February Stars: Wilder Irish, book two

by Mari Carr

She scowled, which only made him laugh.

  “Don’t act pissed off, mouse, because you’re not.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she realized she was more relaxed than she had been in weeks. Maybe months. God, she was downright loose, not a bit of stress in her shoulders or neck or anywhere.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Loads.”

  He rose from the bed and she caught sight of his erection. He noticed where her eyes lingered. “Don’t worry about that. Common side effect of watching a beautiful woman coming apart at the seams. Nothing a cold shower won’t cure.”

  She had enough of her wits left to know that wasn’t exactly true. And she couldn’t help but think it was somewhat selfish of her to take something so amazing from him, then let him walk away still needy and aching.

  But the alternative wasn’t something she could consider. She couldn’t do tit for tat on this. Not with him. She was already struggling to keep her thoughts about him platonic.

  She almost snorted aloud at the word platonic. She was not having innocent thoughts about Hunter. In truth, she already had them both naked, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded deep inside her.

  “Hey. Listen,” he said, lifting one finger, drawing her attention to the raised voices outside her bedroom door.

  “Ten, nine, eight…” her cousins yelled.

  “It’s almost New Year’s.”

  She sat up on the bed.

  “Seven, six, five, four…”

  “Yeah,” she accepted his hand as he helped her stand on wobbly legs.

  “Three, two, one!”

  “Happy New Year, mouse,” Hunter said.

  “Happy New Year.”

  He bent his head and gave her the least-friendly kiss in the history of New Year’s Eve. His kiss proved they’d both crossed a line, one that might be impossible to cross back over.

  But because it was Hunter, and he worked on the theory of “do whatever feels good,” he didn’t bother to hold back.

  It was the sexiest, hottest kiss of her life, and it fucked with her world.

  When he released her, he pulled away. “Come on. Let’s go back to the party. We can play Asshole or teeny-tiny flip cup and get wasted.”

  And even though Ailis tended to live in the real world most days, as so often happened with Hunter, she followed his lead, letting him drag her into his impulsive good times.

  She’d worry about what just happened tomorrow. Tonight, she was too sated, too relaxed, too happy to forget to put up much of a fuss.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “But you better be prepared to do as I say when you’re asshole and I’m president.”

  “Never gonna happen. I am king of the cards, baby. King. Of. The. Cards.”

  She rolled her eyes as he laughed and they rejoined the party, slipping back into their “just friends” roles far more easily than she would have imagined.

  At least that was what she thought until—two hours later—he bumped into her during a rousing, competitive game of flip cup and she felt the hardness of his cock.

  She gave him a curious glance and he leaned close to whisper in her ear, “He’s not going away. He likes you.”

  She was just the right amount of tipsy to laugh at his joke, but whether he was kidding or not, the words stuck.

  And her body went soft, her pussy wet. “She likes you too,” she murmured, low enough that he couldn’t hear.

  She’d wished for a change, bemoaned the fact that nothing happened in her life.

  Well, something had happened.

  Dammit.

  4

  January second dawned gray, drizzly and cold. Ailis wanted to let that affect her mood because she thought she should feel bad. Nothing had changed since New Year’s.

  Much.

  Except she was still feeling pretty chill after the mother of all orgasms.

  Mercifully, Hunter had remained at his own apartment yesterday, sleeping off his hangover and “lazing in front of the TV watching football.” She had been grateful for the brief break from him. Not that she’d put that time to any great purpose. It wasn’t like she’d sorted out her feelings about what they’d done—he’d done to her—the other night. In fact, she was still confused as hell.

  The difference was…the sex had done the trick, taken the edge off enough that she didn’t really care.

  God. She was starting to sound like Hunter. That wasn’t a good thing.

  “There’s my girl.”

  “Oh my God! Hey, Les. Happy New Year. When did you get into town? I wasn’t expecting to see you for another week.” Ailis hugged her dad’s manager and followed him to the bar.

