Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1)

by Lyrica Creed

  “Thanks for the barbecue.” I bent to Colt’s chair as Gage and I prepared to leave and planted a brief kiss on his mouth. Beside me, I heard the low rumbling growl thing from Gage and knew that’s why I had done it. So sexy. However, I could actually feel the laser heat of Caroline’s gaze, and hobnobbing between the rest of the group fell deadly quiet for the span of a few seconds before resuming. Right. I’d kissed Colt right in front of his baby mamma. Not cool. Without missing a beat, I moved to Caroline and transferred the kiss. I had never kissed another woman on the face―much less for an instant on the lips―so I hoped the moment looked every bit as Californian as it felt uncomfortable. “I’ll see you around, girlfriend.”

  Gage appeared startled by the out of character behavior, but he said nothing. He simply waved to his bandmates and their spouses. The moment we were closed into the garage at his house, he shut off the engine and leaned across the seats, cleansing my palate with a very thorough kiss.

  Inside the house, we separated at the foot of the stairs. “I’ve got to feed and water the big bad guard dog and lock the doggy door.” We both showered Rascal with love and he pranced around, preening at the attention. “…And drink my stuff. I’ll be up in a sec.”

  Upstairs, I went into my own room and did a quick jump in and out of the shower. The blank tiles were lonely looking, and I realized I was already accustomed to showering surrounded by Gage’s latest lyrical musings. Wrapped in a towel, I pawed through my dresser until I found what I was looking for.

  The black boxer shorts with the blue silky top.

  Hastily, I finished drying and donned them. After releasing the knot I’d piled my hair into for the shower and running a brush through it, I viewed my reflection. With my face washed clean of the heavy makeup required for the camera I looked more myself—even with my hair back to a color I hadn’t seen in years. Hooking a frizzy strand that must have escaped the shower bun, I tucked it behind my ear. I was pretty. I knew that when I really stopped to look at myself. As the daughter of Henni Smythe and Tyler Conterra, how could I not be? But if beauty was enough to hold on to a rock star, they’d all be hitched to the first cover girl they flaunted. I shook away that thought.

  Gage wasn’t a rock star. Gage was my rock star. The light in my dark sky. At least for now.

  Chapter 46

  Dwindling the melody to a close, Gage ducked out of the strap and settled the guitar into its resting place. With a grimace, he downed the last of the cherry juice and while passing through the den, abandoned the tumbler on a table for the housekeeper to deal with. He was too eager to be upstairs to detour through to the kitchen.

  As he ascended the stairs, Rascal appeared and as was typical ran ahead of him. The light was still on in his bedroom, but Scar was only a motionless lump beneath the covers. He shrugged his shirt off and began shucking out of his jeans while his eyes never left her.

  Was she asleep? Or only fooling around?

  “Asleep already?” he whispered, in case she really was. The stress she’d been under had to have her exhausted. “’Cause I was going to strip you naked and lick you like an ice cream cone…” At this, he thought he saw the barest movement. A hitch of her breath. He continued his seductive words. “…but if you’re asleep, I guess I’ll just sleep too…” God he hoped she was faking it. He sank a knee into the mattress, and easing behind her, combed his fingers gently through her new hair. Rascal bounded onto the bed, and the top sheet shifted. His fingers froze while he took in the shiny blue scrap of material and lace. Reverently, he traced a spaghetti thin strap, the contrast of silk and skin tickling even through his rough fingertip. “Damn if I didn’t just wake up on Dream Street.” He wrapped himself to her and prodded Rascal with his feet. “Get down, boy. Go sleep on the couch… Go on…”

  His lips skimmed her neck and sweet words fell from his lips as naturally as each breath. “…smell so good …feel so good… so pretty, Scar.” She rolled to him and let him kiss the smile from her lips. A sweep of her hand fevered his skin, and he felt her suck in an unsteady breath when her hand settled on his bare ass. They took their time with the kiss. He skimmed his hands over the silk and then unable to wait, tunneled beneath the thin top to touch her smooth skin. The barrier of the barely-there material teased his lips when he began to inch his way down. As impatient as he was for a direct taste of skin, he enjoyed the frustrated heaves of her chest too much to rip the garment from her body just yet. When he was unable to wait another second, he pushed the hem up until it stopped beneath her breasts and trailed his tongue down heated skin to her stomach. Her gasp was loud, and her hand drifted from his shoulder to clench in his hair when he swirled her navel. Her breathing grew increasingly more ragged as his attention drifted downward. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the skin above the elastic waist of the boxer shorts. In response, her fingers tightened into a fist, clenching a handful of hair at his nape. His tongue dipped beneath the elastic and one of his fingers hooked the waistband, drawing it down a bit. The tug at his scalp became painful and then eased. He trailed his tongue over another expanse of skin, silkier than the top she was wearing and winced when her grip twisted painfully in his hair again, as she tugged him upward. And then like before, her grip relaxed when he paused. Abandoning his hold on her boxers, he curved his hands to her waist. Unable to stop his lips from curving in amusement against her, he mumbled into her soft flesh, “Is that a yes? Or a no?”

