by Cassia Leo
She thought back, trying to remember whether it had been Chloe or herself who had gotten involved in the church. Hailey had gotten the job here, but it was Chloe who joined the youth group. Chloe who woke up every Sunday morning and banged around in the kitchen until Hailey dragged herself out of bed.
Chloe would make a wonderful pastor’s wife. Unconventional, yes. But forthright and passionate and so damn caring. She loved this place.
Pastor John stood. “If you’d like to continue on with the church, I’m sure we can find a position for you in the administrative side.”
She rose and helped him to the door. His arthritis acted up the closer they got to winter. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll use this time to figure out what I want to do.”
He squeezed her hand before pushing through the door. “You’ll come back and see us, won’t you?”
She grinned, thinking she was about to marry into the family, so to speak. “I’m sure I will.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the church, standing in the open-air foyer, usually sunbright, but now shadowed and silent. His car backed out, swinging headlights through the stained glass windows before pulling into the street. Hailey would pack up her few belongings and maybe the artwork her kids had made for her. Then she would leave this place and try to figure out what to do next.
***
Chapter Twenty-One
The waiting was the worst. His whole body was wound up wanting to do something, but he couldn’t do anything without a plan. When Krist’s text message confirming that it was done finally popped up, he nearly jolted out of his skin. The relief spread through him like pins and needles, like a limb waking up after a long sleep. He hadn’t destroyed their friendship. He hadn’t broken up the band.
He read the “Breaking News” blog post, with accompanying cell phone pics, three times before it fully sank in. Madeline Fox had pulled some publicity stunt in DC. Chum in the shark tank. The media would swarm.
The grainy security footage of some no-name girl from nowhere would be all but forgotten.
Nobody had chased him down at McCarran. No cameras flashed at Midway. His story was already dropped. What was one more rock-star indiscretion compared to a teen idol spiraling out of control? Her handlers were probably going bat shit. He could sympathize. His agent, the label rep, his bandmates, they’d all taken their turn squawking in his ear. He didn’t care. He only cared that Krist had come through for him. It was a gift—a parting gift from the brother he’d never had. A second chance.
Gotta find Hailey.
It wasn’t hard. One Internet search, one flight, one very angry video conference with his lawyer and the manager of the hotel, and one rental car. He white-knuckled the steering wheel as he gunned it down I-90. There were only a few hours left before he needed to head back to Las Vegas, ready to perform. He didn’t want to do it without Hailey sitting in the wings, preferably half-naked and with eyes only for him.
A slimy TMZ clone site had published the name of her employer under the headline Sunday School Teacher or Sex Worker? At least it wasn’t headline news. His heart still ached. She wasn’t a sex worker, and she was so much more than some absurd gossip feature about a Sunday school teacher he’d fucked on tour. She was his.
He let GPS guide him to the church listed in the article. It was a place to start. Someone there would know her and maybe even tell him where to find her. He tugged at the cuff of his button-down shirt. Probably not. Only the hardest of hard-core fans would recognize him dressed like this—fully covered and with a ball cap tugged low over his brow—but he was still a stranger. She’d just been splashed all over the news, and here was some random guy looking for her. Shedding the rock-and-roll trappings was surprisingly easy. He felt lighter, and not just because leather and chains weighed a ton. He would ask someone nicely. He’d even say please. He would find her.
He’d left Lock in the bottom of his suitcase. Keaton Shaw was driving now.
The parking lot was empty but for an ancient dented Toyota. Hailey’s car. He remembered her describing it to the concierge he’d had fetch her bag that first night. A rusted-out beacon of hope.
He didn’t need a sign, but it didn’t hurt. He wondered what she was doing in there. Confessing her sins? Wishing she’d never met him? Praying he’d come after her? He crossed his fingers it was the last one and headed for the ornate doors.
Locked. Of course. He thumped his fist against the carved wood.
The door cracked open, and there she was. His little church mouse, tucked into jeans and a cashmere sweater that hugged her breasts. Her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. No more fishnets or glitter. No bed head. So beautiful stripped of her costume, even with her face all puffy from tears.
Her eyes widened in recognition. “What are you doing here?”
He tugged the brim of his cap. “Same as you.”
“Collecting your things when you know no one will be around to see you?”
“Something like that.” He touched her cheek, and she tilted into his palm just for a second before she recovered herself and pulled away. That hurt; he wanted her to lean into him. He wanted to hold her, to ease the worry knitting her brow. How could he do those things if she pulled away?
“I’ve never been fired before. I don’t know how to be fired. They won’t even let me say good-bye to the kids. What do I do when I run into them in the grocery store or the mall? Do I pretend I don’t know them? I just—I can’t…”
“Oh, baby. Let’s get off these steps.”
She led him through the vestibule into the church proper. Dark and cold and full of dust. Couldn’t they afford heat? The urge to hold her close tipped over the edge of want and into need. It overwhelmed him.
“I missed you. I don’t like missing you.” He skimmed down her arms—his calluses snagging the soft cashmere—and pinned her hands to the top of a pew. Pressed his chest to her back. So warm. He’d write them a song full of warm forbidden places. He’d write it now, on her skin, with his mouth. He kissed the back of her neck.
