by Lyrica Creed
Sighing out a frustrated breath, he gave her a twist, spinning her to face him and consoled his hands with the curves filling out the back of her jeans. When he hooked his fingers into her pockets and rocked with her to the beat, she shot him a look of surprise, but simply raised her arms until they rested on his shoulders.
Within the next ten minutes, dancing was impossible. Now that the show was over, the bouncers were more lax. Social media must have spread the word because the club was wall-to-wall bodies. He and tonight’s drummer, who was also the lead vocalist in another hot band, began to get mobbed.
The situation was quickly escalating out of control with jostling, pictures flashing, and screams for their attention. Security corralled them into the back and their cars were brought around.
It didn’t take long for those still outside in the front to figure out what was going on in the back and migrate around the building. He and Scar escaped into the Lotus and closed the doors to screams of his name and inappropriate propositions. Security managed to clear his way out of the alley and into the boulevard. With a punch of his foot to the gas, the car shot away.
“You okay?” he asked, when after ten minutes or so, he realized Scar had still not spoken a word. She nodded, and he rested a hand on her leg, tracing circles on her knee as he drove. “You’ve been quiet since dinner. Are you still mad?”
“I apologized.”
“Yeah. But are you still mad?”
She leaned forward to mess with the stereo, and he couldn’t help watching her tits swing a bit beneath her shirt. The tempo of a song filled the silence, but directly she twisted it down until it was almost mute.
“My dear mother is in town.”
“In town… In this town?” He was so surprised, he slowed his speed to concentrate more on what she was saying.
“She’s going to the advanced screening of the documentary. And then she’s agreed to give an exclusive interview, which will go on the television version when it comes out and the DVD. I’m guessing the producers flew her in. Because a month ago, she didn’t even have the rent and let me know she’d put the payment off.”
Flew her in and paid her no telling how much to be a part of this circus. But he didn’t say it. Scar knew it. And now he knew that’s what had Scar upset all night.
He’d only had a few urges ever to hit women. But that woman—he was seriously afraid he would knock her the fuck out the second he laid eyes on her.
“So anyway. That’s why I’ve been weird tonight at the club. I’m sorry I fucked up our date.”
His eyes flashed to her face. The streetlights and shadows gave her an ethereal look. He hadn’t planned tonight as a date. But the fact that she had seen it as one was promising.
He exited off the Ventura Freeway and navigated the familiar roads. The dragons parted, welcoming them home, and then the garage yawned open. He braked the vehicle into its spot and killed the engine, but left the stereo playing as the garage door motored down.
Taking advantage of the time it took her to gather her purse and shoes, which she’d kicked off into the floorboard, he went around to open her door. It felt natural when her hand fell into his grip, and instead of releasing her when she stood, he murmured, “We never got to finish our dance.”
Her gaze flew to his and then roved around the garage. “Okay.” He wanted to believe he was seeing another genuine smile when she curved her lips, dropped her purse and shoes into the passenger seat, and resumed her stance of arms looped around his neck. Her body relaxed into his and he thanked the fates when the next song to play didn’t thrash.
When her head rested slightly on his shoulder, he realized she was watching her bare feet mingle with his boots on the travertine tiles as she spoke. “Remember when you showed me how to dance before my Sadie Hawkins?”
“I really didn’t have to show you how.” His mind fell pleasantly into the past and he couldn’t help but notice how much her figure had filled out since those young teen days in the past of which she spoke. Scarlette’s body had forced her into a bra well before any of her friends of the same age; however, her hips were now curvy too. And her tits, well they had been amazing from day one, but now they were incredible. “You always knew how to move.”
“Remember what we were dancing to?”
“No.” He answered honestly. He only remembered her in his arms.
“Yes. Remember.” She tipped her head enough to challenge him with her eyes as she issued the decree.
“I remember a lot, Scar. But I don’t remember that.”
