Dirty, Dark, & Dangerous: A Contemporary Romance Boxset

by Luciani, Kristen

  Merrick cocked an eyebrow. “And let’s face it, you’re too much of a moody bitch to find another manager who’d be able to stand you for longer than a day. If you keep dicking around, you’ll be washed up at the age of twenty-four. Even best friends have limits.”

  “I know you’d never let that happen, Q-Bert. We’ve been through too much together.”

  “Yeah…” Gone was the sarcastic tone, the playful expression now eclipsed by something much more serious, deep…puzzling? Unsettling was a definite candidate. Somehow, the spirited mood had taken a nosedive into hair-raising. It was an odd intensity; one he’d never witnessed before from Merrick, and never cared to again.

  Merrick opened his mouth after a drawn-out moment of borderline uncomfortable silence, but still no words emerged.

  Daxton furrowed his brow. “Dude, did you just black out or something? Looks like you’re in a trance. What gives?”

  Merrick’s signature ringtone blared from his pocket. He raked a hand through his hair, averting his eyes. “Quinn.”

  After guzzling the rest of the water, Daxton picked up his guitar. The stress and pressure of this life – Jesus, it slammed everyone into the ground.

  “No fucking way. How?”

  The strings vibrated against his fingers, his mind conjuring up a certain sultry green-eyed gaze. Forget everything he’d never be; he knew what he’d be capable of being if Sara gave him a chance. He plucked the chords, half-fantasizing about Sara’s lush breasts in his face. A replay of that might bust him out of his writing funk. They’d been so close to his mouth, beckoning him, begging for a quick nip.

  “Jesus Christ, do you remember that chick you banged before the show the other night? The backup singer for Smeared Lipstick? Brandi?” Merrick clicked off his phone, back in action. Whatever had commanded him only moments earlier had dissipated. Good thing, since Daxton had no idea how to relate to grim and sinister Merrick. He much preferred the lewd and obnoxious persona.

  Brandi. That was her name. “I didn’t bang her, but yeah, vaguely. I remember some of the choice words she used after I kicked her out of my dressing room.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t bang her?” A look of shock flitted across Merrick’s face.

  “I mean we didn’t fuck, moron. But the more pressing question is, why do you care?”

  Merrick let out a snort. “As if I need to live vicariously through you, dickhead. That was Casie. There was some kind of accident. The girl wrapped her car around a tree.”

  “Holy shit, are you serious? Is she going to be okay?”

  “Casie said her hip’s busted up and her leg’s broken in about a billion places. Messed up, right?”

  “Damn.” He slid the guitar pick between his fingers. “Maybe I should have banged her after all. Kinda like a last hurrah since it seems like she’ll be out of commission for a while.”

  Chapter Seven

  IT WAS HARD NOT TO be star struck as she literally brushed elbows with some of the top names in music. Studio 713 in Houston was a hotbed for A-list recording artists. Sara stole a quick look at her watch. Ten minutes to spare. Casie’s instructions had been very clear: Noon meeting with Merrick Quinn, Studio A. There was no way she’d risk blowing another assignment, especially when the need to get the hell out of dodge was suddenly immediate and necessary.

  Daxton Cole’s best friend and manager had the reputation for being a certifiable prick, but his hands were tied. The record label mandated that the bad boy rocker either clean up his act or hire someone to magically erase the seemingly endless indiscretions. A shiver slithered down her spine at the irony. Play with fire, it was almost a guarantee you’d get burned. That text was all the proof she’d needed. It had been so out of the blue, appearing on her phone just after she’d accepted Jake’s offer to join the tour. Someone knew…but who?

  You’ll never outrun the truth, Sara. And you’ll pay for your sins.

  Thinking she’d be able to escape the past…how ridiculous. The truth would always surface. But she needed this job, so she’d do anything to convince them otherwise.