  He grabbed a stool and said, “Hello, Tris.”

  “Good to see you, Les. Want your usual?” Les was a Scotch man.

  Les shook his head. “Just coffee.”

  Ailis frowned as Uncle Tris poured Les a cup of coffee. Then Tris walked away to make the strawberry daiquiris her table had just ordered.

  “Coffee?” she asked. “It’s after noon. That’s whiskey time.”

  As she joked, she took a closer look at him. He was a bit pale. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  Les raised his hand to halt her concerns. “Now don’t go getting upset. It’s an ulcer.”

  “Again?” Ailis sighed. “Les, you’ve got to start taking better care of yourself. Between the smoking, the stress, the booze and the fast food, you’re your own worst enemy.”

  “Thanks so much for the lecture, Teagan Jr.”

  Ailis grinned. “Bet Mom’s been giving you an earful.”

  “And your dad. I’m taking care of myself, but this one is giving me a run for my money. Doctor wants me to slow down.”

  She snorted. “Yeah. That’ll happen.”

  “It’s happening.”

  “What?” Ailis didn’t bother to hide her surprise. She could count the number of days Les had voluntarily taken off in her entire lifetime with one hand. And she still had fingers left over. That didn’t mean he didn’t get vacation time. It just meant her parents had to trick him into it occasionally, sending him to the beach or some exotic island under the guise of setting up a performance that wasn’t happening, then demanding he stay there under the threat of firing his ass if he booked an earlier return flight.

  “I came to Baltimore to recruit you.”

  “For what?”

  “I was hoping you’d be my assistant.” He reached for the cup of coffee Tris had set in front of him, but she placed her hand on his arm.

  “Coffee isn’t any better than whiskey.”

  Les sighed and put the cup down, looking at it as if he’d just said goodbye to his true love. “Anyway, I’m here because I need your help.”

  The second he spoke, she remembered. “February Stars.”

  Les nodded. “Yeah. Starts in a few weeks and shit is hitting the fan. The next time I come up with some great promotional scheme, do me a favor. Kill me before I implement it.”

  “You’ve made that request before. Sadly, I’d miss you too much to ever follow through with it.”

  “I’m worn out, kid. I need some help.”

  She looked at him and realized he really did look tired. “Maybe you should go back to your hotel to rest. Or you could go upstairs and lay down, stay close so that I can keep an eye on you.”

  Les patted her cheek affectionately. He’d never married or had kids of his own, which meant for Ailis’s entire life, she’d had two loving parents and this man, the doting, spoil-her-and-her-sister-rotten honorary uncle. “You’re a good girl.”

  When she was younger, it was Les who’d kept an eye on her and her sister, Fiona, when her parents performed. They had a nanny, but both preferred to stand in the wings backstage to watch the shows. Ailis loved to listen to Les as he critiqued the performance, making mental notes about what worked and what didn’t in terms of costuming, song selection, song placement, band cues and a million other aspects.

  As she got
older, Les started to ask for her opinion. And she could still remember the first time she’d made a solid suggestion. He made the change in the next show and then bought her the Ugg boots she’d been coveting as “payment” for her “hard work.”

  After that, she was his shadow, learning everything she could about the business of managing a superstar—or in the case of her parents, two superstars and their band. She credited Les with her decision to major in business and marketing in college.

  Of course, she’d broken his heart when she had graduated and taken a job in a marketing firm to be close to Paul rather than join him on the road. He’d made no secret of the fact he thought she would be an excellent tour manager/promoter.

  “So it’s settled. You need rest.” Ailis stood, ready to lead the way upstairs, but Les caught her hand and silently gestured for her to sit back down.

  “I’ll go up in a minute. Once you give me an answer.”

  Ailis sat back down, then waved to get Tris’s attention. “Do you mind taking those daiquiris to my table, Uncle Tris?”

