Two Worlds Collided

by Karen Michelle Nutt

  His act was a shield, not a come on, she told herself. He wanted to keep her off kilter so she wouldn't see the true Bellamy who hid behind the theatrics. No one knew his insecurities, the pain he suffered, and the depression he dealt with on a daily basis. She had a hunch last night's private party was only a glimpse at how messed up he truly was.

  The song came to an end and the audience cheered. The band hurried off stage and Bellamy came over to her, all smiles. His forehead glistened with sweat, but he appeared pleased with his performance. Why shouldn't he be? It had been spot on.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned his forehead against hers. "Woohoo!" he exclaimed more in relief than anything else. "Do you hear them?" he asked.

  "My hearing is quite fine, thank you," she said, but graced him with a smile all the same.

  "Come on, Bellamy," Maury called to him. "You're on in a few moments for the interview."

  He seemed reluctant to leave her side, surprising her. His gaze held hers a moment longer before he turned and jogged away. Apparently, the high he was experiencing was the rush he received from the audience's cheers.

  Melanie Croft, the once former model in the early 90s was the host of the morning show, Entertainment At Its Best, and it was painfully obvious the bleach blonde had a thing for Bellamy. She flirted shamelessly and Bellamy egged it on by flirting right back.

  "Tell me," Melanie said," What's with the fashion statement?" She gestured toward his feet. "Not that I don't like the look. I mean who wouldn't want to see Bellamy Lovel's feet? Am I right, audience?" she said and screams erupted in agreement.

  Bellamy lifted a foot. "It was my personal assistant's idea."

  "What?" Evie choked out the word from the sidelines. Luckily, the audience couldn't hear her.

  Bryce had sidled up beside her at that moment. "Your idea?"

  "Was not," she said and Bryce chuckled.

  "Believe me, no one thinks you were responsible, Sis."

  "Still," she harrumphed. "how dare he blame his fashion on me? Damn fool threw his shoes out the window."

  "The audience doesn't seem to mind the new look and Melanie Croft definitely doesn't. I'm thinking, she wishes you would have insisted he come on stage with a few other things missing from his wardrobe."

  She harrumphed and narrowed her eyes on Melanie. She didn't like it one bit how she kept touching Bellamy's leg. Hadn't the woman heard of personal space?

  "Rein it in, Evie. People are going to think you're jealous, with the way you're shooting daggers at Melanie Croft."

  Her gaze riveted to her brother, his eyes teasing. "Aren't you supposed to be taking photos or something?"

  "Not right now." Just the way her luck was going today.

  Once the painful-to-watch interview was over and they headed out to the vehicles, Bellamy called to his band mates, "I'm riding with my assistant. I have a few things I must discuss with her."

  Her gaze riveted to his with uncertainty and she wondered what he was up to. Evie glanced at Leon, trying to make eye contact with him in a silent plea to tell Bellamy to get in the limo, but Leon waved his goodbye. "See you back at the hotel," Leon said and disappeared into the vehicle.

  Seemed no one cared how Bellamy arrived back at the hotel. The performance and the interview were over. Bellamy was free to do what he wanted. However, she knew Bellamy wasn't done for the day. He still had to call his producer and set up a meeting to discuss his solo album, the one he never ended up doing because he died before he stepped foot in the studio to record. This time, she vowed, he would.

  Bellamy draped an arm around her shoulders as soon as he reached her, where she stood stunned into a frozen statue. "Loosen up, Book Marm. You're all tense." Damn his smile. He knew what he was doing to her. She shrugged out of his arms and walked swiftly toward the bus. However, just as she reached it, Bellamy skipped up onto the step before her and leaned down to offer his hand. His lips curved into a lazy half smile now as he waited patiently to see how she'd react.

  She threw him a disgruntled look, but she reached for his hand, only because she knew he wouldn't move until she did. His grip, firm and warm, only added to her growing discomfort. He needed to stop touching her.

  "Let's take the back seats," Bellamy said. He didn't wait for her to answer as he dragged her behind him. He ushered her into the seat near the window and plopped down beside her. He ran his fingers through his curls.

  She'd like to do the same. The thought startled her and she quickly looked away as he turned to peer at her. She could feel that smile on her, the curve of those luscious lips, and she crossed her feet at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap, determined to just sit there and not encourage him.

  When they were finally on their way, and the sounds coming from the engine and the murmur of conversation in front of them would mask their words, Bellamy turned in his seat. He really was a close talker, not that she minded, but this close up made her want to go cross-eyed.

  "What did you think of the performance?" he asked.

  "Like you said earlier, it was a success."

  He shook his head. "That's not what I asked. I want to know what you thought of it."