She seemed to get it then—that he was alluding to an interest in her even back then, and he wondered if he was imagining the extra pink filling her cheeks.
“I remember what you were wearing. Scooby pajama bottoms and a Metallica tee shirt.” He moved his chin enough so that he spoke into her hair. “I remember your hair had gold streaks in it. Maybe from all the time in the pool that summer.” Lost in the past, he derailed from that particular memory to more in general. “I remember that neon green swimsuit with the little metal ring holding the top triangles together, and a ring on each side holding the bottoms together. And I…” I always wanted to curve my fingers in the rings and pull them down your legs. “…remember your black lipstick. Always with the black lipstick back then.”
“Yeah. My mom hated my Goth phase. I think that’s why I dragged it out so long.” She raised her head to eye him. “I didn’t know you could hit those notes.”
He returned his errant thoughts to the subject change and then realized she hadn’t really strayed. Each ‘I remember’ in this conversation was as good as the verses he’d sung to her less than an hour ago. “The Skid Row song?” ♪♫ I remember you. ♫♪
“Yeah. I love that song.”
“I wish all of it was true.” ♪♫ I came through. ♫♪ “I wish I could’ve come through. I wish I had always been there for you when you needed me.”
“I knew you were a phone call away. I was the stubborn one.” Her fingers were playing with the ends of his hair, making him a little crazy. “I saw an interview you did once. Right after the band was exploding. You said one of the hardest things about fame was the hard luck stories. People contacting you. And you wanted to help everyone. But there was no way to do it. I didn’t want to be someone else asking you for money.”
His feet stopped moving, and as the implication of her words sank in, his arms fell limply to his side. “Dammit! Fuck it all! Don’t put this on me. You had to know you were different. You had to know…”
God. His whole freaking life was falling apart. Except for her. She was like a buoy in stormy waters. And if it never got better, it would be worth it as long as he still had her. But he didn’t need the extra guilt right now of knowing he had failed her. Plus knowing this failure had come about because of some stupid random something he’d said to fill freaking interview space probably after two hours of sleep, or eleven hours on a bus, or whatever.
He bent to the car, passed her things to her and then crawled through the passenger side and turned the radio off.
“Are you mad at me?” She borrowed his earlier question.
“I’m edgy.” He lied. He was mad at her, but he wasn’t sure why. Other than, she always seemed to blame someone else for her actions. Even not calling him and asking to borrow a thousand freaking bucks at a time when he was likely throwing a thousand or more a day away on his habits. “I’m off the damn smoothie schedule, and I’m feeling it.” He emerged and slammed the car door closed.
“There’s one in the fridge. And you need the cherry stuff. I’ll get it right now.”
“I’ll get it. Just get some rest. I know it’s been a suck day for you too.”
He followed her inside and paused at the alarm station while she went on ahead without a word. Shrugging out of his jacket, he hung it on its peg. When he passed through the archway, she was standing on the bottom stair of the back staircase.
“Sure you don’t want me to make your
drinks?”
“I’m sure. Thanks.” His tone was way curter than he meant it to be, but damned if he could apologize. Music was an outlet he needed now. He needed so much, even the cold sting he never wanted to need again.
“I don’t think I can sleep without a goodnight kiss.” Her whisper was almost lost in the vast hall.
The hostility he’d been harboring after her revelation in the garage evaporated. He had been positive she would be a skittish deer as they eased into this new territory between them. But she was proving, time and time again, she was ready to handle their dysfunctional relationship.
