Another knock at the door. “Gwen?”
“Shit.” She had a job to do. “Later,” she promised him, prying herself away. Her breasts felt heavy and pulsed with the same aching need that was between her legs. When he leaned down to steal one more kiss, she cupped her hand over the hard shape of his cock in his jeans.
“Not fair.” The ragged edge of his voice spiked need through her fiercer than ever.
“I said later.” Pushing away from him was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
Maggie smirked when she came out. “He sulking?”
“Not anymore.” Gwen flashed her a grin and headed back to the stage. Craig and the techs were wrestling with wires and outlets and saying something about a ground lift—none of it made sense to Gwen.
“Lucas all right?” asked Craig.
“He threatened to cancel,” she said. “I think I brought him around.”
“We’ll get it. It’ll be fine.”
It was fine—eventually—but they lost nearly an hour to the problem. Lucas stood in the wings, leaning against a wall and watching them work. When Craig finally waved him over, he pulled his hands from his pockets and slouched toward them. “I’m not touching that mic again until one of you does.”
Craig rolled his eyes but took Lucas’s place on the stage, one hand on the guitar strings, the other poised to grab the microphone. He paused, then closed his hand. “See? It’s fine.”
Lucas sniffed and resumed his place. “Gwen, if I die, be sure to sue the pants off the theater owners. Craig too, if you can.”
***
The audience was buzzing and humming more than usual tonight; Gwen felt it. She tried to maintain vigilance, scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble, but Lucas was a distraction. Tonight he’d swapped his image of the haughty, remote, and untouchable idol for one that projected vulnerability like an unlocked door. Leather pants—of course—but this pair clung to his narrow hips as if in desperation, low-slung enough to give Gwen, along with everyone else who cared to look, a glimpse of the tops of his hip bones, enough to know he wore nothing beneath the leather.
The simple black tank top he wore fell a few inches short of his waist, leaving a strip of pale flesh visible over his stomach. Over it, a ratty sweater, also too short: off-white in an uneven open knit, riddled with runs and dropped stitches, hanging limply off his broad shoulders. Over everything, a battered dusty black leather jacket so faded it was nearly gray. Each wriggle and strut across the stage drove her mad. No one else should see him that way. She wanted that vulnerability all to herself.
His voice flowed through the auditorium, low and trance-like, with a hypnotic bass line behind it, and open, hollow harmonies filling the spaces around. He hardly touched the keyboards in front of him except to make adjustments here and there, instead wrapping both hands around the microphone and tilting it to his mouth. The lyrics were simple, sometimes nothing more than a low, wailing moan she could imagine in a very different context.
When he started sliding his hands along the length of the microphone in an unmistakably sexual gesture, she had to look away, unable to breathe.
Craig cursed under his breath. “Goddamn it, Lucas. Don’t you dare. Not after this afternoon.”
She looked back to see Lucas in profile, pausing between lyrics. As she watched, his tongue stroked a long, slow, thorough path up and around the head of the microphone. A ripple of screaming and catcalling went through the audience and Gwen’s fingers tightened on the railing surrounding the booth. She fought to keep her face neutral, although her heart threatened to pound out of her chest.
Craig was cursing and complaining to Cathy; Gwen was only faintly aware of his words over the pounding of her heart. “That asshole,” he was saying. “I’ve got half a mind to send him out there with the damn toothbrush and the bottle of Listerine to scrub that bastard down …” Gwen was still staring at the stage as Lucas continued the song.
“… can you have a talk with him?”
“Mm?” The world floated at a remove, like her head was underwater.
“I said, can you—oh hell. Never mind.”
Gwen took a breath, breaching the surface. “No, no, it’s fine. What? You want him not to do that anymore?”
Craig gave her a wry face. “Not with the microphones, anyway.”
“Right, I—right. I’ll mention it.” Gwen was flushed and sweating all over. How was she supposed to react when Lucas just demonstrated to thousands of people exactly how he gave a blow job?
