The Chase

by Lauren Hawkeye

The accusation in his tone makes me stiffen. Mostly because what he’s saying is true. “I can take care of myself, thanks ever so much.”

  “Cause you were doing such a great job of that when I found you.” He edges forward on the couch, clearly agitated. “I already told you. You’re not the kind of girl who should be in a job like this.”

  “And what do I look like I should be doing? Selling cupcakes at a bake sale while letting boys ogle my legs in my cheerleading skirt?” I smirk at him, irritation covering the whisper in my head that tells me he’s right. “No, you said, I don’t look like the kind of girl who would be in that job. You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

  “I know that you’re not as tough as you think you are.” Those amazingly unique eyes of his narrow, and I suddenly feel like I’m being stalked by a big cat.

  “And you are?” My reaction is knee jerk, cruel. “Mr. Rock Star, who doesn’t have to do a damn thing by himself? Your security guards probably did all the work.”

  “You don’t know a damn thing about me, either.” Standing—and giving me a mouth-watering view of the body that makes men and women alike lose their minds—he holds out his fist for me to see.

  It’s swollen, bruised, cut.

  My mouth goes dry.

  “My security guards hauled him up to his room so he could sleep it off. But don’t lecture me about judging you when you’re doing the exact same thing to me.”

  He rounds the coffee table, coming closer. Standing right in front of me now, he bends over, runs his fingers over my temple, examining my head wound.

  I can feel the heat from his skin, smell the soap from his recent shower, and find myself getting light headed. Which is so incredibly stupid.

  He has said himself in interviews, ones I’ve read, that he’s only interested in dating men. This is his rock star superpower, this ability to seduce people. It’s in his freaking job description.

  No way am I going to let him see how he’s affecting me.

  “What were you doing at the hotel, anyway?” I scowl as he probes at my head, not jerking away from the lure of his touch like I want to. “And you still haven’t told me where we’re going. Miss Black is going to put your testicles in a jar and keep them on her desk.”

  I’m not really afraid of him—not entirely. What I don’t like is that all control has been taken away from me.

  “I booked a room at that hotel this afternoon.” The hand on my temple trails down my cheek, traces along the line of my jaw. I can’t stop myself from sucking in a deep breath, my head suddenly swimming. “And as far as Miss Black is concerned, I am currently your client. I’ve booked you for the rest of the week.”

  “What?” I have no idea what I’ve been expecting, but this sure isn’t it. He couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d barked and told me to call him Fido. “No. Miss Black would never send me off with someone without asking me first.”

  At least... I don’t think she would. But truthfully, everything since accepting this job has been a blur. I really don’t know what the woman will and won’t do.

  I expect him to smirk again, but the way his lips twist tells me he’s sorry for me. This makes me bristle. “Sorry, kitten, but I have more money than Jesus. And that woman may not whore her body out anymore, but she’s more than happy to whore yours for a big payday.”

  I can’t even put a name to half the emotions that start to riot through me. Betrayal, rage, and plain confusion.

  Not to mention the urge to pop him one right on his perfect Roman nose.

  “I want to call her. I want to leave.” My fingers dig into the arms of the chair again, and I feel the butter soft leather give way beneath my jagged nails. I don’t care. “She can’t just do that.”

  The hand on my jaw tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to get my attention. Those incredible eyes blaze down into my own.

  “If you get out of the job with me, she’ll just book you with Thomas again, as soon as he asks. And he’ll ask. You’re a toy to him, Miss Daniels, a thing. A possession that slipped through his fingers.”

  He’s...

  He’s absolutely right. I hate it, but he’s right. When I decided to work for Miss Black, all potential clients stopped seeing me as a woman, a person.

  I’m just a thing. A thing to be bought and sold. Not so different, after all, from those boyfriends of mama’s who felt entitled to a taste of both generations.

  With no idea what to say, I remain silent.

  “You’ll stay with me for as long as I desire it. I can more than pay for the privilege of your... company. And you’re lucky to have that cushion, since I heard a lot of bad words on that phone call over the money Black is out because of last night.” Adam cocks his head, daring me to respond.

