The sway of his hips and shoulders, the languor of his gait.

Damn it.

We met in the middle of the driveway.

And, oh yeah.

Being five foot nine, I hated how freaking tall he was.

“Preacher—” I started to launch in.

“Hey, cher,” he said softly.

At his words, those words, I closed my eyes, and if I wasn’t wrong, I might have swayed.

“Baby,” he whispered, and I felt his fingers wrap around my upper arm.

Yep.

I’d swayed.

I opened my eyes.

“We’re not doing this,” I told him, gently pulling my arm from his hold.

“Can we go inside?” he asked.

“No,” I denied.

“Lyla, there are words to be said.”

“No, there aren’t.”

His jaw worked then he said, “You need to listen to the new album.”

Oh shit.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do, before it drops.”

Oh shit.

“Preacher—”

“Baby, press release went out that the band’s back together, the album is coming and we’re launching a tour with Shawn’s legal aid gig. The band’s back. I’m back. And we’re standin’ in your goddamn driveway.”

I got his point.

I didn’t like his point.

But I got it.

Preacher was a magnet for paparazzi even before he was making a comeback after one of the all-time most shocking and heart-wrenching stories of personal trauma hit the mainstream.

And I wasn’t kidding myself.

I was a magnet too.

Especially if he was anywhere near me.

And for the first time in six years, he was.

I made a huffing noise that, to protect my ability to keep my shit together, I had to ignore made his lips quirk, and then I turned and prowled up my driveway.

I not only heard the dull strikes of his boots on cement, I actually felt him follow me.

Preacher there.

Not but a few feet away.

Following me.

The garage led into a tiny utility room with a stackable washer and dryer and minimal storage, and that led into a small galley kitchen.

It wasn’t much, say, a massive kitchen done all in white that leads to a colossal living room also all white with views to LA or a cozy, rustic but also massive kitchen with an island in the middle so large, you could lie fully back on it so your man could eat you out.

But it was mine.

I halted the train of my thoughts and turned on Preacher.

“All right, let’s get this done, whatever it is,” I said.

But he was looking around and I had to shift out of his way as he walked by me to get to the small dining room that had a circular table with four chairs, off which there was the living room.