Lucas’s eyes were wide and dark with arousal, and his breath was unsteady as he nodded. The kiss hadn’t done that, not alone. He liked that she’d taken charge. A lot. A small part of her brain filed that away for later consideration.
She took a deep breath. “I am responsible for you, and this”—she used her free hand to gesture between them—“is not happening.”
She let go of his wrist, and he—the impossible brat—immediately grabbed her around the waist and caught her off-guard in a fierce, openmouthed kiss.
Gwen gave herself a second to enjoy the tightness of his body pressed fully against hers and the hard pressure of his lips. Common sense prevailed, and she reached up and pressed her hands around the tops of his shoulders and pushed, firm and deliberate, separating the two of them. “Not”—push—“happening.” Her hands slid down and paused on the thin, damp T-shirt covering Lucas’s broad chest and she applied more pressure, creating even more distance.
There was a knock on the door and Craig poked his head in. “I hate to interrupt.” Gwen drew her hands back, and took a backward step. “But they’re throwing us out in fifteen.”
That made it nearly two AM. Christ, Gwen was tired. “Ta, Craig,” Gwen said, and she tossed a fresh towel at Lucas, heading for the door. “I expect you back at the hotel in ten minutes. And if I hear about any more drinking, we’re going to have a talk with Sam.”
She ignored the rude gesture that followed her out into the hallway.
***
Lucas waited until everyone else had left the Beacon before walking back alone. He didn’t have a fucking curfew, regardless of what Gwen Tennison thought. He’d been so sure he was reading her right this time. She wanted him, he wanted her—what was the problem? God, even the way she’d pushed him away had been unbearably hot. He wondered if she was into that kind of thing. If she was, he was doomed. He’d hand over control to her without a second thought and do whatever she wanted. And it would be—Lucas cut the thought off at the knees. Just the thought was making him get hard, and there were still a lot of people on the streets, heading home after last call at the local bars.
A few heads turned as Lucas walked past, but he’d gotten good at dodging attention when he wanted to, and he wasn’t a superstar—yet. He took his time, letting the chill in the air dry the last of his stage sweat. Alone time rarely happened on tour, especially not now, with everyone watching him closely for signs of relapse.
As he passed a small group of drunk women, clinging to each other as they tottered along in high heels, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His scalp crawled with the absolute certainty that he was being watched. He frowned and tried to ignore it, but the feeling got stronger. Lucas glanced over his shoulder. The drunk girls were retreating into the distance. “You’re being an asshole,” Craig said from his other side, making him jump. “Just so we’re clear.” He fell into step beside Lucas.
“Where did you come from?”
Craig shrugged. “Didn’t want you walking back alone.”
“Look, is this something you can lecture me about tomorrow? Because all I want right now is a shower and a bed.”
“She’s not one of your groupies, Lucas. And I don’t think she’s going to put up with your shit for very much longer. So knock it off.”
“It’s not just me!” He said that louder than he meant to and drew a few glances. He lowered his voice. “She wants me, Craig. I can’t figure out what sort of game she’s playing.”
Craig dodged a drunk couple on the sidewalk. “Maybe she wants you in spite of the fact that you’re being a colossal jackass, and her better judgment keeps winning.”
“I’m being myself.”
“Like I said.” Craig ducked when Lucas swung an elbow at him.
They’d reached the hotel lobby. “When have I ever changed for anybody?”
Craig caught his arm. “I’m not saying ‘change.’ Just … dial the rock star act back a little bit, okay? She’s a good kid.”
They didn’t say much of anything else, except to say good night when Craig got to his floor in the elevator.
By the time Lucas got back to his room, he was freezing, but more clearheaded. He swiped the door open and fumbled his way across the suite to turn on one of the table lamps.
He stripped out of his clothes as he walked to the bathroom, where he turned on the water as hot as he could stand. Craig wasn’t wrong. There was something good about Gwen Tennison, and he was being an asshole, he thought as he stepped into the scalding spray. It was infuriating, though. That she could go from the wild thing who had nearly been his that first night, the one who had kissed him so desperately tonight, to the woman he’d met in Sam’s office, the one who had pushed him away in the green room, iron control coiled into a compact, delightful package—he couldn’t figure her out. She should have been boring. He scrubbed at his hair before rinsing, the long strands dripping down his back. Lucas should have found Gwen Tennison utterly and unavoidably dull.
“Make me.” And Gwen had. The way she had taken over—Lucas’s skin broke into goose bumps despite the hot water. He had an overwhelming urge to see who Gwen was in extremis. What had she been like in the middle of combat? What did she sound like when she came? He bit his lower lip, feeling a tremor in his belly, heat snaking through his thigh muscles. He had a sudden clear image of her riding him, pinning him to the bed, and had to stifle a gasp. No, he absolutely was not going to jerk off in the shower. He wasn’t ready to give her that much control over him. He took a deep breath and rinsed the last of the soap off and turned off the water, standing with his head down until his nascent erection went away.
Lucas left the warmth of the bathroom, hair dripping chill around his shoulders. He used the towel from around his waist to dry the worst of it, then threw himself under the covers of the empty bed before turning out the light.
