MirrorMusic Read Online Free Page B

in his football outfit, sweaty and muddy, to looking smart in
his first suit and with a radiant smile. I shook my head to rid the image of
him as a reckless teenager. That wasn’t who he was anymore. He was Robbie
Harding, lead singer of the Manic Machines. Photos of him were adored by
thousands of fans now, blown up into life-size posters and spread across
magazine covers and teenage girls’ bedrooms.
    Peachy light from the room Robbie had disappeared into
spilled onto the wooden living room floor. Like a moth drawn to light I stepped
inside. It was a bedroom. But a bedroom like none other I’d ever seen. My heart
rate picked up a notch. The peach light bounced around the walls and ceiling,
all of which were completely covered by mirrors—huge, smooth, seamless mirrors
that were just the tiniest bit smoky. Even the door to what I presumed was the
en-suite—since it was open a crack and I could hear water splashing—was
mirrored.
    I blew out a breath and walked farther in, creating a
never-ending image of myself in all four walls. The bed was enormous, bigger
than a king or queen and certainly designed for more than two people. It was
covered in a silky silver duvet and a huge pile of pillows were stacked against
the mirrored headboard. The bedside table was mirrored as was a large chest of
drawers, although these weren’t smoky. I ran my finger over the corner of a
gray cushion on the bed, it was crushed velvet and soft beneath my fingertips.
    “I guess Ian’s a bit kinky and we never even knew it,” Robbie
said from behind me, a smile lacing his voice.
    I spun and felt my chest get tight and achy. Robbie stood
before me in nothing but a white towel hanging low on his lean hips, his
reflection stretching out behind him. I forced my eyes upward over his flat
stomach and the thin line of dark hair that trailed from below his navel right
up to his chest. I recalled perfectly what his skin felt like beneath my
palms—on my mouth, in my mouth.
    “Yeah, I guess,” I managed, settling my gaze on his face—so
much safer than the outlines of his delectable torso that sparkled all around
me.
    His eyes twinkled as though he could read my mind, as if he
knew I was remembering how I used to jump him in the shower, get down on my
knees and show him just how dirty I could get with my mouth.
    “I wrote you this one too,” he said, moving toward the tall
dresser. “Last year.”
    I studied the way he walked, confident and self-assured.
He’d always moved with purpose, didn’t waste energy, but now it was even more
noticeable. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was more mature or if it was his
off-the-scale success that made him that way.
    He plucked a remote from the top drawer and aimed it at a
small black box hanging in the corner of the room. The intro to a beating tune
rang out and he turned to me and grinned. I noticed how the light refracting
around the room shone on his dark hair and picked out strands the color of
hazelnut.
     
    If you’re searching for love, scouting for the one
    All you gotta do is look right next door
    Yeah, yeah, yeah
    All you gotta do is look right next door
    ’Cause she’s there, always been there
    Yeah, yeah, yeah
     
    I tilted my head as his chocolaty voice filled the room.
    “You didn’t hear it, did you,” he said as more of a
statement than a question.
    “No, sorry.”
    He shrugged wide shoulders. “I thought it was a bit subtle,
it was on the album but never released as a single.”
    I swallowed tightly. “I didn’t buy your last album.”
    “You didn’t?” A mixture of surprise and maybe even hurt
crossed his eyes.
    “No.”
    His tongue swept across his bottom lip.
    “You’re out of my life, Robbie. Or at least you were. Why
would I want to hear your voice, hear about your conquests?” I folded my arms
and sighed. “Didn’t you think it might hurt me?”
    “But that song was about you, how much I regretted letting
you walk out of my life.”
    “Yeah, but