  Was he serious? She pushed her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. His blue eyes were intently locked on her, so apparently he was serious. "You are a force to be reckoned with. Charming and sexy as hell, but surely you know this." Didn't he? She tilted her head as she tried to make sense of the vibe she was getting from him.

  "So you think I'm sexy?"

  "Of course, you only heard that part of the compliment. I think you can be charming as well," she made a point to repeat.

  Bellamy faced forward in his seat, and raised his arms behind his head. "Who wants to be charming when sexy is on the charts? You know what I mean?" He glanced at her with a wink.

  "Melanie Croft seemed to think you were sexy. She couldn't keep her hands off you." She could have bitten her tongue for revealing that bit of trivia.

  Of course, Bellamy jumped on it like a dog finding a bone. "Sounds like you're jealous, Book Marm."

  "Don't be absurd. It was just…so obvious. You know…"

  "What exactly should I know?" he asked and raised his brow in mock-innocence. He was anything but innocent, the dirty rat.

  "If you don't know, I'm not going to spell it out for you." She looked straight ahead with her arms folded in front of her.

  "Do you mean she wanted to…" He leaned close and whispered in her ear. She looked at him in shock, his explicit description still vivid in her mind.

  "Really?" She wanted to reprimand him for being crude, but he batted his eyelashes and leaned his head on her shoulder.

  "I didn't take her number when she tried to slip it to me," he offered as a consolation.

  "She tried to slip you her number? I mean… What do I care?" Dammit, she needed to keep her mouth shut.

  "The funny thing is, Book Marm, I think you do care."

  She tried to push him off her shoulder but he wouldn't budge. "I'm not a pillow."

  "But your breasts are so soft." His hand closed over one and she jumped, shoving him a bit harder than she meant to, and he fell into the aisle with a thud. Some of the crewmen closest to them turned their way.

  Bellamy gripped the sides of the benches and stood. "I'm good," he said with a bow but looked her way with a mischievous grin.

  Oh, he was good all right. Good at being completely rotten.

  Chapter Eight

  Taste It

  When they arrived at the hotel, it was a circus. Reporters were there, trying to manage an interview with the band after they saw the performance live on Entertainment At Its Best. Leon said it would be only a matter of time before the press knew where they were staying, despite the aliases used. Hotel staff talked, even if they were told to keep it hush-hushed.

  "Stay close," Bellamy told her and slipped on his sunglasses. He kept a death grip on her arm. Jesus, was this how it was for him all the time? They
were fishes in a very tiny fishbowl, and the sharks were circling and plunging at the fragile glass, trying to get in. She scooted closer to him and he glanced at her.

  "I won't let them gobble you whole," he said.

  It was like he read her mind as he maneuvered her toward the elevators. The security guards were rushing forward, arms wide to keep the reporters back, but it didn't stop the flashes of lights, the questions being shouted, and the cameramen trying to maneuver in for a shot.

  She caught sight of Vaughn as he came toward them. "Go," the security guard told them and managed to hold the crowd back as they slipped beneath his arm.

  Bellamy ran for the elevator door that had just opened, still holding her hand as they fell inside and pushed the button for the doors to close. They were almost in the clear when a hand shoved its way through the small slit, and the doors opened just enough for a reporter to slip through. The doors closed again and the elevator started to move. They were trapped.

  The reporter was clean shaved and wore a vest with pockets. He shoved a microphone in their faces as they were backed into a corner. She could only assume the wire was attached to some kind of recording device. "Mr. Lovel," the reporter began, "on Entertainment At Its Best, they're saying you were on something. Are you using again? What happened with rehab?"

  She felt Bellamy tense beside her.

  "Your eyes," the reporter continued without a breath, without allowing Bellamy to say a word, "even now look–"

  "Beautiful as ever," she interrupted and took a step in front of Bellamy as if she could single handedly protect him from this shark that had managed to break through the glass of their fishbowl. Each barb sliced at Bellamy, and she had no doubt the reporter was only getting started. "Gorgeous, I know." She rolled her eyes and chuckled. "He can't help the way he looks. We should all be so lucky, don't you agree?" She could feel Bellamy's heated gaze on the back of her neck, or maybe he was just breathing heavily. She didn't dare glance his way.

  The reporter was staring at her with a curious frown. "Are you two a couple?"

  "No," she said.

  "Yes," Bellamy voiced at the same time and leaned his chin on her shoulder and his arms encircled her waist. No matter her attempts at elbowing him he wouldn't back away.

  The reporter grinned from ear to ear as he took hold of the new story he would go after. "What's your name again?" he asked and snapped a picture with the camera he had strapped to his shoulder. The light nearly blinded her.

  Finally, the elevator doors opened and Vaughn was miraculously there. She wondered if he ran up the flights of steps to get to them. If he did, he didn't appear out of breath. Vaughn hauled the reporter out of the way. "Sorry about that Mr. Lovel," Vaughn told them. "He slipped by before I could nab him."

