d make the local news tonight. They’d probably make several blogs as well.
Vivi was too media-savvy not to know that, so it had to have been her intent. If nothing else, he had to give her props for caring about the cause.
His muscles protested as he hauled an old tire to the refuse pile. This was backbreakingly hard work, especially for someone who’d spent six of the last eight months on the road. Sweat rolled down his spine, and he was glad he’d agreed to do this in January rather than August.
The pain in his wrists and hands reminded him that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to this activity at all. He went to the cooler full of water bottles, leaving his hands submerged in the icy water for a few seconds longer than necessary in order to get a little relief.
If he couldn’t get his thoughts under control he’d need to be sitting in that ice water soon. And he’d have no one to blame but himself. One thing he was very sure of: Vivi hadn’t intended for her words to come across with a double meaning. He’d looked back briefly once safely on his side of the street, just in time to watch all the color drain from her face before she turned bright
Similar Books
