My mind rambled again as he read off labels, but a minute later, I wished I’d been paying closer attention.
“…Scarlette Rose! I can’t believe it!” The video camera seemed to be a natural second set of eyes for the vlogger. When the lens swung from Gage to rest on me, I automatically recoiled.
Gage came to my rescue, stepping between me and the camera. Landon inadvertently ran interference when he could no longer take being out of the focus and demanded whether or not they were going to finish the Rattler bus tour.
“Right. But afterward, I’d love, if you’re up for it, to have five minutes of your time?” The woman addressed me. “I’m sorry I forgot myself. I’m Alexa Ardine. I’m a huge fan.”
Again, Gage saved me, spouting off something about publicist and papers and advance scheduling as Landon herded the poor girl toward the back lounge.
Alexa turned back and again to Landon’s obvious irritation, the camera turned with her. “Of course. It was just such a surprise. There you are. Right there in front of me. So, holy crap on a cracker. Are you tonight’s surprise headliner?”
I was sure the girl had been speaking to me, but the last inquiry before Landon practically shoved her and her camera and began gushing off about their gaming consoles, had obviously been directed to Gage.
Landon looked as if he had come to this hypothesis too. With another withering glare directed at Gage, he jerked at the dividing curtain and commenced playing tour guide. “And this is the privacy curtain. It’s layered with some sort of sound reducing panels.”
The moment the woman was out of earshot, Landon turned back to hiss at us. “You two with your freak show are taking the focus off the band—off of Rattler and off of the music.” The remaining band members moved closer, backing their original bandmate in his statement.
Chapter 38
Gage watched Scarlette disappear up the spiral staircase. He contemplated following her but knew Landon’s furious words were likely ringing in her head. She wouldn’t want to be alone with him.
Beyond the back curtain, he could hear the drummer’s cheesy pick-up lines. Obviously giving their buddy privacy to seduce the young vlogger, the rest of Rattler watched videos on the front TV rather than retiring to their gaming domain in the back. Their tour manager boarded and took a seat at the table, flipping open his laptop.
Making his way down the aisle, Gage slid open the door to the very front where their driver was punching at the GPS device. “Mind if I sit?” He indicated the copilot chair. Over the course of the tour, he’d spent many an hour up here in various buses with various drivers to get away from either Rattler or Scarlette. At the driver’s friendly but preoccupied “okay,” Gage flopped down. He stared beyond the windshield at the activity in the parking lot and the small crowd still around their bus.
The tour was close to an end, and he had no idea what to do about Scarlette. He’d begun it, hoping to win her back. And yet, the closer he got to this hope becoming a reality, the same original doubts began to plague him. A relationship between the two of them wasn’t in the best interest of either of them. And yet, he knew now, she wanted him back as badly as he wanted her.
The hunger in her eyes fed him, satisfying a deep primal need. Sometimes, it was hard to contain himself. The lust in her look when he’d boarded the bus tonight had him wanting to take her right there in the kitchen. Lift her to the counter, spread her long legs, and feast in every way he wanted.
“We’re good to go.” Rattler’s tour manager poked his head in long enough to nod to their driver, which meant Vlog girl was gone.
What the chick had said to Scarlette replayed. Scarlette Rose. Why lately was her middle name coming up? Idly, he reached for his phone and brought up the browser.
S-C-A-R-L-E-T-T-E. Spacebar. R―
There it was times twenty. And that was just the first page of results. Are you the surprise headline act? He spent a few minutes clicking and reading before jumping up with the phone still in his hand.
Ignoring everyone’s curious looks, he strode past them and began up the stairs. “Scarlette!” Each step and skipped step twisted a tad more around the pole. “Scarlette Rose!” He landed on the second deck and found it quiet. “Scarlette.” He sprinted to her bunk and eased the curtain back enough to see her. Headphones plugged her ears, and he took in her closed eyes. “Hey, Scar.” Her eyes popped open, and she ripped an earbud from the ear closest to him. “You sneak, sneaky star!”
“What?”
“You signed on with Jewelstone?”
