Iona snorted, but Bryant continued his description of Lily. “Her color is white. Is that a color? Or an absence of color?”
“I’m Lily Tanner,” she spoke clearly into the microphone, completely ignoring his questions about white.
“I hear you’re married to someone our listeners might be familiar with.”
“Yes, I’ve been married to Jack for a while now. Well, not you, Jack.” She twirled a hand in Jack Bryant’s direction. “I mean Jack Tanner.”
“Drummer for . . .” Bryant inclined his head in her direction and waited for her to fill in the blank.
“The Fallen.”
“He’s a lucky man. And I promised I’d ask,” Bryant said, “so forgive me. When are we going to get a new album from the Fallen?”
Lily pressed her lips together. Roux knew how much she hated being put on the spot about her husband’s currently defunct band. “I couldn’t say. Jack doesn’t tell me jack shit about his band.”
Bryant’s scowl turned to surprise when the observation booth door swung open.
“Shut the fuck up!” Steve shouted. “You’re married to Jack Tanner? The Jack Tanner?”
Bryant laughed. “I take it Steve Aimes is familiar with the Fallen’s iconic drummer.”
“You have to introduce me to him,” Steve said. “He’s my hero.”
Max grabbed the collar of Steve’s shirt, hauled him back into the observation booth, and shut the door.
“I think he’s every drummer’s hero,” Bryant mused. “Yours too, I take it?” he asked Lily.
“Of course,” she said, with a tender smile, “but not because he’s a renowned drummer. He’s the love of my life.”
Roux’s heart fluttered with happiness for her friend. Lily and Jack were meant to be together. Roux could only hope that one day she’d find someone as perfect for her as those two were for each other. For some reason she glanced back at Steve at that thought. She caught him watching her, but he didn’t look away and try to hide it. Nope. He winked. With uncharacteristic brazenness, she winked back.
She knew she shouldn’t encourage him, but even when he was in the next room making a complete ass of himself, he made her happy. It was not a feeling she’d experienced with many men.
The host waxed poetic about Jack Tanner and the possibility of the Fallen releasing a new album for the remainder of their segment, which was only a minute or two, but long enough to make Iona’s eye twitch. As they were exiting the studio, she caught Lily’s arm and hissed, “Why did you have to mention that you were married to Jack?”
“I didn’t. Bryant already knew. He’s the one who brought it up.” Lily grinned, not the least bit ashamed of her supposed slip. “And if you for one minute think I’m not going to claim Jack as mine, you’ve lost your mind.”
Iona took a deep breath. “Sorry. Not your fault. I know that. We just agreed that we wouldn’t mention our significant others while on tour. We want to make it on our own.”
“Just be glad he didn’t recognize you as Kayla Clark, the favorite of American Voice three years ago,” Sage said.
“I am glad.”
Iona’s stint on the show was one of the many reasons the band had decided to play up their costumes. They didn’t go quite to the extremes that KISS had gone to disguise their identities in the 70s, but the more the members of Baroquen could keep their personal lives out of the limelight, the better. While Lily and Iona wanted to keep their love lives behind closed doors, Sage and Azura were concerned about people from their dark pasts finding them. Roux liked her privacy, and as her gaze landed on Steve, who had already drawn Lily to one side to arrange a meeting with her husband, Roux knew she could never pursue anything serious with Exodus End’s gorgeous drummer because A, the man probably didn’t even know how to do serious and B, her privacy would be a thing of the past.
As Roux brushed past him, he slid his hand around her wrist. There was no pressure there—she could have easily slipped out of his grasp if she’d wanted to—but she drew to a halt, her heart hammering with anticipation and excitement. She couldn’t figure out why he made her feel this way. Was it because he was so famous, so gorgeous, so electrifying, and paid her attention? Or was her heart far smarter than her head, which kept telling her to keep away from him?
“I’ll hold you to that,” Steve said to Lily.
“He’s a fan of yours as well,” she said. “He’ll be delighted.” She patted Steve’s arm and followed the crowd through the observation booth and into the studio’s large outer office.
“We have a date with the Tanners,” he said, his gaze shifting to meet Roux’s.
“We?”
“Yep. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Won’t it be obvious that we’re involved if we double-date with the Tanners?”
“So we are involved,” he said. “I wasn’t sure we were on the same page.”
He shifted her slightly so that the partially open door blocked them from the direct view of anyone in the office, and bent his head in her direction. Her eyelashes fluttered, lids covering her eyes as she leaned into his kiss. His lips brushed hers for only a few seconds, but the gentle touch set her ablaze with instant need.
They were involved, just like that?
Involved.
With him so near, she couldn’t begin to process what that meant. Did he mean they should find the nearest mattress and explore the unmistakable lust between them? Or did it mean he was interested in something deeper than a sexual fling? Her head was spinning almost as fast as her heart was pounding.
“You have an amazing voice,” he said, his own voice deep, soothing, and sexy. “Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?”
“Keyboardist,” she reminded him. “I sing backup vocals only.”
“But you could sing lead if you wanted to.”
His voice so close to her ear sent shivers down the side of her neck. God, she wanted his mouth against her throat. Kissing. Sucking. Licking.
