Maximum Rush (Tangled Desires Book 4)

by Murphy,Misti

  I need to get a grip. My mouth is watering and my hands are shaking. Picking up my drink, I take another sip of the way too strong cocktail. It’s just I’ve never met someone so one track minded, so determined to be an ass. I wish he’d give up the constant sexual references. It’s already hard enough... oh God, I glance at his package. That would be an understatement.

  “What do I have to be afraid of? I’ve got everything I want in life, and I’m still young enough to enjoy it.”

  I almost jump out of the chair, since I wasn’t expecting him to answer the question. I pause. Maybe it’s not him that has the one-track mind. Oh great. Faced with a good-looking man, a sexual fantasy in the flesh, and I’m imagining things. I almost upend my bag searching for a pen and my notepad so I can jot down his response.

  “Is that enough for now?” He yawns. “Would you be against going to bed?”

  “No,” I squawk, my mind immediately conjuring pictures of his naked body hovering over mine, his gaze hooded and full of lust, his hands roaming my skin. I yank at the collar of my shirt. I need more air. Why isn’t there enough air on planes? “I mean yes. I told you—”

  “Right, well I’ll take the bed then.” He gets up, stumbles lethargically as he grips the seat above my head. “You’ll have to forgive me, but there’s very little opportunity for sleep on tour, and I’ve been up for more than twenty-four hours.”

  “Oh.” I gaze up at him, take note of the lines around his eyes, the heaviness of his frame as he bends over the chair and wraps a finger through one of my curls.

  “I can’t imagine you’ve had much sleep, though. If you want to take the bed, I’ll collapse on the couch.”

  Apparently, he’s chivalrous, and I’m the one being an ass. Probably because he’s right about me being tired too. I reach out to touch his hand. It’s innocent enough, but I wasn’t expecting the little buzz I get from the contact. How am I supposed to make it eight weeks around him? “Don’t let me put you out. I’ll sleep here.”

  He nods and continues toward the back of the cabin, hesitating in the doorway to a room I hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll leave the door unlocked in case you decide you want to sleep with me after all.”

  I sink back in my chair, ignoring the blatant invitation and the way my pulse seems to be doing some kind of weird assed tango at the idea. I knew I wasn’t imagining the way he keeps hinting at getting into my pants. Well, I’ve got news for him. It isn’t going to happen, no way, no how. I can maintain my professionalism, my dignity. I’m not Adelaide. I’m the one she left to pick up the pieces of her misguided life, the one who has to be responsible for the baby she left behind.

  I flip through a few pages in my notepad, and then I start to jot in the margin of each one. I will not forget what kind of man Rush Hadley is. A manwhore only worried about his own skin. The pen leaves thick dark lines that indent the page behind as I go.

  Do not shag Rush Hadley.

  I get up and move to the couch, lying down to try and get a few hours sleep. It’s been a long night, well day and night. But the leather holds his scent, which gets up my nose. That rich musky smell, mixed with something that’s magic on my lady bits. I turn on my side and bury my head in the leather, inhaling. It probably isn’t a good idea, but there’s something about the man that makes it impossible to keep my mind out of the gutter. Whatever it is, I need to come up with a way to ignore it, or I’m going to end up like all those women who do the splits at the sight of his rock hard… abs, chiselled chest, and impossibly violet eyes.

  I roll onto my back, and throw my arm across my face. It’s not light in the cabin, but it’s not exactly dark either. I wonder if there’s less light in the room he’s sleeping in. I bet he sleeps naked. He probably tore off those jeans that conformed to his long muscular legs and tight freaking ass. That shirt would have come off too. He seems to always be in some state of undress. Is it a calculated move to get me imagining him naked, or is it just who he is?

  I try to ignore my suspicions, but they nag at me and keep me from being able to sleep. With a frustrated huff I toss one leg over the edge of the couch. It wouldn’t hurt to sneak a look. A quick glance to see if he’s playing me, or I’m losing the plot.

