What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7)

by Lexi Buchanan

  When he was dressed, he returned to the bedside. It seemed a shame to wake her, especially for what was bound to be an awkward post-one-night-stand good-bye. Given what she had said the night before, she would probably prefer that he didn’t. He unplugged his iPod, pushed it into his hip pocket, and then glanced about. The room had been paid for in advance. There was a hostess tray, so, whenever she woke, she could have coffee, shower and leave in her own time. He’d have liked to see her again, but she wouldn’t want that. He reached for his leather jacket.

  Admit it, his conscience said, it was a mistake—you broke your vow. She wanted sex. She’ll only give you the cold shoulder. It was good but it’s over.

  Running his fingers through his hair, he nodded, but he still felt torn. She was a lot of fun, a truly wild woman. He stepped closer and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. She gave a little snore, and he smiled. Turning away, he pulled his jacket on and quietly left the room.

  He was gone. Kelly wasn’t surprised, but she wasn’t sure why she felt a sense of loss. She did though. Why? She hadn’t wanted any more than what they had shared. She never did. I don’t need a man. Her independence was something she wore like a badge of courage, like a shield. There’s no way she wanted to become dependent on another person. Her mother had been destroyed by the breakup of her marriage, and since her father left them when she was five years old, Kelly had never wanted anything from men other than a bit of fun. It was sensible. She called it self-protection.

  But even as she sat up in the bed mulling it over, her eyes went to the dent in the sheet where he’d lain, the crease in the pillow where he’d folded it over and tucked it under to get closer to her as they had fallen asleep—and she wished he was there.

  Suddenly annoyed, she threw back the sheets and leapt off the bed. “Would have been nice just to say good-bye,” she muttered, snatching her clothes up from the floor. Amongst them, she found the abandoned champagne cork. Picking it up, she hurled it at the bathroom door. As she did, the door swung open and she saw a reflection of herself in the mirror from the bathroom. She looked a mess, with her top hastily pulled on and her leather pants hanging from her hand. His fault.

  Sometimes she hated looking in the mirror because she saw her mother, heartbroken. They shared the same intensity and the same eyes. Kelly had decided when she was six years old that she never wanted to be heartbroken like that. She’d steeled herself against it.

  “Men,” she said to herself, vehemently, and began to pull her pants on. Okay, so she had told him she only wanted the night, but they could have pretended to exchange phone numbers. That’s what she usually did if she met a bloke she liked, giving him her number and then ignoring her phone, screening each and every call. He could have at least pretended to exchange numbers, at least tried to be polite. She might have even answered the phone for this one.

  She was smarting badly. She paced up and down, trying to work off some of her indignation. Letting it go would be the best thing to do, she knew that, but something was niggling at her. She hadn’t wanted him to be gone.

  You don’t need a man, she reminded herself. Nothing to lose, best way to be.

  When she was fully dressed, she pushed her hair back and stormed out of the room with her head held high.

  Tommy observed his little sister holding the new baby, while Jim, the new Dad, stood by looking foolishly happy with his new perma-grin. It was then that Tommy realized how stupid he’d been. So what if Kelly had indicated it was only a one-night stand? He should have made a bigger effort to show he would have been interested in more.

  Seeing his sister and Jim so infinitely happy had led him to question himself. Jim and Carol hadn’t exactly had an easy beginning, logic pointed out, why should anyone else? They’d run into each other at a holiday resort in Spain, literally. It had been Carol’s last night there, and Jim had just arrived. They stumbled into each other in a nightclub. He’d spilled his drink on her but she forgave him. He bought her another. They spent barely an hour together. The next day Carol flew out, and they hadn’t even exchanged numbers. His tenacious little sister hadn’t let that stop her. She tracked Jim down by telling the story on a London radio station, and Jim had heard her and called.

  “Carol, I’ve got something I have to do, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave.”

  His sister nodded, and Jim reached over and put out his hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” his brother-in-law said. “Uncle Tommy.” He grinned.