  Her sharp intake of breath was loud, and beneath his mouth, he felt her stomach cave ever so slightly as she blew it out. “I don’t know.” Her fingers curled and uncurled as if in indecision.

  Propping his chin on her boxers, he saw she was staring to the ceiling for whatever answer she sought. Shimmying up, he enjoyed the combo of silk and skin against his chest while nuzzling her neck. “Why don’t you know?” After asking, he lifted his head enough to study her face while she answered. For a while, he thought she wasn’t going to reply and so he kissed her, conceding.

  But then she spoke against his lips. “I’ve never done that.”

  He stilled, completely thrown. He couldn’t stop the heady thoughts that came next—one of them a private joke for his own enjoyment. She had done it. The searing memory of her lips and tongue on him earlier that morning had him instinctively grinding his hips to hers. But the thought of no one having ever kissed her in that way brought out a greedy possessive streak he’d never felt this intensely before tonight.

  “It’s so…” she sighed, her embarrassment with the conversation obvious, “…too much. Too intimate. I’ve never let anyone.”

  Their lips were still touching, and he locked his eyes to hers. “Are you going to let me?” If the soft question came out in the same wheedle he’d used on her as kids, it was because he suddenly felt as desperate for her to agree, as he had for her to split that last ice cream sandwich she’d been about to bite into when they were ten.

  He hadn’t wanted the ice cream as much as he had wanted her to give it to him. Her handing it over held a deeper meaning. It had demonstrated feelings between them left unsaid. Back then, she hadn’t hesitated—she’d even offered the slightly larger half.

  Tonight, it seemed like the world stopped while he waited the few seconds for her answer. A response he felt would reveal everything about where they were right now in this crazy relationship.

  “Yes.” Her gaze never wavered, and before she’d finished nodding, he ground his lips to hers in a kiss of gratitude, servitude, and passion.

  Chapter 47

  Please call me, Scarlette Rose

  You can’t keep ignoring me. I’m your mother.

  Call me.

  I’m sorry for the scene outside the ice bar. We need to talk.

  You’re pissing me off Scarlette

  The queue of texts continued to roll in after I unblocked my mother’s number. Now I questioned the sanity of doing so.

  The twentieth anniversary of Tyler Conterra’s death had dawned a clear hot day in L.A
. Gazing at the city in the distance, I wondered if a cloud of smog had hung over it the day my father had died. Not long ago, Gage had driven me by the modest house in the hills with a similar view where my father had resided and passed away.

  “Who’s blowing up your phone?” Gage paused his playing and rested the guitar against his chest.

  “I was going to call my mom. Today’s always been hard on her.”

  He scowled but said nothing. I knew what he was thinking. Henni Smythe had been about to trash the idealistic image of her ex-lover for millions of his adoring fans. If the date was sentimental to her, she had a strange way of showing it. I knew though. I’d seen my mother do many unscrupulous things over the years in the name of money. These things were more often a con—not what she personally felt.

  “Give me some warning if you call. I need to be far away.” Gage’s look inferred he needed the distance to keep from throwing my phone over the wall into the canyon if that happened.

  “I guess this is your warning. I don’t want to be caught off-guard by her at the screening tonight.”

  I was going to the documentary screening in several hours. Not that I wanted to. If I had to see it at all, I’d prefer to do so in private. And of course, a coming out in public was the last thing I had wanted. But publicity pictures with Willard Ackard, the producers, and other suits behind the film was in my part of the legal jargon that had ensured my mother was completely removed from any connection with the film. My mother’s invitation to the screening had even been revoked, to guarantee she didn’t show up in a press picture. Somehow, though, I didn’t think things would go off without a hitch. Although my mom had been paid, she had now been betrayed by her own daughter, and the woman seemed to relish public scenes.

  Wasting no time, Gage carried his guitar, retreating into the house, and he didn’t look happy about it. I loved him a little bit more for that—for letting me do what I felt I needed to do despite his disagreement.

  Taking a deep breath, I pressed speed dial.

  “Scarlette! Honey! Finally! What in the flipping fuck is going on with you?”

  “Me? I’m just trying to clean up your mess. What were you thinking?”

  “Every word was true.”

  “No. No it wasn’t!”

  “Scarlette. Listen to me―”

  “No. I don’t care what’s true and what isn’t. You don’t fuck with a man’s memory like that. And just forgetting about the public humiliation you were about to bring on our family—did you ever think about what you were doing to me? What would make you screw up your daughter’s already messed up image of a father she never had the privilege of knowing?”

  “You’re an adult now. Act like one. You can’t think―”

  “No. YOU act like one.” I brushed the back of my hand over my eyes. “Don’t try to be there tonight. There’ll be security on the lookout for you. And I’m going to have security around me. We won’t be talking there. In fact, I don’t know when we’ll be talking again.”

  “Scarlette! Calm down. You need to―”

  “If you’re worried about money, don’t be. You may be cold and greedy, but I’m not.”

  “What are you saying?”