As he lay there, he realized the most infuriating and intriguing thing of all about Gwen Tennison was that she had said no.
Chapter Three
“Gwen!” Sam took her call right away. “How are things going?”
“Samantha. When I get home, we need to have a long discussion about what the word ‘difficult’ means.” Gwen breathed slowly through her nose. Sally was out of the room they were sharing, off getting breakfast. Gwen was trying not to pace.
“What?”
“Lucas Wheeler is not difficult, Sam. Lucas Wheeler is bloody impossible.”
“What’s happened now?”
Gwen lost the battle and started to pace. “I can deal with the constant sarcasm that comes my way. I can deal with the fact that he thinks I’m incompetent and doesn’t hesitate to tell me. I can even deal with a little bit of groping now and then. God knows it’s happened before.”
“But?”
“But he seems utterly determined that I’m going to be a notch on his proverbial bedpost.”
“Are you complaining, or bragging?”
“Am I—” Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose, before dissolving into laughter. Sam started giggling with her on the other end. “I hate you,” Gwen finally said.
“No you don’t,” Sam said. “You’re having the time of your life. I can hear it.”
Gwen tried to catch her breath, tension melting. “No, really, Sam. That would be the worst idea ever.”
“Tour manager sleeping with the star? Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened,” Sam said. “To be fair, I didn’t think it was something he’d try more than once.”
“Well thanks,” Gwen snorted. “I feel really special now. How have you lot not been sued for sexual harassment? Seriously?” Gwen sat on the edge of her bed.
“But things are going all right, otherwise?”
“Yeah. Getting better, I think.”
“You are,” Sam agreed. “I’ve been hearing good things. Craig says you’re catching on beautifully.”
“Oh good. He’s a good guy.”
“He is.” Sam paused. “Listen, there
is one concern. The merchandise revenues are running a lot lower than they should be. Sally mentioned there were some issues in New York with table placement—”
“I tried—”
“I know, I’m not blaming you.”
Gwen wondered how much pressure Sam was getting, and her palms started to sweat. “How bad is it?”
“It’s … pretty bad, but fixable.” Gwen heard the sound of typing. “I’ve sent you some ideas via email. Mostly, work with Sally. She knows her stuff. Check with her first, make sure she’s always got what she needs.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”
“Come on, I’m tougher than that. It’ll be fine.” Sam’s tone softened, turning her back from boss into sister. “How are you getting on with the rest of the crew?”
“They’re a good lot. More clean-cut than I expected.”
“Do you think that was accidental? While Lucas was in rehab, we made some major staffing changes. At the request of Lucas’s family—and you are not to repeat any of this—we swapped out any crew member with a drug habit.”
“His family. And you just … went along with it? Is that even legal?”
“No one was fired, just transferred. Except for your predecessor, and there were … extenuating circumstances. As to his family, Lee Wheeler can be quite persuasive where his little brother is concerned.”
Gwen thought about the man she’d met at Sam’s office, and thought about the US Marines she’d known in Afghanistan. “I can imagine. Which also explains why you don’t want me to say anything. Lucas has already made some cracks about how his brother will want me to report to him.” Sam was quiet for a moment too long. “Bloody hell, Sam. Will he?”
“You’re not required to,” said Sam. “You’re our employee, not his. But he may ask.”
Something about this was sanding at Gwen’s skin. “And you’re all right with this?”
“I’ve said too much as it is, Gwen.”
“Sam, I have never heard you sound afraid of anyone before.” Who was this family? What sort of influence did Lee Wheeler have, anyway?
“Not afraid, Gwen. Just respectful. I told you. They’re a powerful family. They only want to make sure their youngest child is well-looked-after. I thought I could do worse than to send along my big sister.” She changed the subject. “Now, if we can move on? You’re going to have company once you get to Washington, D.C. Maggie Creighton is confirmed to join the tour for a few dates as a special guest.”
“Creighton …” Gwen tried to remember what little celebrity gossip she’d read. “Lucas’s ex-girlfriend?”
“Sort of,” Sam said. “They’ve worked together several times, and are still on good terms. We’ll try to keep her appearance a surprise, of course, but once she appears at one show, it’ll be all over the Internet.”
Gwen leaned back across the bed to grab her notebook. “Okay, details?”
“In the email I sent. So you’ll have an idea who you’re dealing with,” Sam said.
“Oh God. She’s not going to expect me to kiss up to her too, is she?”
Sam laughed. “Just you wait. You’ll like her.”
“Tell me one thing: is she as much of a pain in the arse as he is?”
“Gwen, keep telling yourself, ‘Samantha is my sister and she loves me.’”
“Christ.”
***
Lucas woke in the late morning, cold and gritty-eyed. He’d hoped that by morning some of the dull wanting ache Gwen had aroused would be gone, but if anything, it was worse. Maybe she had more control over him than he wanted to admit. He climbed out of bed long enough to go to the bathroom and find his robe, wrapping it around himself before heading back to bed, ready to give in and ease some of his desire. On the way, he spotted a piece of paper tucked under the door of the suite. He plucked it from under the doorjamb and unfolded it as he was crawling under the covers. The handwriting was spiky, unfamiliar:
Tomorrow night in D.C., wear the black leather duster with the blue lining. It’s my favorite. I’ll be watching you.
