Manhandled: A Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 2) by Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott Read Free Book Online Page A

into your windows from that mountain range across the way?”
    I looked out the window at my favorite view. It was the Hollywood Hills, for God’s sake. I could see the Silver Lake Reservoir from my freaking living room.
    Suddenly the perfect view seemed a little ominous.
    Every window was huge and had a view.
    I’d had them lightly tinted against the relentless Los Angeles sun, but that didn’t mean people couldn’t see in.
    I backed out of the room and down to my bedroom with my huge sliding door. I’d never wanted to put curtains up, because I loved the natural light that seemed to infiltrate every corner.
    This was my house.
    My sanctuary.
    I loved the road. I loved the venues, and the different places we visited. I loved finding hole-in-the-wall dives with their bar bands, and their seas of strangers who didn’t give a shit who I was.
    But when I was home, I loved this house.
    Loved the peace.
    Loved the space.
    Now it felt like a glass box leaving me on display.
    I backed away from my huge patio that I’d spent months getting just right. The patio I spent late nights on with my notebook and a guitar. The ancient upright piano I had in the corner of my bedroom that I played with the door wide open so I could hear the night sounds blending with my music.
    I turned to the doorway and he was there.
    The sunshine lit his blue eyes and accentuated the crow’s feet at the corners as he squinted a bit. His face was a little softer. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was deep and calm.
    “Yeah, well, too late.”
    He dipped one hand into his pocket and jangled something. “I know of a company that can give you privacy and let you keep your views.” He walked up to the slider and opened it. He held out his arm. “Come on. Come out here.”
    “What, so someone can watch me with binoculars?” Or worse? I shivered even though the sun was flooding my room.
    He sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m trained to look for problems.” He shrugged. “I worked for an ambassador before this.”
    Like that was supposed to be the entire reason behind why he was so rude? I crossed my arms and followed him outside. There were a half dozen lemon trees growing around my patio, providing a lot of privacy.
    Instead of improving Mr. Brooding’s mood, it only seemed to make him more pensive. He looked over the waist-high fencing to the valley below. One of the best features of my house was the lack of neighbors behind me, just the view.
    He frowned at the rough walking path that wound around my property. “Where does this lead?”
    “Down to a small park then out to the main road.”
    “How long is the trail?”
    I shrugged. “Takes me about an hour to walk it.”
    He looked me up and down. “Three miles?”
    “I have no clue. I gave up on wearing a Fitbit last year.”
    He made a humming sound. “And we have two weeks before you start the tour again?”
    I nodded. “We’re heading to the East Coast and into the Finger Lakes region for some summer spots, then inside venues through the third week of October.”
    “What happens then?”
    “We have our annual charity masquerade for Halloween, then break through the holidays. Start again after the New Year.”
    He unearthed his phone and skimmed his finger down the face.
    Long fingers.
    Blunt ends.
    Nails clipped short, a few calluses and a busted knuckle on his right forefinger. He looked down at his finger then at me. “Gun jammed.”
    My eyebrows shot up. “Happen a lot?”
    He tilted his head. “Never.”
    “Well, I guess you can’t say never.”
    His nostrils flared. “Wasn’t my gun. My gun doesn’t jam.”
    I trailed my fingers over the heated metal of the fencing. “You always carry?”
    “Always.”
    “Then why did you have to use someone else’s gun?”
    A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Because I had to surrender my gun for a political dinner.”
    “Of course you did.” I leaned my hip on the post at the corner of my patio. “Noah