Just like discussing the latest recipe or the new truffle everyone was fighting over because it was so big. Enthusiasm, excitement and sheer expertise. It exhilarated Beverley, made her happy in a way she’d rarely experienced outside a kitchen.
Chick spoke from the door. “I ordered lunch. It’ll be here in twenty. A bunch of stuff, salads, quiches, ham, that kind of thing.”
“And tea,” Zazz said without looking up from the notes he was scrawling in a book. “Did you tell them how to brew it?” He glanced at Beverley then, a sly smile on his fine-cut lips. “The further south you get, the more they surprise you with cold tea. Ever tried it?”
“Yes. I like it, when it’s done properly.”
Zazz grimaced and made a disgusted sound. “Yuk. Evil stuff. Drains your fucking soul.”
Beverley laughed.
They played another hand of cards, and Beverley was crowing over her win when the sound of carts rattled down the hallway. “Thank Christ for that. I thought my stomach was going to stick to my backbone.” Zazz got to his feet. “Coming?”
Jace gripped her hand. “Hey, she came with me. Hungry?”
Beverley realized she was. Still holding hands, they followed the others to the dining room, part of the main suite on this floor.
Where chaos greeted them. Girls, teens by the look of them, plus a few of their male counterparts headed straight for them.
Beverley took one look and yelled, “Run!”
Chapter Nine
The others didn’t need telling twice and they only just made it in time. Thundering feet pursued them, and if it weren’t for the narrow hallway they would have been caught.
Zazz, Riku, Jace, Chick and Beverley found themselves in a bedroom with people pounding on the door, and Beverley recognized her wheeled case sitting in one corner.
Her first reaction was sheer irritation. “What, you’ve paid a fortune for a floor here and nobody’s bothered to unpack for us?” A good thing, as it turned out, because it made for a cleaner getaway.
Chick stood with his back against the door and winced as someone pounded on it.
Beverley made a swift decision. “Okay, everybody except Jace turn your back. Chick, close your eyes and don’t cheat.” She raced across the room and dropped her case on the floor, unzipping it quickly and finding the items she wanted with a sigh of relief. Stripping out of her ordinary jeans, she jammed her legs into the tight pair, and grabbed the T-shirt, the one with all the cute pink and black rock slogans on it. “Help.”
Jace didn’t ask questions, for which she loved him. He tugged on the jeans for her until they reached her hips, which was as high as they were going to get. She lay on the floor and fastened the zipper. “Laugh and I’ll kill you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey. What exactly are you doing here?”
“Distraction.” She grabbed an elastic hair band and swiftly bound her hair into a high ponytail before applying the quickest, dirtiest makeup she’d ever done. She’d applied a light eye shadow and liner that morning before they’d got on the plane, and now she thickened the liner and darkened the eye shadow, smudging it with a none-too careful finger. “Black and smoky,” she said.
“Awful,” Jace said. “Something wrong.”
“It’s not straight and there’s too much of it.” She found a baby-pink lip-gloss and smeared it on. The thumping at the door hadn’t gone away. If anything it was getting louder and Chick’s big body quivered with each pounding. “Jace, give me something from your luggage. Jeans, T-shirt, a souvenir to slow them down. Put it on the bed. Get me the belt from one of the robes in the bathroom.”
When they’d done that, it was time to go on the offensive. “Okay, guys, go. That door over there, not the ensuite. It’s either a closet, or if we’re lucky, a different exit. Take the luggage with you. I don’t want it torn to shreds. Lock the door behind you.”
“It leads to a staff elevator,” Chick said. “If we’re quick, we can make it. Come on.”
“Jesus, if they get my guitar I’m going to kill somebody,” Jace muttered.
“We’ll sue,” Chick said. “But most of the instruments are at the venue. We were doing a sound check later today.”
She glanced at Jace. “I’m not going with you.” She spread her legs and put her hands on her hips. “I’m going outside and I may be some time.”