She knew he’d slept with other men. She just didn’t expect to find evidence of it so overwhelmingly hot.
By the time the show ended, she had about recovered her senses and was ready to go down and give Lucas a lecture on the proper care and maintenance of electrical equipment. The door to the booth opened as she was preparing to leave, and the tech who’d helped with the ground lifting earlier stepped in.
“I found something I think you need to see.”
“Me?” she said.
The tech shrugged. “You, Craig. Somebody.”
They followed him down and through the labyrinth of corridors leading to the backstage. “I was starting teardown, and when I unplugged the gear Lucas was done with, I got a hell of a shock. Knocked me on my ass.”
“How bad?” Gwen grabbed his arm and started looking him over—there were no signs of breathing difficulty, and his pulse felt okay. “Did it knock you out?”
He shook her off. “I’m fine. But I found this.” A row of electric cords lay neatly coiled, the plugs visible.
“What the hell?” Craig picked up one of the plugs. Gwen tried to see what he was seeing, and shook her head.
“What is it?”
“Somebody’s pulled the goddamn grounding pin out of all of these plugs.”
She leaned in and could see where a third prong was missing. “I don’t understand—why would someone do that?”
“I’ve seen people do it to fix a ground loop like we had earlier,” the tech explained. “Cheap and easy fix, and stupid as hell.” Gwen shook her head, confused. “With no grounding, the electrocution risk goes way up.”
Out on stage, Lucas was wailing his way through the last encore. She thought of how he’d flinched from the mic during sound check. “We used these lines during the show?”
“Yeah.”
“What the fuck? I thought we checked this stuff,” Craig said.
“We did, before soundcheck. It must’ve happened afterward.”
“Wait.” Gwen held up her hand. “You’re saying that sometime between sound check and the show, someone came back here and messed with the equipment? Why?”
“Might have been someone thinking they’d help with the ground loop,” the tech said, his eyes cutting to Craig.
“Or?” Gwen pushed.
“Or it might have been someone trying to get somebody hurt.”
Gwen and Craig exchanged a glance. “I’ll look into it,” Craig said. “Don’t tell him anything yet.”
She excused herself from the two of them and pulled out her mobile. “Lee, we’ve had another incident. Call me when you get this.”
***
“Lucas, what in the hell were you doing tonight?” Craig demanded. Load out was finished, no one was ready to go to bed yet, everyone was sprawled in Gwen and Lucas’s room—and it was theirs, Gwen thought. It disconcerted her how quickly the group had started thinking of the two of them as a unit. Not a week out of Detroit, and they were already Gwen-and-Lucas, or Lucas-and-Gwen. A day of tour-time felt like three of regular time. Things happened faster, seemed more intense. Half the time she felt like the matriarch of a large, weird clan. Or maybe a cult.
Gwen curled up on the couch; Lucas sprawled beside her, leaning against her shoulder. Lucas rolled his head against Gwen’s shoulder to look at Craig. “I thought I was giving a damn good performance. What did you think I was doing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Trying to get yourself killed?” Craig stubb
ed out his cigarette. “Licking a live mic—not smart on the best of days, but when half the fucking equipment is ground lifted? What the hell, man?” Gwen had agreed not to tell Lucas yet about the sabotage until they had a better idea how it happened or if it even was sabotage. It might have been a well-meaning crew member. No sense in worrying Lucas about a maybe.
Maggie looked up from the conversation she was having with Cathy. “Showing off is what he was doing.”
“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Lucas said.
“Oh?” The gleam in Maggie’s eye was predatory. “That little move looked pretty familiar to me. What about you, Gwen?”
“No, I hadn’t seen him lick a microphone before tonight.”
