Roadie (Rock-Hard Beautiful, #2)

by C.M. Stunich

I smile and turn to face him, dressed in that baggy shirt Copeland gave me last night. Michael looks at me and then down at it. “You're missing my signature,” he says, reaching out and running a finger over Cope's handwriting. I still don't know why he wrote my name on it; I didn't think to ask. “It's not missing,” I tell him as I stand up and grab my purse, digging a pink Sharpie out of an inner pocket. I grab my phone, too. “It's the last one to be added, a little behind the curve.” He smiles at me, this razor-sharp version of the expression that leaves my heart in my throat and my body in a state of heated bliss, remembering the thickness of his cock inside of me last night, the strength of his arms as he held me up. “But I wouldn't have wanted you if you'd cheated on Vanessa, so …” “So give me the damn pen,” he says, and I reach out and drop it into his palm. Michael grabs a handful of my t-shirt and tugs me toward him, pulling me into his lap. He pulls the cap off the pen with his teeth and yanks the fabric taut, scrawling his name in swirling pink letters diagonally across my belly. “You still smell like my fucking shampoo,” he whispers, his voice a little ragged, a little hoarse. “Goddamn it.”