He tips my chin up so he can gaze upon my face. “It was impossible for me to stay away from you. Your beauty drew me in, but the way you looked at me, like you wanted to know the real me . . . it sealed your fate. You and I . . . we’re kindred spirits. We have a lot in common.”
I nearly laugh, knowing that his lifestyle and mine are completely different. Then guilt hits me for keeping silent about the fact that I know his secret.
It would be so much easier between us if he would just come out and tell me who he is. Then I wouldn’t have to pretend that I don’t know.
Maybe if I hint around . . .
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he replies as he stares down at me with a smile on his face.
“How did you know how to help me with my singing?”
His body below me tenses. “About that . . . there’s something I need to tell you about me. You might not like it . . . and I’m not sure how you’re going to react, but I need to be up-front with you about who I really am and what I’m running from.”
“Ace . . . I don’t—”
He holds up his hands. “Just hear me out, because I want you to understand me and why I may need to leave again one day without much notice.”
“Ace, I know who you are,” I say, wanting to put him out of his misery about having to explain something I already know.
He sits up, pulling me up with him. A panicked expression flashes in his eyes as he fixates his stare on me.
My heart races, and suddenly I’m afraid of making him angry with me for snooping around about him, but I know if we’re to ever have any type of real relationship between us, then we shouldn’t keep secrets from one another.
“Please don’t be upset with me. Last week, after you pushed me away, I had to know why. I had to know what you were running from—what was so bad that you had to protect me from yourself. I wanted you, more than anything, and I knew you wanted me too, but you wouldn’t allow yourself the chance, and I had to know why.
“So, I drove to the closest library and used their computer to look you up.”
There’s an incredulous expression on his face, but he still hasn’t said a word, and the suspense of not knowing what he’s thinking is killing me. “Say something, please.”
Ace rakes his hand through his sexy mess of hair on the top of his head and lets out a ragged breath before meeting my gaze again. “You aren’t pissed at me for lying to you about who I am?”
I shake my head. “No, because I’m pretty sure I got to know Ace Johnson pretty well over the last month. You can introduce me to Ace White slowly.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to know Ace White. He’s a fucking poser and I hate him.”
I frown, not liking the way he’s speaking about himself. “Ace . . . he’s a part of you. Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true, Iris. None of what Ace White does is me. It’s all an act. It’s not my kind of music, clothes, or even the fucking hairstyle—the record label that discovered me . . . that was all part of my contract. I signed it because I thought it was my big break and that someday Mopar Records would give me a shot to become the artist I really want to be. Singing this lame-ass pop rock that I didn’t have any creative input on isn’t me.”
I reach over and thread my fingers through his. “Is that why you left?”
He shrugs. “That’s part of it. No one in that business gives a damn about me. I was just a voice and a face to them, not a person. They discounted my feelings and, well, it was the tipping point when my foster mother, Sarah, was on her deathbed and they wanted to stop me from going to her because I had scheduled shows. She was the only person in this world that ever took the time to love me—to care about me. I was going to be damned if I put people who didn’t give a shit about me before her, so I left—just walked out and walked away from everything. I was tired of killing myself to make everyone around me rich while making myself miserable.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “I’m sorry they treated you that way.”
He frowns. “That’s why I’m never going back. I signed a contract, and I’m sure if they find me, they can threaten me with enough lawsuits that I’ll give in, so that’s why I’m running. I don’t want to be found. I don’t want to be forced back into the spotlight.”
Everything begins making perfect sense. “So if they get to close to finding you here . . .”
“Then I’ll leave,” he whispers. “Only now, being with you like this . . . it’ll make it impossible for me to not look back.”
Ace takes both of my hands in his. “I don’t know exactly what this is, but it’s real, and I’m tired of trying to fight it. I want you . . . and I want to see where this leads. If the reporters or my bitch of a tour manager, Jane Ann, get too close, I want you to leave with me.”
I gasp. “I can’t just leave this place behind . . . I have to stay and figure out how to get the taxes paid so everyone doesn’t lose their homes.”
“If the time comes, I’ll pay for the taxes. You can leave Birdie or Adele in charge, and we’ll leave—just you and me.”
I debate what exactly I’m agreeing to here if I say yes—a life on the run like a fugitive. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“It won’t be forever, Iris. We’ll come back eventually, after the frenzy surrounding the band and my disappearance dies down. What I need is a good attorney who can read my contract and give me some solid advice.”