by Maya Banks
She smiled faintly. “I was supposed to be here for two weeks. I need my stuff. I didn’t bring my tour bus and I don’t have anywhere else to put everything. I gave my crew time off. I’m doing the show with a skeleton band. It’s just a few songs. The rodeo isn’t a full concert and they do the stage.”
“It’s going to be a bitch to move all this stuff,” Connor muttered.
She looked up sharply. “Why are we moving it? Why did you tell the clerk I was checking out tomorrow?”
“Because you are.”
She raised her hands in exasperation. “But why? Where am I going?”
“Someplace safe. No one but Phillip will know and the only reason he will is because he’s making the arrangements.”
She frowned. “But that’s ridiculous. I can’t just fall off the face of the earth. I have things to do.”
He leaned against a stack of luggage and eyed her. “Like?”
“I don’t know. Yet. But I’ll need Trent and R.J. You’ll need them too. They’ve been my personal bodyguards since I began touring.”
“Bodyguards or fuck-buddies?”
She flushed and looked away, and then it infuriated her that she allowed him to shame her.
“If they’re fucking me, then someone else can hardly hurt me,” she taunted.
“If they’re fucking you, they aren’t doing their job,” he said through tight lips. “Their first and only priority is your safety. If they’re focused on you and the next time they can get in your pants, they aren’t watching what’s going on around them.”
She didn’t want to acknowledge that he had a point. Trent and R.J. weren’t around for their security skills. She didn’t even know if they had any prior experience before coming to work for her. They were glorified male prostitutes and the truth of it hit her like a punch to the face.
She paid them. They slept with her—or at least they used to. She wasn’t about to admit to Connor that she hadn’t had sex with them for the last few shows because it would seem too much like she wanted his approval.
Oh, it wasn’t as if she’d hired them for the purpose of sex, but it had dissolved into that and nothing more, so really what were they if not prostitutes?
Nausea swirled in her stomach. When had her life become such a sad mess? When had she become so desperate not to be alone that she paid people to surround her? And then anyone who got too close was quickly shoved as far away from her as possible.
“I can’t fire them. They have a contract,” she said in a low voice.
“They can have their duties reassigned,” Connor said with a shrug. “I don’t give a shit whether you pay them or not. But they aren’t going to be trusted with your safety.”
She closed her eyes, aware of the headache that was intensifying rapidly. She was tired. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she hadn’t slept the night before, and it wasn’t for the reason she’d led Connor to believe.
She’d lain awake in this very room, like she did so many other nights, afraid of monsters from her past, afraid to turn out the lights because she was alone.
Giving her crew vacation time had been a necessity. They were as burned out as she was. But right now, she’d sell her soul to have them with her, surrounding her, to lose herself in the noise and chaos of so many people.
But no, she’d sworn to herself that the next two weeks were going to be a test of her mettle. She was going to step out and face her fears. Even if it killed her.
Only now, if Connor was telling her the truth, someone might do the job for her.
“I’m really just supposed to step back and let you take over.”
It wasn’t a question and she didn’t phrase it as such. It was more of a resigned statement that she already knew the answer to.
“That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” he said. He didn’t even attempt to soothe her and offer platitudes. But then, that would have shocked her, and strangely, it would have disappointed her.
She swept out her hand to the piles of luggage and boxes. “Where do you propose to sleep tonight?”
He studied her for a long moment. “That depends. If it won’t frighten you, we can sleep on the bed. You under the covers. Me on top of the covers. We can put pillows between us. If that idea scares you, I’ll make do on the floor.”
She managed a smile although her heart started thudding painfully as adrenaline spiked through her veins. “I thought you didn’t do floors.”
“For you I’ll make an exception.”
She cocked her head. “You don’t worry about boundaries much, do you? I mean, most people would never dare to push like you have. I can’t decide if you’re really stupid or just plain ballsy.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter as long as I do my job.”
She glanced at the bed, judging how much of it Connor would take up. It was a king bed stuffed into a really small room and Connor was a really big man. He’d need at least half the bed, and then the pillows would take up a fourth, which left her with the remaining fourth.
Or she could just make him sleep on the floor.
All she had to do was say the word, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she was afraid.
“You can sleep on the bed,” she said before she changed her mind.
“Lyric.”
She looked back up at him and saw something other than scorn or irritation in his eyes.
“I won’t hurt you.”
She nodded and a hundred butterflies were released into her belly.
He surveyed the room again with a grimace. “I had planned to hole up in your room for the afternoon, but I think we’ll both go crazy if we have to spend too much time here. It’s probably not your speed, but I thought I’d take you over to see some friends. I don’t want you out in public. You’re going to keep an extremely low profile for the next little while.”
“Not my speed?” she murmured.
He shrugged. “We get together, have some beer and shoot the shit. You met them all today—or most of them.”
It actually sounded fun and she felt a twist of jealousy that he had friends—good friends—that he kicked back with.
“I’ll go.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to behave. Micah, Gray and Nathan are all very attached. To women I care a lot about. I don’t want you upsetting them.”