  Sara wandered the halls, searching for Studio A, nibbling her already bitten down fingernails. Thankfully, this place was way smaller than the City Center Arena, so she might even arrive earlier than planned. Wouldn’t that be miraculous? Punctuality had never been her forte. She frowned at her reflection in a wall of mirrored plaques. All the makeup and trendy clothes in Texas could never disguise the ugliness that lurked in her soul. On the outside, her look was a perfect fit for this lifestyle, but underneath it all, fear, remorse, and regret blurred the designer labels. A quick yank of her skirt took it from obscene to borderline inappropriate, but the shirt was too tight to adjust. The rumbling in her belly became more persistent, though food was the last thing on Sara’s mind. How much longer could she hide behind this new image? How many more lies would she have to tell before someone saw through her? A little bit of reconnaissance would easily reveal information her parents had been so intent to bury.

  Heated voices from inside Studio A stopped her mid-knock. The door was slightly ajar. Crap. It was almost time. She chewed the inside of her glossed lip, eyes darting up and down the desolate hallway. Should she go inside? What if Merrick was in there? Argh! Was it better to be late or nosy?

  “Don’t ever tell me I have to do anything, Cooper. If you had any shred of decency or intelligence, you’d be thinking long and hard before directing me.”

  The voice sounded familiar, but it was too low to confirm. Whoever it was, he sure had some beef with a guy named Cooper. The hair on Sara’s arms stood at attention. Cooper. Jimmy Sixx. Jeez, when the heck was she going to get it together? She could have at least remembered their names, for the love of Pete. Or maybe the very real threat of being stalked had her slightly preoccupied.

  “Listen, I know you’re still angry, but it’s not up to you to decide the fate of the band.“

  A low, hollow laugh emerged from the studio. “Are you really going to blame this on me after you fucking destroyed everything?”

  “Dax, I—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you have to say anymore. Do you understand? It’s over. Just be thankful I haven’t replaced your scumbag ass already. But make no mistake, you’re the fuck out.”

  Jesus Christmas. Daxton Cole was in there, and it sounded like he might be on the verge of a killing spree, not about to finish the final leg of their sold-out platinum tour.

  “Sara Russell?”

  She swallowed a yelp and spun in the direction of the approaching voice. The Bluetooth earpiece gave away his identity in an instant. The blue-tipped spiky black hair was a close second clue.

  “Um, yes. Merrick, right?” With a forced smile, she walked toward him.

  A slow grin spread over his face. Tall, built, trendy – everything you’d expect from the manager of a handful of rock gods. The blue hair complimented his cobalt eyes; cold, as they were critical. He didn’t even try to hide it as he sized her up, strip-searching her from top to bottom. Blech. Talk about feeling violated, and he hadn’t even shaken her hand. Jerk.

  “Come on in so we can discuss the details.” Merrick brushed past her, pulling open the door. “I want you to meet…Coop, what are you doing here?”

  Cooper’s face flushed an alarming shade of purple. “Hey, I was, ah, just going.” He grabbed his jacket and left without so much as a backward glance.

  Daxton toyed with a guitar pick, the heat of his gaze darn near melting the skin off her bones. What is it with this guy? How could he be so sexy one minute, singeing her insides with a sweep of those deliciously dark eyes and spew venom like a viper the next? Maybe the more apt question was, why was she so aroused by the metamorphosis? “Been here long?”

  A sharp gasp escaped her lips. Shoot, she’d been caught. “Uh, no, I um… just met Merrick outside and we uh—”

  “Good. Hate to scare you off before you’re even offered the job.” He pointed to Merrick. “Q, what do yo
u think?”

  Merrick’s leer, which was more of an assault than a mere look, made her knees lock. Did she really want to be on the road with that sleaze, if she got the job? Scratch that. She needed this position. It was the rapid exit into oblivion, something she’d been desperate for the second that airplane took off from Grand Falls.

  “I think she looks good. Real good. Lots of potential.” Another once-over made her skin crawl. Eww.

  “You’re going to scare her off.”

  As if.

