by Karina Bliss
Even desperate to make her escape, she noticed a tightness to his movements as he dropped the remote on the coffee table. “Are you okay?” In five days he was flying to New Zealand with her to visit his family. Nobody wanted to be ill facing a twelve-hour flight—or contagious. “You look awful.”
Luther cleared his throat warningly, but Seth only shrugged. “Mel got engaged.” Picking up the shot glass on the coffee table, he downed the contents.
“The screamer you picked up a few weeks ago?” She knew damn well he was talking about his ex-girlfriend Mel, and not his rebound fuck, but the reminder served its purpose. His devastated expression eased into a wry grin.
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
She’d been delivering documents to the house Seth shared with Moss, the lead guitarist, when she’d heard blood-curdling shrieks and moans. Kicking off her heels, she’d raced to the backyard, grabbing a garden rake as a weapon en route, only to see a naked woman reclining on the pool steps, half in, half out of the water. Head flung back, her bare breasts thrust skyward, she screamed her release as Seth screwed her, naked but for her thighs wrapped around his waist.
Dimity had fled, but the bright, sunlit image was still seared into her brain. Blue sky reflected in the shimmering water, droplets beading on Seth’s bare torso.
She knew he’d lifted his self-imposed celibacy after a mourning period post-breakup, but the look in his eyes—pagan, primal—had shocked her. Seth was the poster child for a nice guy. He was Tom Sawyer grown-up—friendly, mischievous, playful, a lovable scamp with muscle. Not this Viking barbarian.
“I thought someone was being murdered.” Later, she’d discovered the woman was an actress. Clearly, not a good one. Worst faked orgasm she’d ever heard.
“Well, she keeps phoning for a repeat performance.” Seth poured the dregs from the tequila bottle into his shot glass. “At least I’m irresistible to some women.”
For over a year Dimity had watched this man try to maintain a long-distance relationship with his childhood sweetheart. Then for several months she’d watched him suffer stoically after being dumped. Why the hell couldn’t Mel have delayed announcing her engagement until the wound had scabbed over?
“I’m trespassing on bro time, so I’ll go.” Dimity was lousy at expressing sympathy—painful emotions made her uncomfortable if she couldn’t provide a fix, and she wasn’t one for empty platitudes. Seth was in good hands with Luther. Embarrassment still buzzing under her skin, she forced herself to meet the bodyguard’s eyes. “I’m relieved your crush on me was only in Zander’s imagination. I wanted to clear the air because I’m heading out to a bar and will be bringing a hook-up home.”
“Perfect.” Gulping the last mouthful of tequila, Seth handed the empty shot glass to Luther. “I’m in the mood to keep drinking and since you’re the only person in the world who doesn’t feel sorry for me right now, I’m coming with you.”
She owed him for this rescue, and tough love she could do. “As long as you don’t cramp my style.”
“Jesus, Dimity,” Luther mumbled.
But Seth laughed.
“I’ll even help you make a short list.”
“I’ll drive,” said Luther.
Dimity froze. Oh yeah, I really want to spend the evening with the guy who just humiliated me.
“Forget it, we’ll catch a cab.” Seth shrugged on a leather jacket. “I won’t scare off other guys, but you sure as hell will.”
“He’s right,” she told Luther, relieved. “You’ll frighten the fish.” Before following the drummer to the door, she murmured, “Don’t worry, I’ll look out for Seth.” Luther waited until their charge had stepped into the hall.
“So…we’re okay?”
She met his gaze squarely. “Absolutely.” She went out, closed the door on him, and leaned against it. I’m never, ever exposing myself like that again.
Seth offered her his arm.
Scowling, she pushed away from the door. “You’d better not be feeling sorry for me.”
He looked pained. “I just lost the love of my life. Can we please remember the real victim here?”
“That’s all right then.” Mollified, she tucked her arm through his.
“God,” he said. “You are so what I need right now. Let’s get drunk.”
Chapter Two
As Dimity had hoped, Seth spent the drive to the bar bonding with the cab driver, which gave her the chance to repair her makeup and the hairline fracture in her composure. By the time they’d arrived she could pretend the whole emotional exposure thing had never happened.
