Read Access All Areas for Free Online Page A

away. Shit. Wrong answer. I turned to him. “No, it’s fine, it’s good, I’m just...”
    “Just what?” He stayed very close to me as we went through a door and up a flight of industrial stairs. The large window, pierced through with chicken wire, let a white glaring light in that showed the hollows under his eyes. He really didn’t seem so bad. It wasn’t his fault that the press had fucked with him. That he was beautiful. He was human, and in the bright daylight of the stairwell, he looked exhausted.
    We went through another door, and turned right. Tristan made a sweeping, old fashioned gesture as he opened the door. “My inner sanctum.” He smiled again, but his eyes were serious.
    I looked around. It was a large rectangle of a room, with fairly high ceilings, the pipework and ducts visible. Filled with windows, it nonetheless had a dark feel to it, from the black leather chairs and the big stained oak desk. It was neat, an ornate rug in the center of the room, and a coffee table with a vase of flowers placed exactly in the middle. The papers on the desk were ordered and placed in open letter box type shelves. There were some posters on the walls from the first two releases, and a big picture of his old band over the sofa, on a white painted brick wall. But it was the smell that struck me, and I tried to pin down what it was. Some kind of mixture of expensive men’s cologne and Frankincense? Candles with flowers and pine? Something else entirely, slightly sweaty and musky? I stood there and suddenly realized he was looking at me, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.
    I smiled at him. “It smells wonderful in here.”
    He looked animated. “Do you like it? It’s a combination I’ve assembled myself.”
    “You’re bringing out a perfume?” It seemed so unlikely, such a sell-out thing to do. But maybe he was branching out, making the money while he could.
    “You’re kidding, right? This is for me. Just me. Don’t write this down.” He sat down in one of the leather chairs, suddenly looking huge and forbidding.
    I had to smile, but I felt the message. A little too well actually. In all the wrong places. “No, I’m relieved actually. I was having trouble figuring out how the infomercial was going to come across.” He laughed, an irresistible sound. Damn. Keep to the truth. “But if you ever have some left over, I’d love to have some.”
    “I can think of ways for that to happen.” There was that look again, and now, alone in the room with him, the intimidation felt physical. I wondered if he ever took it further, and the look of him surrounded by leather, staring at me, made me think that he did. And made me wonder what I would do if he did. I ran a hand through my hair. Focus. And then he snapped me out of it. “Sit.” It was an order, and I backed up and collapsed into the matching leather chair that was behind me. It was soft and smooth, and against my legs, it reminded me of his hand on my shoulder, warm, strong.
    I swallowed. “I’ll just get my notebook and recorder out, then.”
    “Fine.” He rolled away from the desk and a bit closer to me. I set everything up, and asked him to say something to test the level. “Are you comfortable?” he drawled, his voice a kind of slow pouring velvet, and I felt like I’d crashed into a wall. I literally did not know what to do with myself, and felt dangerously close to losing whatever control I had. Avoiding looking at him, I shook my head, and turned up the volume on his deep voice.
    He took the head shaking for discomfort, and jumped up. “Let’s go sit on the sofa, you can put the recorder on the table, and we’ll be closer—easier to talk.” He grabbed all my possessions, and brought them over, setting it all up. He flashed me a big smile, and looked delighted with himself, like a small child figuring something out. I couldn’t help but smile back. He really was adorable. Dangerous, but adorable. He sat down and patted the