by Karina Bliss
Zander caught himself smiling and stopped. He would have to exercise self-restraint for both of them, keep sex out of all their professional interactions. A vision of Elizabeth interviewing him naked sprang immediately to mind and he had to cross his legs to discourage anything else springing up.
With an effort, he refocused on the T-shirt he’d just signed and saw not his name, but hers.
By the time one thirty rolled round, he’d remembered she’d suggested sex as a one-off. Despite paying no attention to it at the time, Zander seized on it with the fervor of a new convert.
When Elizabeth climbed into the limo—smiling at Luther as the bodyguard shut the door—he felt a pang almost like grief. But if he didn’t take this loophole, things might get messy. If things got messy, she might get hurt. And he was done hurting people—at least intentionally.
“Mind if I close the partition, guys?” she asked Luther and the driver when they were pulling into traffic. “My recorder picks up ambient noise.”
“Yeah,” Zander added. “And I might say something that will shock you both.” Now he had a strategy, he wanted to implement it.
The partition slid shut on male laughter and they were alone.
Elizabeth said softly, “Before we begin interviewing, I just want to say that last night was terrific.”
Zander steeled himself for the talk, the one where he gently reminded a lover of terms already agreed. His life consisted of hanging velvet ropes around his too small, infinitely precious, private space.
“I’m glad you talked me into it,” her brown eyes twinkled at him, “and I also want to say thank you for respecting the boundaries around our professional relationship. I don’t know why I was so worried you might expect more.” She pulled a wry face. “Ego, right?”
Zander stared at her. “Right,” he managed.
“And now that we’ve satisfied our curiosity, we can go back to real life.” Elizabeth placed the recorder between them. “So, let’s pick up from yesterday’s interview. You were talking about how music mainlines into the emotions.” She glanced at him expectantly.
Zander thought, it can’t be that easy.
Suspicious, he watched her through the interview, looking for signs that she was playing some kind of reverse sexual politics before remembering; Elizabeth didn’t do subterfuge. He was the paranoid one, thinking last night had meant something simply because he’d felt an onrush of affection for this woman.
This wonderful, honest, uncomplicated woman. Of course, his ego might be a little bruised by how effortlessly she dismissed their incredible lovemaking, but Zander’s self-protective psyche was moonwalking all over it.
A dizzying smorgasbord of possibilities opened up, all guilt-free and involving a naked biographer.
* * *
“Stay,” Zander said casually after their preconcert interview session. Elizabeth switched off her recorder before she answered.
“Why?” she replied equally casual but she knew the skip in her voice had betrayed her interest.
Zander clipped on a skull earring that nestled in the upper curve of his ear. It matched the skull ring on his finger and was made of the same beaten silver as the chain links nestled between the angel wings. “You know why,” he said huskily.
They were in his stadium dressing room in Manchester, Northern England, a few days later and he wore the same blood-red silk shirt he’d worn the day they’d met. The same black leather jeans, teamed tonight with black boots reflective enough to mirror your face in them if you got close enough. Elizabeth hadn’t gotten close enough. They’d been on company time.
Since their night together, the balance of power was a delicate one. Here, where Zander was king, he had an advantage. Elizabeth knew it. He knew it.
As if sensing her skittishness, he fastened the buttons on his shirt, neatly, precisely, covering the tattoo, the chain, the muscle. See, I’m just a guy about to go to work.
Yeah. Right.
All through his preshow rituals—the dressing, the adornment, the vocal warm-up—she’d had to dig her hands in the pockets of her jacket to stop herself from touching him.
“We agreed that sex was a one-time thing.” Hearing her ambivalence, Zander grinned. His perceptiveness was the most powerful turn-on of all.
“Yeah, we did. Now let’s agree that was a stupid idea. Think of me as your personal trainer for risk taking. We’ll build up slowly to a sexual marathon.”
“You and your energy-conducting penis are just seeking another convert,” she said crossly, watching him roll up a sleeve to reveal a sinewy tanned forearm. Tempted. The other night had been…fantastic. The fulfillment of secret fantasies she didn’t even know she had. More importantly, she’d still respected herself in the morning.
Zander turned his attention to the other sleeve. “My performance will turn on thousands of women tonight, but only you get to have me—if you want me. Who really has the power?”
Elizabeth weakened under that blowtorch gaze. There wasn’t a lick of moisture left in her mouth. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she swallowed. A lick or two now would be nice.