“Not here,” she whispered in protest, but her body relaxed at his touch.
“Why not? We’re alone. They can’t fire you twice.”
“I have to live in this community. It’s still my home.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” He nudged her legs apart with his knee, and she didn’t resist.
“Are you going to whisk me away like some perverted fairy-tale prince? I think I read that story. It didn’t end well.”
“I can.” He let her go, let the weight of their desire keep her still, and slipped his hand between her thighs. If she were wearing a skirt, he’d have his fingers inside her already. She should only wear skirts. He cursed the denim keeping him from his goal and cupped her, pressed against the seam of her jeans in time with the steady pulse beating between his own legs. “And it’ll end so well you’ll beg me to tell it again and again.”
“What happens when you get bored with me?”
“I already told you, Hailey. You are not boring.” He pawed at her fly until the button popped. Until he could tease the skin below her navel, right at the edge of her panties. “Tell me you believe me.”
“I…” She arched back when he worked his way beneath the waistband. He didn’t plunge inside yet, just held her, letting the warmth heat his palm.
“Try harder, baby. Think of all the ways you’re not boring. The way you take risks. The way you know exactly what a person needs. The sexy way you move when I touch you right here.” He split her folds, barely brushing the bud of her clit.
“Unh, I believe you.”
“Good girl.”
“But—”
He stroked her, jeans bunching at his knuckles, zipper scratching the back of his hand. “No buts. You do everything with your whole heart, Hailey. Don’t stop now. We’ll make a new contract.”
“How long will this one last?” She gasped, finally open for him. Wet and welcome. Home.
“Forever.”
*
“Forever?” Her voice broke on the word. Did he hear the fear in it? Did he hear the longing? “We couldn’t even last three whole days, Lock.”
“Keaton,” he said quietly. “Call me Keaton.”
A hysterical laugh. “Is that your real name? I don’t even know. And your hand is…is…”
“Stroking your sweet cunt. I can feel you clenching deep in there. Makes my dick so fucking hard. It hurts, baby.”
“Good,” she moaned. Let him suffer—because God, it had hurt so much to leave him. She wanted him to feel it too.
She forced herself to focus. Even with his fingers slick and sliding. Even with her thighs vibrating, threatening to give out. She turned, her eyes searching his. “I don’t know anything about you. You’re the man behind the curtain. And you don’t even have any special powers, do you? It’s all a trick.”
“I didn’t need special powers to send you home, sweetheart. You did that yourself.”
Her heart clenched. And look where that had gotten her. Alone. Afraid. It felt like a desert—as hot and barren as one—and he was just a mirage. So why did he feel so damn real? “Why are you here?”
“For this.” With a sudden twist of his body, he shoved her against the wall, between two smooth wooden pillars. He rocked against her, blocking her from sight, letting her feel his erection, wholly inappropriate in the vestibule of the church. Just like the fingers running through her wetness, messing her all up—a sweet communion.
“You ever come here?” he asked.
She didn’t register his meaning at first—not until he pinched her clit. “No,” she gasped.
“Not even once? No making out in the confessional?”
God, he wouldn’t let up. Circling and circling until her hips were moving in tandem. “No, we’re not…not Catholic. Don’t confess.”
“That’s a shame, sweetheart. I’d love to hear those wicked thoughts of yours.”
She shook her head—hard. “I’ve always been good. Always tried to be good.”
Even though she’d failed. He was her serpent, luring her out of the garden, but she wasn’t mad. She didn’t want to stay locked up anymore. Eden was just a pretty prison when you got down to it.
His fingers sped up, moving with her hips. His voice was low in her ear. “If I sat next to you during service, I’d slip my hand under your skirt and touch you right there, in front of everyone.”
She moaned, clutching his arm.
“Shh. You have to be quiet. You can’t let them know what I’m doing to you.”
His words spun the picture. She shuddered, imagining a packed chapel and staid sermon. And right beside her—Lock. Or Keaton. Her personal weakness and unlikely salvation.
His fingers plunged inside her, thumb relentless on her clit, and she shattered. She broke apart, crying his name—Keaton. She rocked against his hand and dug her nails into his back and used him just as much as he used her. He anchored her in the storm. He whipped her with wind and breathless pleasure. He was inside and out and all around her, slicking the air with salt and sex.
The climax stole her breath and gave it back in gasps and soft whimpers. He soothed her when her body jumped, petting her until the orgasm had passed, leaving her wrung out and slumped against the wall. His kiss against her forehead felt like a benediction, but his damp fingers pressing into her mouth made it even sweeter.
“Suck,” he murmured, but she was already licking his fingers clean, turning the tables so that lust fired in his eyes. The bulge pressing against her hip proved he hadn’t finished yet. And wouldn’t finish—not until they’d figured this out.
That old contract was null and void. The new negotiations…well, she had a few tricks in her bag. Like tugging his head down so he could taste her on her tongue. Like nipping his lips so he groaned and humped her urgently.
She smiled. “Forever is a very long time.”
