Rhythm of My Heart

jeans, skimpy shirts and impossibly high heels, they all looked the same. Zachary had long since stopped trying to differentiate one face from another. He’d become too accustomed to the clusters of females who swarmed him.

Not groupies. No, groupies were another kettle of fish. A kettle that shared most of his been-there-done-that T-shirts.

These were fans. Adoring girls who’d be content with a smile or an autograph or a high-five.

At first, when fame had struck so fast, he’d tried to talk to them all, tried to offer them each a real smile and a heartfelt word. But that had soon become impossible. When hundreds, sometimes thousands, of fans flocked to him, it was unfeasible to give each of them his individual attention.

He’d since mastered the art of singling out one admirer while tackling some of the hundreds of questions that were tossed his way.

Zachary smiled patiently and handled the girls. As he spoke, he eyed the quietest one, a plain redhead. Yeah, so sue him. He had a soft spot for redheads. Especially redheads with green eyes. This one was shyer than the rest of her friends and not trying to get his attention. Instead she seemed content to stand aside while her companions flirted shamelessly.

He grinned at her and almost laughed at her responding look of bewilderment. As a black marker was handed to him and he signed his name to someone’s shirt, he winked at the redhead.

Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned pink. She smiled back.

Zachary answered questions as he always did—mostly with non-answers or by deflecting the questions back to the girls.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Jonah?”

“A pretty girl like you asking me that?” Said with a winning smile. “I bet you’re trying to make your boyfriend jealous.”

“What’s your star sign, Jonah?”

“Well, now, I’m guessing you must be a Libra.” Libra. The first star sign he could think of. “It’s funny, you know. Libras ask that question a lot.”

And so the conversation went, with Zachary charming the young women and signing his name at least five more times. The girls grew bolder, and by the time he penned his last autograph, it was to bare flesh, just above firm breasts.

He refused to sign the bare breasts themselves. The girls were just too young for that to sit comfortably with him.

He would have stayed with them longer had an impulse to raise his gaze and look across the room not caught him by surprise.

Bam.

Desire hit him like a punch in the gut.

There she was, leaning against the wall, chatting to Delilah but watching him speculatively. Again that sense of familiarity wafted through his mind. He’d never met her before this tour, but something about her yanked at a string in his memory.

He answered his last question and held his palm out to the shy redhead. When she tentatively gave him her hand, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her fingers, leaving the girl flushed and her friends oohing and aahing.

With a final smile in her direction, he extricated himself from the group and walked directly to the woman whose gaze still followed his movements. In her hand she held a single rose in full bloom. Delilah no longer stood with her.

She was an enigma, for sure.

Apart from his mother, Zachary hadn’t given anyone flowers in a long time. Yet tonight, when instinct had dictated he offer this woman roses, she’d rejected them. Rejected him, cold. Hadn’t even bothered to tell him her name.

Eve Andrews.

Zachary couldn’t remember the last time he’d been rejected. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d made the first move. Continually surrounded by groupies and fans, anything more than a meaningful look or raised eyebrow had become obsolete.

He handed his half-empty beer bottle to a waiter, neatly sidestepped a woman who eyed him lecherously, smiled for a press photographer and finally reached his destination.

She leaned quietly against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, the single rose resting across her breasts. Breasts that looked pert and appealing beneath the tight, black T-shirt she wore. The shirt ended just above her hips, an inch or two short of her white jeans, offering Zachary an enticing view of pale female flesh.

Unlike him, she hadn’t changed since the concert. But even at this hour—well past one in the morning—she looked fresh and vital, as though she’d just stepped out of the shower.

He wondered how she’d react if he buried his nose in the crook of her neck and breathed deeply of her scent.

Probably not too kindly.

Zachary had a sudden, overwhelming urge to impress her. To say something that would blow her mind and replace the caution in her eyes with undimmed interest. He waited a heartbeat for the right words to come and then smiled at her.

“Hey.”

Hey? Seriously?

“Hey.” She bit her lower lip.

“How are you?”

Really, Zachary? That’s the best you’ve got?

“Good. You?”

“Good. Enjoying the party?”

Ah, fuck. Shoot me now. Could he say anything more mundane? If Luke and his brothers had heard him, they’d be doubled over with laughter.

She raised a dainty shoulder. “It’s all right.”

“Just all right?” Her answer made him smile. He knew the lengths people went to in order to get an invitation to these parties, yet Eve was totally blase about it.

“I hadn’t intended to come. I was just going to go to sleep.”

Zachary angled himself in front of her, intentionally giving the rest of the world his back. Right now he was interested in no one but the beguiling woman before him. “What changed your mind?”

And could he just add, silently, that he was mighty glad she had changed her mind?

She raised the rose, offering it to him. “This did.”

He made a mental note to thank Luke. Who else could organize a delivery of fresh flowers—while coordinating the usual post-concert chaos—in a strange city, at midnight?

Zachary lifted it to his nose and inhaled. Sweet, but not nearly as sweet as Eve. “You’re giving me a used rose?”

“Ah, I’m not giving it to you. As soon as I leave, I’m taking it back. I just thought you might want to see what I’m thanking you for.” She ran a hand over her left cheek. “The flowers are beautiful. Every one of them. Thank you.”

Zachary drank in the sight of her. She was tiny. If he pulled her into his arms—which yes, he wanted to do, badly—her forehead head would press against his sternum. That wasn’t a bad thing. Not at all. Her long brown hair would feather across his chest and nipples. And if she wrapped her legs around him while he drove into her, over and over again, he doubted she’d be able to cross her feet behind his back.

The image was enough to stir his cock to life.

She was also incredibly pretty. The longer he drank in the sight of her, the prettier she looked, and the harder he became. Her makeup was perfect, the tones of her blush making her sky-blue eyes seem bluer and her cherry-red lips supremely kissable.

Given the opportunity, he’d press his mouth to hers and discover if her lips tasted as good as they