“I recorded that song at their studio. You know. The song from the documentary. Crash To Burn.”
“Which is one of the most downloaded songs right now.”
“What!”
“And the video. Over three million views.”
“The video?” Her face blanched, and he realized she hadn’t made sense of what he was saying. The word video was still synonymous with ugly connotations.
He dropped his eyes to what seemed to be a brand. Scarlette Rose scrawled in a fancy script and a rose in full bloom as the ‘O.’
“Scar, you’re freaking famous. And not because of our video. Not because of your dad. Your song and video is rocking every chart out there.”
She reached for the phone he waved and frowned as she scrolled. “How do I not know this?” Her tone was wondrous and tinged with a touch of pride. A light tap began the video and together they watched the camera pan and zoom with various frame effects on her in the studio setting. “I didn’t know they were making a video. I mean they filmed it, but I thought that was just part of the recording process.”
After several minutes of reading comments, listening, and looking at the streaming specs, she relinquished the phone, still wearing a dazed look. “I guess some part of me knew they were going to release the song. But I didn’t expect this.”
“I can’t wait to show this shit to Landon.”
“Don’t!” She rolled toward where he still crouched, eye level with her cubbyhole, and hit her head when she rose too high on her elbow. “You can’t show them.”
He knew what she was thinking. The two of them were already the outsiders. To the others, Scarlette seemed like a spy who could rat on Landon to Jax, and it was no secret they were threatened by his experience in Fire Flight. But didn’t she see? Nothing was going to help that. So why not have some fun? The asswipe thought the recent buzz around Scar was due to both the sex video and her being rock royalty. Gage couldn’t wait to see his face when he realized Scarlette had surpassed Rattler in the music stratosphere.
“C’mon, Scar. Landon needs to be put in his fuckin’ place. They all do.”
“No. Don’t. They’ll find out at some point. I’d rather it be later when we don’t have to see them every day.”
Unable to resist, he reached, running a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. And damned if being so close to her face, his thumb didn’t tingle with the want to touch her lips. But he mustered control. “Fine. But we’re celebrating in Paris.” His heart beat double time when she smiled her agreement.
The sudden arrival of the others gave him a start, and he realized they’d been so deep into a world where only the two of them existed, neither had heard them come up the stairs. He jerked his hand back but it was too late. The innuendos and bad jokes began and he fought the urge to crack skulls. For about three seconds. Until Landon’s “Must be true. Incest is best,” reached his ears.
Whirling, he pinned the drummer against the bunks on the opposite side. The gash on Landon’s brow from the other night jarred him enough to control his fury. “Enough fucker. Fucking enough.”
Chapter 39
Gage
What are you doing?
5:20 PM
Was going to order up and sleep. You?
Sent 5:20 PM
Gage
Same.
5:21 PM
Gage
Just making sure you are resting. Our day starts early t
omorrow.
5:21 PM
What day?
Sent 5:21 PM
I was positive there was nothing on the itinerary for three days at which time we would leave the city of love for the next show.
Gage
Don’t worry about what day. Just be rested : )
5:22 PM
Okay. Now I was not going to be able to sleep. I would toss and turn, wondering if Gage had sightseeing planned or all-day sex. Shit. And that was my last thought before I did fall asleep. Soundly!
Gage hadn’t exaggerated about early. My phone rang while it was still dark outside the hotel window.
“Hey, sleeping beauty. Up and at ’em. Don’t eat. Dress comfortable. For walking.”
“What? Is it tomorrow already?” I yawned and stretched but felt surprisingly rested with each second that passed.
“I’m going to pick you up in thirty.”
“Okay.” I stretched again, feeling a smile curve my lips and then bounded out of bed.
Thirty minutes later, I answered his knock, showered and ready for the adventure—whatever it was. With a twinge of disappointment, I wiped sex-all-day off my mental whiteboard when he didn’t push his way into the room and fling me on the bed.
Instead, he chattered all the way to the lobby about how Landon had roused him every hour or so by coming in and out of the room all night. When I expressed my sympathy, again feeling a twinge of guilt for being the only one in our camp who didn’t share a room, he waved my words off and with a flourish, beckoned me into the back of a waiting Rolls Royce.