“Thanks,” she said huskily. “But I don’t want to sing lead. My heart belongs to the piano.”
“At least I know who my competition is.”
What did he mean by that? Surely not what she thought—wanted—it to mean.
God, he smelled good. She tilted her face toward his neck, wondering if his skin tasted as delicious as it smelled. The heat of her breath rebounded on her parted lips as they moved closer to his throat. Maybe she should offer his neck the kind of attention hers craved.
“Don’t forget I have something for you in my pocket.”
The spell he’d cast over her broke, and she stepped back. She was grateful for the high heels of her boots so she didn’t have to crane her neck to meet his gaze.
“I’m not sticking my hand down your pants.”
“If you don’t, I’m going to kiss you again.”
She placed a hand on his chest, her fingers curling slightly to urge him close again. She shouldn’t want him closer—not here where they could be discovered at any moment. But she did. She missed his heat already. “Is that supposed to be some sort of threat?”
He didn’t bother responding, just made good on his promise. She’d never been kissed in such a way that her nipples ached so bad that she had to rub them against a man’s chest, but the tug of his mouth on hers had her pressing her body against his, and when his tongue traced her upper lip, she moaned and slid her arms around his back to pull him even closer. She probably should have slept with him last night so that they could be out of each other’s system. Surely one quickie would be enough to cool this heat between them. And she really needed to get her personal inferno under control.
“Fish your surprise out of my pocket,” he said, “or I’m going to do that again, but this time I’ll do it with the door all the way open.”
He inclined his head toward the door that was blocking them from view, and she didn’t bother challenging his intention. She knew he’d do exactly what he’d threatened.
“Fine,�
�� she said. “Just don’t get cum on my hand.”
He laughed. “No promises.”
She leaned back and assessed the front of his pants, trying not to focus on the magnificent bulge in the center. She didn’t think he was even hard. How many pairs of socks did he have rammed in there? “Which pocket?”
“Figuring that out is half the fun.”
She rolled her eyes—though, honestly, this was fun—and shoved a hand into each pocket. The man’s jeans had apparently been painted on his body, so she had to wriggle her fingers to delve deeper. His breath came out in a shuddering huff and he grabbed her wrists, tugging her hands free.
“We’ll have to pick up that game later,” he said. “When I don’t have to face a room full of people.”
“Am I giving you a boner, Aimes?” she teased.
“Let’s just say that the socks I keep in my pants are being displaced to the left at the moment.”
“Hah!” she said. “I knew that bulge was socks.”
He bit his tongue and shook his head. “No, babe. That was a joke. That bulge is all me.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes again.
“I’ll show you sometime.” He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.
“It’s the title to a car!” she shouted, loving to tease this man as mercilessly as he teased her. She had no use for a car; the van she shared with her sisters had room for everyone. “I can’t believe you’d get me a Ferrari. You really shouldn’t have.”
“If you want one, it’s yours,” he said, not missing a beat. “But I think you’ll find this is far more valuable than an Italian sports car.”
She made a grab for the piece of paper he was holding up between two fingers. He flicked his hand toward his chest, keeping her from her prize.
“Is it a winning lottery ticket?” she asked.
“Even better.”
She snatched the paper from him and opened it. After scanning the ten-digit number, she lifted an eyebrow. “Is this your phone number, Aimes?”
He grinned. “I told you it was awesome.”
“Can I trade it for a winning lottery ticket?” she asked.
“You don’t want to do that.”
She couldn’t tell if he was being cocky or teasing her.
“Maybe I don’t want to associate with you,” she said.
“You know you do.”
“You have a dirty reputation.”
“The dirtiest.” He grinned. “That’s why you want that number. It’s the real deal. The one I actually answer.”
“I don’t think I’ll use it,” she said, tucking the slip back into his hand. “I need to be thinking about my career right now, not . . .”
He leaned close to her ear. “Not how hot you feel when I do this?”
He nipped her lobe, and fire spread through her veins like napalm. Holy Jesus. How did he know what he did to her?
“If you want more, you’ll call me.”
“But—”
He tucked the paper into the top of her corset, his fingers grazing the inner curve of her breast. “And you want more. Much more.”
She wanted to lie and say she didn’t. They had no business getting involved. For one thing, Iona would murder her for potentially destroying their band’s opportunity to advance. For another, she couldn’t think when he was near, and if they got naked together, she was pretty sure her brain would stop functioning entirely. If she was completely brain-dead, she wouldn’t be able to play her keyboard.
“If I wasn’t leaving for Atlanta in ten minutes, I’d give you what you want right here,” he added.
He was leaving? She tried not to pout when she shot back, “You don’t have any idea what I want.”
His seductive smile made her belly quiver. “I know exactly what you want, Red. It’s you who’s struggling with the idea.”
“I . . . I’m going to be too busy rehearsing and getting ready to leave for Europe to get involved with you.”
“Call me. We’ll talk. A month of deep conversation will give me plenty of time to get you addicted to me before we meet again.”
As if.
