Her painfully obvious feelings for Adam make me feel even more sick to my stomach. No, I don’t suppose I’m the only woman who has fallen for Adam. Not by a long shot.
I don’t much like the thought of being one of the crowd, waiting for him to bestow his attention on me.
Pressing my lips together, I watch as Sybil pauses to switch out a lens in her camera. The second that the lens isn’t aimed at him, Adam turns it off... that thing that will make readers of that magazine believe that he is absolutely into Shanti.
He’s good at that. And I know that while he might be genuinely interested in me right now—he makes me feel uncertain, but I’m not so insecure that I can’t see my own appeal—knowing that it will end hurts. And it will end... he’s famous. I’m a call girl. The tabloids would have a freaking field day with this.
But... I want to take that step. I want to live before I go back to Miss Black and my mother and barely scraping by.
And I am so out of my element here, I need a moment to process that... a moment alone.
Amy makes a small moment of triumph as I turn, wobbling on one of the stupid high heels that she picked out for me. I couldn’t care less what she thinks, I just know that I need to get out of here, away from the people cooing over Adam, telling him how wonderful he is, trying to get a piece of some part—any part—of him.
My heart aches for him... what must it be like to live like that? When I see this, the way people react to him, I understand completely why he’s drawn to me. Though given the way my pulse is thundering, I’m not as immune as I’d like to be.
No matter how much I want him, no matter what he sees in me that he needs... I can’t do this, not if it means losing my own heart.
The door to the suite closes behind me, leaving me in deafening silence. The plush carpeting muffles my footsteps as I walk unsteadily back to the suite I’d spent the day in. It occurs to me that I could leave, right now.
But where would I go? I don’t have a purse, don’t have any cards. Wouldn’t have any money on those cards even if they were accessible.
And a look down the empty hall—they must have booked the whole thing to keep it private—shows me Sax and another of the giants, stationed in front of the elevator. No doubt the rest of the herd of ‘roided up dinos are nearby.
I don’t know if Adam gave them orders to keep me here, but I wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’ll think that it’s because he’s concerned for my safety... but ultimately, that concern comes from his interest in the one woman who didn’t drop to his feet.
Down the hall, a door opens with such force that it slams into the wall. I freeze, my hand on the door to our room—I don’t have to turn around; I know it’s him.
I can feel my pulse begin to pound a staccato beat against my ribcage, louder than the bass line at any rock concert. And no matter the lectures I’ve given myself since leaving this room an hour ago, when Adam grabs my arm, pulls me back against his unyielding body, I feel my resolve evaporate in an instant in the face of this thing that sizzles between us.
We stand like that for a moment, his front pressed to my back. His arm is wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me in place, and when I push back against him, my eyes fly wide open as I become intimately acquainted with evidence that this man is absolutely, positively into women.
Or at least, this woman.
“Adam. What am I doing here?” Not thinking, I nestle the curves of my ass against his erection, and am rewarded with a wicked curse.
The arm around my waist urges me to turn, and I am gently but insistently pressed back against the solid surface of the door. He traces a finger along the edge of my jaw, eyes blazing.
“I don’t entirely know.” His eyes search my face. “But I want to find out. Tell me this is okay.”
He holds perfectly still, even when I wiggle against him.
Don’t worry—I won’t touch you.
Damn it all, he’s going to make me say it before he’ll do it.
“Adam, please.” As I look into his eyes I forget the photo shoot, forget that we’re in a hallway, that Amy or one of the giants could come by at any moment, could find us here, like this.
It doesn’t matter. All that matters is here and now.
“I want this.” I swallow thickly, find my fingers are trembling as I reach out to place a hand on that glorious chest. “I want you.”
I hear him inhale as I say the words. The fingers of one of his hands wrap around my wrist, holding it still; with his free hand he pulls the loose necktie from around his neck.
“What—” My question is cut off when he loosens the tie and wraps it around one of my wrists. The fabric is smooth and cool, and nerves spark in the skin beneath it.
