The charger was in his luggage at the other hotel. He had a power stick on his keychain for such emergencies. But, as shitty luck would have it, his keys were also in his luggage since he wouldn’t need them until they arrived in L.A.
Reaching out, he dragged the room phone closer and then simply stared at it, lost. Scarlette’s number had never stuck in his memory. He’d never needed it to as he only had to touch whatever sexy picture he’d assigned to her contact icon and seconds later was hearing her sweet voice. He could try to remember, but complicating this was the matter of dialing to get an outside line, and country codes.
When he had been the big dog in Fire Flight, he would have called Ben, no matter the time, and had any inconvenience such as this resolved. He dismissed calling Rattler’s tour manager. The change wasn’t only that he was no longer a mega rock star as had been the case in Fire Flight. The change was in him. Scarlette had made him think about things and as a result, he was no longer as spoiled or as entitled as he’d let himself become over the last few years.
Pulling on his shirt, socks, and shoes, he tried not to worry. Scar had Jimal with her. Whatever the reason she wasn’t here at the room, it wasn’t because she was in trouble. Grabbing up the keycard, he left the room. As he made his way down the hall, he hoped with each step he’d run into her. But he made it all the way to the lobby without seeing her.
Despite the lateness of the hour, the gentleman manning the concierge desk was surprisingly perky and obliged Gage with a cord that fit his phone and an AC adaptor. Glancing around, as if Scar would appear, Gage reluctantly headed back to the elevator. Inside the room, he wasted no time hooking the phone up to an outlet and immediately jabbed at the power button.
At an unseemly snail’s pace, the screen loaded. The almost five a.m. time he already knew, but the digital display jarred him with the reality of how long she’d been gone.
Six missed texts blinked and almost a dozen missed calls. All from Scar.
Without looking at or listening to them, he tapped the icon pic—a close up of cleavage with a silver cross—and then tapped ‘dial.’ A minute later, he ended the call in frustration when he got her voicemail.
Pulling up the texts, he skimmed each.
Scar
What’s the room number?
Sent 3:03 AM
Phone calls and voice mails with cutesy wakeup messages like ‘if you want a bj, wakeup’, faded into weary ‘hey asshole wake up!’ messages. Until the last voicemail, letting him know she was giving up and going to her Rattler accommodations.
“Dammit!” His curse was loud in the empty room.
The champagne had sunk lower in the bucket. Snatching it, he shook the water from the melted ice off and stuffed it back into the box. He dialed Scarlette a couple of more times, leaving a message the last time.
Forty minutes later, he stood before the door to her hotel room, debating whether or not to wake her. The ring of his phone startled him, and he struggled with the bottle box in one hand to silence it.
Scar!
He answered, “I’m outside your room.”
“Here? At the Inns?” She shortened the name of the hotel, and a moment after he affirmed, the door swung open, and she pulled him inside.
Her arms around him were heaven, and as she clung, he apologized for the dead phone. Letting the champagne drop to the closest chair, he wrapped her, returning the hug. She still smelled of open air and music. His lips clamped to hers, and his hands began to explore, finding her wearing a tee shirt and shorts. Tunneling his fingers beneath the hemline of the shorts, he found only bare skin and greedily splayed his hands over a bare butt cheek.
“I’m out of underwear,” she whispered with a nip at his neck.
“You won’t hear me complaining.” He was backing her up as they kissed. Stopping several feet from the bed, he frowned at the shadowy bulk of covers. “Who the fuck is that?”
“Ivy.” She kept her arms around his neck, but slid down his chest and stepped back. “She didn’t have anywhere to go. She was rooming with Colt and…”
“Yeah, yeah.” He got it. In all likelihood, Caroline and Colt were together—in the room Colt had been sharing with Ivy and not in the room Caroline had checked into with Seth.
“I sent her here with my key and tried to reach you from the lobby of the other hotel before giving up and coming here.”
“Yeah.”
“Could you say something besides that? You sound mad.”