“Hailey, you are not—”
“Boring. I know.” She straightened her clothes, grateful for the dark nook he kept her in. He was always taking care of her, even when he didn’t want her to know it. “But what if I’m the one who gets bored?”
A slow grin spread over his face. “Is that a challenge?”
She shrugged. “All those parties and groupies. There’s a whole world to explore.”
His hand cupped between her legs, over the fabric. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. But no one sees this except for me.”
“Never?” she said, thinking of his command at the concert. That had been fun.
“Unless I order you to,” he amended.
Her wicked smile matched his. “Can I get that in writing?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
***
Epilogue
Lock pushed through the crowd, ignoring his red-faced agent's shouts about photo ops and fan-club obligations, and raced for the rear exit. Let the other guys helm the PR machine for the night. Only one obligation mattered.
He was a mess after a full set and two encores, but they'd booked the chapel for midnight. No time for a shower or a change of clothes. He peeled his shirt off and used it to wipe his face, smearing eyeliner and sweat.
Two burly men with security vests propped open the door. The crowd outside sprang to life with shouts and camera flashes. A young woman burst through the throng, yanking her top down to expose a Sharpie pen tucked between generous cleavage. “Mark me, please.”
The only woman he wanted to mark was waiting in the back of the limo parked a few feet away. The bodyguard by his side shouldered between them. “No autographs, ma'am.”
He used her momentary meltdown to make a dash for the limo. For Hailey.
As soon as the door shut behind him, he relaxed and let the stage persona slip. Lock has left the building. Keaton Shaw melted into his woman's warm embrace, the brush of her lips, the sweet scent of her presence, totally oblivious to their audience.
“Not in front of the baby!” Chloe said, covering the sleeping infant’s eyes and making an exaggerated O with her mouth. Tim, decked out in a powder-blue tuxedo, smirked and shook his head.
“Good show?” Hailey asked.
“Not the same without you in the wings.”
“We had important business to attend to tonight. And sister stuff.”
“Um, and sister stuff isn't important business?” Chloe teased. The baby let out a tiny squeak, and Keaton prayed it wouldn't start bawling.
“Of course it is. And mommy stuff.” Hailey cooed, leaning over to peek at the little scream machine gurgling on Chloe's lap. At three months that kid could hold his own with a thrash metal band. And he was kind of cute when he started blowing those little bubbles at the corners of his mouth. Keaton decided he should get him an agent. Probably one less vicious than his own.
“And wardrobe. I better get big brownie points for this,” Tim added, tugging at the hot-pink cummerbund wrapped around his waist.
“If by points you mean trifle, then yes.” Chloe patted Tim's belly and turned back to them. “Are you guys ready? I'm ready. I can't thank you enough for doing this. Especially after we eloped on you last year.”
Hailey squeezed Keaton's knee and grinned. “The timing worked out perfectly. The tour stop and Tim's break from Youth Nation.”
Keaton snorted. Tim was a good guy, but ribbing him was too much fun to resist. “Church camp.”
“Nondenominational youth outreach program,” Tim corrected.
“Yes, you mold them and I warp them. I'm keeping you in business, buddy.”
“You don't warp them; you give them an outlet for their pain.”
“Don't get all deep on me now, Pastor Tim. There's time for that at the ceremony later.”
“Don't call him that,” Chloe and Hailey said in unison, giggling.
“Not yet, anyway. But, soon,” Chloe added.
The limo stopped, and the driver lowered the privacy window. “Sir, we've arrived.”
His heart raced the way it did before he stepped onstage. His palms tingled. Hailey threaded her fingers with his and squeezed. A warm calm spread through his chest. He’d made a lot of poor choices in his life, but this wasn’t one of them. “I feel a little silly, shirtless and filthy, while you guys are glammed up.”
Tim leaned forward. “I got you covered. There's tux rental inside.”
“Absolutely not!” Hailey shrieked. “I want you exactly like this. Think of the pictures.”
And he did. Her all in white—from the princess dress down to the fishnets—and him, half-naked and exposed. His heart ached with the sweetness of it.
“Oh, I almost forgot. For luck.” Hailey tucked a scrap of blue satin into his pocket, her eyes flashing mischief. Were those panties? He checked. They were.
He hauled her into his lap, laughing, rucking up her dress, digging his fingers into the netting on her thighs. “Baby, I don’t need luck—I don’t need anything—as long as I have you.”
***
The next book in the series, One Kiss with a Rock Star, is available now.
Half-Life bassist Krist Mellas is caught in a PR nightmare after his dirty sex video blew up online. His agent has the solution: a fake engagement with sultry pop princess Madeline Fox. Krist can’t think of anything worse than a charade with the bubblegum bombshell…except losing the band.
Madeline knows better than anyone what it means to live a lie in the spotlight. She’s determined to help Krist without ever letting him find out what it costs her—or about her girlhood crush on him. But after a smoking hot back alley encounter with him leaves her breathless, she can’t deny she wants the snarling bad-boy rocker.
In a world of glitter and diamonds where the kisses are fake but the climaxes are real, their facades start to crack. And the publicity storm may shatter them both.