Someone tapped on the door and Dimity stuck her head in. “Zee, the VIP fans are waiting for their handshakes.”
“Elizabeth’s deciding whether to stay for the show.” He smiled at her. “Doc, if you’re interested in a different perspective, you can join these fans in the mosh pit.” The challenge in his smile was all too familiar, the appeal in his eyes completely new.
“I’ll stay.” Over the past few days, his diligence in not mixing business with pleasure had answered her greatest concern—that this rebel wouldn’t follow her rules. She could trust him.
His smile heated her blood. “And we’ll meet here after the show for a debrief.”
Oh boy. Come to think of it, there were still fantasies she hadn’t explored.
“Don’t bother to wait for us,” he added carelessly to Dimity. “We’ll take a car back to the hotel when the arena clears. Tell Luther to come by at midnight.”
“Sure.” The PA didn’t so much as blink and Elizabeth relaxed. Obviously the idea of her and Zander together was too preposterous to consider. She wouldn’t have been nearly as complacent if she’d seen Dimity’s smirk as she led the way to the VIP room.
* * *
In its uninhibited glee, a mosh pit wasn’t all that different from her niece’s recent birthday party, except a music rush replaced the sugar rush, Elizabeth bounced without a trampoline, and all her giddiness arose not from an attempted seat drop, but from the blistering sexual heat generated by the man on stage.
Zander had told her once his goal was to connect with each and every one of his audience, whether in the front row or the last. “When you give everything, boundaries dissolve.” As she synchronized with the uninhibited mass of friendly bodies, swaying through the ballads, pogo-ing through the anthems and hollering every chorus, Elizabeth absorbed that truth at a visceral level.
“I love you, Zander,” a woman shrieked beside her, detonating a chorus of echoing shrieks through the mosh pit. Looking at the blissful adulation on the upturned faces around her, Elizabeth laughed. She could have been at a Pentecostal revival meeting, such was the fervor.
From the stage, he grinned at her, a wild and reckless grin that set her pulse racing. Energy, electric and crackling, filled the air with a charge that was sex, and so much more.
“OMG, he’s looking at me,” yelled a woman behind her.
“No, he’s smiling at me,” yelled a guy’s voice.
Elizabeth’s amusement faded. Zander had a gift for intimacy with strangers and she was in danger of reading the way he made her feel as something private and special to her. Staying wasn’t a good idea.
The press of bodies suddenly claustrophobic, she struggled through the sea of human kelp to the far side of the stage.
As the band hit the last chorus of the final encore, she flashed her ID at the security guards and they pulled her free of the crowd. Hur
rying to the exit and a ride to the hotel, she remembered she’d left her jacket—with her recorder, wallet and hotel key—hanging in Zander’s changing room. How could she have been so careless? Flustered, obviously. And another reason to stay with a professional relationship. Returning to collect it, she ripped a page from her notebook and scrawled a note. Sorry. Something came up. Eliz—
“I knew you’d run.”
She dropped her pen.
Zander stood in the doorway, a towel draped round his neck and his torso bare. Breathing hard from his encore. Sweaty. Raw. Beautiful. Dangerous.
“You planned this,” she accused, too rattled for tact. “You’re sex-ing me into helpless and needy.”
“Doc, I want you begging.” His post-show huskiness made his voice a rough caress. “But only so I can give you everything you need.”
Panic became desire. It thickened her blood, clouded her brain. What an invitation.
His eyes reinforced it, hot and hungry, male and demanding. “Give me control tonight. I promise you’ll like it.”
Elizabeth swallowed convulsively. She trusted him to follow her rules, but could she trust herself to? You’re just visiting Planet Z. This has nothing to do with your real life.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Zander stepped inside and locked the door, muting the noise outside. Leaning against it, he tossed the towel aside. “Take off your clothes.”
“W…what?”
“Your clothes,” he said. “Take them off.”
She hesitated. “Maybe I should grab a shower first. I’m all sticky from dancing.”
Unsmiling, Zander shook his head. “I want you real.”
With a shiver of intoxicating helplessness, Elizabeth stripped. He watched, legs planted wide, arms folded with his fingers curved over his biceps. Blue gaze burning.
When she reached bra and panties, self-consciousness kicked in. “You come here often?”
“I said naked, Doc.”
Unhooking her bra, Elizabeth glanced nervously at the door. Had he twisted the lock properly? “What about you?”