“I’m not, Scar darlin’. Just frustrated at how things turn out sometimes.” Transferring the champagne to a table, he sat in the chair and tugged at her hands. “C’mere.”
She straddled his legs, and leaned her face to his. And despite all that had gone down, nothing seemed as perfect as this moment. The friction of her lips against his was heaven. The slide of her tongue to his was bliss. They made out, hands grappling beneath clothing. One of her perfect tits was in his hand, and the fingers of his other hand were curled, dipping into her perfect pussy when he asked, “How hard does she sleep?”
He stifled a groan when she slid another stroke of her hand from the tip of his cock to the base before shrugging. “I’ve no idea.” With her other hand, she pinched one of his nipples. “She could be awake now.”
Damn voyeuristic darling! Fuck, it was sexy. Was she serious? Did she get off on being watched as much as watching? An exhibitionist?
“And if she is awake and listening, this, my dear Ivannah, is payback for the summer I stayed with you, and you did your boyfriend on the floor by the bed I was sleeping in.”
“She did that?” He couldn’t imagine his virginal teenaged sis being subjected to that sort of sleepover.
“She did.” Scarlette giggled into his neck.
“Then paybacks are a must.” He glanced at the bed, but truly, Ivy seemed dead to the world. Peeling Scar’s shirt off, he admired the way the barest bit of light shadowed the lines of her body. His restless tongue sucked the tip of one breast into his mouth, then the other. Her nails bit into his shoulder. Wanting to feel that sweet pain without the barrier of his shirt, he shed the garment. He was licking and lapping, heady on the taste of her tits, and her hand that wasn’t curved around his cock was tangled in his hair when she slid from his legs. With a look toward the bed, she stood.
His eyes followed when she crossed the room and eased the spread from the bed. She wrapped it to her shoulders and it trailed like a royal cape—or a bridal gown—as she returned to him. With a quick fumble of her fingers, her shorts dropped and she stepped from them. When she straddled him again, she used the coverlet as a shroud, tenting the two of them as she eased down, connecting their bodies.
When her hand insinuated between the two of them and squeezed his balls, he groaned.
“Shh…” She reproved with a look toward the bed. But Ivy’s back was still to them and she seemed to sleep soundly.
When Scar squeezed again, he pulled her hair and accused, “You’re doing that on purpose. She smiled, and he retaliated with a rub of his thumb to the little button sure to get the same reaction from her. All the while, neither broke their rhythm of rock.
Her fingers circled his wrist in a desperate tug, and when he caressed her clit one more time, she sank her teeth into his shoulder, smothering her groan and protested, “Stop…”
He wanted to ignore her plea, but didn’t. Obediently, he withdrew his touch but kept his fingers splayed near the action as they moved together. “This is so not fair,” he whispered into her ear. “I wanted to pour champagne over your entire body and lick it off. I wanted to suck it from your pussy―” And with no warning, she came, clenching around him, and clutching at his shoulders. This was all it took for him. Before he could curve a smile of satisfaction because his words had finished her off, his own world was rocking with the force of his climax.
Chapter 43
“Are your legs going to sleep?” I didn’t want to move. I could remain in this chair, lying against Gag
e indefinitely.
And he must have felt that way too. “No. Don’t move.” His fingers massaged my scalp and I relaxed more fully against him. “You feel too good.”
“This whole night feels good.” I agreed. “Well, except whatever is going on with Colt, Caroline, and Ivy.”
“What’s going on? Can you say?”
“Ivy and Colt have been going out. Caroline found out.” Knowing I was only saying what he’d surely already pieced together, I added quietly, “Ivy didn’t know Colt and Caroline were on again off again. Now that she knows, she doesn’t want to be in their way. She and Colt have had their thing going for like a year now. She’s been on tour with him a lot.” For some reason, a laugh bubbled up, “I understand now why she never seemed to be around.”
“Scar, listen. I… Shit, I got mad at you sometimes. I thought you were telling Colt our shit. Sometimes Colt knew stuff about us right after it happened. And I was pissed. I thought you and him were keeping in touch.”
