She glanced around at the overly masculine room with its dark woods. This was his domain, his room, the place where he laid his body down to sleep. It was without a doubt the one room in the entire house she really shouldn't be in, not if she wanted to keep this business like. It was too much like him, too comfortable, too real, and all too intriguing. Unable to resist its lure she started to look around.
The bed was huge, bigger than her king size even. Of course he was a big man, he probably did need the space. She wandered around a moment, studying each undeniably Richie aspect of the room and smiled. It was totally him, from the royal purple of the comforter, to the plushness of the chairs to the wide open beach front wall of windows. But when her eyes fell onto a singular photo frame she had to look.
She studied the gamine face and smiled. There was something there in the stubborn lift of the chin that simply screamed Richie, along with a certain tilt of the eyes. She was blonde, with light eyes, obviously from the mother, but the closer you looked you could see definite Sambora traits. She murmured softly as she turned back towards the closet. "No wonder she has your heart, and it hurts to think of your mistake."
Opening the closet, she ruffled through until she found a rather vivid purple sweat shirt and matching pants to wear. She winced slightly knowing she was going to look all sorts of homeless until she could find better things to wear. Not wanting to dirty up his furniture or room further with the sand and salt drying too her, she stayed put, her eyes watching the bathroom door intently.
He quickly rinsed off most of the brine and sand, washing his hair with a thorough scrub. He loved the ocean, but damn if it didn't stick to every part of him. Stepping out, he shrugged into his robe, opening the door. She was a total wreck, and he found it strangely endearing. Reaching out to strip a piece of seaweed out of her hair he grinned. "Go ahead. I didn't use up all the hot water."
She glanced over him and took a deep breath. Thank god for small favors, he at least put on a robe. She watched a moment as droplets of water fell from his hair, her gaze quickly flickering down to the length of his legs before skittering away. "Good thing you're not a hot water hog."
She slipped past him, leaning against the bathroom door after shutting it. She felt her brow twitch as she mentally pictured exactly what lay beneath the robe. Alex, stop it, he’s a client, nothing more. Ok so he had a rather unusual request in staying here, but you can handle this. He's a client, nothing more nothing less. That didn’t stop the twinges of heat that kept her belly in knots and her toes ready to curl. If anything, it simply reinforced the need to throw her professionalism out his big bay window.
She sighed as she stripped off the sticky clothing, her hand reaching in to turn the water on and adjust it. Stepping into the shower she quickly washed, removing all hints of the sea from her hair and body before stepping from the stall. Patting herself dry, she dressed quickly in the loud purple sweats, managing a snort at her bedraggled and sad look.
He belted his jeans, tugging a copper shirt off the hanger, then shrugged into it as she opened the door. He looked up at her, the sweats even larger on her this time. Dark splotches formed where her wet hair gathered over her shoulder. He grinned, slipping the buttons through their holes. "Feel better?"
She managed a grin, her fingers combing through her hair repeatedly. "Well, I'm cleaner, less salty, so that works. How about you?"
"I'm ready to eat." He flicked his gaze over the overlarge pants. "We're going shopping first though. You're wasting those gorgeous legs in my sloppy sweats." He blew his bangs out of his face. "My favorite color though."
She couldn’t resist watching as he buttoned the coppery shirt, the tanned expanse of chest teasing from beyond the buttons he seemed to always forget to do up. God, did one man have to look so…. She stopped the thought mid step, she just couldn't go there, not with him, no matter what. As his words began to sink in her eyes widened slightly, her gorgeous legs? He'd never seen her legs, she always wore slacks. How’d he know what her legs looked like? Her head tilted as she tried to keep a smile off her face. "Ahh right, shopping."
She glanced out the window a moment as she wondered if she'd picked this one set because she remembered he liked purple then pushed the thought away. She dressed to suit herself, not a man, even if it was hand me downs.
"I have a hairdryer if you want, or do you want to just tie it back?" He looked at the golden mass that was tumbling free, his fingers oddly itchy to get a feel of the cool strands. He assumed it would be cool--like the icy woman herself, how could they not be? He watched as she started tugging it back into a ponytail. "Tying it back it is." At her bland look, he smiled wider. "C'mon my little artist. Let's go find some play clothes for you and I'll feed you."
She offered up a snort and started towards the door, the promise of food more intriguing than the promise of play clothes. She stopped suddenly at the door her brow quirking upwards, "your little artist? Not an artist... well not anymore."
