Deeper Than Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page B

rest of the article, before coming back up to the byline. “Alexander Floyd strikes again.”
    My ears pricked up at the name. The same rock journalist had written the article that had given me the final clues in my research quest to find Rick. And somewhere in the house, there was an entire book he’d penned on “the truth and turbulent times of Corroded Corpse,” according to the subtitle. Adrian had called
Godforsaken
“unofficial, unauthorized, wildly inaccurate accounts published purely for monetary or shock value,” but everything I had read by Alexander Floyd rang fairly true so far.
    â€œHe’s everywhere, isn’t he?” I ventured.
    Adrian ruffled the pages of the magazine. “He was there when we exploded onto the scene, and he was there when we imploded as well. And he’s tried to sniff out every bone locked away in our closets of skeletons ever since. I believe we’re some sort of pet project with him.”
    Thinking back to our game of Truth or Dare over the Memorial Day bonfire, and Adrian’s humbling confession of the one person, alive or dead, he would like to meet and why, I realized I would like to get myself in a room alone with Mr. Alexander Floyd, somehow, somewhere, to pick his brain. And perhaps get his prediction on what would be next for the most important man in my life, and his band.
    â€œHot damn, girl. Look at how long your hair is,” Liz exclaimed. She offered me her handheld mirror and stood back. I took a look, to the left and to the right, at the silken caramel curtain that now framed my face. Normally my curly hair fell slightly past my shoulders, but straightened, I felt it rustle at the middle of my back.
    Adrian was absolutely transfixed, the concert reviews forgotten. “Cripes, Kat.”
    â€œYou like?” I asked, sending a swish over my shoulder in one sexy move.
    â€œI . . . I . . .”
    If Abbey were here, she’d say he was gobsmacked.
    â€œHe can’t talk right now,” Liz reported happily. “All the blood is rushing out of his brain and headed south.”
    â€œI adore you”—Adrian defied her claim, and his cheeks were a ruddy British red to prove it— “however you choose to look. But I must say, you look smoking hot right now. Especially whilst wearing my rock shirt.”
    I glanced down at his Dead Can Dream shirt and grinned. It was just a boxy black band tee. Liz grabbed a hunk of excess fabric at my waist and cinched it with a ponytail holder, allowing my feminine silhouette to shine through. Adrian swallowed noticeably and stood up, rubbing his hands on his dark denim-clad thighs.
    â€œI’m going to go check on Kev’s progress with lunch,” Liz said pointedly. She raised a finger in Adrian’s direction.“Don’t mess her hair up.”
    I laughed as he captured my arms to inspect me at closer range. “If I’d known the effect it would have on you, I would’ve done it a lot sooner.”
    â€œNo, no. No need,” he murmured. “I love winding your curls around my fingers. I love that they match Abbey’s. This is nice, though, for tonight.” He dipped his hand in, cradling the back of my head, then let the strands flow through his fingers like a waterfall. His other hand claimed my waist and slid up, tracing the outline of the band’s logo where it curved along my chest.
    â€œI was a dead man,” he said, swallowing hard, watching his fingers move along the
D
. “I never dreamed you’d come along.”
    The kisses he dropped on my lips were featherlight compared to the deep, drenching ones delivered over my shoulder in the shower earlier, but just as potent.
    â€œChow! Now!” Kev hollered.
    â€œI don’t think your brother approves of me.”
    â€œCorrection,” I laughed, laying my hands on his cheeks, “he doesn’t approve of me bursting his scuzzy teenage