“Roux?” Iona called from near the partially shut door. “What are you doing? I know networking is hard for you, but—”
Roux jerked away from Steve just before the door swung open. “Oh!” Iona said when she recognized Roux was not hiding from everyone. Just almost everyone.
“I’m chatting with Aimes,” Roux said brightly.
“About?” Iona glanced at Steve curiously.
“How much keyboards suck,” Roux said.
“She’s almost got me convinced otherwise,” Steve said. “Be seeing you, Red.” He took her hand and gave it a curt, completely platonic shake. Call me, he mouthed before he wrapped an arm around Iona’s shoulders and directed her out into the main office. “So where did you learn to sing like that, Pretty-in-Purple?”
Roux tugged at the bottom of her corset, trying to get her head on straight more than to rearrange her clothing. The piece of paper with Steve’s number shifted against her breast. She was not going to call him. That was just asking for trouble. She took a deep steadying breath and then followed Iona and Steve toward the crowd congregated in the large cubicle-filled room.
As soon as she had a minute, she’d dig his number out of her top and toss it in the garbage. If she didn’t call him, she was certain he’d lose his fascination with her before the tour started. Unless Butch’s advice was correct and the best way to keep Steve interested was to keep him guessing. But what did Butch know?
The man with all the answers was already rounding up his passel of stray rock stars and directing them out the door to meet the tour bus so they could head south to Atlanta for their next tour date. Butch seemed to know what he was talking about most of the time, but Roux was sure his advice to her was an exception to the rule. Steve wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to be kept hanging, and Roux pretended not to notice when he offered her one last searching look before he was shoved out of the radio studio.
Eight
Steve knew he was in trouble, but seeing as Trouble with a capital T was his middle name, he wasn’t afraid to pursue it. He had every confidence that Roux would call him—probably within the hour. A woman didn’t respond to him with such heat and intensity unless she wanted him, and in all of his worldly experience, he’d never met a woman who could resist what she wanted for long.
“I got that information you asked for,” Butch said as they made their way to the limo waiting downstairs.
Information? Steve was so distracted by a certain fiery ice princess that he couldn’t remember what information he’d requested.
As usual, Butch read him like an open book. “You forgot already.”
“I—”
“It’s the redhead. I get it.” Butch’s lips twitched beneath his mustache. “You haven’t sealed the deal with her, so your little head is fully in charge.”
“How do you know I haven’t sealed the deal with her? She was in my room after midnight, you know.”
“If you’d made your move, you wouldn’t have been drying humping her leg in the studio upstairs.”
“I wasn’t dry humping—”
“You totally were,” Max said as he followed a member of their security team out of the station. A smallish crowd had assembled near the building and released an excited cheer the moment they came into view. Max waved before ducking into the waiting car.
“The information you requested I gather about Bianca and that bitch who leaked personal band info to the tabloids.”
Oh yeah. Steve had asked Butch to investigate the connection between his ex-wife and the woman he believed was her sister Tamara. He really was in a lust-induced haze if that very important task had slipped his mind. He’d better get all his information straight before Roux called—any minute now—and muddled his thinking again.
“Susan and Tamara are the same person.”
Steve scowled. “I kn
ew it.” Even though she’d lost at least a hundred pounds since the last time he’d seen her, there was no mistaking Tamara Brennan’s hungry eyes. He shuddered at the thought of her touchy-feely hands. The woman was half octopus.
“There’s more, but let’s wait until we get to the bus. You never know who’s listening.” Butch glanced around the crowded New York City street as if he could spot a spy from a mile away. He probably could.
Steve climbed into the limo and found Trey at the mercy of his big brother’s knuckle sandwich. Sinners’ rhythm guitarist wasn’t struggling to get away from Dare. Instead, he was laughing and looking very pleased with himself.
“We haven’t had a song at the top of the overall charts for over four years,” Dare said.
Trey squirmed from Dare’s grasp and plopped into the open seat next to Reagan. “So I guess this means I’ve finally surpassed the master.” He finger-quoted master.
“I’d tell you not to get full of yourself,” Dare said, his smile ear-to-ear, “but you guys are totally deserving.”
“Sinners rules!” Trey said, throwing up a set of devil horns.
Steve squished himself into a limo seat. The car was made to seat eight, but was currently a couple of people over capacity. “Good news, I take it,” Steve said to Trey as he maneuvered his ribs away from Max’s bony fucking elbow.
Trey proudly showed Steve his phone, which displayed a screen shot of the iTunes sales charts. Sinners’ new single sat brazenly in the top spot above a pop diva’s latest release.
“Nice!” Steve said, fighting the urge to reach for his own phone to see if he’d somehow missed Roux’s call. He was certain she’d be calling any minute now. Any minute.
When they reached the tour bus rendezvous point on the outskirts of the city and she still hadn’t called, he wondered if he should have insisted that she give him her number as well or programed his number into her phone. He’d have lost the sexy banter session with the phone-number-in-his-pants routine he’d lain awake dreaming up, but at least he’d know she wouldn’t have to make the actual effort of dialing all the numbers. Nah, that was stupid. She’d call. He just needed to be patient. It had been less than an hour since he’d seen her. This wasn’t the end of the world.
Staged (Exodus End World Tour, #3) Page 8