by Taryn Belle
“Got it. Speaking of which...” She lifted a sheet of paper up from the small table between them. “According to this itinerary, you’re staying at The Connaught with the rest of the band. Is that a mistake? I’d imagine you’d want to stay at home while you’re in town.”
Damn—she didn’t miss a thing. Dev had moved from LA to London a decade ago, but his Kings Cross penthouse felt less and less like home since he’d bought the house on Moretta. His flat screamed of the bachelor days and rock star nights of his twenties, and that just wasn’t where his head was anymore. “It’s just easier if the band is all together,” he said, which also happened to be the truth. “I’ll pop by at some point to make sure the place is still standing, pick up some clothes. By the way, we’re only staying in hotels in London and Paris. After the Paris show we move to tour buses for the remainder of the European leg. Once we’re in Australia we’ll be in hotels again.”
“I know. I’ve already confirmed all the bookings,” she said, glancing down at her notes. “What about rehearsals? I don’t see anything about that.”
“The three of us will spend the rest of the week rehearsing at Ryder Studios. We already put in a good round a month ago, so we’re pretty tight.”
Tight. Good God, could he really not say such a banal word without thinking about how Kiki’s pussy had felt around his cock? How old was he, fifteen? He seriously needed to get a grip, but now that the door had been opened, his cock was all in. All he could think about was stripping her down and fucking her until she screamed, flight crew be damned. He shifted in his seat to hide his raging erection. This line of thinking wasn’t going to help anything.
The drone of the engine filled the silence as a flight attendant entered the cabin. “Something to drink, Mr. Stone?” she asked, holding out a cheese board.
“A club soda, please,” Dev said, plucking a cracker and a wedge of Brie from the platter.
“What, no champagne?” Kiki asked without looking up. “Pretty impressive for a rock star.”
If you only knew, Dev thought. “Would you please stop calling me that?”
“What? Impressive?” She looked up at him under long lashes, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. He caught a brief glimpse of zebra-print panties.
He was going to fucking lose it. He hit a button on his armrest, filling the cabin with the sound of Coldplay.
Kiki tilted her head at him. “You don’t like silence, do you?”
Dev started. Didn’t he? He’d never thought about it before. “I’m a musician. I think it makes sense that I enjoy listening to music.”
Kiki gazed back at him until he felt like squirming. Her eyes held a knowing look, as if she could see all of his secrets. Like she knew shit about him that he didn’t even know himself. No one had ever known him like that, and it was unnerving.
Suddenly she stood up and stretched her arms to the sides. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m going to try out my bed.”
And with that she walked away, leaving Dev alone with his club soda and his tortured imagination.
CHAPTER THREE
BY THE TIME the night of the first show rolled around, Kiki was regretting the day she accepted her new job. The work was more demanding than she’d expected, but that wasn’t the reason. She’d assumed Dev would slip into a different persona when he was in celebrity mode—high-maintenance, egotistical, absent, no longer interested in her. She was wrong. Dev was exactly the same guy he’d been on Moretta: fun, relaxed, kind to his staff, a natural leader. It seemed like he was everywhere she was, and he always had that heart-stopping sexy smile for her. In the hotel elevator. At the catering table. At the rehearsal studio. And now backstage, where he’d winked at her as he passed her in the hallway. Every time his eyes met hers she felt like she’d been electrified—which made keeping her boundaries in place even more important. She couldn’t afford to weaken, especially now that she was on the road with him. Like it or not, Dev was a man she was willing to break her rules for, and Kiki knew exactly what would happen if she got involved with him—he’d leave her when he found out the truth about her, just like her ex-husband had.
So why hadn’t she made this arrangement strictly business when she had the chance? He’d put it out there—your terms—but she’d left it alone. Dev was a man of his word, and she had to admit that a part of her hadn’t wanted to shut that door completely.
She walked along the side of the hallway, trying to stay out of the human traffic jam. She knew Dev was in his dressing room. Her pulse quickened as she thought about the stage outfit she’d laid out for him an hour ago: a white button-down Armani shirt and black leather pants. The thought of seeing him onstage had her nerves on edge. But was it because she was about to witness the hottest performance on Earth, or because of what she was afraid might happen after it? Everyone knew that was when the groupies showed up. Dev might not flaunt them in her face, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that one night with her had changed his ways forever.
She reached the main artery of the backstage area, which was controlled chaos. Roadies shouted orders to each other, organizers zipped around with clipboards and iPads in hand, a bored-looking caterer tapped away on her phone behind a table laden with food. A heavyset man shouted loudly into his cell phone while he paced inches from Kiki’s toes. Scotty lounged on a nearby sofa, tossing Skittles into his mouth one by one while Stuart walked the floor in front of him, tapping a beat out on an invisible drum set. And above it all was the roar of the twenty thousand fans filing into London’s largest concert venue, O2 Arena.
Kiki was good at hiding her intimidation. Sinking down into a plastic chair, she took her phone out to tick the day’s tasks off: meals organized; media interviews booked for the following day; assorted shopping trips done; fan mail answered; backstage photos posted to Instagram and Twitter; a Snapchat story of the band warming up for the show made; water, towels and snacks set out for the band.