Lucas smiled, thinking of Gwen. He’d worn that particular coat the first night of the tour, and he hadn’t missed the way her eyes had followed him around the entire night. This wouldn’t be the first time someone had shouted no as loud as they could only to slip a note to him later. He settled back into the bed and started making a mental list of ways to tease her, his cock starting to stir.
I’ll be watching you.
Why would she say that? Of course she’d be watching—she spent every show in the sound booth with Craig and Cathy. Lucas reached for the note on the nightstand, taking another look. Idiot. Any thoughts of sex fled.
Lucas wasn’t nearly famous enough to require major security measures, but from time to time, there had been the random creepy fan. Usually, Emma and the tour manager took care of the whole thing without him, sometimes only telling him after the fact. This one was dedicated enough to have found his hotel room, but too shy to try to come in. Lucas set the note aside and laid back against the pillows. He’d have to tell Craig.
He’d no sooner thought it when his cell phone rang. He answered. “Go away, I’m still in bed.”
“Get up, you lazy ass,” Craig said. “We’re going sightseeing.”
Lucas rolled onto his side and stretched luxuriously. “God, that sounds unbearably boring.”
“Lucas, we’re in New York City.”
“Dull,” he repeated. “I’ve seen Manhattan before.”
“Have it your way, then.”
“Hey.” Lucas shoved himself into a sitting position and reached for the note. “Found a note under my door this morning.”
“From anyone in particular?”
He unfolded the paper again and read it aloud. “It’s probably nothing, but …”
“Yeah. I’ll tell Gwen when I see her later.”
“Gwen?”
“Not my job to deal with it anymore, you know.” Craig sounded amused.
Lucas groaned and rolled over in the bed. “She’s going to overreact. Can you please explain to her this happens all the time and it’s nothing?”
“She used to haul soldiers off the battlefield. If you’re not getting blown up, she probably won’t even bat an eyelash.”
Lucas couldn’t explain why the image of her in desert camo, dirty and helping carry a stretcher with explosions going off around her, made something in his chest hurt. “Just … don’t let her get carried away.”
Craig laughed. “I promise. No armed guards. Sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“Hell no. I’m staying in bed until we have to fly out of here.”
***
The breeze in New York Harbor ruffled Gwen’s hair, brisk and damp. It reminded her of home. The Statue of Liberty had been much smaller than she’d been led to believe from the telly and left her feeling mildly disappointed. Still, it was nice to be out during daylight hours, and not on a crazed schedule.
She startled when Craig leaned on the ferry railing next to her. “You doing okay?”
“Tired, but good,” Gwen said. “What’s up?”
Craig rubbed the back of his neck, showing a sudden interest in the view across the harbor. “Well, I was talking to Lucas this morning, and—”
“Oh God, what’s happened now?”
“No, it’s not a big deal,” Craig said. “He found a note under his door, from an overenthusiastic fan.”
“That’s not supposed to happen.” Gwen frowned. “Hotel staff is supposed to be keeping our room assignments under wraps.”
“Yeah, you try controlling the bellhop with the Twitter account. It gets out sometimes.”
“Okay.” Gwen turned around and leaned back against the railing. “I’ll keep that in mind. So what did it say?”
Craig sighed. “This one was a little unusual. It wasn’t the typical ‘I love you so much, here’s my number, call me’ sort of thing.”
“Threatening?” Gwen strai
ghtened, on alert. The standard security procedures she’d gone over at the start of the tour ticked through her mind. She hadn’t expected to actually need them.
Craig shook his head. “No, not threatening, exactly. Just … creepy. Whoever it is said they’d be watching Lucas.”
Gwen relaxed, turning back toward the harbor. “And that bothered him? That sounds like something right up his alley.” Craig didn’t laugh. “All right, so what do I do? Should we ask for increased security?”
“Not yet,” Craig said. “We’ll just need to be extra vigilant ourselves.”
His definition of “extra vigilant” probably didn’t match hers. “What have you done in the past?”
“Notifying the venue staff to watch for people sneaking backstage, keeping an eye out in general for anything unusual,” Craig said. “Making extra sure hotel staff understands to keep quiet.” They were approaching the ferry docks.
Gwen shook her head. “That’s not nearly enough. Was this the first note from this person?”
“I don’t know.”
“Until we have a better idea what we’re dealing with, I don’t want Lucas left alone. Does he have any self-defense training?”
“Hell if I know,” Craig said.
“Maybe I can teach him a little bit. And someone’s got to room with him.”
Craig laughed. “Right. You get to tell him that.”
“What? There’s room in those massive suites of his,” Gwen said. “I don’t want him being entirely alone.” He grinned at her. “What is it?”
“Oh nothing. I just want to be there when you tell Lucas you’re going to be sleeping in his suite for the rest of the tour. He’ll be overjoyed. I doubt he’ll sleep another wink.”
“Me? It doesn’t have to be me.” Gwen backpedaled. The last thing she needed was Lucas Wheeler sleeping on the other side of a door from her, night after night.
The Farther I Fall Page 4