V glanced his way as Air’s head slowly protruded from a cubby in the center. The lead singer grinned. “Christmas party. Come over.”
He glanced to the coach section. V’s and Jay’s assistants moved forward, bleary-eyed but grinning. His thoughts went to Kendel, which irritated him. Why did he think of her so often?
As he stepped from his seat, Jay went to the flight attendant’s station and handed one of the women a CD. She smirked than put it in the announcements console near the exit door. A Rolling Stones tune brought the airplane’s speakers to life. Unable to help it, Burn smiled. He couldn’t resist great music.
The flight’s relief pilot roused while the attendants distributed champagne flutes and began pouring bubbly. Smiling, he signaled an attendant to bring him coffee.
“Have a drink,” Air said to the pilot. “It’s a party. Have some fun.”
“Can’t,” said the man, accepting a steaming cup. “I’m flying in a few hours. But don’t let me stop you.”
“Sod that!” V did a spinning jump, his head hitting the ceiling. Holding the top of his head, he laughed loudly and gave Justina a shove. “If he can’t drink, make sure he has a good time.”
Burn shook his head as the groupie began stalking the poor pilot. Her sly grin promised all manner of debauched activities. He chuckled when the man appeared frightened and backed into the low wall of a compartment. Unless he had a will of steel, the pilot would be at the girl’s mercy for at least the next hour.
Marty passed on her way to Dan, and Burn took her arm. “How’s Kendel?”
She shot him an irritated glance. “Asleep. She’s been through hell. Why don’t you leave her alone for a change?”
Leave her alone? Anger sent his temperature climbing. She worked for him. Why should he leave her alone? But glaring at his flat mate’s aide, he released her arm and did as she suggested. He accepted a glass of champagne and went to talk with Jay about how their trip had gone. Last night’s concert had been the best they’d given in over a year.
The champagne flowed, and soon, cocktails and snacks made their way into people’s hands. Everyone but Kendel had come forward to join the party. His bladder protesting, he declined a shot of whiskey and glanced at the first class bathroom’s indicator light. It showed occupied. Wading through people in the crowded aisle, he went and used a bathroom in the middle section.
As he exited then stood to adjust his jeans, a stifled squeal came from the abandoned common seating. He smiled, wondering who’d gotten drunk enough this early to go at it back there.
“That gob’s got to be amazing at BJ. How about it, Ginger? Open up. I won’t tell Burn if you don’t.”
Realization slammed him upside the head. He stepped past the section divider and found V in the center, slightly bent and fumbling one-handed with his belt buckle. “Who’s there?”
V startled, his mouth forming an O. He gave his head a swift shake. “Only having a bit of fun, mate. Go back to the party.”
The squeal sounded again, and a small fist pounded the singer’s shoulder.
Burn took three anxious steps down the aisle. “Who do you have there?”
V staggered, straightened, and then nearly fell into the opposite aisle.
“Burn! Thank God.” Kendel appeared. Turning on his band mate, she kicked his leg and shouted, “You ass-wipe! Don’t ever touch me again!”
Burn reached her, his heart pounding and rage driving him to send his fist into his friend’s face. He scrambled around her, over seats and her pillow, to get to V.
“She was only playing hard to get,” whined V, stumbling backward on a pronounced limp toward first class.
Kendel gasped. “I promise that if you ever try to put your dick in my mouth, I’ll bite it off!”
His friend violently jerked then nearly tumbled. “Jesus!”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Burn ground through clenched teeth as he leapt to the aisle.
“I’m going. I’m going,” V held up a hand then spun and careened into a group at the party.
“God, are you okay?” Burn asked, going to Kendel.
“I’m shaking.” She held out her hands.
He took her bruised, still slightly swollen one. “This looks awful. You really have had the worst day. What happened? What did he do?”
“I was sleeping. I woke to V standing over me. He said he’s been jealous that you get my mouth all to yourself and that he wanted me to taste him so I could see he was better. I was going to scream, but he covered my mouth with his hand. I tried to bite him. I really did.”