Lucas grinned up at her, looking nearly as shark-like as Maggie. “I don’t think she was talking about micr—”
“Yeah well, I haven’t seen you do that yet either.” Gwen kissed him once to shut him up, to the glee of the others. The attention in the room shifted back and forth between the two of them like spectators at a tennis match. Gwen caught the increase in tension and realized the others thought this was some sort of revelation about Lucas’s sexual history. Even Lucas seemed to be watching her reaction closely.
“Yet?”
She smiled. “It was pretty damn hot, I’ll say that much.”
She turned to say something to Maggie but found her mouth redirected back to Lucas’s for a longer, more thorough kiss.
Cathy shoved up from the floor. “Annnnd, I think that’s our cue to get out.”
“No, it’s okay,” Gwen said.
“No it’s not,” Lucas said. “Get out.”
“Lucas.” She tried not to laugh. “Stop.”
“Unless you want to see us both naked in about five minutes, get out.”
Three people stood up and started gathering shoes and empty bottles. One didn’t. “What if I do want to?” Maggie, of course.
“Oh please, you’ve seen it all before.” Lucas sat up.
“I didn’t mean you.”
Gwen was uncurling herself from Lucas and found herself grabbed and dragged halfway across his lap. “She’s mine. I’m not sharing her. Go find your own.”
“Do I get a say in this?” asked Gwen, grinning.
“No,” Maggie and Lucas said.
“Christ, you two are scary.”
“Good night, Maggie.” Lucas looked pointedly from her to the door.
Maggie laughed and stood up. “Fine, fine. Good night, you two. Try to get some sleep, okay?” She closed the door behind her.
Gwen shifted to a more comfortable position on his lap. “I’m yours, am I? What happened to you being one-night-stand material?”
“Mm. Okay, maybe on a temporary basis.” He smiled down at her, trailing fingers along her scalp. She closed her eyes, his hand sending drowsiness and warmth running along her nerve endings. He leaned down and kissed her on the temple, then over one cheekbone. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just tired.” It wasn’t entirely a lie—Gwen had been tired for weeks.
“We’ll have some time to rest at Christmas.”
Relieved he didn’t push further, she nodded. “Looking forward to a break.”
“Have you thought about what you want to do?”
“Well.” She nuzzled against his chest, getting drowsier by the minute. “I thought I might go back to LA. Sam and I haven’t spent Christmas together in years.”
“Mm.” He kissed her hair, then stood, carefully balancing her in his arms, making her squeak and tighten her grip. “You could come home with me.”
“Home where?” The rocking motion as he carried her toward the bedroom gave her a feeling of warmth, like being wrapped in a soft blanket.
“Virginia. My family’s house.”
Drowsy as she was, his voice held enough tension to perk her up. She yawned. “Um. Meeting your family. That’s … edging toward ‘boyfriend,’ isn’t it?”
He laid her down on the bed and started gently undressing her. “Maybe not. Maybe I was thinking more about the enormous bed and the room with a fireplace.” His fingers skimmed over her skin, sending spiraling sparks through her body. “I don’t want to be away from you for so long.”
She laughed and squirmed under his hands. “What would your parents think?”
“My mother will be thrilled you’re not a man.”
“Well, with that low of a bar for parental approval …” She tried not to think about what that said about his family and their level of acceptance. “I’ll think about it. Now come here. I’m cold.”
***
Lucas jerked awake to the sound of someone talking in the bedroom. He heard Gwen moving next to him, muttering. Lucas held still, thinking he’d woken her. She muttered again, and he turned on the bedside light to check on her. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her head rolled to one side, her lips moving.
“Gwen.” Softly at first.
More muttering, something that sounded like, “Hang on.”
“Gwen.” Louder.
The twitching threatened to become thrashing.
“Gwen.”
She jerked awake, eyes wide and unseeing for the first two seconds. “Mm?” She struggled to a sitting position.
“Are you okay?”
Gwen scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of both hands, then shook her head, hard. Her breathing uneven and her voice low and rough with sleep, she said, “Yeah. Fine. I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” The sentence felt odd in Lucas’s mouth. He was fairly sure he’d never uttered it before.
