The Million Dollar Virgin

Chapter Ten - Stevie

As she stared up at the three-story home, Stevie realized something else. Not only had she not spotted the life-sized dollhouse, but she also hadn't noticed that they'd come through a white-painted gate, or that they'd come up a winding driveway. She hadn't even spied the enormous, fifteen-foot privacy hedges. Or the currently unattended film-crew trailers.

And now that she saw it all she didn't know how she could've missed her entire, opulent surroundings.

Yeah, well...said her snide inner voice. It may have had something to do with the bump 'n' grind in the backseat.

But seriously. Even having her body rocked, Snug Pants style, was no excuse. Not with everything that was on display at Casa de Rian.

There was a freakin' fountain at the edge of the yard. And something told her there'd probably be real fish inside, swimming around like it was nothing to live in the lap of luxury. Maybe tiny mermaids. Possibly pet unicorns. Because that's what money could buy, right? Anything.

Yes, she knew she was being childish. But Stevie still had to resist an urge to walk over to the edge and check for mythical, rich-people-only creatures. She turned back to Rian. He was standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets, a small smile on his face as he stared up at the house.

"You like it?" he asked.

He sounded almost...shy. Which was weird.

Stevie nodded, puzzled by his tone. "I...um, yeah."

"Yeah?"

Did he need something more?

"Sure," she added. "It's nice."

He shook his head like he was trying to clear it, then fixed her with one of his signature, bland stares, and spoke in his typically dry voice. "Good thing you think so. Seeing as you're going to be living here. Come and take the tour."

He stalked by, and even though he barely grazed her arm as he went past, the immediate tingle that shot through Stevie's body reminded her that he was capable of being the complete opposite of bland. Of being a dark chocolate cupcake with buttercream frosting and rainbow sprinkles.

"Shut up," she muttered at her treacherous body, then pushed to catch up with Rian, who'd already reached the veranda and was plugging in a code to the computerized locking system.

"I'll get you set up with a code, too," he told her without turning around. "Everyone's got their own. Echo, me, the cleaning staff, the set crew...Makes it easy to track who's come and gone. Don't worry about the tracking too much, though. Our security is pretty tight, so we don't usually have too much of a problem with paparazzi. Not since the snipers got the first one anyway."

"Very funny."

But she still took a miniscule step backwards and tilted her eyes to the roof. Not because she truly expected to find the telltale glint of a gun, or because she really believed there was some ninja-slash-army dude up above, but because it just dawned on her that there could be a need for one in Echo's life. Which was about to become her life. And now that she thought about it, she was kinda sure she'd even once read something about a crazed stalker hounding him. She fought a shiver.

Dear body, she said silently, You have to stop being so irrational. If you even consider shuddering with barely repressed horror or deep foreboding, I will gladly separate you from my brain. Permanently. So kindly quit betraying me.

Rian's voice made her jump anyway. "You coming in?"

"Yeah, I'm just..."

As she stepped into the expansive foyer, she trailed off. She even forgot about the little tickle of worry in the back of her mind. It wasn't that the entrance was overdone. It was that it was...cozy. All warm, dark wood and chocolate décor. Understated and somehow masculine. Though not the gun-toting, big-truck-driving, let-me-show-you-what's-behind-my-zipper compensating kind of masculine. More like the I-can-comfortably-carry-a-man-purse kind of masculine. And not very rock star-y at all.