She sighed.
He glanced at Saffi at the sound, and the soft look on her face made his c**k harden once more. He liked the idea that he was the one to put that look on her face. And this weekend, if he had his way, that was how Saffi was going to look. Every. Fucking. Second.
After dressing himself, he took out a trench coat from the racks. “Let’s get you into this---” He managed to stop himself from calling her Saffi.
Saffi shyly rose to her feet, feeling absolutely cherished as Staffan carefully helped her into his coat before pulling both sides tightly close and knotting its belt just as tightly.
“Ready?” The smile he sent her way was dazzling.
“Umm…just…” She gave up trying to make sense and simply hurried around the room, picking her bra and stuffing it in one pocket while her cropped top went to the other pocket. She gnawed at her lip, feeling like she had forgotten something.
“Are you looking for this?” Staffan held her wristlet bag up with two fingers.
“Oh. Yes. Thanks.” She stuffed it into her pocket with a blush even as she mentally berated herself for being such an airhead and acting like a freaking novice! She was supposed to be an experienced slut, for heaven’s sake!
Staffan took her hand as he led her out of the dressing room. Outside, her embarrassment came back tenfold when she saw everyone smirking at her. Oh my God. They knew. And then she saw Alan Carson and became even more embarrassed. Both of them shared the same hometown, had attended the same high school, and he knew everything about her since his family was in politics, too.
Staffan saw the look of shock and worry in Saffi’s eyes when she saw Carson. He stiffened. Did she care about what the little twerp thought? Jealousy bit at him and he asked sharply, “Is something the matter?”
She jumped at the curt and almost angry sound of his voice. This man might not literally be a rockstar – Staffan didn’t sing rock but most of his American fans, after seeing his tattoo, liked to think of him as one - but he definitely had the temperament of one. He blew hot and cold so quickly he left her whirling.
Maybe he was beginning to question her disguise. Maybe he had sensed her embarrassment and was starting to doubt her identity as a groupie. Maybe he was getting bored with her because he realized he had done most of the work – twice – while she just stood there and waited for him to pleasure her.
Nervous as heck now, Saffi dug into her pocket to get some gum from her wristlet. In the movies, she saw Gs snapping gum all the time so maybe she should do it, too.
When she pulled out her gum, the bra came with it and fell to the floor.
Everyone fell silent again.
She desperately wanted to kill herself but for the love of Staffan Aehrenthal, she was just going to…ride this one out.
When it was clear she wasn’t going to pick it up, Staffan mentally rolled his eyes even as he crouched down to pick it up. But instead of giving it to Saffi, which she clearly expected him to do, he put it in his own pocket.
Her eyes widened, and it was clear on her face she was doing her best not to show more embarrassment.
Why was she so determined to pretend being someone else?
Staffan had her bra. Oh my dear Sex God---no wait the Sex God had her bra. If Saffi didn’t do something quickly, she was going to faint. Remembering the gum in her hand, she quickly popped it into her mouth. She tried blowing a bubble with it, like how Gs did in movies, but it burst back into her mouth instead like a pink sticky web.
Everyone burst into laughter.
Amusement won over exasperation this time, tempting Staffan to smile as he watched Saffi hurriedly spit the gum out and discarded it in a piece of tissue she crumpled into a ball before throwing away. No matter what she did, Saffi just wasn’t cut out to be a hardcore G. Still watching her, he was surprised to see her smile at someone. His eyes followed her line of sight and he stiffened when he saw Alan Carson smiling at his Saffi ruefully.
Staffan reacted instinctively. He pulled Saffi back to him, hand curling around her nape. His lips went down on her as her body slammed close against him.
Saffi’s gasp ended as a whimper as Staffan surprised her with an open mouthed kiss, one so blazingly carnal it made her eyes close, heart hitch, and her toes curl.
Mine, his kiss said.
And yet that was not enough.
When he lifted his head, he stared down at Saffi, his face hard. “When you’re with me, I want you to look at me and just me. I want you to think of me and just me. You’re mine, every inch of you is f**king mine. Understand?”
His voice rang loud and clear, the tone of possessiveness in it unmistakable, and her stupid silly fangirl heart couldn’t help but be thrilled. Saffi wanted to say ‘yes’ but was afraid it would come out all gushing and adoring, and she’d sound like the fangirl she really was.
Unable to trust herself with words at the moment, she nervously popped another piece of gum into her mouth to blow another bubble. This time it worked, and she gave him a thumbs-up in answer.
The crowd laughed once more, but even so she kept her gaze on Staffan. Yours, she tried telling him with her eyes.
He stared at her for a moment---before throwing his back head in laughter.
She relaxed, toes curling again at the look of tender possessiveness that had lit his hazel eyes ever so briefly.
Staffan pulled her close as he walked them out of the hall, one arm around her waist, fingers splayed on her hip as if wanting to mark her his with every second. He glanced down at Saffi, who was so small her head didn’t even reach his shoulder.
Ah, Saffi March.
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you.
Chapter Four
I’m determined to find out why this is called Sin City.
Saffi March checked in at McCarran International Airport, Las Vegas, Nevada
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Aehrenthal Fanatics commented, You go, slut! =P -
“Excuse me, I need to talk to Alan Carson? Do you know where he is?” Even to her ears, the question sounded surreal. A plane wasn’t supposed to be like a freaking mall a person would get lost in it but that was exactly what had happened.
Staffan’s private jet was beyond the stretch of her imagination. All the walls were covered in cream leather and wood panels. The jet also had its own game room and library and of course a recording studio. Not even the greatest rockstars could afford this, but of course Staffan wasn’t just a rockstar. His stepfather also happened to head one of the world’s most famous resort and theme park corporations, and it was no secret that the billionaire CEO thought of Staffan as his own son.