The bouncer recognized them both, shook her hand and gave Seth a hug. “Hey, buddy, it’s been a while.”
Everyone liked Seth. He could transition from playing pool with roadies to discussing economics with financiers—he even loved kids. Dimity had even seen him kiss a dog once. There was no creature, walking or crawling, he couldn’t make a connection with.
Which made it even sadder, she thought, as he opened the door for her, that he’d been rejected by the only person he desperately wanted.
They stepped inside. The bar was called The Comfort Zone, ironic given its undercurrent of suppressed violence and the fact that its patrons—a melting pot of intellectuals, drag queens, celebs, bikers and musos—were distinguished by their willingness to push boundaries.
Stylishly under-lit, it was a place where people who felt too much could get numb, and those desensitized by excess could still find something to fear. Drugs and kinky sex weren’t sold, but they were definitely bartered.
Unsurprisingly, it was a favorite haunt of Moss, Rage’s lead guitarist, and his was the face Dimity searched for as they weaved their way through to the bar. She wouldn’t abandon Seth for a hook-up without leaving him in the hands of a caretaker. It was her job to watch over the band in Zee’s absence. They needed to be battle-ready when he returned.
Moss saw them immediately, but then he noticed most things, despite his jaded vibe. His hooded gaze even held a hint of concern as he nodded to Seth, who muttered, “Fuck, no babysitters,” and steered her in the opposite direction.
Over her shoulder, she glanced at Moss, who shrugged and returned to his conversation.
At the bar, Seth pulled out his wallet. “What will you have?”
“Champagne.”
“A bottle of Moët and a tequila shot, thanks.” He flipped the barman his credit card, then pulled out a tall barstool for Dimity. “And keep the shots coming.”
“I guess I should offer a listening ear,” she said reluctantly.
“Nothing to tell. I loved someone. I set her free.”
Dimity forgot empathy. “What kind of defeatist attitude is that?”
“Says the woman who just surrendered the field to Luther’s mysterious crush.”
“If you’ll recall,” she said tartly, watching the barman pop the cork on the champagne bottle and pour the fizzing liquid into a flute. “I went there to make it clear I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want his feelings hurt when I arrived home with another guy. Mom re-married overseas today and sex is how I intend celebrating.”
“Wow.” Seth handed her the brimming glass. “That’s not weird at all.”
She smiled. “Shut up. It’s an emancipation fuck because my last financial dependent has flown the nest.”
He moved the ice bucket holding the champagne to her side of the bar and took his seat. “I’ve never heard you talk about your mother.”
“And you won’t now.” She raised her champagne.
“Cheers.” Seth picked up his tequila. “To small talk.” Knocking back his shot, he swung to face the crowd. “So what kind of guy are we looking for?”
“No one high maintenance. I work with rock stars.” The champagne was icy-cold on her tongue. “But I’m shallow,” she added, “so looks, obviously.”
“Obviously.” He smiled. “Anything else?”
Thoughtfully, she sipped her champagne.
“Someone who won’t be intimidated by a smart woman—or threatened either. I’m not interested in a pissing contest with some alphahole needing to prove balls beat ovaries. But he needs to have some intelligence.” She scanned the room for prospects. The trouble with working around charismatic, beautiful, pain-in-the-ass creatives was that other men seemed dull in comparison.
On a small stage to their left, roadies were setting up instruments. Bands at The Comfort Room performed by invitation only. The owner made his selection solely on talent, which left a lot of successful acts out in the cold. When Zander was rebuilding Rage’s profile, the band had played here twice. “And no one in the industry either,” she added. “Too often they see me as a way to Zee.”
Seth eyed her thoughtfully. “I thought you’d be spoiled for choice, now I’m surprised you ever have sex. It’s not easy being you, is it?”
She waved away his empathy. “I love my life.”
“How did you first start working for Zander?”
“I went to a party to pick him up.”
“Naturally you succeeded.”