To her delight, Jace got the reference to Captain Oates, the man who’d sacrificed himself for the good of his companions. He planted a smacking kiss on her lips. “Baby, you are coming back.”
“Too fucking right I am. They don’t know me, unless they saw the pictures from the airport this morning, and I doubt that. Or if that girl in the lift recognizes me, but in this getup, I doubt she will.” She checked her watch. She’d changed and thrown on the extra makeup in three minutes flat. Fuck, there should be an Olympic sport for that. She could go for gold.
The others bolted like rabbits with the hounds of hell after them, but Beverley didn’t have time to laugh. She wished she had a camera phone handy, but she’d jammed it in the pocket of those excruciatingly tight jeans and she couldn’t stop to fish it out. Grabbing one of the two T-shirts Jace had left as sacrifices, she prepared to face the hordes.
Before the lock to the outer door could go completely, she flipped it and opened the door. And squealed.
The high pitch momentarily stopped the crowd outside. Teenage girls rushed in, some wearing T-shirts with the band’s name. “Do you think Jace slept here?” she said, stepping out, brandishing the T-shirt. “This smells of him and there’s things with Jace’s name on. Check the bathroom, there is so much stuff in there!” She forced an American accent, glad Jace couldn’t hear it because he’d have teased her unmercifully.
One of the girls snatched the T-shirt from her and ran inside, followed by a stream of others. There had to be a dozen, maybe a couple more, but she didn’t count. She slammed the door behind them and made a quick slipknot in the robe’s belt, thanking heaven that the hotel used handles and not knobs.
Then she did the same with the handle of the room next door, pulling the belt tight and taking all the elasticity she could out of it. An old trick, and one she’d used as a prank in her childhood. Worked just as well now. A shame hotel rooms were made to unlock from the inside or she could have just locked them in, but this would work long enough to get away.
“Okay, guys!” she yelled up the hallway. “Any fugees from Murder City Ravens this way, but for fuck’s sake, be quick!”
Was it wrong to love this? To enjoy this feeling of accomplishing something, to be in control of a situation? She didn’t know, but that was what had drawn her to her new career, and it seemed that part of it hadn’t died with the loss.
V, her hair mussed and an expression of blind panic on her face, emerged from one of the rooms, a black instrument case in one hand. “I couldn’t leave my sax behind. They found me but they didn’t recognize me,” she panted as she reached Beverley. “Fuck, I almost didn’t recognize you when you yelled, but that Brit accent is hard to ignore.”
“You’d be surprised.”
A couple of other people joined them, roadies they said, and leaving the so-called security guard Rube behind to deal with the mess, they headed on out.
They reconvened in an anonymous bedroom in another part of the hotel, after Beverley had called Chick. While Chick dealt with the furious hotel manager, Beverley booted up her laptop.
“This hasn’t happened before.” The manager glared at them. “How can I expect to run a hotel when this happens? I can’t put up with this. You’ve got to leave.”
“Don’t worry,” Chick said, breaking off for a bare minute to address him with an irritated calm that demonstrated his true anger about this situation. “We’re not staying. But if you try to send us out before we’ve made plans I promise you we will bring every fucking paparazzi on the East Coast down on you.”
“You’re geared for businessmen and minor celebs,” Beverley s
aid to the man, who was clearly set on blaming the rock musicians for the dilemma and not his inadequate security preparations. “As soon as they hit number one, you should have stepped up the security.”
A harassed Chick ran his hand through his hair, tousling the disordered curls even more. “Shit, if I’d thought—but the venue wants to open more of the seats. We’re playing the Philips.”
Jace whistled low. “How the fuck did you work that one?”
Chick grinned, teeth flashing in the glare of the overhead light. “Some fixing. I knew someone and then, when Arshavan’s truck crashed on the way here and they canceled, I knew before anyone else. So we’re in. Our fans will be bussed from the old venue and more seats have gone on sale. Arshavan fans will be offered tickets or their money back. I’m hoping they decide to come. I’m upgrading all the venues for the tour from here on in.” He frowned.