The added height of the stair put her lips almost level with his. His arms circled her waist and he drank in what she was offering. Tongue to tongue, they played until she withdrew and pressed her lips, still wet from his kisses to his neck and trailed downward. When she hit the crook between the cord of his neck and his shoulder, a groan vibrated his vocal cords. Threading his fingers into her hair at the nape, he forced her lips back to his. He knew his fingers were likely in a painful clench as he struggled to regain control of the kiss, which had become an assault on her mouth. Jerking his tongue from the delicious friction and suction she offered, he ran it along the delectable ridge of her bottom lip. Easing his fingers from her hair, he splayed them to her backside, flattening her waist to his. He ventured beyond her lips again, his tongue exploring the pearly whites he saw whenever he was lucky enough to be the recipient of one of her smiles. A caressing tongue stroke just above them had her moaning sweetly into the kiss. Another glide of his tongue on the opposite side had him reveling in her next moan—a higher pitch—and her almost painful grip of his upper arms. He found himself wondering what other sounds she would make…
Holy fuck. He could take her on these stairs right now. The image of her on her back, hair spilling from one stair to the next, legs open to him, one foot wedged in the banister, nearly made him lose it for a second. His hands skimmed around to her front and closed over her tits. How could a weight feel so perfect that you knew it was made for you? How could the feel be different enough that you knew you would crave only it for the rest of your days?
“Scar?” He mumbled into her neck.
“Mmh?”
He couldn’t resist sucking her earlobe into his mouth.
“Oh…! Mmh…”
Her earring clinked against his teeth when he growled. “Go to bed. Please?”
Her pants were audible and they were generously mixed with his. She twisted her ear away from the flick of his tongue. Her eyes fluttered open, and her kiss-swollen lips curved a smug temptress smile when she agreed. “Okay.” She backed up one stair.
“Oh… One more thing…” His arms had fallen away when she moved, except he grasped at her fingers with the tips of his before contact was completely broken. “Wear the black boxer shorts with the blue silky top?”
He’d seen the ensemble in passing her room one night, thanks to the mirror over the dresser and a bedroom door not closed all the way. She’d been jumping around doing some sort of aerobics or exercise with Bluetooth headphones jammed in her ears. Seemingly shameless, he’d stood, watching her boobs bounce almost out of the silk and admiring the stretch of the boxers each time her legs moved enough to know her ass and pussy were bare beneath them.
“Why should I?” She backed up another stair, and this action pulled her fingers from his.
Her challenge was bold, and the accompanying arch of her brows made him want to see what she’d say if he answered, “Because I’ll be in your bed shortly to peel them off you.” She backed up another step, possibly reading his eyes, possibly knowing she’d overstepped in this dangerous word game.
“Because. When we meet in my dreams later, I want to get it right. Right down to what you’re wearing.”
She backed up another step. “Okay then. See you on Dream Street.” She turned and then immediately revolved back with another impish twitch of her lips. “Wait! What will you be wearing?”
“Do you want me wearing anything?”
Unconsciously, his foot rose to rest on the first stair, and at the same time, she backed up another. And then she turned and sprinted up the remainder. A chuckle bubbled in his throat, and he curved his fingers around the balustrade to keep from chasing after her.
Chapter 36
“I’m sorry.” Gage grabbed my arm, giving it a squeeze as we entered the ice bar. “I know you were hoping to see her.”
I knew he had remained respectfully silent in the car while I had stewed partly in my own disappointment and partly because it still made me feel weird to talk of personal matters where a driver could hear.
We had stormed the gate at Bradley Walker’s fancy house as Gage had promised. After Gage had explained into the intercom who he was, the gates had swung open. However, staff had shown us in, and after waiting in an impressive parlor, Bradley’s personal assistant had welcomed us only to impart that his boss was out of town for an indefinite span of time.
“This is Scarlette Conterra.” Gage had introduced me. “She and Ivy Messlehof have been best friends for around ten years.” The assistant had made a non-committal hum in his throat, but his expression had pricked with interest. “They lost touch, and well, we were hoping Bradley could pass a message?”
The assistant had politely taken our contact information. The entire ordeal had confirmed what I already knew. Ivy obviously didn’t give a shit whether she spoke to me again. The painful realization had kept me awake nights.
“Thank you,” I murmured when a fur parka was draped over my shoulders. Beside me, Gage donned the garment given to him but declined the hat.