Impressed, I took in the shadowy interior and tried to block my senses to the soapy smells wafting from his hair and skin. The same exact scents I had also showered with. Clearing my throat and my mind of shower images, I asked, “You said we’re going to eat, right?”
“First thing,” he promised.
On cue, my stomach growled and we both laughed. The first light of dawn had apparently brightened the sky during the drive over. Now, as we exited the car and followed the guide who met us down a gangplank, the palette colors of sunrise began to streak the heavens.
After Joaquin, who had relieved Jal, went ahead and then nodded us on, we boarded what could be described as a mini yacht. On the deck, we were seated at a table covered with a white lacy tablecloth. Two place settings adorned with toile-printed china waited.
We dined on fruits, breakfast crepes and, yes, French toast dusted with powdered sugar. An attendant continuously topped off our long stem flute crystal glasses with what tasted like orange juice spritzers as the boat cruised the Seine River.
The man who had met us at the car guided our journey from the helm, which was several steps below deck. He expressed points of interest and condensed lessons of each, his voice slightly amplified through a speaker near the table.
At the base of the Eiffel Tower, the boat idled and Gage held his champagne flute aloft. “To Scarlette Rose. The world is yours.”
Embarrassed, but giddy, I clinked my glass to his.
The boat cruise came to an end, and the Rolls Royce was waiting. Instead of dropping us back at the hotel, it came to a stop in front of a whitewashed brick building. Gage leaned in, presumably tipping the driver and then grabbed my hand as he escorted me inside.
He headed straight to an elevator and closed us inside the antique cage lift. We disembarked on the fifth floor, and took a flight of stairs up to the next floor. Producing a key, he slid it into the lock and after a few clinks, the door swung inward, revealing what looked to be a cozy apartment.
We waited while Joaquin went through each room. I knew the routine and recognized the necessity. Several new hostile emails had been added to the Ketchum folder. The security service had traced the origination, determining they were being sent from within the U.S.A. This was comforting in a small way; as was the fact they had decided to notify the proper authorities. Joaquin exited with a nod, and I eagerly began my own exploration.
Perplexed, I wandered room to room. The lobby we’d entered from the street had no resemblance to a hotel. The space was rustic, from the white brick exterior walls to the huge beams running parallel along the vaulted ceiling. The kitchen was modern down to the polished stone countertops and stainless steel appliances. The floor was terracotta tile with fluffy throw rugs strewn about. The bedroom…
I stopped short of stepping inside this room and was admiring the clean, white linens and antique furnishing from afar when the paned wall of French doors drew me in. An iron balcony was just beyond. The view of the city from it was stunning.
“Okay.” I pushed away from the rail. Feeling him directly behind me, I twisted to eye his expression as I inquired, “Where are we?”
He forked his fingers through his wavy hair, and I noted the nervous gesture. “This is one of Dad’s properties. I figured, well, no one saw us leave the hotel as early as it was. And if we camp out here instead of there while we are ‘doing’ the city then no one is seeing us come and go, and we don’t have to deal with ugly comments.”
“But when we’re both gone together for a long time, they’ll—how long are we staying?”
“As long as you want. We can come and go just today, or we can stay the whole time.” His earnest gaze locked to mine. “Play it by ear?”
“Play it by ear.” I easily agreed, enchanted by both the view of historic Paris and the apartment itself. This was so much better than our hotel on the other side of town.
“I figured we can go walk around. Be tourists. When the city wakes up.”
I covered a yawn with my hand and nodded. When I scooted onto the bed and positioned my pillow to see better out of the French doors, he joined me, spooning and playing in my hair as we dozed.
“I didn’t know you spoke French.” After a day on the town, our feet dragged as we scaled the stairs between the fifth and sixth levels.
Gage remained intent on the giant Chestnut Rum Berthillon ice cream cone he was scarfing down. “Just enough to get by. You know. Offer bribes in exchange for standing in long-ass lines and stuff like that.”