She swallowed the hurt and bit back a scathing remark. Every time she thought Connor might be different, he said something to make her remember that to him she was a spoiled, bratty diva who went through men like most people went through toilet paper.
She was a job. A job that he obviously didn’t want but for whatever reason had agreed to. She needed to remind herself of that before she did something stupid like care what he thought about her.
CHAPTER 6
L yric didn’t argue when Connor walked her to the passenger side as the valet brought the car around. After she was in, she laid her head back on the rest and closed her eyes.
The car rocked when Connor got in and shut his door.
“Head still hurt?” Connor asked as they drove away from the hotel.
She cracked one eye open to look at him. “How did you know?”
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. You’ve been sensitive to light and sound all afternoon. Have you taken anything for it?”
She shook her head.
He made a sound of exasperation. “Why not? Are you a masochist?”
“I don’t like to take anything unless it’s necessary,” she defended.
“I’d say a headache deserves an Excedrin or two. I’ll stop by a drugstore on the way and get you something.”
Dumbfounded, she watched as he pulled into a CVS and parked at the front entrance. He glanced over with a regretful expression. “You probably don’t want to get out, but where I go, you go, so you’ll have to come in.” He switched off the engine. “Sit tight. I’ll come around.”
She was used to a certain amount of defe
rence. People tended to fawn over her and kiss her ass. She didn’t have any illusions it was anything personal to her. You could be a complete asshole and be famous and people would still line up to bow and scrape. She wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t enjoy it. Who wouldn’t like being treated like a rock star?
But Connor’s consideration meant something, and she couldn’t even say why. Maybe it was because he wasn’t the type to give a damn about her fame. It was obvious he wasn’t impressed with her as a person. And yet he did things he didn’t have to do, and it gave her more pleasure than she would have guessed.
He opened her door and extended his hand. She slid her fingers into his, enjoying the warmth and strength of his grip. He helped her from the car and held her elbow so she was flush against his body as they walked inside the pharmacy.
They fit, which was stupid of her to notice or to dwell on. But they fit perfectly. His body shielded hers like it was made to do so.
Never once did he actually look at her, which was fascinating because she was used to people staring at her and watching her every move. No, Connor looked at everyone else. He sized them up, assessed the potential threat and hurried Lyric toward the back of the store.
Not that anyone would recognize her. Out of deference to Connor—and because she was too tired for a fight—she’d dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore no makeup. With a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes from the sun that made her head pound, she could be anyone and no one.
Connor stopped in front of the array of pain relievers. “Do you have any drug allergies?”
She couldn’t even believe he thought to ask. Was there anything he didn’t think of? She shook her head in response.
Nodding, he selected the box marked “tension headache,” then touched her arm and herded her toward the checkout.
“I can’t figure you out,” she said a few minutes later when they’d gotten back into the car.
He opened the box, shook out two pills, then handed her a bottle of water he’d also bought at the checkout. “What can’t you figure out? I’m a pretty straightforward guy. We aren’t hard to learn. Women, on the other hand . . .”
“Oh no, you’re anything but simple. One minute you act like I’m below pond scum, and the next minute you’re nice to me.”
“I didn’t think you wanted me to like you.”
Okay, he had her there. Or so she thought. Did she want him to like her? It was obvious she did from the ridiculous way she acted around him. She hadn’t been this aware of her actions and how they were perceived by others in years. Not since her last stint as a ward of the state where she finally learned that she was just another case number in an unending stack of paperwork.
Not giving a damn was freeing. If it didn’t matter whom you hurt or whom you offended, then you never felt bad when you did so.
“I didn’t say I wanted you to like me,” she said carefully. “Just that you do and then you don’t. Thank you for the headache medicine. It was thoughtful of you.”
Connor shrugged. “It was obvious you were hurting and you didn’t have to be. You need to learn to take better care of yourself.”
She frowned at that assertion but let it go. “So where is it we’re going exactly?”
“To my sister and brother-in-law’s house. They’re having everyone over for beer and barbecue. It’s practically the law down here that you have at least one a week.”
“Life in the South, huh.”
She couldn’t help the disdain or the way her lip curled. She tried to hold it back. Really, she did.
He lifted a brow as they stopped for a light. “You have a bit of a drawl. Bet you were born south of the Mason-Dixon.”
She looked at him, aghast. No one had ever commented on an accent. She’d worked damn hard to remove any instance of it in her speech.
“I do not have a drawl!”
He nodded. “Yeah, you do. It’s subtle, but it’s there. More of a lazy lilt to your words than a distinct accent. You definitely have the flavor of the South, though.”
She was utterly appalled. Her stomach churned and her head throbbed painfully. “Where do you think I’m from?” she croaked.
“Oh, I dunno. Like I said, it’s just a hint. You don’t have to look quite so disgusted. We’re not all backwoods hicks, you know.”