She was about to click her phone off when it rang in her hand. Laina Rose. Kiki grinned. Laina was her best friend from high school, and the whole reason she’d moved to Moretta in the first place. Her friend had grown up spending her vacations on the island with her super-wealthy family, so when Kiki called her in tears after Jack left her, Laina had come to her rescue by offering her the guesthouse on her parents’ estate. Kiki had thought she’d spend a few weeks there recovering, but instead she’d found herself getting a job at Pablo’s and renting a staff cottage. Laina had visited her several times over the years, always staying with Kiki instead of at her family estate. Laina was one of those rare people who chose to separate herself from her family’s wealth, but Kiki knew there was more to the story than that.
Standing up, she glanced around for a quiet place to talk. She hadn’t spoken with her friend since she’d announced her engagement, one that Kiki proudly took credit for because it was she who’d introduced the pair back in Atlanta. Wedding chatter wasn’t number one on Kiki’s list right now, but a little girl talk might get her mind off things...like Dev.
Kiki dashed into an empty bathroom and closed the door behind her, dulling the sound of the mayhem. “Banger!” she said when she picked up, using Laina’s old high school nickname.
“Mash,” Laina replied dully.
Kiki gripped the phone. “What’s wrong?”
A sniffle, and then she blurted, “He fucked another girl in our bed, Kiki.”
Kiki’s blood froze in her veins. “What?” she gasped.
“I caught them. And then he tried to blame it on me.” Laina let out a choked sob.
Kiki slapped her hand down on the sink. “Oh, my God. The fucking prick! I am so, so sorry, honey.”
“Me, too.”
“And I introduced—”
“Stop. It’s not your fault. It’s—it’s better this way. He said I was boring in bed, Kiki. It’s better that I found out what a cocksucker
he is now.”
Kiki inhaled deeply to settle her boiling blood. What Jack had done to her had been scathing, but she couldn’t imagine the intensity of what Laina had just experienced.
“Tell me what I can do for you, Laina. I’m not on Moretta right now, but I’m here for you. Do you need anything?”
“You mean besides something to castrate Ward with? No, I’m good. Just—I need to get away. Are you up for a visit?”
“Of course! Except that I’m away for another five weeks,” she added guiltily. Laina had been a rock-solid friend to her when she desperately needed one, and it bothered her that she couldn’t reciprocate in the same way.
There was a pause on Laina’s end. “Five weeks? Where are you?”
Not now. Revealing where she was would lead to a conversation about Dev and/or her mother, and this wasn’t the time or place. “Long story. This is about you, honey. Can you come in late November?”
“I’ll have to check with my boss. She’s a bit of a bitch.”
At least her sense of humor was intact; Laina had started her own architecture firm two years ago. “That’s not what I’ve heard about her,” Kiki replied. Then she fell silent, wishing there was a sure way to convince her friend that everything would turn out fine. But she remembered what it was like to be in her shoes, and she knew that the only real cure was time.
And that as soon as she got over him, the next complication would enter her life.
“Ten minutes,” a male voice crackled in Kiki’s back pocket. Damn it—she’d forgotten about her walkie-talkie, and part of her job was to keep Dev on schedule. She killed the volume and turned her attention back to Laina.
“It’s going to be alright, okay? I promise. And you are not boring in bed.”
Laina managed a laugh. “How would you know?”
“Because Ward seems pretty damned boring himself, if you ask me. Someday you’ll meet a real man, and...” Dev’s face filled her head. That’s what he was, wasn’t he? One of only a few real men out there. Or maybe that was just what she wanted him to be.
“And what?”
“Nothing. You just focus on you right now, okay?”
“Okay,” Laina sniffed.
After she hung up, Kiki made her way to Dev’s door, preparing herself for the onslaught on her senses. And sure enough, her breath caught in her throat when he appeared. He looked every inch the rock god he was and more. His dark hair was mussed and his shirt was left open at the top, revealing a hint of his muscled chest. She could smell his aftershave, that ever-present reminder of the traces he’d left on her skin. Against her will, her eyes dropped to his leather pants. She felt a jolt shoot straight to her pussy at the sight of his generous bulge.
Stop it.
But her face was already flushed. Damn, but being a redhead was an unfair disadvantage.
Through the walls, the crowd had reached a fever pitch. “Twitch! Twitch!”
“It sounds like they’re ready for you,” Kiki managed. “What’s that all about?”
Dev leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Just a nickname. Maybe because I like to play my guitar hard and fast.”
His aqua eyes caressed her body, telling her exactly how he’d rather be applying those two adverbs. She could feel the heat creep down from her cheeks to her breasts.
Cool it.
She tried for a casual stance, hands in front pockets. “So, uh...you good to go? I mean, do you have a routine you like to do before you go onstage or anything? I’ve heard some musicians like to do scales, tai chi, snort a few lines, whatever...” She cringed as she trailed off. Did she really just say that? She was nervous as hell, and she always babbled and said stupid shit when she was nervous.
And yet Dev, the person who should be nervous, seemed perfectly calm. “Never readier,” he replied with a wink—the same two words she’d spoken right before he drove his cock inside her for the first time. Jesus. He wasn’t making this easy.
