Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(3)

Damn that man and his elephantine memory. “Oh. Uh . . . yes. It was.”

“So you know Liam Quinn?” Ava asks, surprised.

“A little.”

At least, I thought I did. The man I knew was different from the short-tempered bad boy who now shows up in the gossip rags every few weeks.

“Will he give us any trouble?” Marco asks.

I shrug. “He was very professional as our Romeo, but that was before he became Mr. Big-Shot Hollywood Icon. Now, he has a history of aggression toward paparazzi. I haven’t heard about him being difficult in a professional capacity, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Marco nods. “Agreed. In contrast, his fiancée seems so sweet in interviews it makes my teeth ache. I think we should all be prepared to tread carefully and massage some difficult attitudes.”

For the rest of the meeting, I keep only one ear on the conversation as I think back to the Liam of Christmases past. He used to be passionate, attentive, and hot as hell, and he awakened a part of my sexuality I never knew existed. I should have realized it was too good to last. There isn’t a man on earth as perfect as he was pretending to be.

Even after all of this time, I hate how he played me. And I still wonder why he did it. To prove he could? To make sure I had both feet firmly on the rug before he pulled it out from under me?

Whatever the reason, what’s done is done. I can’t go back and change things. But I can make sure Liam Quinn never gets the chance to fool me again.





TWO


MR. QUINN


Three Weeks Later

Pier 23 Rehearsal Rooms

New York City

I hear a barrage of screams. Either Liam and Angel have just arrived, or hundreds of people are being tortured right outside the building.

My pulse kicks into overdrive, and I take a deep breath as I remind myself to stay cool. I just need to detach my emotions. Compartmentalize. It’s usually my specialty.

Not today.

Knowing he’s near, my dormant romantic fantasies spark like half-lit fireworks, threatening to ignite all over again.

The screams downstairs get louder. They do nothing to help my state of mind.

I cross the rehearsal room and look out the window onto the street below. Sure enough, down on the pavement is a huge crowd of salivating women, and a few men. Climbing out of a black Escalade in front of them is the object of millions of sexual fantasies. My heart rate speeds up as the tall man with the perfect physique smiles and waves at his fans. He looks good. Better than he has any right to.

His sandy-brown hair is artfully tousled, and although a lot of men spend ages trying to emulate the look, what they don’t realize is that Liam rolls out of bed like that. It only adds to his sex appeal. Any man who naturally looks like he’s just gone ten rounds in the sack gets top spot on the hotness meter. His high cheekbones and square jaw bump him up even higher, and that’s before we even make it to his lips and eyes. I thank the gods his crazy-beautiful blue-green eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, and that I’m too far away to get the full effect of the rest of his face.

Pity I can’t say the same thing about his body.

I’ve never met anyone with a body like Liam’s. It’s my definition of perfection. Every muscle is defined and sculpted but not huge or bulky. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The best butt I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I didn’t know I had a thing for muscles before I met Liam, but boy, I know now.

His T-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he reaches into the Escalade and helps a statuesque redhead out of the car.

Angel Bell. Beauty queen, socialite, fashion maven, and Hollywood princess. Daughter of Senator Cyrus Bell, and sister of award-winning journalist Tori Bell.

Josh appears beside me. “Angeeeeeeel,” he whispers in a reverent tone. “Leave that muscled loser and let me love you. We’d make beautiful babies.”

“Oh, ew,” I say.

Josh leans closer to the windows to get a better look. “So you’re allowed to lust after Mr. Tall-and-Ripped but I can’t have an innocent crush on lovely Leggy McRedhead?”

“Josh, none of your crushes are innocent.”

He chuckles. “Okay, fine. I want to do bad things to her. But can you blame me? I want to wrap those long legs around me and make her mewl like a kitten.”

“Isn’t she a bit vanilla for your tastes?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. She seems like a perfectly nice girl.”

“Exactly. You don’t date nice girls.”

Josh has a thing for actresses. More specifically, wildly ambitious actresses who are two neuroses short of batshit crazy. His girlfriends tend to have a lot in common with Broadway shows: They’re always high maintenance and filled with drama.

“You’re right,” he says. “I usually prefer girls who challenge me.”

“You say ‘challenge,’ and I hear ‘scare the crap out of.’ ”

“That reminds me—tell me again why you and I have never dated?”

“Because we made out that one time in sophomore year and both thought it was weird as hell.”

“Well, you thought that. I was into it.”

“Oh, please.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Elissa, I don’t know whether you realize this, but you are a smoking-hot female specimen. Yes, I’m your best friend, but I’m also a man. Kissing a chick who looks like Scarlett Johansson’s younger sister is going to give me masculine stirrings. Have no doubt.”