  My mouth opens to shoot off some smart assed remark, but for once I swallow the words.

  He saved me from a terrible situation. And if he paid Miss Black as much as he’s implying, then I’ll make a nice paycheque too. At least, I’d damn well better.

  And I’m safe while he’s engaged me... as long as I’m with Adam, Henry Thomas can’t have me. And let’s face it, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else pressing to be. I’m caught up with all of my classes... it won’t kill me to miss a week.

  But one thing keeps nagging me. This is an awful lot of trouble to go to for an escort... what is he expecting in return?

  “Why are you doing this?” I finally blurt out. His fingers on my chin tighten as my outburst surprises him. “You’re gay. So what could you possibly get out of a week with me?”

  I can tell I’ve thrown him off of his game. Adam releases me, stands, steps back, his expression closing off.

  But those eyes of his, they meet my own and hold. And I can’t stop the shudder that works its way through my body.

  “I imagine you’ll want to shower.” He pointedly ignores the question. Returning to the couch where he had been sitting when I entered the room, Adam once again picks up his guitar, effectively dismissing me. “The bathroom is through the bedroom. You’ve got time for a shower and a nap before we land.”

  Where the fuck are we going? He still hasn’t told me. But my comment about him being gay clearly threw a switch, and I’m not eager to push him anymore right now.

  Well, for the next few hours, at least, I have no control over things, not unless I want to go skydiving without a parachute. So I’m going to go take a shower in what I’m sure is a fancy ass bathroom, then have myself a nap in a rock star’s bed.

  Exhaustion suddenly dogging me, I refrain from looking at Adam as I limp my way into the bathroom... fuck, but I’m sore. I don’t bother to look in the mirror before running the water, knowing that what I see will just be scary.

  I turn the spray to hot, suddenly desperate to wash away Henry Thomas’ touch.

  Pushing off from where I’m seated on the lip of the tub, I undo the tie of my dress and slide it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Even if it wasn’t ruined, even though I don’t own anything else nice, I’ll never wear it again.

  Beneath it, I’m still wearing the pale pink lacy thong that’s more a set of strings than anything else, and the bra that does nothing but hoist my boobs up, presenting them to the greediest onlooker.

  I wish I felt sexy in them. But anything to do with Henry Thomas... I just want it gone.

  Without warning, the bathroom door opens, and I quickly clutch my hands to my breasts, glaring as Adam fills the doorway, his tattoos standing out in sharp relief under the warm lighting.

  “What are you doing?” His gaze rakes me up and down, and though I know it’s ridiculous, because he’s seen me like this already, I still feel vulnerable. Yes, vulnerable, in a... kind of sexy kind of way.

  “I forgot to give you something to wear.” Solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eyes, he hands me a folded T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both of which I know are going to be too big. I clutch them to my abdomen, needing something to do with my hands.

 
“Thanks.” I swallow thickly, trying not to stare too much at the sight before me. But... damn.

  One of the most famous men in the world is standing in front of me shirtless, while the steam from my shower builds, dampening my skin. His ridiculous pajama pants ride low on hipbones that make me want to moan, and his taut stomach, his chest, those arms with their vivid ink...

  I’d be a cold, cold woman not to feel heat pooling between my thighs.

  And the look he’s giving me... I have to keep reminding myself that he just doesn’t swing that way. Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that he wasn’t entirely immune to my near nakedness, either.

  One side of his mouth curves up in a ridiculously sexy half smile, and my heart thunders in my chest, as though he’s about to kiss me.

  “No wonder Black drove such a hard bargain.” His words are like rum this time, warm and smooth but with a bite. “Your tits are fantastic.”

  I gape, the seductive swirl of the steam in the bathroom teasing my skin.

  He nods before backing away. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you.”

  He closes the door as he leaves. And I’m left feeling shockingly disappointed.

  Chapter Four

  When the private plane lands, I’ve dozed fitfully for a few hours. My restless sleep was dogged by flashing images of Henry Thomas’ cruel smile, Miss Black’s high heeled foot tapping on the floor, and Adam Kincaid’s wild, ever-changing eyes.

