She never cared for the automatic ride in a germ-infested elevator. With each stop, the cramped quarters became tolerable. When the last person exited, she took a deep breath.
“Finally,” she said. “Three more floors and I’m out of here.” But when the bell dinged and stopped one more time, she waited to see who would be accompanying her for the flight down.
Her body froze when the doors glided open. The once hottest country music singer stepped in and stood beside her. She inhaled his masculine musk scent and clenched her fists to keep them from wondering.
She’d been a fan since his “Gambler” and “Coward of the County” days. “Six Pack” had always been her favorite movie. She cried for weeks when his perfect marriage had ended in divorce, and then cried for months when no one gave her the phone number to his alleged phone-sex line.
Most men looked dirty sporting a beard, but to her it was his trademark. And the way his voice vibrated when he sang always sent shivers down her spine.
She glanced at his tush and smiled. What would he do if—? Just one touch wouldn’t hurt.
When he glanced over his shoulder and met her gaze, all the years of admiration she felt for him vanished.
She raised her hand and slapped him upside the back of the head. “You’re a dumb ass.”
“Ouch.” He reached up and rubbed his wound. “What was that for?”
“Going under the knife and erasing the lines and wrinkles that defined the turmoil, failures, and success you’ve endured in your lifetime.”
“I did that for you.”
“You what?” As much as she wanted to believe he knew she lived on the same planet, she wasn’t naive.
He pulled a picture from his wallet and handed it to her. She’d sent a school picture to him years ago inside a fan letter. “I love you. Your biggest fan” on the back was faded.
“I wanted to look like that young man you loved back then.” He grabbed her waist, tipped her backward, and slowly placed his soft lips against hers. “It’s good to finally meet my biggest fan.”