  "No worries," Bellamy said. "We had a nice chat." Bellamy ushered Evie out of the elevator and held onto her elbow as he led her down the hall.

  "Let go of my arm," she hissed, "The reporter is still looking." But he just chuckled and turned to face the reporter.

  "Her name is Emerson."

  "Dammit, Bellamy," she cursed.

  "Make sure you spell her name right," Bellamy shouted, "or you'll be hearing from me!" He took out his key and opened the door to his room, pulling her inside behind him.

  She whirled on him, pointing her finger. "What was that all about? Do you think this is funny?"

  "It's kinda funny," he said and headed for the bar to pour a drink. He poured one for her too. She took it but had no intentions of indulging. She needed a clear mind when she was around him. He plopped into one of the plush chairs sitting against the wall.

  She noticed the remnants of Bellamy's indulgence last night had been swept away. Everything was in order. Nothing on the floor, no shattered glass, even his bed had been made.

  "Well, it's not funny," she said and blew a wayward strand that had fallen loose from her bun away from her eyes. "You just told that reporter we were dating."

  "I did, didn't I?" His lips slid into a grin.

  "Stop smiling," she ordered.

  "Can't help it. Truly. I'm not trying to piss you off. You were like a mama bear out there, trying to protect me from the big bad reporter. I haven't had so much fun in a long time."

  "Fun?" she sputtered. "That was not fun." She pointed toward the door. Was he messing with her? "I was scared shitless. And I most certainly didn't act like a mama bear."

  He tilted his head as he peered at her. "Hey, sorry. I forgot you're not used to being mauled by the press."

  "No, I'm not. And I don't like it." She threw up her free hand, careful not to spill her drink in the other.

  "Being my assistant may shove you into the limelight again. Don't know what to tell you. Either you can handle being hounded by the press or you can't. Believe me, this was nothing and you haven't seen the papers yet. I never know what story they'll spin. Wanna quit?" He held her gaze.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She narrowed her eyes.

  He shook his head, surprising her. "Not particularly. You're kind of growing on me." He took another swig and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thigh. "Do you really think my eyes are beautiful or were you just blowin' air up the reporter's ass?"

  "You know your eyes are stunning. I'm sure there are millions of women who have told you so."

  "You give me way too much credit. What I want to know is if you think they are."

  She was about to deny it and tell him she only said it to throw the reporter off and nothing more, but meeting his eyes she witnessed the tension and unease, most likely brought on from fatigue. She couldn't be sure if he even slept last night. Then she remembered earlier, he had wanted her opinion about his performance too. Despite his cocky behavior, she noted vulnerability in his eyes as well. Did he really have self-doubt about his appearance, and about how he sang? It seemed ridiculous to even consider, but what if it were true? "Of course your eyes are beautiful, but that's beside the point."

  He leaned back again and lifted his glass to his lips. "You're cute when you're all flustered."

  "Seems to be the constant state I'm in with you," she murmured and knew the minute she said the words it had been a mistake.

  His low chuckled reached her ears.

  "You know what I mean."

  "Oh yeah, I do." His gaze slid over her with appreciation, or at the very least he did a good imitation of making her feel like he enjoyed the view.

  She strode over to the phone beside the bed and placed her drink on the night table as she picked up the receiver.

  "You're calling someone?" he asked.

  "You need shoes since you thought it was a good idea to throw all your other ones over the balcony."

  He lifted a foot and stared at it with a tilt of his head, one-way and then the other as if admiring the qualities. "Don't know why I need to cover them. Gives my toes freedom." He wiggled them for show.

  "You'll thank me later. You know, when you attend your other interviews."

  "Miss Croft didn't seem to mind."

  "When you go downstairs for practice or make a run from other reporters then."

  "Did all right today."

  "Then how about wanting to look snazzy when you speak with your producer about doing a solo album?"

  That shut him up. "How–" He put his glass down on the table and stood. "How do you know this? I haven't told anyone yet."

  She paused in making the call and turned toward him, wondering if she'd gone too far. "I just… I know, okay. I know."

  He lifted one dark brow in an elegant gesture of curiosity. "I'm going to need a little more than that."

  She placed the phone down. "Sure, but how about we make a deal? You tell me what happened after we exchanged our goodnights, and I'll tell you how I know about the solo album."

  "Do you mean after I propositioned you last night or after you propositioned me?"

  "Whichever," she said and held her ground, meeting his gaze head on. He might believe she'd back d
own with his words or at the very least put her off guard, but he was sorely mistaken. He did like to deflect and she was right there ready to throw it back. "Well?"

  He turned away. "Make your call," he said in defeat, obviously having no desire to let her in on his dark hours alone. He went back to the bar for another drink and she pursed her lips.