Still silent, Adam claims my other wrist as well. Looping the necktie in a figure eight around both wrists, he ties them in a knot.
“Now I want you to stop thinking about whether this is wrong or right, just for a minute.” Hands on the satin that binds my wrists, he lifts up, over, until my arms are wrapped around him and I can’t let go. “Just feel.”
And then I can’t breathe, because he’s lowering his head slowly, so slowly, giving me ample time to turn away...
And then he’s kissing me. Holy shit, Adam Kincaid is kissing me... but to me he’s just Adam, the man who makes me see that I’m worth so much more than where I came from.
The only sound in that great long hallway is the soft slide of the satin tie over the solid muscles of Adam’s bare shoulders. And I’m so glad that that tie is there, to keep me from losing my balance.
In that moment, when his lips first claim mine, I don’t give a shit who he is, or how much money he makes, or even that he kidnapped me. All I care about is him... and me... and the electricity arcing between us, threatening to consume us both.
After that first sultry brush of the lips Adam pulls back, and our noses brush. His expression is lustful, almost languid, but those eyes that I love so much are anything but—no, those eyes are bright, and wide open, drinking in every nuance of my expression in a way that says he’s thirsty for more.
Then his lips press to mine again, and the spine-tingling wonder that washes over me makes me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. He hasn’t even opened his mouth yet, hasn’t slid his tongue between my lips to war with my own, and yet this kiss is hotter, has me more wound up, than any of the actual sex that I’ve ever had. Hotter even than feeling his fingers exploring my thigh while the lights of the camera flashed.
He palms my hip lightly, in the space where the skimpy shirt that Amy chose for me has ridden up. The sensation of his palm on my bare skin nearly sends me through the roof, even though the touch itself is fairly chaste.
None of this is at all what I expected from a rock god.
But it’s exactly what I want from Adam.
I rock my hips forward, pressing the soft flesh of my belly against his erection. And wow... like I’ve said, I’m not super experienced, but... there seems to be an awful lot of it.
He mutters a curse as I press against him, slides the hand on my hips up my ribcage and over the side of my breast to fist in my hair.
And then Adam freaking Kincaid takes control of the kiss in the way I’ve dreamt of with every lover I’ve ever had, and while there haven’t been that many, it hasn’t lessened the need. The kiss turns from sweetly full of need to something raw, dirty and dark.
My nerves gather in the pit of my belly, then explode in a fireworks display of bright stars behind my closed eyelids.
His tongue teases over the seam of my lips, not coaxing but demanding that I open for him. The second I do, he sweeps inside, exploring what is his. It’s as filthy as fucking, with nothing more than the press of lips and tangle of tongues and light scrape of teeth. As he conquers my mouth he slides his hands back down my body, exploring and measuring my curves.
“So fucking soft.” He mutters this against my neck as he traces the swells of my outer breasts, over and over
again. For a man who supposedly has never done this before, the pressure is just right, not light enough to tickle, but not firm enough to do more than tease.
“More.” I arch my back, trying to show him what I want. He hesitates, looking deep into my eyes before slowly, so very slowly, sliding his hand over to cup my breast.
Amy didn’t bother to provide me with a bra, and the thin cotton doesn’t offer much in the way of barrier between his hand and the soft flesh of my breast. His touch is a dichotomy, a man confident in his sexuality yet not exactly sure how to touch me.
The firm way his palm cups me combined with the hesitant brush of his thumb over my nipple is almost enough to make me scream.
“You liked that.” It’s not a question, those words in that cocky voice. He may not be overly familiar with the terrain of a woman’s body, but he’s not about to let me forget who’s in charge here. “What about this?”
Those teasing fingers pinch the peak of my breast, just hard enough to send a surge of liquid heat through my core.
I stifle a cry against the hot satin of his chest, and my hips buck wildly. Writhing against him, my mouth seeks his again, desperate to get lost in the warm, wet heat of his kiss.