She appreciated his certainty, but wasn’t so sure about his amusement. “I left to get my coat and when I returned Zee had experienced an epiphany. He said he was sorry, but he’d just remembered a prior appointment to save his career. And then I had an epiphany and said, ‘Let me help you with that.’” Her fangirl crush wasn’t lust; it was a burning desire to learn from the master of reinvention.
“Mutual epiphanies,” Seth nodded solemnly. “Sexy.”
“It is sexy.” She’d recognized in Zander the embodiment of her own philosophy. He was unapologetic about who he was. If he made the wrong move, he simply changed tactics. There was no time to mourn lost opportunities or sink into self-pity. He was exactly what she wanted to be—indomitable. “Know what my favorite thing to do is?”
“You’ve just told me it’s not sex.” Seth lifted his empty glass to attract the attention of the bartender. “Torturing baby rock stars?”
“I machinate.”
“As do we all.”
She rolled her eyes. “Scheme, plot, intrigue, devise, strategize, maneuver, conspire. Win. It’s my thing.” She paused while the barman refilled Seth’s shot glass. “As Zee’s girlfriend I would have lasted two minutes. As his right-hand woman we’re coming up for our third anniversary.”
“Maybe three minutes,” Seth said. “Let’s give Zander some credit.”
She giggled. And she never giggled.
Seth looked as surprised as she felt, then he grinned. “One of those minutes would be arguing about who got to be on top.”
“Stop!” She smothered another giggle. “He’s like my older brother now and the idea’s gross.” She sipped her champagne. “But for the record, I’d be on top.”
“Is that right?” His gaze flicked over her, and for an instant she glimpsed the marauder he’d been at the pool before he returned to scanning the crowd. “How about that guy?” He pointed to a blond in leathers. “He’s been checking you out since we got here. Worth putting on your short list?”
“What short list?” Moss asked as he joined them. Dimity explained and a speculative gleam lit his green eyes.
“I suppose I can sacrifice myself for the cause.” He draped an arm around her shoulder.
She shrugged it off. “Thanks, but I know where you’ve been. Plus, you’re even more dysfunctional than I am.” The lead guitarist came from poverty and was embracing hedonism with death-wish fervor.
“You’d probably kill me after sex anyway,” he said lazily. “Like a female grasshopper.”
“You’re thinking of a praying mantis,” said Seth.
“And I don’t need to kill my lovers. They die of happiness, their lives fulfilled.”
“Tell me the drugs you’re on,” said Moss. “I want some.” He glanced at his bandmate’s shot glass. “Or are we drowning our sorrows?”
“Drowning,” Seth said. He drank the contents, grimaced and gave his empty glass to Moss. “Thanks.”
With his roomie around to keep an eye on him, Dimity excused herself and went to the bathroom. When she returned, Moss had disappeared and a skimpily-clad woman had taken her seat and clamped a hand on Seth’s knee.
For a moment, Dimity hesitated—maybe he wanted this—but then she saw the strain behind his smile. Normally Houdini-like in his ability to escape over-zealous advances, tonight he emanated a little-boy-lost vibe that would be blood in the water to any man-eater. As she drew nearer, she heard him say, “Sorry, Tania, but I’m with a friend tonight.”
“I’m the friend,” Dimity said pleasantly, “and you’re in my seat.”
The woman didn’t even glance at her. “So that means you’re free to take my number.”
Deftly, he loosened her grip on his knee. “Your offer is flattering, but—”
“Let’s cut this short, Tania,” Dimity cut in. “He’s too nice to tell you you’re wasting your time. More importantly, you’re wasting my time. And you’re still in my seat.” The brunette finally looked at her.
“What bug got up your ass?”
“Good point.” Opened her purse, Dimity pulled out a packet of wet wipes. “You’re wearing a G-string, if you’re wearing panties at all.” Removing one, she waited expectantly.
Seth choked. “What my friend—”
“Don’t bother.” The brunette slid off the stool. “Bitch.”
“Thank you for noticing.” As Dimity reclaimed her stool, she said to Seth, “Where the hell is Moss? I left him as your wing man.”