  Tommy took his hand, shaking it and saluting. “No worries. I’ll come back later on this evening.” He reached over to kiss Carol on the forehead. “Sorry, sis. It’s just something urgent I need to attend to, I’ll explain later.”

  “You wanted a nephew,” she accused gently, smiling.

  “No, I wanted a precocious little madam like my little sis.” He’d always called Carol “madam,” it was a term of endearment. But he’d called Kelly that too, he remembered, and realized that it had felt right, that’s why. Go back to the hotel, bozo.

  He stroked the little one’s cheek with the back of his finger, feeling somehow clumsy and too big, but needing to communicate with this new member of their family. “She’s beautiful.”

  Carol squeezed his hand, nodding.

  Seconds later he jogged out of the hospital and onto the street, waving for a taxi as he did so. “Leicester Square,” he shouted as he jumped into the cab.

  What the hell was I thinking? He’d had the best night, with a stunning, exciting woman, and he’d just left. He shoved his head in his hands, glancing out of the window every now and then to check on the journey’s progress.

  When the taxi reached the hotel, he pushed the cash at the driver and darted into reception. He didn’t stop to ask. He went straight to the stairs, jogging up to the second floor. His heart sank when he got to the room. The door was open, the laundry cart outside indicating that the room was being made over for the next guests. He stood in the doorway, looking at the empty bed, the sheets still scattered from where she’d pushed them back when she got out of bed. In the bathroom, he could see the maid was busy mopping.

  “Excuse me, did you see the woman leave?”

  The maid jumped, her expression shocked, and put her hand on her chest. “Bloody hell, mate. My old ticker’s not made for this.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He nodded back at the bed. “Did you see the lady leave?”

  “Sorry, can’t help you, room was empty when I got this far, didn’t see anyone.”

  He nodded, thanking her. Outside in the corridor, he saw two of Clayton’s entourage emerging from a room farther down the hallway. The woman waved and said something about the night before. He returned the wave but turned away quickly. He was far too annoyed with himself to exchange pleasantries.

  Running a hand through his hair he worked back through what had happened the night before, everything that had been said. All he knew was that her name was Kelly. That was it. He cursed himself for the way he’d handled it. The situation had to be blamed for making him lose any sense of reality, though. What happened between them had been crazy. He hadn’t been able to think straight, only act on instinct, and now he had no clue where or who the hell she was.

  “Nice going, bozo,” he muttered, as he descended the stairs.

  “And then,” Helen paused to grin, “when he came out for the final encore, he’d taken the shirt off.” She fanned herself with one hand, holding out her phone for Jojo in the other. A blurred picture of Clayton Warren was captured on the screen.

  Kelly looked on and smiled wryly to herself.

  “Details, details.” Jojo’s eyes gleamed as she stared at the blur and waited for Helen to describe Clayton’s stage appearance just one more time.

  Helen obliged the request with pleasure, cataloguing Clayton’s physique in detail.

  Kelly poured them another glass of wine, trying to avoid staring at the pins poking out of Jojo’s leg. She’d just about die,
if she had to sit around looking at that on the end of her leg. Not only was she addicted to exercise, she couldn’t actually sit still for any length of time. Easily bored, she quickly turned obnoxious when kept indoors. She was a monster when she had a head cold, let alone a full-blown injury. Jojo was being incredibly patient, and they’d been doing their best to keep her entertained.

  “Why don’t you ask Kelly,” Helen said. “She got to see him up close and personal, backstage.”

  Kelly started when Helen’s comment reached her. She glanced up from her wineglass, her mind filled with the image of Clayton “up close and personal backstage.” She laughed to herself. “Oh, Helen is so much better at describing him than I am.”

  Jojo nodded. “Thanks for trying to get me the autograph, you’re a star.”

  “She was a woman on a mission,” Helen said. “If anyone could have done it, Kelly could.”

  Kelly smiled. “But I failed.” She said it with a sigh and a depth of emotion that was based more on her interaction with Tommy than with Clayton.