  “No problem,” he said, picking up the glasses. “Take your time. It’s slow as molasses in January in here this afternoon.”

  “Probably because it is January,” she joked.

  Tris delivered the drinks and she turned her attention back to Les. “Les—” she started.

  “No more excuses, Ailis.”

  She paused, uncertain how to reply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve been hiding behind that breakup long enough.”

  “I haven’t been hiding.”

  Les gave her a sad smile. “Sweet pea. Don’t kid a kidder. Besides, you know as much about this show as I do. You were in on the planning stages, you know the setup—hell, you put together all the local details. You’re the best one to help me run this thing.”

  February Stars was no small undertaking, and Les knew it. If he was hoping to push her into the world of promotion, this was going to be initiation by fire. Not only would the competition be a live show in a decent-sized venue in Baltimore, Les had worked out a deal to have it broadcast over the Internet as well. So, in addition to the local interest, the performers would be seen worldwide. The exposure for the eight competitors was going to be off-the-charts—win or lose.

  “It’s only a couple months out of your life. It’s not like you’ve got any other pressing commitments. We’ll do it together. I’ll deal with the talent and you take care of all the setup stuff, scheduling rehearsals, running some final checks with the accounting firm handling the voting, making sure the venue is prepared for our needs, taking care of ticketing issues.”

  “You mean all those things you can do in your sleep, ulcer or not?”

  Les snorted. “Don’t act like you can’t do them too. I’ve been training you for this since you were eight years old. If I didn’t have so much damn pride, I’d admit that you could probably do a better job running this whole shebang. But I’m not that magnanimous.”

  She grinned. “February Stars would fall apart without you.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You’re bored, angel. You know it and I know it. Even now, I can see that gleam in your eye.”

  “Did Mom and Dad put you up to this?”

  Les went quiet, which was her answer.

  “I’m going to get a real job, you know.”

  “I know, sweetheart. But the fact is this should be your real job. You were made for it. And it’s not like I’m leaving you to do it alone. I’m just asking for some help.”

  “Help you don’t really need.”

  “I’m not lying about the ulcer.”

  She reached out and grasped his hand. “I know you’re not, but the fact is, you spend at least ten months out of every year with an ulcer.”

  He chuckled. “You’re still not answering.”

  She was hedging. Mainly because her head was whirling over the opportunity. And his words.

  Made for this.

  Was she?

  She was feeling a serious spark of excitement. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. In her head, she knew exactly what needed to be done to make the show a success.

  “It’s time for you to take charge of your life, kid. You’ve let your broken heart over that damn doctor hold you back for too long.”

  Ailis didn’t want to admit that was true. Even if it was.

  She recalled the way Paul looked at her at the club, and the same anger she’d felt then returned. Not toward him, but toward herself. She’d made Paul her Prince Charming, her Sky Mitchell back in college, convinced he was her happily ever after, her forever.

  Looking back now, she realized she’d been settling. He had been the first man to glance her way and not look through her. She had been sitting in the library with Rhonda, forcing her roommate to study for their biology final. Rhonda had been a reluctant study partner, texting more than cramming. Paul, who was in the same class, had joined them at the table and he’d struck up a conversation with her. Not Rhonda. Her.

  For a girl who’d never had a boyfriend, never had a guy pay much attention to her, it had been a heady thing. It had been enough to keep her hanging in there even when it became obvious that Paul was a pretty selfish guy. So much of their relationship, their time together was based on doing what he wanted to do. She let him call the shots, following behind him like a devoted puppy dog. The memory of that made her sick to her stomach these days.

  Les reached over and grasped her hand. “If you say no, I’ll go it alone. And if I’m lucky, this ulcer won’t kill me and I’ll still be alive come March.”

  She laughed. “Jesus, Les. You should have led with that. Saved yourself all the arguing. I’ll do it.”