“Yeah, we figured. He said, ‘Buddy, you okay?’ I said, ‘Mate, I’m fine. Buy me a drink and fuck off.’ And he did.” He pinned her with a hard stare. “Start feeling sorry for me, and I’ll have to ditch you.”
* * *
Seth held Dimity’s gaze, making sure she’d received his message loud and clear. I will not tolerate a babysitter.
A good mate? Yes. A drinking buddy? Absolutely. Mama Bear? No way.
She was the first to look away, redirecting her stunning—and cunning—Bahama-blue gaze to the tow-haired guy he’d pointed out earlier as a likely hook-up. “He won’t do,” she said calmly. “I want honest muscle, not a steroid-abusing pretty boy.” Circling one manicured fingertip around the rim of her champagne glass, she smiled at Seth. “You know, there is a major benefit to being single that you haven’t considered.”
He didn’t return her smile, which he recognized as strategic. “What’s that?”
“You’re eligible for my list.”
“Yeah?” He compressed his lips, but she must have seen the twitch of amusement because her shoulders relaxed. Damn her, she could always disarm him with humor. If there wasn’t pity lurking in her offer somewhere, he would have been flattered. Hell, if he wasn’t such a heartbroken mess, he might even have taken her on. She could wither the toughest guys’ balls with one cold stare, but his ego wasn’t built on machismo. And he enjoyed making guerrilla attacks on her misplaced belief that he was harmless.
“Being a nice guy works against you.” She sat back and crossed her long legs. “But on the plus side, you’re still in love with your ex, which makes you emotionally unavailable. According to my shrink, that’s my type.”
Seth blinked, unable to imagine her ever giving anyone access to her private thoughts, which he imagined alphabetized and locked away. “You see a psychiatrist?”
“Of course, I live in California now.” She put her empty glass on the bar and he reached for the champagne bottle to refill it. “She told me I had abandonment issues. Oh, please. I’ve been paying Mom to abandon me for years and she simply wouldn’t go.” She brightened. “Until now.”
Normally, he’d have followed up such an intriguing comment, but he needed to concentrate on keeping a steady hand as he refilled the narrow-necked flute. Maybe he should pull back on the shots.
“I could give you my therapist’s number,” she added.
“No.” The liquor fizzed up, then
subsided without spilling over the rim—a small win on a shit day. “I’m a Kiwi bloke. We suffer stoically, and die of heart disease brought on by repressed feelings.” Replacing the bottle in the ice bucket, he passed her the flute. “And as much as I appreciate your offer, I’m not interested in being a pity fuck.” He tried and failed to keep bitterness out of his voice.
“Pity only gets you added to the list. You still have to earn my sexual favors.”
Even heartbroken, he had to laugh, which he suspected was her goal. He’d always thought Dimity kind. Never by word—the woman was a verbal wrecking ball—but by deed she was one of the kindest people he knew, always looking out for members of the Rage family. But you had to earn her loyalty. He still wasn’t sure when his own membership had been approved. That was the thing with Dimity. You only discovered how much she liked you when you were in serious trouble.
And he was—gutted, heartbroken, lost, angry…hurting. But that was his problem to solve, not hers. She wouldn’t go man-hunting if he didn’t at least pretend to be okay, and he had no intention of ruining her plans. So he got with the program.
“At the risk of jeopardizing my nice guy status, you’re a little too skinny for my tastes.”
“That’s okay, you’re too ginga for mine.”
“In your press releases you call my hair auburn,” he reminded her.
She widened her eyes. “Do I?”
“You are so full of shit,” he said affectionately. “Do you believe half the things you say?”
“I don’t have to—I just have to make other people believe them. But I can take constructive criticism.” She batted her fake eyelashes. “Tell me again I’m too skinny.”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “I’m not encouraging female self-loathing.” She had to know how beautiful she was.
“It’s our industry, Seth. Every woman hungry, every man beautified.”
“What?” he taunted. “You think because I’m having a weak moment, I’m suggestible?” She never gave up hope of talking him into a makeover. He deliberately repeated the phrase that drove her crazy. “I’ve told you before, I’m happy as I am.”