“Nothing to talk about.” Gwen threw back the covers and sat up, massaging her left shoulder as if it pained her—the shoulder with the scar. He reached for her, and she shrugged him off.
“Nightmare?”
“Do you ever sleep?” Gwen’s voice had an edge to it as she focused on her shoulder.
“Sometimes.” He scrambled to find something, anything to say. “What can I do?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. I can go sleep on the couch.” She grabbed a pillow from the bed and walked out before he could protest. He followed, pulling on a pair of shorts. “Go back to bed, Lucas,” she said.
“Gwen, I—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She punched the pillow on the couch, then threw herself down on it.
“Okay, all right.” He went over to his guitar case, the old acoustic he carried with him everywhere. It had even followed him into rehab. “Will it keep you awake if I play?”
Gwen turned over with a sigh. “I don’t know. It might.” Her eyes met his. “I think I’d like that though, either way.”
“Lie back down,” Lucas said. “At least try to sleep. I’ll stay in here with you, if you want.” He snagged the guitar and sat on the floor next to the couch.
Gwen settled back down, curling on her side. “Lucas?” Her voice was subdued. “Thank you.”
Lucas bent his head over the guitar with a faint smile. “You’re welcome.”
Gwen’s eyes closed, and eventually her breathing evened out in peaceful sleep. Lucas played for a long time after, pausing to look at her every so often. What had happened to her? And why did he feel so protective of a woman who could clearly take care of herself?
Chapter Nine
Charleston, Charlotte, Atlanta—the cities clicked by with an easy familiarity, taking them into December. Gwen had finally started to relax a bit. There had been nothing further from the stalker, making her hope that maybe the man had given up. “Liam” had vanished without a trace.
After the show in Nashville, Lucas was complaining as Gwen walked him to the lobby to sign autographs. “‘Music City¸’ and I bet that club wasn’t half full.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” she said. “They loved you.”
“Yeah, all twenty of them.”
“I counted at least thirty,” Gwen deadpanned. “More if yo
u count the waitresses and the bartender.”
“Thanks. Thanks bunches.”
“Happy to help. Besides, I thought everybody in Nashville liked country.”
“It’s never been this bad before.” By then they’d reached the lobby, and his performing mask fell into place and Gwen took up position nearby.
In the green room afterward, the party consisted mostly of the crew and a couple of local music execs, the noise down from a dull roar to a murmur. It was just as well; they were all tired, and she’d rather Lucas got some sleep than put in an extended appearance, Music City or no.
“Now what else am I supposed to think, hm?” Gwen smiled at the low, cajoling tone in Lucas’s voice. She’d seen him charm his way across the country like this. “A crowd that small, makes me wonder just how much you appreciate me, Joe.” The slight emphasis he put in “appreciate” told Gwen that Joe was his biggest target and that he was turning on the charm to the point of flirting. At first it had made her uncomfortable, but she quickly realized it was the most effective way Lucas had to influence anyone who came backstage.
Now, seeing the slight widening of poor Joe’s eyes gave her a swell of pride. Poor bastard. He’d be agreeing to whatever Lucas wanted in about five minutes. She shook her head and laughed, catching Cathy’s eye from across the room. They shared a grin, and Gwen settled in to watch him win them over.
“You know, he’s always liked men.” Gwen looked up to see Sally standing at her shoulder. “I think the only thing he likes better is tour managers.”
Gwen raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”
“You didn’t know that?” Sally crouched next to her with a falsely sympathetic look on her face. “I wouldn’t take it personally. He says the tour managers are always easier to control with his dick.” She smiled. “Lucky you, though. I hear he’s very talented.”
Before Gwen could reply, she heard a voice yelling outside the room. “Let me in! He deserves to know!”
She stood, on alert, her right hand hovering at the edge of her jacket, where the grip of the Sig Sauer was hidden, as she stepped to Lucas’s side. Was this it?
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