Therefore, CiCi’s comment had some truth to it.
But I also believed I’d worked my butt off to get this gig. For years, I’d taken the fashion designers others wouldn’t wear. All indie and on the rise. Now those indie designers were top ones, and CiCi and others realized they’d made a mistake.
“Are you doing Trigger’s album release tonight?” CiCi asked.
“Yeah. I have to.”
We just broke up, and now I have to be at his album release. That won’t be uncomfortable.
CiCi grinned. “Oh yeah. I forgot. You grabbed the Natural Health cigarettes deal. Is it okay if I come with you?”
I nodded, close to limping in the shoes. It would’ve been rude to take them off and walk barefoot. The designer was there, and artists were very sensitive people.
I glanced over my shoulder. The designer watched with pride. Smiling, I waved goodbye to him.
CiCi stopped at the door. “Since Rico isn’t here do you need any help with—”
“Oh no. I’m fine.” I yawned. “I just need to find Rico, get a quick nap back at home, and then head to the event tonight.”
“Cool. My agent is here for one of the other girls. I’m going to talk to him.” She bit her bottom lip. “Could I ask a favor about the event?”
“Sure.”
“My budget is low. Could I use your makeup team?”
I knew York would bitch about the higher bill that would come from helping CiCi out, but that was fine. “Sure. We can meet tonight.”
“Thanks.” She hugged me. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.” I watched her rush off, almost asking her to stay. The walk to the dressing room had relaxed me, but now that I was alone, my shaky nerves kicked in.
Still hurrying, CiCi called over her shoulder. “Oh, and if I find Rico, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.” I turned back to my dressing room.
Where are you Rico?
When I opened the door, I froze in terror.
Rico wasn’t there, but somebody else was.
3
Muscled Ass Memories
Zola
A man stood in my dressing room towering over everything.
He had his back to me.
His black suit jacket was tight against his broad shoulders. I directed my gaze to his muscled ass. Once I went there, I couldn’t help to roam down his thick legs. Even though the finely tailored suit hugged him, muscle pushed against the fabric and probably roped every inch of his body.
Where’s Rico? Is this my stalker? No, it couldn’t be.
He turned. Dark eyes met mine. And then, I drank in his gorgeous face. My body reacted. Old memories of a long-time crush curled around my heart.
Hunter? How the hell did I not recognize him?
At this point, I should’ve had that muscled ass memorized. I’d spent a good part of my years drooling over him from behind.
Hunter Jasper was seven feet of muscle and anger. Handsome. Olive complexion. Dark, wavy hair. Even when he frowned, he dazzled women—old or young, teachers and old church ladies. He had my mom wrapped around his big fingers, but that was because he was an absolute sweetheart. It was hard not to love him.
My voice came out shaky. “Hunter?”
The fact that I was capable of speech amazed me. My knees went weak, and those silver-tipped high heels weren’t helping. I leaned back in the doorway to balance myself.
Memories, erratic and disjointed, played in my mind.
A designer black suit adorned him. The rock-hard bulge of biceps and man pressed against the expensive fabric. As usual, Hunter was large, lethal, and just as dark as I remembered him. Although he was white, his scowl was black. His gaze too. And the gun in the holster under his heavy muscled arm was black as well.
Darkness. All black and shadowed. Sometimes, I yearned to hide in it. Be warm from it. Find solace in it.
Currently, I wondered if the gun was as cold as that silent stare that he had directed my way.
Deeper down, in the naughtier parts of my mind, I wondered how he looked under that shirt. Under those pants. Was he as hard as he looked? Cut muscle? Big, bulging arms and thighs? Washboard abs?
Then, for a few seconds, but I wasn’t sure, I could’ve sworn he drank my half-clothed body in. Maybe, for a short minute, Hunter’s gaze roamed over my body. I tensed, realizing that I only wore the zebra printed bikini. His jaw tightened when his gaze hit my tiny bottoms.
“Hunter?” I whispered.
That deep voice vibrated through me. “Hey, Zola.”
He grabbed the robe on my chair, walked over, and handed it to me.
It took me a few seconds to catch my breath. I cleared my throat and took the robe, putting it on between words. “Why are you here?”
“Your brother told me you had a stalker.”
Jesus, York. I also told you I had it handled and that everything would be okay.
I put the robe on. “York must be pretty scared.”