  I’m perched on the end of the bed, lacing up my hooker shoes when Adam opens the bedroom door without knocking. I’m getting the feeling that he does that a lot, and while it’s exasperating, to be fair, it’s his bedroom, his plane.

  “Come on.” He gestures with a nod of his head. He rocks back on his heels, waiting, his thumbs hooked in his pockets.

  He’s wearing another pair of skinny jeans, and a fitted purple T-shirt with the famous I Heart New York logo. His dark hair is artfully tousled, his eyes are again lined with something dark, and his tattoos ripple with his every movement.

  He looks utterly lickable. But I kinda miss the clean face, the Wonder Woman jammies. I definitely miss the bare chest, and the memory causes heat to suffuse my body.

  I can’t believe I’ve got the hots for the cocky jerk who freaking kidnapped me. Though, as he pointed out, as long as I’m with him, I’m safe.

  Though I suppose I might just be delaying the inevitable.

  “Will you tell me where we are now?” Standing, I rake suddenly sweaty palms through the sleep-tangled snarls of my hair. I don’t like not knowing where am I am or what’s going on.

  Adam eyes me wordlessly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Palm Beach,” he finally tells me, striding away with a swagger that tells me he expects that I’ll follow.

  Palm Beach?

  “How in the hell did you convince Miss Black to let you cart me all the way down to Florida?” My words are incredulous. “And why, why why why, are we here?”

  Adam gives me a sidelong glance as we wait for the pilot, who has emerged from the cockpit, to open the airplane door. His face is a study in exasperation, and I can’t quite hold back my dark satisfaction at that.

  Clearly, Mr. Famous here isn’t used to being questioned. Which just makes me want to do it all the more.

  “Money paves a lot of roads, kitten, and like I’ve told you, I have a lot of it.” He traces a finger over my cheekbone, and I’m furious with myself that the simple touch sets my body on fire. “And as to why... I told you. I’ve purchased your... services... for the next week. And this is where I’ll be for that time. Which means it’s also where you will be.”

  Then the door is open, and he’s stepping through it, making his way down the small flight of metal stairs that leads to the tarmac. The humidity is like a wet slap to the face as I follow, my stomach twisted tight because of his last words.

  Yes, he’s purchased my services. But I still don’t understand why.

  Another sleek black limo has pulled right up to the plane. A tall, stunning redhead whose impossibly slim legs are clad in tight black leather is leaning against the hood, ankles crossed casually, a tablet in hand, fingers pressed to the earpiece of her Bluetooth.

  I watch as she smiles wide to greet Adam, pushing her designer sunglasses to the top of her head to reveal an impossibly perfect face, all high cheekbones, smooth skin, pouting lips and almond shaped eyes.

  “Amy.” Adam pulls her in for a familiar hug, and the sudden urge to fist my hands in the woman’s sexy red waves and yank is overwhelming.

  “Hope you had a nice flight.” Her voice is a seductive purr, though there’s nothing overtly flirtatious about it. Her hand rests casually on Adam’s bicep as they speak, and I grind my teeth together.

  “It was eventful.” Adam grins and gestures to the metal stairs, where I am balanced on the bottom rung. The redhead’s expression freezes like she’s had a face full of Botox when she spies me. As she looks me up and then down in that way that women do, I become uncomfortably aware of the fact that I’m wearing a pair of Adam’s rolled up sweatpants, a T-shirt that probably looks mighty fine stretched over his pectorals but less appealing baggy over most of my torso but pulled unappealingly tight over my breasts, and the lace-up hooker heels that are the only footwear I have in my possession. Not to mention the smudged makeup on my face, my snarled hair, and the sheen of sweat that has broken out because of the ridiculous humidity.

  “Who is this?” Amy’s voice is pleasant enough on the surface, but being female, I can hear the aggression swimming just below the surface. I’ve never been the kind of girl who is automatically intimidated by another female, and I have to say, I just don’t get it.

  But Adam is... Adam. Hot. Rich. So I suppose that might make a woman territorial.

