Idol (VIP, #1)(19)

I start to pull away, but he gives my hand a little tug, and I finally see the twinkle in his eyes. “You like me better than Eddie.”

“Whatever you say, hon.”

But he’s right. I’m beginning to think I like him more than anyone.



Killian asks for a second slice of pie as we spread out on the floor and sort through Dad’s old records. I’m determined not to act like a nut anymore.

We listen to Django Reinhardt, one of my dad’s favorites.

“You know he only had use of three fingers on his left hand,” I tell Killian as we bop our heads to “Limehouse Blues.”

“One of the greatest guitar players of all time,” Killian says, then pulls out another album from the stack I’ve set on the rug between us. “Purple Rain. Now, talk about a f*cking brilliant guitarist. Prince was a monster, just so…effortless but with such badass soul.”

Resting my head in my hand, I smile up at him. “You ever seen the actual album?”

His dark brow quirks. “No.”

My smile grows as he slips the record out of its sleeve and his eyes go wide. “It’s f*cking purple!”

The way his deep voice almost squeaks makes me laugh. “Yeah. I had the same reaction when I was eight and found it. My dad totally yelled at me when he caught me using it as a tea tray for my dolls.”

Carefully, Killian tucks the purple record back into its sleeve. “I think it’s awesome that you grew up with music that way. My family appreciated it, but not with the same consuming love I had.”

I hum an acknowledgement but sorrow holds my tongue. Life has been so silent since my parents died. Too silent. I never really thought about how I turned my back on the simple joy of loving music, and how badly that has affected me.

I’m so distracted by my own thoughts that I don’t see Killian reach for the black file box until he’s already opening it.

“No, don’t—” My words die as he lifts up the battered ream of paper.

His gaze darts over the first page. “What’s this?”

Kill me now. Just take me out back and shoot me. Heat pushes through my flesh with a thick, uncomfortable fist. “Nothing. Just scribbles.”

I make an attempt to grab the stack, but he easily evades me by sticking out one of his freakishly long arms and holding my shoulder with his freakish strength.

“Hold up.” A smile starts pulling at his lips, and he uses a thumb to riffle through a few of the top pages. “These are songs.” Dark eyes flick up to meet mine. A twinkle of surprise lights his expression. “Your songs.”

“How do you know they’re mine—”

“You put your name on the top of each.”

I flop back on the floor and cover my eyes with my forearm. “They were private.”

Silence greets me, but I don’t dare look. I’m so exposed now. Worse than being naked. Getting naked with Killian would at least result in pleasure. This? Torture. I swallow hard and grit my teeth.

The floor creaks, and I feel his warmth. His touch is gentle as he lifts my arm from my face and grins down at me. “These are f*cking great. Why are you embarrassed?”

“You just read the equivalent of my diary. Why wouldn’t I be embarrassed?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Funny, you don’t look at all sorry.”

He bites his bottom lip, clearly trying to rein in his glee. “Well, when I stumble across a diary like this?” He holds my stack of songs a little higher. “How could I be? It’s like finding a unicorn.”

“Into unicorns, are you?”

“Ha. Stop deflecting.” Killian crosses his legs before him and keeps flipping through my songs like a geek who’s found a long-lost chapter of The Lord of The Rings. “Why didn’t you tell me you wrote songs?”

I lurch up and snatch them from his hands. “It’s something I did when I was younger. A hobby.” Something my parents made quite clear was a dead end.

“The last one is only a few years old.” His expression pinches as he watches me put the songs away and close the file box lid. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Libs.”

With a sigh, I press my hands on the box lid. “I know. Honestly, I haven’t thought about them in a while. Okay, after you told me who you really were, they did enter my mind. But I didn’t want you getting any ideas.”

“Ideas?”

I can’t look at him. “You rightly called me out on getting weird on you. No way was I about to say, ‘Oh, hey, I wrote these songs!’ Like some lame sales pitch. I wouldn’t do that to you, Killian.”

“Libs.” He touches my arm so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “I’d never think you were doing that.”

I nod. “At any rate, it really isn’t a big deal. It was for fun.”

His frown doesn’t ease, as if he still wants to ask a whole host of questions I don’t want to answer.

Panic clutches my chest. “I’m serious. Can we please drop this?”

Killian takes a deep breath. “Okay, Libby.”

He glances around, at a loss. I’m there too. But before it can get any more awkward, he shrugs and returns to picking through the records like nothing happened.