  Les smiled widely and waved a file in front of her that he pulled out of his briefcase. “Perfect. I’ll get copies of this made for you and hand it over tomorrow. It’s all the details, contracts, permits, and so on.”

  The file was easily five inches thick. “Oh my God.” She hadn’t expected to regret her decision instantly. Instead, she had figured she’d have a few hours before that emotion would wake her up tonight in a cold sweat.

  “Oh, and we’ve got a problem to solve. A big one.”

  Ailis narrowed her eyes. “I find it interesting you waited until after I agreed to do this to mention the problem.”

  “Really? You find that interesting?” Les clutched at his heart as if she’d wounded him. “It’s like you don’t know me at all. I’m a slippery bastard, kid. I thought that was why you loved me so much.”

  She laughed. “What’s the problem?”

  “We’re down one singer. One of the guys I considered a top contender fell down a flight of stairs. Broke both legs and an arm.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Yeah. I’m sick about it. I was sure he was going to run away with the whole competition. Amazing guitarist.”

  “I was more concerned about the fall.” Leave it to Les to mourn his own loss rather than consider the pain the man must be in.

  “Oh…yeah. Sounds like it was an attempted mugging that went bad. Guy in a ski mask jumped him in a dark stairwell of his apartment building late one night. They tussled, and my performer went down a set of concrete stairs pretty hard. Now we’re five weeks away and down one singer. I’ll never find another performer of the caliber I’m looking for who isn’t already booked for February.”

  “So run the show with seven singers.”

  Les scowled. “Honey, you know I can’t do that. My OCD won’t let me start that show with an odd number. I’m already in a lot of pain. That will send me over the top.”

  If Ailis hadn’t just agreed to help him run this damn show, she would have laughed at his comment. Instead, she knew exactly how sincere he was. The man had a weird quirk about odd numbers, which was why there were always two or four backup singers in every show, an even number of band members, an even number of songs in each set. And God help her mom and dad if they ever ended a show with three encores. They�
�d all but have to sacrifice a chicken the next day to make up for it. “You’re insane.”

  The bell over the door to the pub jingled, capturing her attention.

  Hunter walked in—and the light went on.

  She knew exactly what type of performer Les was looking for to compete in this show, and Hunter didn’t fit the mold. Not even close. Hunter was a pub singer, who’d only seriously started performing nine months ago, after a two-year hiatus. Rhonda dropped her engagement ring by the door and he’d picked up his guitar again. The other competitors had been touring for years, working relentlessly to break into the business.

  Regardless, Ailis didn’t doubt for a minute that Hunter could give the others a run for their money. He was one of the most talented musicians she’d ever seen. And she’d seen millions of them in her lifetime.

  “Hey, mouse,” Hunter said, stopping next to her and Les.

  “Hunter, you remember Les Fossie, my dad’s manager.”

  Hunter held out his hand and the two men shook.

  “Nice to see you again,” Les said.

  Ailis looked at Hunter, surprised to see him again so soon. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to work.”

  “I do. But I think my wallet must have fallen out of my pocket the other night in your be—uh, couch. I was going to go look for it.”

  “Cool.” Ailis recalled the way Hunter rocked her world and fought like the devil to keep from blushing. Les was too canny not to notice, and if he did, her next suggestion was going to fail before she uttered it. “Hey, do you think you could perform tonight?”

  “Tonight? Um, yeah, sure. I guess. You guys going to start doing music on Mondays now?”

  “Possibly,” she lied. “We thought we’d give it a try. Seven work?”

  He nodded, then headed toward the stairs to her apartment. They rarely locked the door, since it was a safe bet there were always two or three cousins in the pub at any given time.

  “So,” Les continued as if Hunter hadn’t interrupted, “our first order of business is to find another singer.”

  “I think I already have.”

  Les gave her a curious look, then his gaze drifted to the apartment door. Hunter was long gone. “The pub singer? Hell no. Ailis, you know what kind of performers I’m looking for.”