  “Was he as gorgeous up close?” Jojo’s eyes were sparkling. She was practically in heat, just thinking about Clayton.

  Oh, the irony, thought Kelly. “He was very attractive, but I’m no good at this. He’s not my type,” she offered, as an excuse. He’s not your type either, she mused. She wasn’t tempted to share the information, though. What was the point of shattering Jojo’s dream? Besides, it was a secret, and, like she had told Tommy, she wasn’t the sort of woman to break the code on real, deep and meaningful secrets.

  “Kelly doesn’t like metrosexuals,” Helen commented.

  Jojo frowned. “What the hell is a ‘metrosexual’?”

  “You know, a bloke that looks after his appearance, reads magazines, does skin care, that sort of thing. He might be a rock god but Clayton Warren looks after himself. I could tell.”

  Jojo looked relieved. “Oh, right.” She glanced at Kelly, smiling. “Yes, you do like them a bit more rugged than that, don’t you? So, tell us, was this hunky security man rugged enough for you?” She waggled her eyebrows, shifting in her chair to get more comfy for the story.

  He hadn’t been far from her mind anyway, but he was back in full detail now. “Oh yes, he was rugged all right.”

  “She’s been moping around all day,” Helen said. “I think she should go after him. I’ve never seen her like this, have you?”

  “She’s definitely got a pout on,” Jojo agreed, swigging her wine.

  “Stop talking about me as if I’m not here.”

  “You might as well not be,” Helen commented. “You’re pretty fixed on this bloke, aren’t you?”

  “No,” she responded, indignant.

  Helen snorted.

  “Okay, I guess I’ve been a bit preoccupied since last night.”

  “Last night…that would be when you rolled in at god-knows-what-time, young lady?” Helen folded her arms across her chest, peering across at Kelly and doing a fair impression of a disapproving mother figure.

  Despite her mood, Kelly managed to smile. “This morning.”

  “Dare I ask if you had a good time?” Jojo said, with curiosity.

  Kelly sighed. “It was the best sex I ever had.”

  Jojo shifted awkwardly in her chair, focusing her attention on Kelly. “Go, girl! So, did you get his number?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Nothing to lose, she reminded herself.

  “Oh, I see,” Helen said, looking smug. “You’ve done one of your one night stand flits on this poor man and now you’re regretting it. Admit it.”

  “Not quite, but kind off.” Pride stopped Kelly from pointing out that he had been the one to do the flit, but they had a point. She was regretting it.

  Jojo watched on with an innocent expression. It was her specialty. “So what’s stopping you? If anyone can hunt the man down, you can.” She burst out laughing and Helen joined her, reaching over to chink her glass.

  Kelly took another sip of her wine as the suggestion began to ricochet in her mind, setting off all sorts of mad ideas. She got to her feet, walking up and down the length of the sitting room. Why the hell not? She could hunt him down. Hell, she’d use him the way he’d used her. Sexually. Her body burned with anticipation at the very thought of it. She wanted another night with Tommy and she was going to go after it.

  “Ooh, I sense trouble.” Jojo faked a scared expression as she watched Kelly pacing up and down.

  “I think you’ve set her off,” Helen said.

  “Yes, you have.” Kelly grinned. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I have some research to do.”

  Jojo saluted her. “Go, soldier. Hunt your target down and hunt him well.”

  Kelly returned the salute and then darted off to her bedroom, unfazed about the laughter following in her wake.

  Inside her room, she flicked her computer on. There was only one way to track Tommy down, and that was through Clayton Warren himself. Her mind whirred over as she considered her options. She’d have to play the groupie all over again, but this time she had to do it more cleverly. She needed to find out Tommy’s name and get to him.

  She scoured the message boards on Clayton’s fan forum. It didn’t take long for her to discover that in the wake of his tour, he was spending a few days in the recording studio, before taking a month’s vacation. It didn’t say which studio, but some quick detective work on the sleeve of his latest CD gave her a name, the Celtic. He may not be using the same venue, but judging from the thank you messages, he liked the place. It was a good starting point, and she was on an early shift the next morning, so she could stake it out in the afternoon. She could also ring his agent, try for an interview. Ideas were coming fast and furious now.