“But I took my eye away from this part, the accommodation.” He sighed. “I have great staff back at the office, but I need somebody onsite. I’ve never needed it before, but you guys are rocketing up every chart you’re eligible for and this tour is getting bigger all the time. I’ll see to it guys, I swear.”
He watched Beverley, fascinated, as her fingers flew over the keys. “That’s it,” she said. “Give me a phone.”
“Shit,” Riku said. “Do you know what a turn-on that is, to see you dressed like a horny teenager and behaving all business efficient?”
Jace growled low in his throat.
The manager stared at them, making the connection Beverley was surprised he hadn’t made already. Big rock stars at his hotel. Yeah, right. Less an inconvenience, more like publicity opportunities, and he was letting it slip through his fingers by getting his mad on. He straightened, cleared his throat. “I’ll make arrangements for more security. I’m sorry this has happened, but I can see it was not your fault.” He spoke stiffly.
“Big of you,” Beverley muttered. She grabbed the phone and dialed the number on the screen. “Hi. This is Beverley Christmas, speaking on behalf of Murder City Ravens. I understand you have rooms booked for Arshavan?”
“How did you know that?” a startled voice exclaimed. A muffled curse from behind him resulted in a different voice at the other end of the line. “I think you must be mistaken.”
“No I’m not,” she said. “They stayed with you on the last tour, and I took a chance they were doing it again.”
Now a curse, not at all muffled, came from Chick and he dragged his mobile phone from its holster at his waist, hitting a number. “Hey, Gavin? How are you, pal? Listen, shame about the gig. Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me. Are you rescheduling?”
So while Beverley dealt with the hotel, Chick spoke to Arshavan’s manager and in ten minutes, between them they’d sorted out the mess. Arshavan’s manager provided the necessary permission to the new hotel to release their rooms to Murder City Ravens, and they were set. Now all they had to do was get out of this hotel.
Jace was seething, boiling with the need to push Beverley against the nearest wall and fuck her rigid. Who’d have thought that a cheesy outfit and a take-no-prisoners attitude would make him so hot so fast?
They got to the new hotel much slower than he wanted, but they had to take precautions, getting out of one place and into another. He wouldn’t travel without her, so they went with V through the kitchens and into an ordinary taxi.
They met up with the others at the new hotel, and the difference was immediately screamingly obvious. Arshavan was a big stadium band, and the hotel had prepared accordingly. More security, more entrances, more restrictions on the floor they were given.
He liked the rooms better, and the hotel was much better geared to celebrities. They came in separately, ushered in through the kitchen or other side entrances. Security staff met them and took them upstairs in service elevators. They were all given keys to the VIP elevators. And the rooms weren’t brown, as they’d been in the last place, but shades of black, white and blue-gray, much more stylish.
Again, they had a whole floor and the manager told them that food waited for them on carts in the main living area. This floor had a main suite with three bedrooms and two two-bedroomed suites on either side of it, as well as more around the corner.
No more waiting.
Jace dragged Beverley into the first room they came to and slammed the door on a startled Chick. “He can sort out the rest,” he said before he fastened his mouth to hers and took her in a frantic kiss. He pulled away, staring down at her face, cupping her head in his hands. “Christ, baby, you scared me, going out like that. They could have killed you.”
She laughed, her eyes sparkling. Her plan had worked and he was so proud of her, but he’d been so fucking scared when he realized what she meant to do. “Take a look at me, Jace. I’m a girl. If you don’t examine me too closely you’d think I was one of them. They were around eighteen, some a bit younger, and excited. They wanted you.”
He kissed her again, making it luscious, tasting her, feeling her caress his tongue with hers. “Fuck, that lip gloss tastes good. Or maybe it’s just you.” He took another taste. “Nope, it’s you for sure.” He didn’t give her another chance to speak, but kissed her again, hard, fast and long.