“No!” I realized what was going on. “I was telling Ivy.”
“I know.” He blew out a miserable breath. “Fuck. That’s why I didn’t call you that night. When we had the fight in Utah. I knew I’d fucked up with the things I said and accused you of, letting you go like that. But then Colt called that night, and I thought you’d called him.”
“We’re way past this. Right? Wa-ay past. I don’t want to think about it anymore. Especially not tonight.”
“You were amazing tonight. Hot. You melted their faces off.”
“Thanks.” The praise coming from Gage meant even more than the thousands of shrieks and whistles swirling the stage earlier. “I liked it. So much.”
“You were meant for music. It’s your true calling.”
“Yeah. I can feel it. Everything felt right up there, you know? Of course you know…” I searched the shadowy, gray-dawn planes of his face. “When did you know music was your true calling?”
The tips of his callused fingers tickled my chest, caressing this way and that, and his smile seemed far away. “In a dive bar with all of fifty people rocking out while I played a solo.”
Curving my fingers around his wrist, I lifted his hand to my lips, kissing the fingers that could create magical melodies or cause my toes curl when working their magic on my body. Sure, his fame had come at a young age because of his connections. But he’d also put in the grueling years on Sunset and in bars up and down the coast, same as many other bands who either rose or fell.
“I cheated didn’t I?” Hell, I’d never even been in a school play or talent show. Until hours ago, I’d never sung in front of anyone except the few in Colt’s home studio during the documentary filming and again in the Jewelstone studio during my session. “No wonder one of those guys called me a bitch.”
“Called you a bitch? Who?” he demanded, and I told him what had happened while I was waiting to go onstage. When he didn’t say anything more and sat in stony silence, I scraped a nail down the scruffy roughness of his jaw. “Don’t do anything. This time tonight, we’ll be home. We’ll both be done with Rattler if we want to be.”
“Are you going to tell Jax Landon was using?”
“I don’t know.” The realization of Landon using cocaine stayed fresh in my mind despite my best efforts to banish that scene. I hated the dilemma and was furious with Landon for causing it for me. Landon (and Gage too) had signed a no drug agreement with Jewelstone—the one exception being medicinal marijuana. If I reported his drug use, Landon could be thrown out of the band. What I hadn’t told Gage was the drummer had even had the balls to ask me if I could mix up something to purge his system in case of a drug test directly after tour. “I’ve been thinking. And I think it comes down to what my main role on this tour actually was. Babysitter and spy to tattle back to Jax? Or nutritionist and dietitian, which is what I gave my best to being? I was so afraid Jax was going to ask tonight. But thank goodness, he dropped the champagne off and left.”
“Because tonight was about you.” Gage’s arms tightened in one of those snake-like squeezes that robbed my breath.
Chapter 44
As he said it, he knew with a certainty that it was true. Scar was inexperienced in the industry. But he’d learned the little nuances. And without a doubt, Jax had flown halfway around the world to view Scarlette Rose’s stage charisma—not to deliver a congratulatory bottle of Champagne Rose. And Scarlette had melted not only her audience’s face off, but also that of her label exec.
He predicted Jax would give her a month to wind down, and then he’d hit Scarlette up with plans for a ‘Scarlette Rose’ album.
He was losing her.
She’d spend long hours in sessions. Then would come photo shoots and videos. All the while, plans for the first tour leg would be orchestrating behind the scenes. And then she’d be thousands of miles away for months at a time.
He was losing her.
And maybe it was a good thing it was happening before they even found their way back to that sweet love that had barely bloomed before he’d burned it with his jealousy and suspicions.
Scar was meant for greatness. And he wouldn’t hold her back from her calling, intentionally or unintentionally.
Still, in the meantime, he wanted to soak up what time he could get.
“We leaving at nine?” He maneuvered enough to slip his phone from his jeans pocket, noting the blinking battery. One percent as he hadn’t let it charge more than a few minutes earlier.
“The flight is at nine. We leave at seven.” She moved with reluctance, sliding from his lap.