  Getting up, I pad to the door he disappeared behind. Just like he said, it’s unlocked and I nudge it open carefully, only enough that I can get an eyeful through the gap. Holy crap on a cracker. So much for sleeping.

  He’s a work of art and a dirty movie all at the same time. Lying on his back, he’s stretched the complete length of the bed. His long legs spread a little while his hand pumps furiously around his dick. Soft groans emit from his lips as his hips jut to his hand. With each stroke the crown of his cock peeks from the top of his curled fist. Uncut, and leaking a little pre cum.

  A corresponding tingle starts between my thighs, and my mouth waters. There’s something so base, so perverted about watching him when he doesn’t know I’m there that increases the pleasurable sensation in my core, and has me breathing in tight little gasps.

  “Maxi,” he grinds out between his teeth as he arches into his hand again.

  Shit. I back away from the door quietly, but I can’t rip my gaze away.

  “I can hear you panting from here.” His movements become languid, more controlled. “I know you’re turned on right now. Why don’t you come here so I can do something about it?”

  “I don’t think so.” But even to my own ears my breathlessness makes me a liar.

  “Fine.” He stares at the door, until I make the mistake of making eye contact with him. “Touch yourself for me. I’m going to get off on knowing you’re turned on watching me while I masturbate to fantasies of me fucking you anyway. You may as well enjoy it.”

  The lust there, the intense sexual promises he makes from a simple gaze while he continues to stroke his cock has me pushing open the door. Licking my lips, I slip inside the room. I’m not going to fuck him. I refuse to be a groupie whore, but could it hurt to have one little taste. It’s not sex if I stick him in my mouth.

  “Time to wake up.” His voice has me jolting up on the couch. “We’re going to be arriving soon.”

  Sitting up, I groan. And then take in the look on his face as he sweeps his gaze over me, settling on my hand that happens to be between my legs.

  His smug grin has me whipping my hand away so fast I almost unbalance myself. “God, do you ever think about anything other than sex?”

  “What?” He ruffles his hair, slipping onto the couch as I swing my legs off the side.

  Shit. Am I the one bringing up sex? What the hell is wrong with me? I scrape my hands over my face to try and rub off the dregs of sleep. He started it when we met, and I can’t help that everything about him screams of how damn fuckable he is. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  “You’re yelling at me for bringing up sex, when you’re the one having a filthy sex dream? Probably about me, I might add. I’m starting to think there’s a bigger picture than you being repressed and uptight.”

  “I am not uptight.” I glare at him while I run my fingers through my crazy bed-head curls and try to get them styled into some semblance of neat. “I’m just not interested in people like you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He squares his jaw, one eyebrow cocked. “Why don’t you spell it out for me? After all you’re the one who seems to have a one-track mind. Why don’t you explain why you keep screeching about sex? Unless, you don’t know how to ask for what you want? Maybe then we can move on to the reasons we’re really here.”

  “Fine. You want to know, I’ll tell you.” Swivelling, I face him. “People like you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. You have everything you want, can have anybody you want, and you think it entitles you to act like a jackass. You think it’s fine to use people for your own perverted satisfaction without a care in the world as to whether you’re hurting anyone, as long as you get what you want.”

  “Wow.” He gives a quick shake of h
is head before stalking to the other side of the plane and staring out one of the windows.

  Slapping both hands over my mouth, I wish I could take it back. Not because I don’t mean it, but how bitchy do I need to be? “I’m sorry. That was mean. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t apologize for speaking your mind.”

  “It was unprofessional.”

  “I learned a long time ago that if you want to get somewhere in life you can’t always sugar coat everything. Sometimes you have to say what you mean and mean what you say.” He shrugs. “I’m not going to hold it against you.”

  That’s a relief. I’m pretty sure he should be on the phone right now organizing to send me right home as soon as we land. Heaven knows I would if our positions were reversed.

  “But the truth is you don’t know me. You have no idea who I am. Not many people actually do.” He shrugs. “Who knows, maybe your judgement should be reserved until after we’re done with this deal.”

