Chapter 15

DIANA

Levi hooked his arm through mine, guiding me under the golden neon sign. The swell of his hard bicep against my arm was almost more tantalizing than the aroma of food wafting through my nose.

Warm lighting, pale walls, and a simplistically elegant design lured me in. I noted four small tables with two chairs each on one side of the restaurant and a long bar table facing the back wall on the other.

The emptiness in the building caught my attention next.

“Why is it empty? I thought this place was popular,” I whispered.

Levi chuckled. “I rented out the whole place tonight.”

I dropped his arm and took a half step away. “You’re a rock star, not a billionaire. Why are you renting out restaurants for a date?”

He inhaled slowly, steadily. Circling around to place his hands on my shoulders, he squeezed my arms gently and peered into my eyes as a charming smile graced his sensual lips.

The sensation of his thumbs skimming up and down caused my nipples to tighten against my bra. “This is a very important date for me. On top of that, I didn’t think you’d want to be recognized in public with me at your side. This gives us privacy.”

The low rasp of his voice produced a manic fluttering in my heart. Our date was important to him?

A flush of heat rose under the surface of my cheeks, staining my face red. Flustered, I turned my face away from him, though it only gave him a better view.

After so long away from the public eye, and the change in my hair, I didn’t get recognized as often. Being here with Levi almost guaranteed pictures would be posted online by morning.

The seclusion eased my nerves more than I’d admit. “Thank you.” I’d need to get used to saying that around him.

“Anything for you, songbird.” Levi winked, prompting my knees to weaken. That nickname would do dangerous things to me if he continued using it.

A host greeted me and Levi before ushering us toward the bar. The rock star even pulled my chair out for me, worsening my blush.

I sat stiff and upright in my seat as he lowered into the chair at my side. Though I inched closer to him, seeking a physical connection.

His arm brushed against mine, and he turned a blinding smile on me. So bright, in fact, I snapped my head away.

I twiddled my fingers on the counter, unsure of what to say to him. I hadn’t been on a date in years.

When we were at the studio, we had music to talk about, but now we were alone in neutral territory. A man walked behind the bar, a thankful distraction from my uncertainty.

He carried a wide smile and a pep in his step as he stood across from us. “Good evening. I’ll be your chef for dinner tonight. Do you have any requests?”

“They slice up the fresh fish right in front of us. So, ask for anything you want,” Levi said.

“Oh, wow,” I exclaimed.

Ordering dinner stole the need for idle conversation. Levi and I shared different samplings of sushi, commenting on the fish and the flavor while offering endless compliments to the chef.

It was dinner and entertainment, all combined into one pleasant experience that made me forget the anxiety of first date jitters. And Levi’s smiles melted me.

He was kind, and affectionate, and so goddamn genuine. I watched the pieces of my walls deteriorate and collapse around us as he pulled forward a side of me that I thought I’d lost—the side that smiled and meant it.

A side I thought died the same day my dad did. I swallowed a mouthful of tuna sashimi. “So, where’s your family these days?” I asked.

Levi knocked back a shot of sake, chest rumbling with his repressed chuckle. He shook his head after the alcohol went down and looked at me. “Out in Vegas.”

“That’s where you grew up, right?” I angled toward him, providing my full attention.

“Yeah, that’s right. Did you read up on me or something?” His dark eyes glittered.

“Hm, I might have.” Naturally, I’d done my research on him before our first day working together. I did the same with every artist I partnered with.

Reading about him wouldn’t compare to the flow of a genuine conversation.

“All right,” he chortled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

Then he exhaled and his brows briefly quirked up. “And you were born in California, right? Do you still have any family out here?”

“No. My mom’s all I have left, but she’s living her own life out in Florida.” An outside force tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Thoughts of my family usually caused that reaction. “Is it okay if I ask why she’s not still here with you?” Levi probed, carefully aware of my expression.

“I was already eighteen and had the means to take care of myself after my dad’s funeral. Mom was a free spirit and already on her fourth husband at the time. It was better for me to stay here.”

“Alone,” Levi said. The word burned a hole in the back of my skull.

“Yeah. She was a wandering groupie when she met my dad. Unfortunately for him, she was the love of Devan Johnson’s life. But she moved on to her next life when I was six,” I admitted.

The words poured out of me as if Levi owned them. He grumbled something under his breath.

His grating voice came out bitterly as he asked, “Is that why you have a different last name than your dad?”

“Uh, yes. They never got married, but Mom left me with him.” The answer was acrid on the back of my tongue.

“Linda Winslow wasn’t meant to be the wife of a rock star.”

“Guess that would explain the pseudonym D. Johnson. It’s an homage to your first initial and your dad’s name?”

His brows pinched, deep in thought, as if aggrieved over my past. He needed to keep asking questions to sweep away his dissatisfaction.

“It is, yes.”

Memories of my father were always bittersweet, but I needed to get the focus off myself. “How long were you a fan of his?”

Levi’s mood picked up at the change of pace. He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the counter with a fresh smile bright on his features.

“Oh, for as long as I can remember. My parents were fans. I grew up listening to Devan Johnson.”

That presented me with a lighter topic. One I eagerly grasped at. “Okay, so what was his first band?”

Levi answered without needing to think. “Heartstoppers.”

“When did he release his first solo album?” I shot back.

“1995,” he answered breezily. I opened my mouth to ask another, but he spoke first.

“Devan Johnson remained a solo artist for two years before founding his new band, Siren’s Mercy. He was the front man and lead singer the entire time.”

My smile dropped.

“Fuck. We don’t have to talk about that,” Levi blurted. His hand shot out and snatched mine off the table. The strength of his grip surprised me.

“You were a fan of theirs. Millions of people were. You saw them perform, got the signed posters, idolized them. It’s all right,” I assured him.

“It’s not all right.” His opposite fist banged on the table. “I know what happened to you, and I still mentioned them. I should have kept my big mouth shut.”

Now it was my turn to reach for his hand. I curved my fingers over his trembling fist and pulled both of his hands into my lap.

His head jerked back as he met my eyes.

“Levi, we’re past that. I’m here with you now, and I’m having a great time. Let’s enjoy that, yeah?” My gaze dropped to his lips, full and inviting despite his fluctuating emotions.

He sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you, songbird.”

My heart thrilled behind my ribs.

“You won’t hurt me.” I leaned closer and whispered, “But you can kiss me.”