This time when his tongue slips past my lips, he palms the curves of my ass and lifts, urging me to wrap my legs around his lean, sexy as sin hips. He purrs with satisfaction when my skirt rides up, bring my heat against his hardness.
He could take me like this... the flimsy crotchless panties that Amy provided me with are hardly any kind of a barrier. In fact, they leave my sensitive flesh wide open to rasp over the fabric of his trousers, and each rock of his hips makes me shudder with need.
Yes, he could drive into me right here, just like this. All he’d have to do is lower the zipper of hit pants, and we could burn together.
I’d let him. Hell, I’d lead the way.
From the look of his face, he knows it. But beneath that cocky exterior, there’s a hint of wonder, like what he’s experiencing with me is a slice of heaven that he never expected to find. So, instead of slipping his fingers between me, sliding his cock into my waiting heat, he kisses a trail of damp caresses down my neck, over my shoulder, then back up to my lips.
The small nip on the tender flesh of my earlobe nearly does me in... and the soft, sweet kiss he plants on my mouth after absolutely does. Wide eyed, I bury my face in his neck, overcome with the emotion that drives this thing between us.
My body is wracked with shudders as intense as if he’d made me come, and I can’t stop the sensations from rioting through me.
“You’re tearing me to pieces.” Adam whispers in my ear, his breath ragged. I can feel his pulse thundering against my own.
“Mmm.” I have no words, murmuring into his chest instead.
“You asked me what you were doing here.” Slowly, carefully, he lowers me back to my feet. I kick aside my shoes, toes curling into the carpet instead.
“Does this answer some of it?” When he cups my chin in a gentle palm, feathers his fingers down over my throat in an unmistakeable mark of possession, I feel so cherished I could cry. I actually have to blink hard to keep the prickle of tears at bay, I’m so overcome with emotion, with the feeling of rightness that I feel, here in Adam’s arms.
I don’t cry. To grow up in one piece in Green Acres, I learned that at a very young age. And because of that beginning, I can’t just give in that last bit, can’t just take Adam by the hand and lead him into the bedroom of the suite. I need to be sure, need to know that I’m not making a mistake.
“How do I know I’m not just entertainment?” I don’t finish the sentence, but I don’t have to.
He hired me for the week. Ultimately, if he plays the Miss Black card, I’ll have to do whatever he wants. And at the end of the week he can send me home and never look back.
The way his expression changes, I instantly know that I’ve said the wrong thing. Abruptly, mechanically, he steps back, runs a hand through his hair.
His lips are set in a tense line as he unwinds my arms from around his neck, removes the necktie that binds me and stuffs it in his pocket. Eyes fixed on mine, he removes the key card for our room, opens the door, then gestures for me to go inside.
Silently, not sure how this changed so quickly when my mouth is still swollen from his kisses, I pick up my shoes and carry them inside.
He doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anything else, so I go to stand by the wall of glass, looking out at the cotton candy hues of the sun setting over the ocean.
I don’t hear him approach, and yet I’m not startled to feel his lips move against my ear.
“You don’t know that you’re not entertainment anymore than I know I’m not just another john.” I whirl at that, ready to lash out at him for the cruel words. But the look on his face condemns me... he’s absolutely right.
“Until you fully grasp that, there’s not much more to say to one another.” He rubs his hand absently over the tattoo that I coaxed the meaning of out of him earlier, and I’m reminded of the fact that I’m not the only one with skeletons in my closet.
And then he’s gone, leaving me to battle it out with demons that he has shown me quite plainly are mine, and not his. He knows exactly what he wants—me.
I just have to take control of my own life with the same fervor that he has his.
The trouble? I never have—life has always led me around by the reins, rather than vice versa.
And after all these years... I just don’t know if I can. But if I want this man who has turned my world upside down, I’d better figure it out.
And I’d better figure it out soon, because there are a million people, both men and women, who would be more than happy to take my place.