  My mouth twitched, a quirk of a disappointed smile. A crazy smile because there was nothing amusing about this. It wasn’t surprising my mom had ignored an attack on her character. The upcoming fortune was front and center in Henni’s mind, even with the five figures she’d very recently been paid for her traitorous interview.

  “That you’re my mother. I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

  “This is Gage, isn’t it? And his father. That man still has a vendetta against me. You and I need to talk alone. Soon.”

  “Before my birthday?” I felt my lips curve again in delirious amusement. “Okay. We’ll talk before my birthday.”

  “Alone. Just you and me.”

  Ignoring that, I lifted my face to the barest brush of a breeze and eyed the smog cloud. “Mom? Take care of yourself today. Okay?” My throat burned with emotion and the words were hoarse.

  Jabbing my thumb at the screen, I hit ‘End Call.’

  Twenty years ago today, the world had lost an icon. My mother had lost a man she loved. And I had lost a father I’d never remember.

  “I thought you went in.” I murmured when a sound alerted me that I was no longer alone.

  “You looked like you didn’t need to be alone.” Arms wrapped me from behind, and I fell back against Gage’s familiar frame, inhaling the scent that was him.

  Chapter 48

  The dark limousine tint cast an unreal spell on everything beyond the windows. Music thumped through the speakers at a low volume. Gage and Colt kept up a steady conversation above the beat. My fingers clenched and unclenched in my lap until Gage took one of my hands, twining his fingers with mine.

  “You okay?”

  He spoke low, for my ears alone, but Colt heard and interceded.

  “Of course she’s okay. She was born for this.”

  Gage ignored the other man and continued his concerned perusal, but I curved a bright smile.

  “Sure. I’m fine. Like he said, it’s in the blood, right?” I loosely referred to publicity. “…And step-blood.”

  The moment he was back to conversing with Colt, I let my facial muscles relax. No. I wasn’t fine. A quarter of an hour from now, I’d no longer be Scarla Smythe. I would again be Scarlette Conterra.

  A block ahead was the destination of the documentary premiere and party. Traffic had already slowed to a crawl.

  The public’s fascination with me might last barely beyond tonight and the several promotional appearances I had contracted to. Or I might never know another day of obscurity.

  Gage squeezed my hand. The car was crawling to another stop, falling into queue. Up ahead, the strobe of camera flashes accompanied a passenger alighting. The car pulled away, and another rolled into its place.

  Colt had been playing limo bartender, but he’d ceased mixing drinks. After tipping a black bottle of wine directly to his lips, he held it toward us. Gage waved it away, but I snatched it and ignored their surprised eyes as I swallowed several swigs.

  I had been wary when the plan of both Gage and Colt escorting me tonight had hatched between the three of us. So far, the two were on their best behavior. However, things would get interesting when I had one on either side of me.

  The headlines tomorrow could very well be ‘Fire Flight’s Frontmen Brawl at Famed Musician’s Daughter’s Feet During Memorial Anniversary.’ Instead of ‘Scarlette Conterra Daughter of Tyler Conterra Resurfaces at His Memorial Anniversary.’

  “Sirs and ma’am?” The intercom came alive when the driver apprised us we were nearing the head of the line.

  Too soon, the limo door was opened. Gage gave me a nudge when I didn’t immediately move. Aware of my propensity to trip when nervous, I took an extra few seconds to balance my weight on the short heels of the metallic Myslides encasing my feet.

  My first few steps were met with hesitant flashes and then the murmurs crescendoed into chaos when I was recognized. The strobes flashed so fast they almost blended into one blinding light. Standing straighter, I angled my chin higher.

  Gage and Colt both hung a half step back. Up ahead, I was motioned to the left. Immediately, perfect gentlemen in synchronicity, they closed in, each holding one of my arms. I was grateful of the support when I looked ahead and got my first glimpse of the step and repeat backdrop.

  Tyler Conterra’s larger than life face filled several identical film posters. Each was spaced out along a logo backdrop. A velvet rope separated the hyper crowd, and I blinked in the brightness of the lighting.

  The guys again paused to let me go ahead. When I found myself positioned in front of one of the posters, my shaky legs steadied as if my father was sending me strength.

  “Scarlette!” The yells came from everywhere. “Beautiful dress, Scarlette!” The bids for my attention continued, and I turn
ed with a smile, basking in the honor of who I was to the faces in the crowd.

  Colt squeezed my elbow as we came to the end of the walk, and Gage grabbed my hand. I dropped my eyes, lest a camera flash catch my churning emotions, and it took a moment for the afterimage caused by the flashes to fade.

  To those yelling my name, I was a link to an icon of their past. An afterimage. Gage’s thumb subtly caressed my palm, and I squeezed his hand tighter. To him, this man from my past, I was a present. Together, we would embrace whatever the future brought.

  We were the lucky ones.

  Lucky in love.

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  Preview of Hung Out

  Needles and Pins Book 2

  Scarlette and Gage know they can’t hide their relationship from public eyes forever, but it should be easy enough to fly under the radar while they are separated by Gage’s rehab stay.

  Or not…

  When a viral sex video outs them as lovers, their very new and now long distance relationship is tested.

  Excerpt

  Chapter Scarlette

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