The T-shirt went next. He didn’t bother trying to take it off. He ripped it off her, and she moaned in delight. Her bra came next, then he got the jeans off her much quicker than she’d put them on. No way was anything getting in the way between him and her sweet pussy. He left the jeans around her ankles and ripped off her panties.
He’d torn the T-shirt because it just came apart in his hands, but he deliberately went for the panties, never intending to pull them down because of her response. She whispered his name and he loved it.
She couldn’t open her legs too wide because of the jean-shackles around her ankles, but he urged her thighs apart and went in. He could smell her, and then he could taste her. Her juices spread over his mouth, his chin. He wanted to bathe in her, immerse himself in her, but this would do fine.
Before he took her clit, he murmured to her, his mouth against her pussy lips. “Ah, you taste so fucking good, Beverley. Lean against that door. You’re gonna need the support.”
“Jace, it’s the outer door, someone could come in—”
Then he dived in, sucking the sweet morsel deep and curving his tongue around it. He gripped her thighs, felt the muscles tense and moved his hands up to her ass, cupping the gorgeous curves, kneading them as he licked and sucked.
He didn’t know who was more turned-on but the wonderful noise she was making told him she’d get there first. He slipped his hands farther up, between her cleft, enjoying her heat, and then down to tease her tiny rosebud. Her noises increased, but she was so tight there he might hurt her if he tried to push even a finger in unlubricated. But he wanted to go there. He wanted to go everywhere, make her his everywhere, obliterate the traces of any other man.
What was with the fucking possessive streak? He never felt that way, had shared women in the past, notably with Matt. But he recalled that when he’d suggested he might like to share the gorgeous V, they’d come the closest to a full-on fight since Matt had sobered up.
Enough. He was enjoying this woman too much. He loved the control, the way he could back off a little, then give a sharp, hard pull and send her right up again. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in, and cried his name. Good. She was forgetting how many people were moving about outside. He wanted her abandoned and concentrated on him.
He left her clit to drive his tongue into her pussy, pointing the tip by curling his tongue again, then lapping her as if he were a cat at a bowl of water. But she tasted much better than water. Apple tart, overlaid with the sweet musk of her inner flavor.
She shivered and he felt her inner muscles contract. Then she came in a glorious flood, soaking herself and him.
He grabbed the torn pieces of T-shirt and roughly wiped his face, but he wanted some of her on him when h
e kissed her lips. With one final kiss on the hard point of her clit, a kiss that sent her quivering again, he got to his feet, unzipping, then grabbing the condom from his pocket. He could get ready faster than most men could strip, and he wasn’t giving her a chance to come down. Taking his sheathed cock in his hand, he guided himself to her and drove inside, not stopping until his balls bathed in her sweet juice.
He wouldn’t let her speak until he’d given her a kiss as deep as the one he’d given her clit, sucking her tongue to remind her what he’d done, humming into her mouth. She whimpered and he withdrew enough to drive back in. He tore his mouth away from hers. “I can’t wait, sweetheart. Come with me now.”
Grabbing her legs, he pulled them apart as far as they could go and drove into her. She had to bend her knees and he drew her up so she could clamp them against his sides, opening her a little more.
Her cries told him she was keeping up, but the compulsion to fuck her hard and fast overtook him. All he could do was try to make sure he didn’t hurt her, because he instinctively knew she wouldn’t like that. He kept a finger on her rosebud, allowing it to slip and caress the sensitive skin as he worked her. They hammered against the door with each stroke, but he couldn’t care less who heard them and she was too far gone to concern herself with that.
She felt so good, so fucking good, and with each deep thrust she cried out, when she could, because he kissed her again. He took her voraciously, greedily, drinking her up, fucking her senseless.
Slapping and pounding, gasping and crying, they created their own music until, with one last shout, he poured everything he had into her. As he was coming, he felt the contractions that told him she was joining him, and he kept going long enough to ensure she screamed his name one last time.
Slowly he let her down, and then made sure he could stand again before lifting her and taking her into the bathroom.
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