“I don’t know, darlin’. There would be a lot of things that matter. Like where the drone was when it got that clip. But since the laws are really blurry right now, they think it’s worth a try.”
“Have you had any reaction from your label about it?” Her voice was breathy and scuffling noises bled through the phone.
“Not from the label. But Colt said they’re trying to figure out the best way to spin it.” Another thud from her side. He picked at the sticker on his water bottle and joked, “Not even in the band and still giving them hell.”
“Good. Screw them. Karma’s a bitch.” Something scraped, and she spoke over it.
He loved it when she talked like that. Loved her more for taking his side when he had brought his problems on himself. Loved her again seconds later when being the sweet, fair person she was, she retracted her vicious outburst.
“Shit. I shouldn’t say that. I don’t wish bad on Colt and the rest. Just the talking heads.” Another bump.
“What’re you doing?”
“Housekeeping brought down some stuff that was stored in the apartment. I didn’t even know there was an apartment. Any other secret rooms in this house you want to tell me about?”
A chuckle vibrated his throat. “Nope. I want to keep them all secret. I may need to hide you away one day.” Now that they were past the stressful subject, he kicked out his feet and settled more comfortably in the cushy chair he’d commandeered. “You knew though,” he insisted of the roomy apartment over the garage. Remember, you asked about the windows that day when we were pulling in the garage.”
“And you said storage. Not two-bedroom apartment with a gym off of it.” A smile sounded in her retort. “About the storage, I just stacked the boxes in your hookup room.”
“It’s not a hookup room.”
“No? ’Cause a box of this many condoms could only belong in―”
“Scar…” He knew she was playing with him, but there were times he didn’t want to remember life before her, and this was one of them.
“Okay. Sorry. I was just messing with you. I miss you here. Seeing that frown between your eyes when you get all huffy like this…”
“And I miss shutting you up.”
“Mmh hmm. How do you like shutting me up best? With your tongue in my mouth, or your―”
“Damn, I’m not where I can have this conversation…” He eyed his fellow rehabbers. At this time, he could only use his phone while in the common room.
“You could just listen. And I could whisper dirty things―”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Fine.” The scuffling and dragging noises resumed. “So what’s happening there?”
“This evening’s entertainment choices are an action packed game of spades, a gazillion piece puzzle…” He let his eyes drift around the room again and blew out a bored breath. “Or TV in my room.”
“What about swimming?”
“Pool is closed for the night. The cleaner thing floats in it. I went trail riding earlier.”
“As in horses?”
“Yeah.” The throb of his sore butt had been all but gone until he thought about it again. Now he shifted in the overstuffed chair. “Logan get you registered for your classes?”
“Mmh, hmm. I start day after tomorrow. Listen, about that. The security—his name is Mike—he’s just driving me, right? Because he thinks he’s going with me to classes.”
“He is. Where you go, he goes.”
“No. Not to classes. There’s no place for him to be. He’d stick out and everyone would know―”
“Everyone needs to know. That’s what he’s there for. Deterrent is a big part of protection.”
“No! I’ve done everything you said. I agreed to him moving into the apartment over the garage, as weird as it is to have someone here. So let me have my say in this. He can drive me and pick me up―”
“And go anywhere you go. End of discussion.” The phone was so quiet, he believed she might have hung up. “Scar?”
“What?”
“Please?” Her light breaths barely reached his ears, and closing his eyes, he imagined the angry flecks of gray that appeared in her eyes like storm clouds in a blue sky. “We don’t know what’s going to happen yet. You’re all over the internet with everything that’s going on. So you’ve got the possibility of paparazzi, the public, and who knows what crazies that video will bring out. I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much if the bodyguard is always with you.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, he breathed the vow into the phone and soaked the sound into his soul when she repeated it. “You gonna be able to sleep?” Although the trust had become hers the day of her birthday, she was signing the documents the next morning. It eased his mind to know it would be done at his house, and his father would be there with her. Afterward, she was flying to New York for her last scheduled talk show appearance.
“Probably not.” A laugh accompanied that honest answer, and on his end, he smiled along with her. “I’m going to try though. A long bath and a big glass of wine. You been sleeping okay?”
“Usually. But tonight I’m sure I’ll be awake all night. Thinking of you in a bath.” His flirtation came natural, but the truth was different.
Gnawing at the inside of his lip, he considered the last few times he’d tried solo in the shower. His horror when nothing happened. He’d since learned some of the temporary natural supplements in his daily regimen to boost certain hormonal and chemical levels enough that his body didn’t crave outside chemicals were the cause of getting up to the plate and not being able to swing.
“You sure you don’t want to see if we fuck on the phone as good as everywhere else? ’Cause I could be in a bath in ten seconds.” The longing in her voice was unmistakable.
This was his woman. It didn’t matter whether he could or couldn’t perform on his end. The distance between them was his fault, and she continually made the best of it in the calls and texts that flew between them.