“Right this way.” We fit our gloves on as we followed our hostess into the bar kept at a perfect twenty-eight degrees.
I was tagging along to a meeting Gage had scheduled with a musician who was interested in collaborating with him on an upcoming project. He had practically insisted I come after bribing me, saying afterward we would grab fish tacos, which had become one of my favorite L.A. cuisines, and I knew it was because he was worried about me.
The man was already seated at the bar, and he politely stood as we approached. He and Gage bumped fists and then shook hands at the end of the ritual.
“Scarlette Conterra, Beau Jax.” Gage introduced me for the second time by my birth name.
A pleasant surprised expression crossed the other man’s face, and I was sure my expression mirrored the feeling. The musician was well respected in the industry; his successful career was two decades old. I wanted to kick Gage for staying silent in the car—for not giving me the heads up when I was about to stand before a rock god of two decades.
“An honor to meet you.”
“The honor is mine, Mr. Jax.”
“Just Jax.” He shook my hand and held it in his warm grasp a moment, and I braced myself for the norm. Only something strange happened. The inward cringe I normally experienced while waiting for the inevitable reference of my father didn’t happen. I found myself almost welcoming the mention by someone who had clearly known him. Jax’s eyes sank into mine, and he only repeated almost reverently, “A real honor.”
“You too.” I flashed a smile and tried not to reveal how starstruck I was.
“You two are stepsiblings if I’m recalling right?” Jax seemed to be waiting until I was seated before he sat, and I dutifully slid onto a stool. Gage reeled with an almost invisible wince at those words. Possibly I did too because Jax’s eyes narrowed with understanding for the barest moment before he looked away and indicated the shelves of vodka bottles before us. “I’ve never seen some of these in the States. I couldn’t wait for you.” Using his fingers on the rim, he twirled his empty glass.
When after the first round of vodka shots, Gage ordered pomegranate juice—the recommendation by our bartender as a nonalcoholic drink—Jax curiously inquired and Gage admitted he was in detox, which included as little alcohol as possible.
“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.
We can go somewhere else.”
“It’s fine.” Gage insisted. “Drink up. Not bothering me. In fact, I’ll be back when I come out on the other side. I never knew this place was here.”
We settled in, and shot after shot of exotic vodkas were sampled by Jax and me while Gage and Jax had their heads together deep in artistic discussion. Every once in a while, they would pause and courteously draw me into the conversation with a “How was that Russian?” or a “What did you think of that last one?” But for the most part, for over a half hour, they seemed passionately distracted with the project on the table. So distracted that it was only after the third time I requested a repeat sample of the most recent vintage from our server that Gage paused the discussion to eye me. I only smiled and downed the most recent shot.
He kept a steadying arm around me as we made our way to the exit.
“Can I drop you somewhere?” Jax asked, once we were divested of our thick furs.
“Thanks, but that’s us right behind you,” Gage replied, with a look at the idling Viper and driver. The Escalade we’d arrived in, driven by Gage’s assistant who was acting as chauffeur today, was directly behind it. “Is that your son?”
“Ah, yeah. He’s living here now.”
I tripped on the sidewalk, and Gage grabbed me tighter. My head was spinning a bit as the conversation went on around me. The heat after the cool interior of the bar baked my skin and further mushed my mind. Waves seemed to hover above the traffic, and I jerked my gaze from the disorienting sight. I’d had too much to drink.
Did one hallucinate from rare vodka?
In my vision, a lime green cab stopped in the street. Traffic honked as one of the back doors swung open… And my mother alighted. The cab began to flow with the traffic, and my mother headed straight toward me.
“Noo…” I managed the word although my tongue felt numb and jerked from Gage’s grasp with one agenda on my mind. The safety of the Escalade. Unfortunately, the sidewalk buckled, tripping me yet again, and this time Jax caught me and handed me off to Gage.