Metal & Lace (An Opposites Attract Novel Book 1) (5 page)

We didn’t talk after that. He just crawled into bed with me
and
tucked a long, tatted arm about my waist, spooning me until I fell asleep.

When I wake the next morning, I’m alone.

I thought last night was a breakthrough, but it didn’t take long after finding he was gone to realize that wasn’t the case. I think back on everything that happened and cringe.

Why does he make me dumb with lust?

As I get out of the shower, there’s a knock on my door, and my
heart skips a beat. Maybe he wasn’t such a jerk after all.

I open the door with only a small towel covering my naughty bits.

“Forget some…?” I trail off when I spot the petite woman with lavender hair. It’s that light shade of purple that the elderly ladies used to rock, but now it’s a hip new hue for the young and fabulous. She sports it short and wavy. Think modern Marilyn. There’s even a little black beauty mark on her cheek. Wearing a black pencil skirt and a clingy silk blouse, she looks sharp, edgy, and sophisticated, everything I’m not. “Can I help you?”

She stares up at me from her phone just long enough to give me a quick unfazed look. “Are you Lacey Cummings?”

“Yes?”

“Well do you know or not?” she asks with an amused smile.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” I notice how stunning she is, how her outfit fits her perfect, hourglass figure. Unlike me. I’m all small breasts and slender frame. I’m tall, five-ten, so this tiny towel barely contains my snatch. “Let me get something on.”

“I don’t care, honey. I’ve seen a lot more.” She peeks back down at her phone when it buzzes then says without looking back up, “I’m Callie, Anarchy’s band manager.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I murmur, trying to pull my towel down a little.

“Likewise. Look, I’m just here to do damage control for the band. Make sure nothing gets put in that story of yours that we wouldn’t want getting out.”

“Then you’re not leaving me much to go with,” I retort teasingly.

She shoots me a glance and a smirk. “Gunnar also sent me up here as a messenger of sorts.”

“What did he say?” The perk up in my voice is apparent.

She shoots me an intrigued look. “He wants you to meet him in the restaurant.”

“Did he say why?”

I really need to hide my feelings better. Lust, hatred, intrigue, I’m not sure what I feel for him just yet, but they are definitely there, and they are palpable.

“All he said was to have you meet him down there. He tells me to do something then I do it. No questions asked.”

“Tell him I’ll be down in fifteen.”

“On it,” she says, looking back at her phone and walking away.

I glance down at my buzzing phone and read the text.

Fuck me.

I
dressed
in
a summery floral print dress with a pair of white
flats, and threw my long hair into a ponytail before heading down.

I stroll through the lobby, admiring the detail. I haven’t had a chance to soak it all in, locked away in my room since we got here. There’s something about the French inspired atmosphere, an alluring magic. It is decadence at its finest.

The lobby lounge has a charming mix of mish-moshed furniture, no one chair or sofa the same, all worn and cozy, in muted blues, reds, greens.

I head into the restaurant, divided off into an indoor and outdoor area, the garden terrace, which I have an overhead view of from my room. It’s a place where you’ll hear talk of movie deals and the latest Hollywood buzz. For a journalist, it’s heaven.

When I don’t find him inside, I head out there. It’s a perfect day in Los Angeles. Light chatter hums about me, mingled with the gentle clinking of silverware on plates and spurts of laughter. I’m walking along the cloisters, taking in the liveliness of my surroundings, when I hear. “Over here, baby doll.”

I spot him off to the side, tucked away into a secluded corner with tall, dense shrubbery behind him providing shade. He’s wearing a pair of worn leather boots, faded black jeans, a black tee, and square Ray Bans also, you guessed it, black.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t call me that out in public,” I scorn as I approach the table, but I secretly love it. “I want to keep a professional appearance in public.”

He stands up and pulls out the red and cream woven chair beside his. I sit in the one across the table from him. He chuckles lightly.

“That dress isn’t very professional,” he comments as he lowers back onto his seat.

Really? It’s just a simple floral dress.

“I’m dressed appropriately enough. Besides, it’s a nice day out and this isn’t an interview.”

“Isn’t it?” I smile at his playfulness. “So what should I call you, baby doll?”

He smirks, peering up at me from over the rims of his glasses.

“Asshole,” I retort, but it sounds like a term of endearment.

“Asshole, huh? Alright, asshole, if that’s what you want.”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “No, you’re asshole. I’m Lace.”

He reaches over the table, taking my hand in his. They’re callous, rough from years of practicing the guitar until his fingers literally bled, practically playing them to the bone. I love the way they feel against mine.

“As long as I’m your asshole.” I laugh and he shakes his head. “That didn’t come out right, did it?”

“No,” I chuckle out.

He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. The smile fades from his lips. I can’t tell what his eyes are doing behind those shades. I discreetly glance around me to check if anyone’s watching. Other than a few women, most everyone is wrapped up in their own fabulous lives, chatting, laughing, eating. But I become anxious anyway and pull my hand from his hold. This is already getting intense. I have to ease up.

He palms a pack of smokes off the table and picks one out, placing it to his lips and lighting it with a long, slow drag. Blowing two streams of smoke from his nostrils, he sets the lighter and pack back on the table.

“That’s not very healthy.” I point out.

“I hadn’t heard,” he says blandly before inhaling another extended draw. I note the large rose taking up the back of his right hand as he holds it over his mouth, cigarette wedged between his pointer and middle finger. He exhales upward, pushing all the smoke above us. “I didn’t ask for you to join me to be lectured on my dirty habits. I wanted to talk to you about last night,” he states, twisting one of the many rings adorning his fingers. This one has a skull’s face on it, it’s eyes, two black diamonds.

Well, he just came right out with it, didn’t he?

“Okay. Let’s talk.” Suddenly, the waiter approaches our table with a tray, setting a plate and drink down in front of me. “I didn’t order this.”

“I did,” Gunnar says, signaling the waiter away. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Wow.

“Yeah, actually, I’m kinda starved.”

My stomach grumbles and my mouth waters. He ordered me eggs and bacon with a side of fruit and a glass of orange juice.

“I really didn’t know what you’d want, but I thought…”

It’s perfect.

“You did good, Gunn.” He smiles softly before putting out the butt of his smoke and digging into his breakfast. “Why did you leave last night?”

He finishes chewing then replies, “I didn’t leave you last night. I left this morning to shower and get dressed in some clothes I hadn’t sweat into the night before. Plus, I thought you were tired so I let you sleep.”