In her peripheral vision, Kiki saw a crew member approach. “Hey, Chester,” Dev said when he stopped near them.
“Hey. Bob was wondering if you wanted us to scout for you tonight. He just took a walk and said to let you know there’s plenty of good material in the crowd.”
“Nah, I’ll pass. Just like I did on the last tour,” Dev replied pointedly, his eyes never leaving Kiki’s.
Kiki watched as Chester took his baseball cap off and replaced it on his head, turning the visor backward. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels, as if waiting for Dev to come to his senses. “You sure, man?”
“Sure of what—that he’s the best goddamned musician since Springsteen?” a man said as he appeared beside Dev. Kiki felt herself stiffen. It was the heavyset guy with the cell phone she’d noticed earlier. He wore his long white hair slicked back, and his paunch strained at his shirt buttons.
“Bix, it’s about time,” Dev said, giving the man a back-pounding embrace. “Bix, I’d like you to meet Kiki Becker. Kiki, Bix is my tour manager.”
Kiki nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” Bix replied, but his eyes only lit on her briefly. She watched as Chester cleared his throat, trying to remind Dev of his presence. It was an interesting hierarchy dance, Kiki observed—Chester was clearly at the bottom, and a minute ago she would have put Dev at the top. But Bix’s entrance into the picture had made her less certain of that.
Dev turned to Chester. “Thanks, man—I’m all good.”
“Hey, you’re the boss.” Chester shrugged and turned away. Bix’s cell phone rang, and after he walked off, Kiki burst out laughing. “‘Plenty of good material’?” she said to Dev. “I take it that’s code for hot chicks.”
“I would never use such a disrespectful term,” Dev replied. “But yes. There is a certain tradition among certain musicians that involves inviting a certain type of female backstage. It’s not something that interests me.”
“No?”
“Anymore,” he clarified with a smile.
Kiki gave him a skeptical look. “So all those lovely ladies I see you around the island with are—what, your sisters?”
He grinned. “Just because I let them hang out with me doesn’t mean I let them into my bed. But point taken. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
Kiki busied herself with adjusting her necklace. So she wasn’t going to be tortured by the sight of him with another woman...not tonight, at least. But how long would he hold out? The guy was only human, after all.
“Listen,” she said hesitantly. “I, um... I just want you to know you don’t have to do this. This is a professional relationship, and—”
“Is it?” His aqua eyes bored into hers.
“Um...” Yes. Just say it and everything will be so much simpler, she thought. “Well, I think it’s easiest if we just... I mean... I have no expectations,” she stammered.
That sexy smile. She wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor. “I appreciate that,” he said, stepping a little closer to her. The crowd had grown louder than ever with their frenzied chant, forcing Dev’s lips to her ear so he could be heard. “There’s just one problem.”
He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. Toothpaste and lemon. She wanted to brush against his mouth with her fingers, feel him suck them before she replaced them with her hungry lips. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. The only woman I want is you,” he whispered, sending shivers down her spine.
Kiki swallowed hard. She finally turned to face him, but he was already backing away from her with his arms over his head. He gave his hands three loud claps in the air. “Alright. Let’s fucking do this!” he shouted. A roadie handed him a guitar, and then Dev slipped the strap over his head, ran up the steps and disappeared through the stage door.
* * *
Blinding strobe lights. Sweat
dripping from his face. Stuart pounding the drums, Scotty beside him on the mic. Lightning ripping from his fingertips on the guitar. The whole scene magnified behind him on a massive screen. And the feverish crowd, the lifeblood of every show, singing every word along with him. This was one of the moments Dev could acknowledge that the dreams of a ten-year-old boy with an air guitar and a bed for a stage had come true. If only they weren’t so few and far between.
The encore was the one time onstage Dev could actually enjoy himself. During that short golden window between having the worst behind him and the end in sight, he suddenly felt like he could play all night. By all accounts, his first performance of the Up All Night World Tour had gone well. Along with his little helpers, his usual coping mechanisms had worked. He’d launched into his first song, “It All Starts Here,” with his back to the audience, only turning around two choruses in when his hands finally stopped shaking. The wild cheers when the crowd saw his face assured him that his secret was safe; they thought it was all part of the act. After that he’d kept his eyes either on his guitar or on the front row of the crowd, and by the third song he was nearly relaxed enough to give the audience what they wanted: everything. All of him. His very flesh, heart and soul. And though his stomach still churned, he’d done it. Worked the stage, riffed with his bandmates, sung hard. He’d never gotten used to having his every move blown up a thousand times, but when he caught a glimpse of himself onscreen he looked okay. He looked perfectly in control. And now here he was on his last number of the night, “Stand Your Ground,” one of his midcareer chart-topping ballads that always got the audience singing along. As Dev drew out the last, endless note, twenty thousand cell phones glowed back at him. Only then did he allow his eyes to lift to the back of the stadium, where they settled on the reassuring sight of a fully packed house.
It was over. Relief pulsed through his body as he ran off the stage with his guitar. A waiting roadie took it from him and handed him a bottle of water. He took in the compliments.