Also, I was not here to give enough of anything to this man, except perhaps confidence. My job was to take, not give. But instead, he was the one who was taking. Already, he had taken much more than I'd ever expected. And all I wanted to do was give him more.

But one thing I didn't want to give him was my room number. I thought motels didn't release that information. "How did you know my room? Did the office tell you?"

"Your cousin told me after I gave him a signed photo."

How annoying! I was about to tell him that my cousin was doing a lousy job of protecting me, but before I could say anything, Alejandro pulled me into his arms and planted a kiss. All of my defenses were instantly obliterated by his steel-gray eyes, his rugged beard shadow, and wisps of his jet black hair. Those irresistible lips drew me in, and I fell gladly. Oh yes, I remembered that kiss, one of the best I'd ever had.

After a nice long one, he pulled back, hovering inches away from me. His fingers ran through my hair a few times. Then suddenly, he stopped, staring at my head. "So you're a natural blonde. The hair under the bleached part looked dark to me, but now I can see that it's not."

I turned to stare at him. The world-famous musician, who women everywhere fawned over, was looking closely at me. I didn't expect to be treated with such consideration, such loving attention. I thought that he simply wanted to seduce me, but instead, Alejandro was acting like he cared. He was noticing things about me, learning what he could. And my confusion grew deeper with every encounter.

Interestingly, although I'd been with Roman for the past five years, he'd never noticed anything about my hair. One time, two years ago, I asked if he knew what color my hair was. He started by telling me it was white, but I pointed out that I bleached it and wanted to know if he could name my natural hair color. By this point in our relationship, he'd seen me naked plenty of times, so he must have seen my blonde pubic hair. And my roots were easily as grown out then as they were now, so Roman could simply have looked at me to find the answer. But he never really put much thought into my appearance, and he didn't bother to look that day, either. Instead, he told me that my natural hair color was black. I never bothered to correct him.

Alejandro, by comparison, instantly knew better. "Yeah," I laughed. "I'm a dirty blonde. Next to the bleached hair, it seems darker than it is."




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