I giggled but thought of the line at least a hundred people deep we’d avoided and felt guilty. Yet, even here in Paris, I was getting second glances. Logically, I knew we could have been mobbed had we chosen to wait forty-five minutes on ice cream in the midst of a public square.
Pausing for a second on the landing, I faced him and teased, “I feel ripped off. You never spoke the ‘language of love’ to me.”
He swallowed his current mouthful of ice cream and deliberately brushed his body against mine as he passed and began up the last half of the flight. “I get it now. You wanted Pepé Le Pew sexing you up and not some dirty rocker.”
Humming birds took flight in my stomach. Tickling and stabbing. That’s how it felt to think of whatever Gage and I had in the past, as well as whatever was going on now. A pleasurable pang.
I was getting so used to the bodyguard that I barely flinched with embarrassment when he sprinted ahead of us with an impassive face. He was in and out of the apartment in less than a minute. With a curt nod, he pulled the locked door closed behind him and headed back downstairs to where he’d stationed himself. Like at the hotel, he used the hallway camera to keep watch.
Picking up our Pepé Le Pew versus dirty rocker conversation, I managed a retort as I followed Gage through the apartment. “Maybe both. You know. Have my ice cream and eat it too.” I finished with a lick of a drip trickling down the side of the waffle cone.
His eyes smoldered liquid fire, and instead of popping the last bit of his dessert into his mouth, he dipped his tongue into the cone first. “So a skunk rocker.” With a crunch, he finished the cone.
“It sounds dirty when you say it that way.” Actually, I was impressed at the quick witty way he’d substituted punk with skunk. My stomach felt bloated and full from all the food we’d eaten. I dropped the remainder of my cone into a bowl and set it in the freezer.
“Is that a good thing or
a bad?” From behind me, he closed in and wrapped me in his arms. “Because dirty is my specialty.” His cold lips nibbling at the crook of my neck and the sandpapery abrasion of his chin initiated an eruption of gooseflesh.
“I knew you had ulterior motives with this apartment…” A sigh of pure pleasure hissed through my lips.
He licked a fiery trail up the cords of my neck. “Not ulterior. Dual.” And then he lifted his lips from my skin. “Is that okay?”
With a groan, I spun to face him, looping my arms around his neck, and using my weight to pull him down to my tiptoe level. His kiss tasted of chocolate, butterscotch, and roasted almonds.
Starved for more than the stolen touches I’d been getting lately, I met each thrust of his tongue with a tangle, twist, and suckle of mine. His arms tightened almost painfully, and I could suck in only shallow breaths in what had become a boa-constrictor embrace. Still, I pressed more tightly against him.
When my lips were throbbing from the friction of his and my tongue had gone from a tickly tingle to a tingling throb, he eased up, and I took in a long dizzying breath. He ran his lips down my jawline and to my neck while his hands tunneled beneath my shirt. His touch on bare skin drew a moan and a desperate need for my own fingers to breach the barrier of his shirt. Earlier today, I’d admired the abnormal sight of Gage’s tucked in shirttails, but now, I let out a mewl of frustration when I tugged at the fabric.
Apparently, he was impatient too. In one swift smooth move, he peeled my shirt over my head and left my arms entangled while his hands slipped into the cups of my bra. I stilled beneath his touch, focused helplessly on nothing except his fingers as they explored and then slowed to play. My still-tangled wrists fell to rest on the top of my head and then the back of my neck when my chin dropped as I watched. Instead of moving his hands away long enough to undo the back clasp, he’d removed each breast from its silky pocket. When his hands finally abandoned this private playground, they landed on my hips, and I felt my back sliding up the cool metal of the fridge. His mouth clamped on one aching tip, sucking, nipping, and bathing it with his tongue. With a thump, my hand freed itself from the shackle of my shirt and slammed against the fridge before burying itself in his shaggy hair. My other hand flicked the garment aside and clamped onto his shoulder, my fingers digging into the muscular flesh. The whimpers of pleasure coming from my throat were soon as much from frustration when he didn’t slow down to give equal attention to the achy twin peak.
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 22