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

the screen, even if a slight wash of red had blazed strips along his cheeks.
    Was kind of cute really.
    Big tough guy a bit embarrassed about watching a love scene with a near stranger.
    Me?
    I was more worried about the fact that I wondered if he could do the same hoist-her-up-against-the-wall thing that Patrick had done.
    Not at all what I should have been thinking.
    My only saving grace was that he was hot and it had been a damn long time since anyone had hoisted me onto anything, let alone a bed. So, I was human.
    That was my freaking story, and I was sticking to it.
    The next few days had been the same. Quinn trying to feed me healthy food, Quinn vetoing any sort of outside trips—even walking the trails—Quinn putting the kibosh on visitors and, oh…doing anything fun.
    I was about to go out of my damn mind.
    If I watched one more episode of Dr. Who on my Netflix account, I was going to scream. Even David Tennant couldn’t soothe me. The tenth doctor could always soothe me, dammit.
    I spun around on the couch and hooked my knees over the back so my head could dangle off the edge of the cushion.
    This was my vacation before we started tour and I was holding my ass because some crackpot might do something. How was this my life? The fear I’d been holding the last four days had slowly burned to anger.
    I needed to get out of this house.
    I needed to do something.
    Devon was coming home Tuesday, but that was still days away.
    “Hey, Siri.”
    “Yes, Keys.”
    “Play my Dance Around the House Mix.”
    “Playing Dance Around the House Mix.”
    I put my hands on the floor and did a backbend off the couch as Taylor Swift blasted out of the house-wide speakers. I jogged through the great room into the kitchen as I shouted along with the words to, “Shake it Off”.
    Bare feet slapping on the tile as I shook my booty for the pleasure of the fridge before opening both doors with a dramatic turn. I pulled down a peach-flavored water and closed the door and shrieked.
    Quinn stood directly behind the door. “Can you turn it down?”
    I uncapped the water. “Nope.” Then did a bastardized version of the mamba out of the kitchen to the dining room. I grabbed a peach from the fruit bowl in the center of the table.
    The song changed to a wild Frank Turner one and my dancing turned into a ska-like punk jumping as I shook my arms and tried to get the tension out of my limbs.
    I’d been lying around for days. Quinn liked things quiet. I needed music. I needed life and sound around me. I needed people.
    He kept to himself and did a “sweep of the perimeter”—his words—every other hour. Otherwise he was always on his computer. He’d taken over my office, usually closing the door so I had no idea what he was doing. On the phone, with hushed tones. Again, I had no idea who he checked in with, or who he was talking to—I’d tried to eavesdrop—nada.
    He was like a freaking covert spy.
    “Faith,” he shouted.
    I ran up the stairs as another of my favorite songs came on. I went straight to my upright and played with Frank Turner.
    He followed me up the stairs and I pounded on the keys as the song burst into drums and guitars with crashing pianos. I screamed that I wanted to dance and to romance, though the words went so fast in this song that I had a hard time keeping up. I laughed as he laughed in the song, and the British pub song spiraled out about how he was no good at dancing but was going to do it anyway.
    The song was exactly me.
    I needed that life.
    I knew every word of the song. I turned around and played behind my back as Quinn stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips.
    I left the piano and crossed to him and dragged him inside and jumped around him. Every word screamed into his face. His expression was deadpan and stiff until I opened my arms at the end of the song where it was light and airy.
    I sang the lyrics sweetly to the almost carnival tones of the song. His lips twitched and I ran over to my