“I’m so sorry about him.” A hot stone settled in his stomach. “I’ve never known V to do anything like this.”
She stared at her injured hand cradled in his. “He’s really drunk. I would’ve fought harder, but this hand’s a mess.”
“Of course.” He led her to the tail section where the lights remained low. “Though I believe he’s more than pissed. Knowing him, he’s high, too.”
“He’s stronger than he looks,” she said in a quiet voice. Her hand quaked.
He reduced the speaker volume at the back then urged her into a seat along the rear wall. He sat beside her, refusing to let go of her hand. She had sparked his protective instinct, creating an overwhelming need in him to hold her.
Fighting it, he said, “You were very brave.”
“People need to stop saying that.” Her voice wobbled. “I was so scared.”
“That’s bravery. Fighting when you’re scared. Not letting fear get the better of you.” Something softened in him. It terrified him. Gently setting her hand on her thigh, he stood. “Are you hungry? Something to nibble, perhaps? They’re having a do. Would you like me to bring you a drink? Something to calm your nerves?”
Her large eyes considered him a long moment then narrowed. “I think I prefer you angry.”
Taken aback, he gave his head a shake. “How am I being?”
“You’re jumpy and chirpy like a nervous bird. I’m a wreck, and you’re not helping.”
“Chirpy, am I?” He glanced toward the front. “Okay, so maybe going in search of a flight attendant isn’t a good idea. One look at V and I’m likely to rip off his head.”
She sighed. “Much better. Thank you.”
“Don’t be so conceited. I’m not riled for your sake.”
“All the same, it helps.”
Even in the sparse lighting, he could discern her pallor. She may have kicked and shouted at V, but she wasn’t handling the attack’s aftermath well. They both needed a drink.
He went to the closest station and began searching. He found cold beers. Not stiff enough. More rummaging earned him a handful of tiny vodka bottles and a couple of plastic cups.
“How are you doing?” he asked, sinking into the seat next to her.
She leaned on his shoulder with a sigh.
“That well? Here. Have a drink. You need one.” He emptied two bottles into a cup and handed it to her. After stuffing the empty glass into the pouch on the seatback in front of him, he poured the remaining three into his own cup.
“Maybe Marty’s right,” she said then had a sip. A hiss erupted from her. “That burns.”
“Yeh. Drink more.” He used his index finger to tip her cup to her lips. V had been right about something. She did have a bloody fantastic mouth. “What was Marty right about?”
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this job.”
“Bollocks. You’ve done a cracking job, considering. I might say you could curb your temper, but that would be total crap. You put up with my shit, which says a lot. And the fact that you socked that wanker in the nose won you points with everybody.”
“Including you?” Her cheek still on his shoulder, she glanced up at him with her huge, gorgeous eyes.
Reluctantly, he admitted, “Including me. So you’ve no need to have a strop on.”
“A what?”
“A strop— A bloody sulk. God.” He downed a mouthful of vodka.
She chuckled, and the sound relieved him more than he cared to admit.
* * *
Setting aside her drink, Kendel sat up and studied Burn. He’d had a lot to drink. She could tell by his slow blinks and the way he’d slipped into heavy British slang. He’d been right about the booze. It had relaxed her.
“Come here,” he said, stretching an arm toward her.
V had appeared this drunk, and he’d tried to mouth-rape her. It occurred to her that she didn’t know these guys well enough. Shaking her head, she eyed him.
“Damn it, Kendel, come here. I want to hold you.”
“Why?”
“Because you fucking scared the hell out of me.”
“Me?”
“Okay, V. But I was scared for you. Now come here. I need you close so I can know for certain that you’re well and unharmed.”
She smiled. The man had a sweet streak, and it caught her off guard. It didn’t help that Burn was heart-stuttering handsome. She should never have given him a haircut. For some reason, it made his shoulders appear broader, his chest thicker, and his features more angular.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re my boss. It’s not appropriate.”