  “I think it would be a great opportunity, since I’m new to all this. I have a fresh perspective and a lot of ideas about how we can polish up your image – through charities, goodwill, interviews. Rest assured, I’ll work tirelessly to make sure you’re fully satisfied with the results.“ What a joke. If she couldn’t fix her own mess, how the heck was she going to fix Daxton Cole’s?

  “Nice. So, tirelessly, does that mean all day, all night, until he’s done… working?” Ick. Could Merrick be any slimier? The salad she’d scarfed down less than an hour ago was ready to project vomit all over the soundboards.

  A snicker slipped from Merrick’s lips. “Okay, I’m done messing with you. But you need thick skin if you’re gonna hang with these guys, especially this one. The press has been relentless, and it’s only going to get worse. You’ve got your work cut out for you. I just wanted to see how much you could handle.”

  “Before you made me vomit all over my boots?”

  “Basically.” Merrick grinned. “She’s in. I’ll let Jake know we’ll take the newbie.”

  “Gee, thanks for the endorsement.” The sly quip fell from her mouth, but she didn’t bother to yank it back. Enough with the shrinking violet crap. This was her new chapter. Heck, it was a brand-new novel, and she was penning the scenes.

  “Okay, we’re done here. Sara, I’ll have Jake send you the logistics about the tour dates and—”

  “Wait.” Dax stopped plucking the strings of his guitar. Jeez, why couldn’t she tear her eyes from his long, powerful fingers stemming from those large palms? Holy cow, the things he could probably do with those hands…

  “What?” Merrick furrowed his brow.

  “Not you, her.” The strumming began once again, the melody making her body hum right along with the instrument.

  Merrick’s eyes narrowed to slits, chilling her from the tips of her toes to her now-clammy fingertips. “What about her?”

  “Don’t I get a crack at her before we finalize anything?”

  “You’ve never asked permission before.”

  “I’m not starting now. It was a rhetorical question.” Dax snickered. He patted the empty stool next to him. “Have a seat. Newbie.”

  Merrick raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Keep it short. Too much time with you, and she’ll probably go running back to Bumble Fuck, North Dakota or wherever the hell she’s from.”

  “Minnesota.” She cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you had such animosity toward the Midwest.”

  “Some things just have a funny way of setting me off.” The caustic words were directed at her, but his eyes were glued to Daxton’s face. Jeez, what the heck was eating this guy? As if he’d never witnessed a purging of sexual innuendoes. Lord knew Merrick had probably experienced a heck of a lot more than just words being tossed around. Maybe he wanted in, until Daxton unceremoniously tossed him out.

  And guys thought women were hard to read?

  Daxton’s rumpled white shirt fell slightly open, exposing his tanned, taut chest. God, did she want to run her tongue over the grooves of his abs.

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  “I, um…relocated here from Grand Falls, Minnesota. I’ve always wanted to get into the entertainment industry.” Her eyes fell to his feet. Black Under Armour sneakers sat on the floor next to his stool, his toes wiggling in a pair of mismatched socks. Hmm…laundry day?

  “Pretty sweet gig for someone so green.”

  Was there a hint of disbelief in that statement? “My parents had a few connections.”

  “Nice they wanted to look out for you.”

  “Yeah…” The urge to chomp her nails was so darned strong. To keep some degree of control when the rest of her existence spiraled into a million different directions just beyond her reach. His persistent gaze held so many questions; ones she wasn’t willing to answer; ones she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  “You’re a tough read. Let’s try something simpler. What’s your favorite food?”

  “Grape popsicles.” No hesitation there, not when it came to her one vice. Until that moment, she hadn’t figured out how to indulge her taste buds in the one pleasure she’d allowed herself since fleeing Minnesota. Did those tour buses have freezers? It wasn’t like there was a green room request contract for the junior publicist. She’d have to settle for grape-flavored gum or lollipops. Not horrible alternatives.

  “Cold, grape-flavored tongue…lots of interesting possibilities,” he mused, eyes on the guitar he was strumming.