"If you're not an artist, I don't know what you are then, darlin'." When she just stared at him, he laughed. "I've seen your work, Lex. That's why you're here. You are an artist. You tell our stories."
She blinked, her hand lifting to shove back glasses that weren't there. She put graphics together for albums, it wasn't art, well not the way she thought of art that is. She nodded a moment then turned back to the door, unsure exactly how to respond to his words.
He couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He'd thrown her off balance again. He could tell, simply from the way she was looking for her glasses. So that’s how you hide hmm? I’ll have to see what I can do about that. She walked ahead, his scent clinging to her, his clothes clinging to her as well. The long legged grace of her was oddly enticing in his clothes to be honest. He wondered what it would be like with just one of his button downs on her. Those long legs bare--Jesus.
She glanced back, her eyes widening at the near hunger in his gaze and paused. She took a breath then coughed slightly, his scent was wrapping too firmly around her. "You gonna stand there all day or are you going to feed me?" She had to get him back on track, back to just being, she could handle the music man, the morose music centered artist, but not the man, this man, with the swirling emotions deep within that wicked brown gaze.
She followed him down the stairs and muttered, "reputation isn't all you have, would serve ya right if I decided to wear this to eat."
He stopped, and they were even on the stairs, the one step difference putting them on truly even footing. Her wide gold eyes locked on his. "I don't care what you wear," he said softly. "I don't care what anyone thinks of me these days."
She shook her head, sudden instinct moving her finger to flick his nose. "Yeah you do, or you wouldn't keep beating yourself up about things, right?" She turned, moved down the stair-case, and to the front door only to lean back against the wall to wait on him.
Stifling a growl he followed her. His fucking mug shot was out for the world to see, you couldn't get much worse than that. He only cared about how he left his mark. As long as he was more than the drunk-driving dad in the end, that was all that mattered. And he hoped--that with this album they would see him. Not Richie the fuck up, but as Richie the artist that was a little battered, but a little better for his mistakes. God help him.
He opened the door, letting her go through first and bit back a groan. His scent was all over her as she passed by. She wore it a helluva lot better than he did.
She rounded the car and got in before he could hold that door for her. She couldn’t restrain the grin as she watched him stop dead then move to his side of the car. Good, she’d thwarted him a little. He looked so put out as he backed down the drive, heading into the small strip mall on the outskirts of the little town he lived in.
"So, now that we've figured out that we don't care what you look like--food or clothes first?"
She leaned back into the seat, her eyes closing as he navigated the streets. "Food, I'll always choose food over shopping."
She cracked one eye open and almost laughed at the look on his face. "What? I hate to shop ok? Find me a flea market, I can find a few things. But shop?? No way."
He downshifted and headed out to the shoreline. "All right, we'll go dress down dining," he said with a twist of his mouth.
"Don't have to be fancy, just filling." She twisted in her seat, her eyes settling on his hands as they maneuvered his SUV. He had such long fingers, casual graceful moves even when driving. With hands like that he could have been an artist, molding clay or stone, but she knew he'd found the right niche, molding music. "It was always a part of you wasn't it?"
At his quizzical glance she smiled. "Music I mean, even when you were younger?"
He eased into the light traffic, his hand cradling the back of her headrest as he looked over his shoulder. "Well, it took me a bit of time to get to the guitar, but music has always been a part of me."
She smiled slightly and nodded. "You’re different here. More relaxed. You should visit more often."
"Don't give me any ideas darlin'. I can have a studio built in seven days. Then you'll never get to leave."
She started to laugh. "I don't believe ya. No one can do that; you'd have to be superman or something."
He parked at the seafood steakhouse he loved, and sat back. The devil inside of him arose along with the barest nudges of a plan. "Bet."
One brow raised just as the small bit of reckless she usually kept well caged rose. Hell it always rose if a competition was waved right under her nose. "Winner gets?"
"Winner gets carte blanche. You get an evening of asking questions and all have to be answered. Like that game truth or dare--only it's all truth." His eyes met her wary ones. "ANYTHING goes."
God she hated talking about herself, hated it with a passion. Not that there was anything worth talking about, not since she'd quit painting. A long slow grin began to play on her lips, even if he was the Pope there was no way he could build a studio in a week, this should be a breeze. "You're on."
He smiled. "Excellent."
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