  That night she couldn’t sleep, inspired now that she had decided to track him down. “If you thought I was a crazy lady last night, Tommy, just wait till I get hold of you again.”

  Smiling into the darkness she rolled across her bed, restless. Her hands roved over her body, sensation flashing beneath her skin as she remembered how hot it had been. She tweaked her nipples, pulling on them as they grew harder. One hand went lower, and she stroked her pussy, squeezing it with her hand, promising herself a night of total pleasure. She would take his glorious body for her own pleasure.

  As she squeezed and stroked her labia she pictured his body, his strong muscles trapped, his body bound for her pleasure. One finger tapped her clit, the simple movement setting bolts of stimulation free in her groin. His cock had given her so much intense pleasure, orgasm after orgasm. She wanted to play with it, make it hers again. Her hand grappled for the bedside drawer. Opening it, she pulled out her vibrator. Moonlight glinted off the silver rocket in the darkness. Flicking it on, she ran it over her clit and then lower, into her damp slit.

  “Tommy,” she whispered. “I want you, and I’m going to have you.”

  She rode the vibrator in and out, her free hand clutching at her breasts, moving from one to the other, massaging them. They were full with need, her nipples so taut they hurt.

  “I’m going to punish you, Tommy, punish you for leaving me.” She whispered the words into the darkness. They had crept up from somewhere deep inside her and, even as she said them, her heart raced up a notch. Yes, he had punished her. Now it was his turn to take it.

  Her climax built on the horizon. She moved the vibrator faster, pulling it out to send a rabid hum through her clit with the shaft against it, before shoving it deep inside again.

  Raw pleasure and determination to overcome him flew around her veins. When she came, she sat up, wedging the vibrator inside her, a guttural moan filling the room as she ground hard on it, her imagination flying with images of Tommy at her beck and call.

  Chapter Four

  The Celtic studio was a single doorway wedged in between an alternative clothes shop and an antiquarian bookstore. Glancing up, Kelly guessed the studio itself was upstairs. Sure enough, the windows above the shops on either side were all bl
acked out and had the studio logo on them. Pulling a map out of her backpack, she adopted a confused expression and walked through the door.

  Inside, a narrow hallway led to a small reception area where a figure sat behind a shiny black desk. Plush carpeting silenced her footsteps. The door had closed behind her, blocking out the busy street noise. The place was swish, and soundproofed. The walls were lined with framed vinyl records. Kelly looked at them with curiosity as she passed. The receptionist, a lean punk with a shock of red hair, was dressed in shiny black and would have merged into her black desk, had it not been for the pale skin and the red hair.

  “Hi,” Kelly said. “I wonder if you could help me, I’m trying to find the quickest route to the nearest underground station, and I’m a bit lost.”

  The receptionist nodded, barely taking her eyes off her monitor. “Go back out the door, first left, second right. You’ll see it straightaway.”

  “I just realized…this is a recording studio.” Kelly smiled, glancing around at the vinyl discs in the frames. “Anyone famous recording today?”

  The punk paused on her task, giving Kelly her full attention and delivering a look that said “don’t try that one on me.” People had obviously attempted it before. “That information is confidential.” She gave a false smile, and returned to her task.

  “Yes, of course it is. Thanks for the directions.” She took one last, quick look around but couldn’t see anything other than a couple of closed doorways that presumably led to the studios upstairs, or the cellar area.

  She was about to leave when one of the doors swung open and a woman emerged carrying a bunch of empty coffee cups. She was dressed in black, too, but had more of a Goth look about her, with black-and-red-striped hair and kohl-lined eyes. Apparently, you had to look like a music sub genre to work in the biz. Kelly smiled to herself. She was getting a lot of insight into the music world over these past few days, one way or the other.