  “But you sleep with anything that moves and says yes.” I seriously need to learn to shut my yap, but the words keep spewing out. “You don’t even have to try. Guys like that don’t see a person, they see holes they can stick their dicks into. That’s not the kind of man I’m into.”

  “Hate to tell you, Maxi, but you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. Did you get a little stardust in your eye? Is that what this stereotyping is all about? Who was he? A rock star?” He stares me down as he comes toward me. “A lead singer perhaps? No, a drummer.”

  I wince. Adelaide had told me Sarah’s dad was a drummer, but she’d never told me who.

  “He was a drummer.” He nods to himself. “He was what, charismatic, charming, lethally good in bed? But he was only after a good time, and you…” he stops right in front of me, yanking me up from the couch. His hands cupping my face. “You thought it was some kind of kismet, even if it was only one night.” He clicks his tongue. “No, a week, or was it two?”

  Christ, how does he do that? How does he read me like I’m a book? I can’t look at him. I don’t dare. He’s so close to the truth. Even if it isn’t my truth. But it’s my burden to carry. My responsibility to parent the little girl who will never know her dad, or understand why her mom wasn’t strong enough to be her mom. And instead I’m halfway around the world for an interview with a man who would most likely behave exactly the same way as Sarah’s sperm donor did.

  “I’m not your little drummer boy.”

  Great, now he thinks he knows me. I press my lips together, hooking my teeth into them to keep from saying the next stupid thing that pops into my mind. “He wasn’t my drummer.”

  The pilot announces that we’ll be descending and that we should take our seats, but Rush doesn’t step off. He keeps staring at me, slightly puzzled for a while. Then he takes my hand and squeezes it. “I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you, Maxi.”

  Strange as it seems, especially since all we’ve done is bicker, these last few minutes have me uncertain about my assessment of the man. It leaves me curious and unsettled with how much I want to unravel what I see and get to the man underneath, the man I’ve only gotten a glimpse of. “I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you, too.”

  Chapter Six

  Rush

  It takes a little while to disembark and deal with customs, and we end up clearing the airport a little before lunch. Coming from Australia’s autumn heat to Vegas winter isn’t too bad. It’s a little more like their autumn, but the lack of burning heat isn’t hugely noticeable. Slipping into the limo alongside Maxi, I check with the driver that he knows where we’re headed.

  Maxi’s still quiet as we ease our way through traffic, heading toward the house I keep. She clamped her mouth shut after her little outburst and her quick rebuttal to my assessment of her tragic sex life. Some drummer boy turned her sour toward men, probably all men, for her to be so strung out, so viciously defensive.

  I’ve made mistakes in my life. Who hasn’t? But I’m not the man her portrayal paints me as. Sure, I’ve fucked around a lot, but I don’t toy with women’s emotions. Do I? I sure as hell try not to. I fuck for fuck’s sake. Literally. I’m in it for the immediate satisfaction, and I’ve always been up front about that fact. There’ve been many a woman I’ve turned down, more than I’ve banged, purely to keep the status quo. The fact that some idiot, who managed to find fame in his art, could cause as much pain as I saw on her face when I asked her why she believed what she did, irritates me.

  The quiet adds to the prickliness under my skin. “Why don’t you ask me something?”

  She’s staring out the window at the Vegas landscape, all palm trees and asphalt. “How long have you lived here?”

  I’ve lived here for… I screw up my brow and scratch the nape of my neck. The thing is I don’t really live here. I kind of don’t live anywhere. I haven’t spent more than a few months in one place since I was a teenager. Why is that unsettling? It’s never bothered me before, but for some reason the fact that I’m not grounded plays on me. “I’m more of a nomad. I’ve had a house here for five years, then one in New York I acquired about three years ago, and another I bought in Reverence a few months back.”

  “What about Los Angeles? I assume you would spend some time there too with your shows? Wasn’t one of them set there?”

  “I stay with a friend. He’s got a place in the Hollywood Hills, so I crashed there, or stayed in a hotel.”

