A Song for Lucy: A Rock Star BBW Romance Short Read Online Free Page A
Author: Clare Cole
you?" I teased.
"Absolutely. I'll stomp my foot and everything. And if my demands aren't met, I'm going to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, march us to my hotel and make you watch as I trash the room, like all good rock stars do."
I couldn't stop giggling now, my attempts at cool rebuttals and smart responses beginning to wane. I kept snapping away as he spoke, snatching intimate moments of him smiling and laughing. "Throw me over your shoulder, eh? I'm a little too big for that. I might give you a slipped disc. You wouldn't be able to stand or do anything for six months and you'd hate me forever."
"Well, now, just stop there for a moment."
I lowered my camera and looked at him, his expression changing to one of curiosity.
"Firstly, I don't want to be responsible for doing anything that could make me hate you forever. Not when our obvious love affair has only just begun."
I smiled nervously and pushed a loose strand of my long red hair behind my ear.
"Secondly, don't you make any of those silly comments about yourself. If you don't know how gorgeous you are, then I'm going to have to be the one to tell you. Corny, I know, but I like a woman to look like one, not like a matchstick."
I was floored, but also slightly suspicious. Was he just being kind? "Thanks," I replied. "But you don't need to flatter me. You must have gorgeous women throwing themselves at you day in and day out."
He crossed his legs, put his hands in his pockets and looked straight at me. God, those eyes were beautiful . "I was reading a magazine on the plane over here – Esquire, I think it was. They had one of those polls they do every year, 'Sexiest Woman in the World' or something. You know who won?"
I shook my head.
"Christina Hendricks. You know, the actress with loads of cleavage and a figure that Hollywood likes to describe as 'curvy'? And I agree. In fact, the results weren't even close. She annihilated the rest of the competition. If it wasn't for her, Mad Men would have no sexiness in it whatsoever."
I started taking photographs again, partly because I needed more and partly so I could hide once again behind the lens, taking the focus off me. "That's kind, but I'm no Christina Hendricks."
"Whoa there," he said, walking forward and grabbing the front of my camera. He gently lowered it and spoke to me softly, the smell of that Hugo Boss aftershave now just inches from my nostrils, causing a million tiny butterflies to dance around my stomach. "What would make you think that? You have an amazing body, gorgeous red hair and you're absolutely beautiful. It's taken everything in my power not to plant a kiss on those full, soft red lips of yours."
I gasped slightly and felt a rush of warmth between my legs. "So what's stopping you?" I grinned. My legs felt like jelly and it seemed like I could have collapsed at that very moment, falling at his feet like some adoring fan. But I was stronger than that, riddled with all the insecurities that all of us women have, but smarter than the average bear.
"Because," he smiled, almost breaking into a laugh, "that would be terribly unprofessional. Besides, we still have an interview to do and you've barely asked me a thing."
He took a few steps back and positioned himself in front of my camera once again. This time, I didn't raise it. "I've got all the photos I need. I think I just might have caught the real you under that swagger."
This time, he couldn't help but chuckle. "I guess you got me. Am I going to like what I see?"
"I think so," I smiled. "You look warm and approachable in my shots, but don't worry. I managed to capture that streak of arrogance you're famous for. I wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation."
He slowly walked towards me again. "Do you think I'm arrogant, Amy?"
"I don't know you. Unlike some journalists, I don't make assumptions about people that easily. What do you think? Are you arrogant?"
"I prefer confident. Or maybe ambitious. How about confidently
"Absolutely. I'll stomp my foot and everything. And if my demands aren't met, I'm going to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, march us to my hotel and make you watch as I trash the room, like all good rock stars do."
I couldn't stop giggling now, my attempts at cool rebuttals and smart responses beginning to wane. I kept snapping away as he spoke, snatching intimate moments of him smiling and laughing. "Throw me over your shoulder, eh? I'm a little too big for that. I might give you a slipped disc. You wouldn't be able to stand or do anything for six months and you'd hate me forever."
"Well, now, just stop there for a moment."
I lowered my camera and looked at him, his expression changing to one of curiosity.
"Firstly, I don't want to be responsible for doing anything that could make me hate you forever. Not when our obvious love affair has only just begun."
I smiled nervously and pushed a loose strand of my long red hair behind my ear.
"Secondly, don't you make any of those silly comments about yourself. If you don't know how gorgeous you are, then I'm going to have to be the one to tell you. Corny, I know, but I like a woman to look like one, not like a matchstick."
I was floored, but also slightly suspicious. Was he just being kind? "Thanks," I replied. "But you don't need to flatter me. You must have gorgeous women throwing themselves at you day in and day out."
He crossed his legs, put his hands in his pockets and looked straight at me. God, those eyes were beautiful . "I was reading a magazine on the plane over here – Esquire, I think it was. They had one of those polls they do every year, 'Sexiest Woman in the World' or something. You know who won?"
I shook my head.
"Christina Hendricks. You know, the actress with loads of cleavage and a figure that Hollywood likes to describe as 'curvy'? And I agree. In fact, the results weren't even close. She annihilated the rest of the competition. If it wasn't for her, Mad Men would have no sexiness in it whatsoever."
I started taking photographs again, partly because I needed more and partly so I could hide once again behind the lens, taking the focus off me. "That's kind, but I'm no Christina Hendricks."
"Whoa there," he said, walking forward and grabbing the front of my camera. He gently lowered it and spoke to me softly, the smell of that Hugo Boss aftershave now just inches from my nostrils, causing a million tiny butterflies to dance around my stomach. "What would make you think that? You have an amazing body, gorgeous red hair and you're absolutely beautiful. It's taken everything in my power not to plant a kiss on those full, soft red lips of yours."
I gasped slightly and felt a rush of warmth between my legs. "So what's stopping you?" I grinned. My legs felt like jelly and it seemed like I could have collapsed at that very moment, falling at his feet like some adoring fan. But I was stronger than that, riddled with all the insecurities that all of us women have, but smarter than the average bear.
"Because," he smiled, almost breaking into a laugh, "that would be terribly unprofessional. Besides, we still have an interview to do and you've barely asked me a thing."
He took a few steps back and positioned himself in front of my camera once again. This time, I didn't raise it. "I've got all the photos I need. I think I just might have caught the real you under that swagger."
This time, he couldn't help but chuckle. "I guess you got me. Am I going to like what I see?"
"I think so," I smiled. "You look warm and approachable in my shots, but don't worry. I managed to capture that streak of arrogance you're famous for. I wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation."
He slowly walked towards me again. "Do you think I'm arrogant, Amy?"
"I don't know you. Unlike some journalists, I don't make assumptions about people that easily. What do you think? Are you arrogant?"
"I prefer confident. Or maybe ambitious. How about confidently
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