“Draw the water.” His growl was guttural, wrought with emotion. That was another thing. Lately, he was an unwilling rider on a sensitivity seesaw. This, according to the medical staff, was a side effect of the herbal combination he was ingesting.
He found privacy outside in a shadowy corner on the upper terrace. Shivering in the cold desert night, he fed her the hot words she wanted to hear. Even without his body in sync with his mind, his starved ears soaked up every whimper and moan, every hitch of her breath as she chased her climax. When her breathing leveled, he faked his intention to head to his room and shower pronto. But the second the call disconnected, he realized the uncomfortable fit of his jeans.
Under ten minutes later, he stood beneath the spray of a shower nozzle. The shower curtain gapped enough to put his tablet, propped behind the sink fixture in his direct line of vision. The full frontal view of Scar was slightly pixelated due to the extreme magnification of the video frame, but anything he couldn’t see clearly was imprinted in a hundred memories in high resolution. Swollen in his hand, his cock throbbed for release, and then…
Ah, shit, yeah…
He was back!
Collapsed on his forearms against the wall of the shower stall, he caught his breath and waited to feel his legs. The video ended and then automatically began to replay. Stretching an arm through the curtain, he stopped it, and as he soaped up, his fury grew.
She was rock royalty—a rock ’n roll princess. To have her bare body—as perfect as it was—on display for the entire world to view was a disrespect he couldn’t abide. Personally, it tapped into something deeper. A possessiveness he’d never felt. An unwillingness to share something that should be for his eyes only.
Chapter 6
“Ms. Conterra? Just checking if you need anything?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“You’re on in ten minutes. I’ll send for you then.
Scarlette nodded, maintaining her po
ise, but the second the gentleman left her alone, she wound her arms around her body to ward off the sudden chill. Shock. It was fine. She would be fine. It was only the waiting. Her eyes roved the ‘green room.’
Straightening from the couch, she paced, stopping once to swipe one of the mini bottles of water from a tray. After wetting her throat, she capped it and set it down. It was fine. She would be fine. She glanced at the door to the restroom, wondering if she had time. She’d already had one nervous pee, but she hurried through another.
The second she emerged, her escort arrived. Her legs shook, but somehow managed to carry her through a small maze of narrow hallways. It was fine. She would be fine. After several of these talk shows, she was a pro. Right?
She tripped and caught herself on the wall. Her escort had been a couple of steps in front of her, leading, but now he paused and fell into step beside her. The double doors were just ahead. The light above them flashed from red to green. A woman was stationed at the door, and she smiled at their approach. She and the gentleman each held one door open wide, and Scarlette passed through. Only from prior experience did she keep from squinting in the stage lights.
“Scarlette Conterra, ladies and gentlemen!”
A splatter of enthusiastic applause greeted her. She counted the steps. One. Two. Three. One eye on the guest chair and one eye on the show’s host. She was fine. It was fine.
And then it wasn’t…
A catcall hooted amid the applause. And then another. A whistle.
Something told her this wasn’t a reaction provoked by her skinny jeans and modest blouse. Her face was on fire, but she put her hand out to her host. They shook and then she lowered herself to the seat closest to his desk as they had run through in the green room.
The applause and whistles died down and she concentrated to hear the host over her pounding heart. After the pleasantries were exchanged, the conversation drifted to her life during the time she’d dropped from the Hollywood grid.
“Belize? Do you like it there?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful. And everyone’s friendly. A great place to live.” She refrained from mentioning that she had just moved the rest of her belongings to L.A. within the last week.
“And you’re…” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You’re about to graduate college.”
“Yes. I’ve got a few courses to wrap up.”
“Uh, huh. Medicine then?”
“Yes.” She chewed the inside of her lip, unwilling to open the allopathic dialogue, which only a fraction of the population seemed to embrace. She was proud of her studies. However, since she was already being tagged as another dumb, rich bimbo with a sex tape out, it was not the time to be even more of a hipster. “I’ll have my B.S. in nursing.”
“That’s wonderful. So many people look at a face like yours—and everything—and don’t see beyond that. Women like you are proof of beauty and brains.”
The remark seemed sexist, and she gnawed her inner lip again while curving a tight smile. “As opposed to what? Ugly men who are stupid?”
His look sharpened on her face, understanding completely her game, and his amused smile and slight shake of his head seemed genuine. With a twist of his chin, he took in the audience and elicited a round of laughter.
As if the stage was a giant chessboard and they were the pieces, he cunningly played his next move. “So you’ve had some excitement lately.”
“Yes!” Ignoring the cat and mouse atmosphere, she attempted to segue into the documentary—the reason she was on the show. “My first red carpet event.” That she could remember.
A photo fluttered through her mind. Her dad carrying a baby. Her mother beside him. A backdrop behind them. Red carpet beneath their feet.
“The documentary… I was at the premiere. The piece is truly a work of art.” He lifted a DVD case from the desktop and then discarded it for the moment. “But you’ve had your own movie recently.”
Her head seemed heavy and fell to the side as she regarded him. Was he really going there? Even after she’d done her damndest to thwart the subject?