She could still hear the drawn-out, slow drawl in her nightmares. Whispered in her ear. It made her physically ill. For some people, a Southern drawl was like brown sugar. For her it was like nails on a chalkboard.
“Hey, no reason to get uptight. It was just an observation. I’m wrong once or twice a year.”
She tried to smile at his joke but her face felt too tight. She decided a change in subject was the best course before she did or said something to make an even bigger ass of herself.
“So all your friends are married?”
“Micah’s not. Not for lack of trying. Angelina is pregnant, and he’d like to get her to the altar before she pops the kid out.”
“Good for her,” Lyric said. “Just because a guy gets you pregnant doesn’t mean he’s the right guy to marry.”
“Apparently he was right to sleep with,” Connor said dryly. “And it’s not like a guy gets a girl pregnant by himself. There’s definitely some cooperation on the egg’s part.”
“Oh huh-uh. The boy sperm chases down the girl egg and throws himself on her.”
“More like the girl egg crooks her finger and then when the poor unsuspecting sperm comes near, she sucks him in.”
Lyric wrinkled her nose. “I think this is perhaps the most unromantic reproduction talk I’ve ever had.”
Connor chuckled. “Micah loves Angelina, and she loves him. They’ll get married. She just wants to make sure it’s what he wants.”
They pulled into a neighborhood that had all the hallmarks of middle-class suburbia. The entrance was manicured and mowed, trimmed to the nth degree. All the lawns looked like showcases.
The houses were cute cookie-cutters and it was like a scene from Currier and Ives with children playing in an idyllic setting. She’d never been to a scarier place in her life.
“Good God, it’s a Stepford neighborhood,” she muttered.
Connor snorted and pulled into a driveway at the end of a cul-de sac. Lyric’s brow went up as she viewed the Welcome sign just off the walkway to the front door. She burst out laughing and got out.
“Your sister and brother-in-law can’t be all bad,” Lyric said as Connor motioned her to go in front of him.
There in the middle of a neighborhood filled with houses without so much as a grass blade out of place was a house with a sign that read: Beer served here daily.
“I’m impressed. The grass looks like it’s gone a week without cutting,” Lyric said with a grin.
Connor rang the doorbell and laughed. “Yeah, it’s Gray’s way of rebelling against the Homeowners’ Association. It pisses him off that they presume to tell him what to do with his house and lawn, so he waits until he says the neighborhood watchdog starts twitching and foaming at the mouth before he mows the lawn.”
“I think I’m going to like your friends,” she said just as the door opened.
“Well, I hope so,” Gray Montgomery said. He gestured at Connor. “You can’t judge us by this knucklehead.”
Again Lyric was struck by how out of her element she felt. And how intimidated she was by these people. Average, everyday, normal people. It didn’t compute. She should have all these good ole boys kissing her ass just like the rest of the country.
She winced even as the belligerent thought crossed her mind. It was a natural reaction, one she had to fight with increasing regularity. When threatened, lash out. Cover up. Never let them see you at a disadvantage.
“Would you like to come in?” Gray asked.
It was then she realized Connor had already stepped inside the house and she was still on the doorstep gawking like a moron.
“Yeah, t
hanks,” she said lamely.
She followed the men inside the house and heard distant laughter. Her palms went damp and she rubbed them down her jeans when they entered the living room.
She recognized Faith, and she remembered Nathan Tucker and Micah Hudson from her meeting at Malone’s. Sitting on Micah’s lap with Micah’s hand splayed possessively across her swollen belly had to be Angelina.
Micah was more her usual speed with his floppy hair that hung to his shoulders and the earring glinting in his ear. Nathan Tucker was just downright yummy, though, with his bald head, earring and total badass body. If the woman sitting next to him didn’t look like she could kick Lyric’s and Connor’s asses both, she’d allow herself to drool over the man.
“Hi, Lyric!” Faith called out. “I’m so glad you came.”
The blond woman walked over and took Lyric’s hand before Lyric could draw away. She tugged Lyric forward until she stood in front of the other two women.
“Guys, this is Lyric Jones. Superstar pop singer Lyric Jones, just in case you’ve been living on another planet.”
Lyric had certainly been introduced in more glowing terms than that, but for some reason the implied praise in Faith’s voice discomfited her.
“Lyric, these are two of my best friends, Julie Tucker and Angelina Moyano. I’m just sorry Serena isn’t here to meet you. She and her husband, Damon, are fans. They caught one of your shows in Vegas.”
Lyric smiled and fidgeted under the other women’s scrutiny.
“Nice to meet you,” she offered.
“Hi, Lyric,” Angelina said with a sweet smile. “I’d get up but it would require a forklift.”
Julie snorted and rose from her perch beside Nathan, though Nathan’s hand lingered on her hip. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Julie. It’s nice to meet you, Lyric.”
Lyric shook her hand and smiled again. Now came the awkward part where either uncomfortable silence fell or they made inane small talk about nothing. She hated both options.
To her surprise, Connor came to her rescue. He touched her arm and motioned her back toward Faith while Julie took her seat next to her husband.