“Appropriate,” he said quietly. “Appropriate like sleeping next to me in your bed, or cuddling me during the last flight, or stripping to your knickers in my hotel room.”
“We’ve crossed the line too many times,” she said softly, lowering her gaze as she got lost in the memory of his kiss.
“Get used to it.” He felt around the armrest between them.
“I don’t think these retract.”
“Hard lines then. You’ll simply have to sit on my lap.” He met her gaze, deadly serious.
“Hard lines?”
“Don’t you understand anything? Hard lines. Bad luck. Now get over here.”
“I’m not sitting on your lap.” Her stomach flipped at the idea, so she took her drink and swallowed half.
“I’m going to have my way. I always do,” he said darkly.
“Not with me, you don’t.”
He stood and began to sit in her seat. “Budge up.”
When she realized he meant to actually attempt to squeeze in, she slid out to avoid getting crushed. “Have you lost your mind?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.” He grasped her by the waist and pulled her sideways onto his thighs.
When she pushed against his chest, pain stabbed her injured hand. She grasped her wrist and shut her eyes in agony.
“See what happens when you fight me?” He put long fingers to the side of her head and drew her to him. “It may be broken.”
“It’s not broken.” Relaxing, she placed her hands in her lap and soaked in his strength. “Why do I trust you? You’re as drunk as V. What if you want to hurt me, too?”
“I don’t know why you trust me. I’ve been an enormous, bloody prick. But I’m not going to hurt you. And in all fairness, I don’t believe V meant to, either. I think he was hoping to have a bit of fun but went about it wrong.”
“That’s for sure.” She listened to his heartbeat and breathing, letting it soothe her for a full minute. “Why did you kiss me?”
Instantly, she tensed, regretting asking. She hadn’t meant to, but the words came flying out unbidden.
“I thought we were pretending it didn’t happen,” he said, his voice husky.
“We are. Forget I asked.”
“Too late. I kissed you because I needed to. Because you seemed to forget you were mine when you chatted up that Korean guy.”
She wanted irritation and anger to protect her. To raise her armor. Instead, only a sort of sad disappointment spread a heaviness across her breastbone. “I’m not yours, Burn.”
“Aren’t you?” He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face until her eyes met his. In his dark depths, unmistakable desire glinted.
The heaviness shifted from her chest to her belly. She whispered, “I’m not.”
Chapter Fifteen
How had Burn gone from protective to possessive? Before he could kiss Kendel, he released her chin. He would drown in her blue eyes. Without a doubt, if he kissed her now, he wouldn’t stop. Her hand had trauma and V had tormented her. She didn’t need him losing his already tentative control.
And when had he begun thinking of her as his? It hadn’t been the pizza she made, though he suspected that had started him realizing she differed from every other PA he’d ever hired. Had it been the night before they left, when she’d slept curled against his side in her bed? Maybe it had happened when he’d held her those long, comfortable hours on the way to Korea. Or when she’d somehow known to carry chocolate in her pocket and iced those water bottles during their first concert.
When she’d smashed that photographer then warned him someone on the staff acted as informer to that paparazzi scum, however, he began to suspect he might actually have an assistant he could trust. A woman he could trust.
He’d handle it better if she were a middle-aged, heavyset woman who wore hooded sweatshirts and baggy jeans like Air’s and Jay’s aides. Damn Kendel for looking as beautiful as any model who’d ever graced his arm. Better, in fact, because she didn’t need makeup or curlers. She had a natural loveliness that arrested his breath, especially when he did or said something that piqued her ire. The way her lips and cheeks pinked. The way blue fire shot from her eyes. She was stunning.
Wrapping his arms around her, he buried his nose in her hair. He’d never known a woman he wanted so close all the time. He’d hated when past girlfriends had hung on him or tried to snuggle. He’d needed his space. He missed Kendel, however. He liked her near. The closer the better. It occurred to him he’d been so on edge at the album signing because she had worked the waiting line so far away. He’d wanted her beside him. Draped on him. Hell, in his lap like this.