“Just over an hour from now.” Gage groaned. “I don’t even have my room key. I’ve gotta go downstairs.” He had to shower and change into clean clothing, and make sure his luggage was loaded up.
It was midflight when he noticed Scarlette texting on her phone. So he sent her one.
Want to share a ride?
Sent 4:32 PM
He watched as she read and typed out a text.
Scar
I just called a car.
4:33 PM
Cancel it.
Sent 4:33 PM
We can order Pace.
Sent 4:34 PM
She hesitated, her head remaining bent, perhaps studying the screen while she made up her mind.
Bleep. His phone vibrated.
Scar
Sure.
4:37 PM
LAX rapidly became a nightmare. The resident paparazzi who routinely staked out the arrival terminal descended on Scar. This drew the attention of everyone around, many who recognized her, and several who moved in with phone cameras, hoping to steal a piece of her soul for themselves.
Drawing on his past experience, he watched for openings and tried to herd her through. Their tour manager, bless him, rose to the occasion, doing his best to deflect. A perverse part of him hoped that in their wake, Rattler was having a much easier time—and hating it.
Airport security was fast, emerging from all corners. Gage maneuvered enough to step in front of her, guarding her as best he could from any clear photos, as they burst through the doors to the pick-up area. A scan of the waiting vehicles sent a jolt of panic through him when he didn’t see one of his. The day quickly got worse when Allison moved into his peripheral vision and pulled at his arm. “This way.”
A look at Scar found her mortified as she realized it was Allison, and he knew his face reflected that very emotion. Feeling the camera clicks, he stopped himself from reaching for Scar’s hand in the same way he’d seen Allison stay herself from body slamming him with an enthusiastic hug. Instead, he cocked his head to Scar. “This way.”
“No. I…” Her trembling hand emerged from the pocket of her slinky, body-molding cardigan with her cell phone. “I can call the car back.”
“No. You can’t. Look around you. You need to get the hell outta here.” He kept his voice low, ever aware of mics that could detect the slightest sound. “Now. Seriously. C’mon.”
The part of
Allison he’d actually in some small way fallen for, rose to the severity of the circumstance. “Girlfriend! How was the trip?” Stretching her arm out, she grabbed at Scarlette’s rolling bag. “Let me get this for you.”
Scarlette was possibly too surprised by the ‘girlfriend’ act to hold on to her bag, and was forced to hustle along behind it or make a scene in front of the many camera eyes in trying to get it back.
Allison circled to the driver’s side of her Lexus and the locks released with a click. He opened the back door, and Scarlett, resigned to her fate, actually bolted in. Resolutely, he closed her away from any more pictures and tossed his carryon onto the front floorboard. Since Scarlette was directly behind his seat, he didn’t ease it back and awkwardly straddled the bag between his feet. Allison stowed Scarlette’s luggage in the backseat with Scarlette from the other side, and less than a minute later, they were pulling away from the circus.
“Where’s Logan?” He voiced the question, but was already pulling out his phone and considering firing his longtime assistant over this lapse.
“What? No ‘thank you, Allison?’” Her retort was automatic, but she glanced from the road to him, and he saw understanding in her eyes. Seeing Scarlette had her realizing she’d overstepped the boundaries of their previous relationship.
“Thank you, Allison.” He wasn’t a total dick. “Now where’s the guy I pay to do the crappy stuff like come to LAX?”
“I missed you. Thought we could talk. When I texted Logan to see when you were getting in, well, it just turned into this. Me instead of him.” There was a hint of apology in her voice. “So, where to? To your house?”
Scarlette piped up from the back. “My exit is fifty-two. If you don’t mind.”
He wanted to overrule her, but he stayed quiet, wondering if Logan had picked them up, where they would have ended up. Her house. Or his?
When the car slowed to a stop in front of Scarlette’s duplex, he jumped out with the intention of assisting with her luggage and walking her to the door. Hell, the asshole part of him wanted to wave to Allison and say ‘thanks for the ride’ and then follow Scarlette in and bang her until they were both comatose.
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 25