  “Isn’t that difficult?” She turns to face me, digging through her bag for that ever needed notepad. “Constantly moving around and being on the road?”

  “I love it.” Except right now I couldn’t think of anything worse. Only because I’ve been on the road for the past five months. “I have too much energy to stay couped up in one place. There’s so much to do, and I can’t stand the idea of not throwing my all into life.”

  She flips open her notepad, and I raise an eyebrow at the thick print marring the bottom of the page. I will not shag Rush Hadley.

  She glances up at me as she flips back a few pages, her entire face and neck going red. I swear even her hands pink as she bites her lip. “Sorry, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

  “Adamant, aren’t you?” I chuckle. “Surprised you need a reminder though. Struggling with temptation?”

  “No. This was one of my co-workers playing a joke on me.”

  I lean in closer, her hair tickling my jaw. “It’s your handwriting.”

  “Okay, fine.” She claps the pad closed. “It was forward thinking. You have a certain presence, a charm about you, obviously. Women fall all over you.” She tilts her head, exposing her neck. I can see the gentle thrum of her pulse at her jaw, the slight flutter of her skin that begs to be sucked on. “I figured at some point I would need a reminder that I’m not one of those women.”

  Is she flirting with me? It certainly seems like it. When she turned me down, when she offered to rearrange my balls, I saw her as a challenge. I’m all for obstacles. I like that life isn’t easy. It gives me a sense of satisfaction to break through my limits time and time again. But I’ve never bothered trying to break down a woman so I’m not sure why I find the idea of tearing through her determination such an irresistible prospect.

  “You are most definitely not one of those women.” I lower my lips close to her ear, without touching her. She’s put her all in to proving that fact since I met her, and I expect this is the point where she’ll push me away to resume that pinched scowl she’s perfected. Except she doesn’t. Her breath snags, but she doesn’t move. My dick stirs, probably thinking he’s got a chance of getting wet. Mentally, I tamp down on the idea. Down boy. Don’t fuck this up. We’re going to be spending the next sixty days with this woman, which is much more preferable than being the odd man out in my own family. “But you don’t need to be scared of letting that guard of yours drop a little. You don’t have to be scared of me. I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

  “I’m not scared.”
<
br />   “Is that so?” This time I caress the shell of her ear with my lips. The raspberry scent of her hair mingling with the slight sweetness of her skin makes me want to lick along her jaw. I forget where my line of thought was going, why I was telling her she didn’t have to be so guarded when it’s a little too clear that she’s not the one in hot water here.

  Pulling back, I settle my hands behind my neck. She’s nothing but a cramp in my style. Two months with the same woman, a woman who, despite her argumentative nature, her stiffness, has me talking about myself with ease, who has me fucking enamored with the idea of taking the time to unravel her, is trouble I don’t want or need. It’s disturbing, is what it is.

  “Yes. I’m not scared of you.” She’s picking at a frayed thread on her jeans and staring at me, her pupils dilated.

  And all I can think is when am I going to get to sink my teeth into those juicy fucking lips of hers. “Prove it, sweet cheeks.”

  “I don’t think I need to.” She glances out the window again, then fiddles with her phone. “Is it much further? I need to make a call.”

  She needs to make a call? To a family member to tell them she’s made it off the plane without getting eaten by sharks? To her boss who’s chomping at the bit to get this interview in print? To a boyfriend who’s patiently waiting for her to come back from gallivanting the world with me?

  Slouching deeper into the seat, I crack my knuckles. Fuck, I hope it’s not my last guess. “Boyfriend?”

  “Family.”

  “Can’t wait to tell them how much of an asshole I am?” I’d probably deserve it. I’m not exactly the easiest person to deal with. Especially when I get an idea in my head. It took me a long time to work out that not everything I want to make happen will, or even should, occur. I’m just lucky enough that it doesn’t take place often, and when it does it usually means something better is on the horizon. But fat fucking lot of good it’ll do me over the next few months.