Read Online Eighty Days Red by Vina Jackson - Free Book Online Page B

that I found singularly appealing on a woman.
‘Viggo might be dropping in later,’ Chris replied.
‘Really? He hangs out with the common people? Doesn’t sound much like a rock star to me.’
‘Maybe it makes him feel normal,’ Ted said. ‘Though I wouldn’t really call him normal.’
‘He owns the place,’ Chris added. ‘Did you think I’d be renting something like this?’
I parked myself down on one of the leather beanbags scattered inside the studio as they began warming up with a couple of slower tracks. I’d brought my violin along with me just in case he wanted to jam, for old time’s sake, but I left it tucked out of the way for the time being.
They had just finished warming up when the door swung open. I noticed Chris’s hand falter on the fretboard, but he carried on playing.
‘Don’t stop, sounds great.’
Viggo was carrying a tray of coffees, balanced precariously in one hand. He was holding a pair of sunglasses in the other, although I hadn’t seen a sign of sun for a week. I leaped up to hold the door for him.
‘Oh, thank you, darling,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘I’d shake your hand but both of mine are full, so I’ll have to kiss you instead.’
He bent down and kissed my cheek, brushing his lips across my ear as he did so in a gesture that was both bold and totally inappropriate for a first meeting.
‘I’m Viggo Franck,’ he said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He had one eyebrow raised in a gesture of flirtation.
‘Summer Zahova,’ I replied, with a curt nod. ‘Can I take those?’ I gestured to the tray of coffees. I was parched.
‘Of course. Don’t drink them all at once.’
My hands shook as I picked up one of the cardboard cups, without an S for sugar on the side. I was trying to act normal, but in truth wasn’t much accustomed to meeting celebrities. There’d been a few in the classical music world, of course, but they were a different breed altogether, mostly introverts, and not my type.
None of them were like Viggo Franck. He was dressed in black jeans so tight that I thought he might have got them from the women’s leggings section. They were low slung, and revealed an inch or so of flesh on one side of his midriff underneath a ripped white T-shirt. He was thin rather than muscled, with surprisingly pale skin considering that he was half Italian. I guessed he took after his Danish side. He had high cheekbones and full lips framed by closely trimmed facial hair, halfway between five o’clock shadow and an actual beard. His hair was very dark brown, almost black, and quite straight but teased into fullness.
It was immediately apparent to me why women chased after Viggo. Sexual energy radiated from him in waves. Even with his dark glasses on and nondescript, rough clothes, he was the sort of person who you would look twice at in the street. Or at least, I would. He leaned against the wall with one foot on the floor and the other on the wall behind him. I sat back down on the beanbag again, and tried not to stare at him.
Chris and the band were full tilt now into their fastest number, and oblivious to our presence in the room.
I looked up and caught Viggo staring at me, his lips raised in a half smile. He sauntered over.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he said. He was sitting down, wriggling onto the beanbag alongside me before I had a chance to tell him yes or no, and despite the fact that there was a two-seater sofa alongside us that was unoccupied.
‘Sure,’ I replied, maintaining a hint of ice in my tone, though in truth the warmth of his body alongside mine and the flash of his torso had sent a thrill up my spine.
I jumped as hot coffee splashed onto my arm, my cup tipping suddenly as he settled into the bag.
‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ he said. He tried to pull the bottom of his T-shirt up to dab at it, but the material wouldn’t reach, so he pulled it over his head and mopped it up.
I stared at his chest. His skin pale, with a faint line of dark hair covering just