Chapter Seven
I’ve been backstage at a show once before, when I was in high school and a friend of a friend who had a garage band landed a gig at a shitty bar that a group of us snuck into. It had smelled overwhelmingly of sweat, stale beer and marijuana, was small and crowded, and my strongest memory of the night was of punching the fifty something bar owner in the nuts when he followed me into the women’s bathroom and tried to cop a feel.
Backstage at an Adam Kincaid show? It’s luxury and chaos thrown into one.
The venue is huge, an arena that’s home to a national hockey team. There are nearly a hundred people running around, all serious and intent on their jobs, which include everything from taping down cords and running sound checks to conducting safety inspections on pyrotechnics and fetching pizza and beer for one of the opening acts.
Adam and the other artist headlining the show both have their own dressing rooms, but I don’t know where. Instead I’m sitting cross legged on a lipstick red leather couch that threatens to swallow me whole, it’s so soft. There’s a whole living room set done in that buttery soft leather set up at the side of the stage, where VIPs are allowed to relax and watch the show.
And though I haven’t seen Adam since he issued that ultimatum, I’m apparently considered one of these very important people. And honestly, it’s a bit of a relief to have him elsewhere, focused on something else, because when he’s around I can’t think, can’t breathe... can’t focus on anything but him.
I don’t love the way we parted, though. And that’s what has made me send Amy to get me something to do with my hands.
“Do you need anything else right now?” Amy approaches the end of the coach with an expression of absolute loathing on her face. I smile sweetly back up at her.
“I think this about covers it.” Before leaving the hotel for the concert venue—without me—Adam gave Amy instructions to make sure I got to the venue safely and that I had everything I wanted or needed. It was bitchy of me, but I’d taken great pleasure in sending her to get me jeans, a T-shirt and yarn when she was so clearly appalled to have been saddled with responsibility for me.
True, she’d gotten her revenge—the jeans she’d brought were skin-tight and so low cut that my oh-so-
classy crotchless thong hung out the back. And the T-shirt was super low cut and had the word Maneater emblazoned across the breasts in cheap looking rhinestones. Still, it was way better than trying to get comfortable in a pleather miniskirt.
But in my hands is something she clearly didn’t know enough about to sabotage—four small, double pointed knitting needles on which are balanced the beginnings of a home knit sock. I learned the craft when I was just a kid, from an elderly lady in the trailer next to ours. And it’s always been my go-to activity for calming my nerves, of which I have plenty right now.
I still can’t quite believe that Miss Black just let me run off with Adam, and I suspect I’m going to be in big trouble of some kind when I get home. And Henry Thomas is going to be deeply unhappy with me. Not to mention that I’m kinda, sorta involved with a hedonistic rock star who essentially kidnapped me.
My fingers move the needles faster, the thin wool spooling out from a bright cake of the stuff that rests in my lap.
Amy eyes my knitting, her expression a bit puzzled, before she stomps off... probably to find Adam and do whatever it is assistants to rock stars do before a massive concert. The thought that she’s going to see him while he’s clearly avoiding me has my hands moving faster still, sliding one needle behind the other, looping the yarn around, bringing it under and off, over and over again.
At least I can control this.
The minutes tick by as I focus on what I’m doing, my busy hands keeping my mind blissfully blank. I’ve knitted about two inches of the first sock when the couch dips. Someone sits down beside me, interrupting my little oasis, and I can’t hold back my scowl as I’m jostled and a stitch slips off of my needle.
I look up as I slide the stitch back onto the needle, catching it before it can unravel and force me to start again... and when I do, I lose all capacity for rational thought. Cobalt blue eyes with intriguing flecks of gold are looking me over with interest, peering out from beneath artfully shaggy hair. A ripped chest is on full view since this heavenly creature is shirtless, and his muscles ripple as he reaches up to toy with a ring that’s hanging from a chain around his neck.
The Chase Page 8