When she didn’t speak right away because she was too busy weighing her words, he went on with a chuckle and a glance at their audience. “It’s a work of art too.”
Laughter erupted as spontaneously as if a prompt sign had flashed, but she was betting it hadn’t. This particular host was known for his humor and expressive face.
“Well, I guess someone would have to watch to know.” Deciding to roll with it, she pulled her own playful expression and looked from him to the studio audience, including those on the balcony. “But whether it is or isn’t, it’s been stressful. And the timing is unfortunate. It’s taking focus off the documentary, you know?”
“You shouldn’t stress. It is art. And you can’t say that about just anyone’s… um home movie.”
“Well, thank you, I think.” Her neck heated, spreading to her face again. “But I can’t believe you’re going to sit right there across from the person in the video and admit to watching it.”
“I could say I didn’t watch. But everyone would know better.” He gestured into the studio audience. “Is there anyone who hasn’t watched? I dare you to deny. Because face it. This may be better than Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t have the rack.” She countered, but kept her gaze demurely on the cables and cords lining the stage floor. “But anyway, enough about that movie.”
“You’re too modest. Your rack is stacked. And your… costar can certainly compete with Tommy Lee.”
“Who raised you?” She retorted, settling back in the chair with a false air of leisure when she wanted to jump and run. Especially when the shock wore off in the next second and the reality set in.
First, she was mortified the conversation had taken this turn. She should have foreseen the possibility. This host had annihilated Paris Hilton and Lindsey Lohan and had put many A-List celebrities in this same hot seat. Second, she was terrified. If he was being this relentless about such a delicate subject, he could take the next leap at any moment to her and Gage’s step-relationship.
“Don’t talk about my mother.” His quip was joking and flippant, but he fidgeted, picking his notecards up, stacking them, and putting them down. “She can’t help if she raised a black sheep.”
The audience laughed as they were meant to, and although she wasn’t feeling it, she did too. As if everything was cool. But she was affronted. Embarrassed. And livid.
“Okay. I’m just playing. And you’re being a good sport.” He looked from her to his captive audience and encouraged their participation. “Isn’t she? She’s delightful, isn’t she?” Applause. “So for anyone who doesn’t know who this lovely young woman is… Scarlette Conterra is Tyler Conterra’s daughter. And the movie she’s here to talk about…” Deliberately, a showman, he trailed off long enough to cue laughter and more catcalls before holding his hand up. “Is ‘Conterra Chronicled.’ This is a documentary of Rock Icon Tyler Conterra. As I mentioned, I had the privilege of being at the premiere. Very moving film. This is the brainchild of Willard Acker. What did you think of him?”
“He’s brilliant.” Again, she shoveled the shit aside—like the hard feelings she harbored for the documentary content that she’d barely stopped in time—and instead she concentrated on the end result and the small amount of time she’d watched and been impressed by his work.
“His previous documentaries have won awards, and I have to say, this might be his best work yet. The cinematography is amazing, and the soundtrack brilliantly pulls it all together. Some of it is unreleased tracks?”
“Yes. They’re actually holding back on the soundtrack because the unreleased recordings will be on an album coming out later this year as well as the soundtrack.”
“Has your father’s band’s music always been a part of your life?”
“Yes. I love their songs.”
“You’re in good company. It’s transcended decade
s, hasn’t it?” When she nodded, he went on. “The interviews in the film are extremely moving. The questions and answers are very candid.”
She nodded. “He—Mr. Acker—did reach in, grab the gut, and twist with many of the subjects.”
“Would you indulge a couple of more questions?” At her nod, he shuffled his cards again. “When did you know who your father was? What age did someone sit you down and say, hey, this man was your father. Or was it a surprise realization?”
“It was definitely one of those cartoon-light-bulb-flashing-on moments.”
“Do you mind sharing?”
“We were living in L.A. My mom had a boyfriend. This particular one came around anytime he was off-tour.” She paused remembering how he would show up and hang around for a bit and then be gone for a bit. And being shuffled off to her maternal grandmother who was still alive at the time when her mom joined him on tour for a week or more at a time. Both scenarios were common with man after man in her mother’s love life. “I was around six or seven, I guess. My mom and I were watching a concert on one of the music stations. He sat down on the couch with us, and I remember wondering what his problem was, because he was being such a—so moody. He finally lost it and demanded she change the station. And my mother said, quote, ‘No. Scarlette wants to watch her daddy.’”
“And that’s when you knew. You understood?”
“I asked her a lot of questions in the days to come, but yes. I felt the connection the second she said it. Like a missing piece had suddenly completed me.”
“In the documentary, you play your father’s guitar. What’s your interest in music? Have you ever wanted to go that direction as a career?”
“The life of a musician is a dark ride. A lot of stress and uncertainty. I’m more of a stable-schedule-each-day-for-the-next-year type of girl.”
“When you watched the documentary, was it emotional for you? Or were you too young to associate those scenes with your life? What feelings did you have?”
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 32