  Her fingers twitched. She slammed her hands between her knees. Not biting, not biting. “Just so I’m clear, is the innuendo part of the interview? Or just out there for your own personal enjoyment?”

  “Thick skin, remember?” He snickered. “So, you’re a professional fixer. Ever find anyone worth saving?”

  “Aren’t we all worthy of redemption?”

  Daxton shrugged. “Some more than others.”

  She swallowed hard, only to find a lump in her throat, barely able to choke out the words. “Everyone deserves a chance to atone. Don’t you know there are always three sides to every story?”

  “In my case, they’re all the same.”

  “Don’t you think it’s important to change that perception? Wouldn’t your brother have wanted that for you?”

  His dark eyes flashed. “You don’t know anything about me. Don’t pretend to think you do just because you read something about my dead brother.”

  Perspiration drizzled down her spine. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to…I just, um…I’m so sorry.“

  He let out a groan. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. It’s not you, okay? It’s everybody else. Nobody gives a damn about what I’m going through. All they care about is keeping their cash cow from going down in flames. Am I upset? Yes. Am I fucked in the head? Not entirely. I’m grieving. So what if I do it with a bottle of Jack and a threesome on occasion?”

  Who the hell was she to tell this guy how to live his life when her own was such a mess? She had more skeletons than closets, for heaven’s sake. And forget that she’d like to be part of said threesome. “You know what? You’re right. If that’s what you need, so be it. Grieve, Daxton. Let it all go. I’ve got your back, and I’ll be there to collect all the cell phones so nobody can exploit it on YouTube.”

  “Sounds like you’re in. I’m not too much of a train wreck for you?”

  His grin had her insides twisted like pretzels. “Self-awareness is the first step. We just need to capitalize on your endearing qualities.”

  “You’re assuming I have them.” The words sounded so flip, a stark contrast to the sadness lurking in his gaze.

  “No, I’m inferring. I never assume.” The corners of her lips curled into a smile. “And if you don’t have them, I’ll just make something up. I’m a publicist, not an investigative reporter for CNN. It’s all in the spin.”

  Chapter Eight

  DAXTON LISTENED TO SARA’S fingers fly over the keyboard of her MacBook Air at breakneck speed. He was more of a hunt and peck kind of guy, but hell, he’d rather be masterful with other things finger-related. Her eyes narrowed at the laptop screen, lips pursed. It wouldn’t have been a shock to see smoke billowing from her ears at any second.

  He stared at the Snow White decal on the laptop lid. Just like Sara, she was innocent and naïve. Of course, that’s where the similarity ended. Snow White would have been appalled at Sara’s skimpy wardrobe choices and probably wouldn’t have know
n how to formulate a snarky comment, much less utter one. Quite the dichotomy between perception and reality.

  “Ever worry about carpal tunnel syndrome?”

  She cracked a half-smile, still typing. “My fingers are pretty agile.”

  “I think that comment requires some kind of validation. If you need some suggestions, I’d be happy to—”

  Her green eyes floated up from the screen. “I’m sure you would. But that’s not why I’m here today.”

  He sighed and sank into the soft corduroy recliner in his massive living room. It was cream-colored, definitely not something he’d ever select. But his decorator insisted it worked like a charm in the expansive space. Earth-tones and airy accents. Whatever the hell. “Right. Today we commence Operation Reboot Daxton Cole.”

  “You’re not that hopeless.” Click, click, click.

  “I might believe that if you volunteered any bit of the insight you’ve already shared with that laptop.”

  Sara closed the lid and drummed her alleged agile fingers on the coffee table. Damn, it was hard not to look…and wonder. “I’m working on an idea for a charity event for you and the guys. I’ve done some research, and I like the idea of doing some kind of concert to benefit disease research, like cancer. It’s something you’ve been close to and I—”

  “No.”

  A look of confusion flitted over her features. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “If I want to donate my time or money to help sick kids, I do it. I won’t exploit them to rehabilitate my tarnished image.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m not on board with that.”