  “She’s with me.” Adam holds out a hand for me, helps me down the last step. The redhead’s smile freezes as he wraps an arm around my shoulders possessively, and my heart does this weird little flutter thing in my chest as his warmth seeps through the thin cotton of my shirt. I guess I might not be unaffected by this man, either. “Carly, this is my assistant Amy.”

  “With you?” Amy stares blankly at Adam, who unexpectedly nuzzles me, causing my heart to skip a beat. The light press of his lips on my neck makes my nipples peak and my sex throb, just like that, and I barely hold back the sigh of pleasure.

  “Just go along with it.” He breathes in my ear, freezing me in place and aborting all those lovely, sexy feelings.

  Right. Because he won’t touch me. Because he hired me for who knows what, but definitely not sex. This PDA is just for show, probably to convince people I’m his latest conquest rather than a hooker. Because what would that look like in the tabloids?

  “Yes. With me. Where I go, she goes.” Adam’s voice is as friendly as it was when he greeted Amy, but it’s underlain with a plate of steel that has her straightening her spine. After giving me a measured look from beneath spiky black eyelashes that cannot possibly be real, she gives Adam an intimate, knowing smile.

  “A girl... aren’t you a kinky bastard?” She looks like she’s just teasing him, the way friends do, but again my girl aggression radar goes off.

  If Adam leaves me alone with this chick, she’s going to punch me in the tit and shove me into the ocean. They’ll find my body washed up on a beach in Cuba.

  Adam doesn’t reply, hugging me to his side before guiding me to the limo.

  I can’t help but feel a surge of emotion at the way he’s keeping me by my side.

  Get a grip, Carly. It’s not real. None of this is real.

  “We’ll just have to get her some clothes that make her look like she’s not from the trailer park.” Amy mutters this under her breath as she opens the limo door, just loudly enough for me, standing closer to her, to hear.

  Stunned at the outright nastiness, the barb hitting me in an Achille’s heel she can’t possibly have known about, I stare. She smirks at me, then smiles sweetly at Adam, who clearly
didn’t hear.

  My nails dig into my palms. I want to claw her eyes out with my fingers for the disrespect that she absolutely intended. Instead I smile and duck into the limo before Adam.

  Clearly Little Miss Bitch has the hots for her boss, and seeing him with a woman at all is more than her tiny, shrivelled heart can handle. I could put her mind at ease and tell her that he and I aren’t like that... but I don’t want to. Plus, I’m not entirely convinced that there isn’t at least a spark of like that between us.

  That crack about the trailer park hit a little too close to home for my liking. Though as I look down at my ridiculous outfit, I suppose that I am looking the part. No one would look twice at this getup in Green Acres. But that still doesn’t endear me to the place.

  “She’s sweet.” I can hear the sarcasm dripping from my voice, but Adam, who has seated himself across from me, seems to miss it. He’s dropped all pretense of being lovey dovey, and is staring at his fingers, which he’s knit together in his lap.

  “Hmm. She’s a good friend.” He focuses his stare out the window, leaving me feeling more than a little confused.

  I’m pretty sure that’s going to be my go-to mental state for the next week, or however long he decides to keep me. Confused. Suddenly exhausted by the events of the past twenty-four hours, I rest my head back on the sleek leather seat. I intend to just close my eyes to block out the sensory overload that’s threatening to pull me under. But the slight vibrations of the car as it makes its way over the tarmac lulls me to sleep.

  ***

  When the limo stops I jolt awake, frantically trying to shove through the layers of disorientation that inevitably follow an impromptu nap. I feel like I’m being smothered in wet wool as I sit up, blinking at my surroundings like an owl.

  My pulse slows just the tiniest bit as my gaze lands on Adam, who is leaning half out the door, talking to Amy the redheaded be-yotch. Ignoring her, I tilt my head at him in question.

  “We’re at the hotel. Going to grab something to eat, then I have a photo shoot, and a show tonight.” I must look impressed, which I am—I’m so not used to hanging out with rock stars—and he gives me that smirk, holding out a hand for me. “Come on.”