Closing his eyes, he gently hugged her. “Why aren’t you mine?”
“Because you hate women. You hate me.”
He grimaced. “I don’t hate you. Not anymore.”
She said nothing for a while. “How hard was that to say?”
He smiled a little. “A bit like yanking my heart out by the aorta, actually. But for you, worth it.”
She pulled away, leaving him cold where her warmth had comforted him. “Really?”
* * *
Burn smiled all the way to his eyes, and Kendel’s lungs seized. He was so beautiful that the sight of him like this broke her heart a little. She couldn’t fall for him.
His smile dissolved. “You suddenly look like you’ve lost your best friend. What’s wrong?”
“You love to travel. The constant moving. Don’t you?” She flattened her healthy hand on his hard chest.
“Sure. That’s why we love the tour. There’s always another city. Another hotel room. Another chance to avoid the commitment that requires slowing down. Isn’t that why you took this job?”
It was exactly why. Who was she to criticize him for his choice? Inside, she withered some, though. He’d stolen his way into her affection, and he’d begun to speak and behave in the way of a man working to win her love. But she couldn’t.
She nestled against him and closed her eyes. “This job is only for the experience so when I make the commitment that requires slowing down, as you put it, I won’t have any regrets. I want an office job and a house in the suburbs.”
“You’ve said,” he said quietly, his hands folded at her waist. “I don’t believe it. Not based on what I’ve seen of you this week. You’re an adventuress, Kendel. You’re fierce, and I think you should live in your ferocity. This spark in you would die if you surrendered to the mundane.”
“It’s not mundane, Burn. It’s a steady life where my children could make and keep friends. Where they’d have a real home with security. Where they could complete whole school years at the same school, enjoy their summers, and return to school with the same friends and teachers. Am I wrong to want for my future what I nev
er got in my past but wanted so much?” She tried to shrug away a depression that always came at the memory of her mother’s hardships and her own loneliness.
“I can’t say. It seems to me you’ve planned a life that only benefits children you don’t even have. You don’t take yourself much into account. Children don’t stay, you know. They grow up and move out. Then what will you have? A house you bought for people who don’t live there? An old dog trapped in a backyard where nobody goes except to trim the grass? A job you hate because it afforded security?”
“You paint a bleak picture.” Why did he have to put a cloud over her dream? “It’s not going to be like that.”
“You don’t know. Where are your parents now?”
“Living in an RV and seeing the country. They hop from campground to mobile park, living off their combined Social Security, which isn’t much. Did I ever tell you I have brothers?” She smiled. Maybe next year they could all get together for Christmas.
“I believe you mentioned a brother while you cut my hair.”
She nodded slightly. “I have three. Older than me. I’m the youngest of us.”
“And did they mind moving so much?”
“No. I think they liked it. In fact, they still sort of live that way. John, the oldest, works as a rigger on oil drilling platforms in the gulf. Terry, who’s five years older than me, is a merchant marine. He’s on a petroleum tanker in overhaul at Bethlehem Steel in Maryland right now. And Brice, who’s twenty-six, flies jets in the Air Force. John’s the only one with a permanent address, but he’s only home two weeks every three months.”
“So you’re saying they inherited your dad’s restless spirit?”
“Sure they did, but I’m not going to.” She’d made her mind, and she’d need a man who shared her dream. Not a man on the move. Not a military man or a trucker or a pilot. Definitely not a rock star.
“Tell me why you think you’re not mine.”
She swallowed hard. “You said it yourself. You like the tour and the hotel rooms and no commitment except to your music. I’m not looking for a relationship right now. This is my time to play. When the time comes, though, I’m going to need a man who can commit to me and the life we’ll build.”
Rock My Christmas (FlameSmith in Love Book 1) Page 10