“We’ll get to that.” He hooked a thumb in his leather jeans drawing her gaze down to the bulge in the front of his pants.
“Okay.” Her attention still on his erection, she shimmied out of her panties, feeling wicked and breathless, apprehensive and aroused. “I’m ready.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Woman, I’m the boss, remember? And before I service your fantasy, you have to service mine. Or should I say self-service? We talked about it the other night.”
One day I hope you’ll let me watch.
“Here?” Startled, she glanced around the sparsely furnished room. “Now?”
“Sit on the chair at the dressing table.”
Elizabeth looked at the bright, unforgiving bulbs circling the mirror, and remembered she was thirty-five. “I’m probably not comfortable with—”
“I don’t want you to be comfortable.”
The chair was leather, cold on her bare butt. She should probably have put something down… She swung to face him because it felt odd seeing her reflection naked and exposed. Ordinary. “I don’t think this will work,” she said sadly. “I’m not that uninhibited—”
“You’re a wild woman masquerading as a good girl.” Pushing away from the doorjamb, Zander strolled toward her. “Sex the other night scared the hell out of me. Tonight it’s your turn.”
“Really?” she said delighted.
Zander pulled up a chair, and faced her. “Terrified,” he admitted.
Something about the raw honesty of his hunger made her feel like the first woman. Fascinating and other. Brave.
“Show me how you please yourself.” He stroked one finger down his cock, through the leather and she copied the movement, self-conscious but willing to try.
Her fingers found the rhythm, but some part of her brain wouldn’t shut down and let her enjoy it.
“Open your legs wider,” he said. “I want to see everything.”
His voice, deep and gravelly, made her breath quicken. Maybe this could work.
“Talk more,” she ordered.
“No,” he said. “We talk too much. But if you need help.” He opened his fly and began stroking himself. Competent, workmanlike, male. She began to gasp. “Oh yes, that’ll work.” Sensation began to spiral.
Zander dropped to his knees in front of her, pushing her trembling legs further apart, pulled away her hand and put his mouth, his tongue on her, stroking just where she needed it. A climax rolled over her in intense waves. Elizabeth gave a strangled cry and surrendered to it.
She rejoined reality to find herself sprawled inelegantly, Zander kneeling between her legs watching her. She hid her embarrassment under a joke. “Okay, I’m done.”
With a chuckle, he trailed his way tenderly up her body, lingering on her breasts before taking her mouth. This kiss held no mercy, it took, demanded, but the hand cupping her sex was gentle—warm and possessive. “Darlin’,” he murmured, “we haven’t even begun.”
He stood, pulling her with him. His nipple ring pressed into the soft skin of her breast and she leaned in, wanting the discomfort, her hands sliding down the indent of his spine to his ass in those jeans and around to his exposed cock. She kissed the mouth that had given her such joy, lost herself in the pleasure of it.
He sheathed himself with a condom and something crashed to the floor as he lifted her onto the dressing table. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” When he entered her she smothered a cry against his bare shoulder, it was so good. “Hurry, hurry.”
“Elizabeth.” Her name on his lips, a song.
Their rhythm was ragged, wild and perfect, he still had his jeans on, and the leather tugged against her inner thighs with cool friction, in delicious contrast to the silken heat stoking her to climax.
A hammering on the door shocked her into awareness of her surroundings. In a panic, she started to disentangle, but Zander held her in place.
“Yeah?” he managed between breaths.
“Zee,” said Luther’s deep baritone. “Car’s ready when you are.”
“Give us another twenty minutes. We’re on a roll here.” His eyes laughed into hers, wicked, shameless. He began moving again, slow, sure strokes. “Is that okay with you, Doc?”
Elizabeth clutched his shoulders. “I…” Stalled. “Another fifteen should…do…it.” As soon as she heard Luther’s departing footsteps, she leaned forward and bit—hard—on the nipple ring.
“Ouch. Do that again.”
“Now I’m totally debauched,” she whispered, then murmured a protest as he withdrew.
“Not yet.” Zander turned her so they both faced the mirror and grinned at her surprised reflection. “But you will be.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I’m doing this for my family,” Jared paused to suck in air, “to give them a better life.” He dialed down the treadmill next to Zander’s and dropped to a walk. “Why can’t Kayla see that?”
Did the “agony” in agony aunt refer to the listener or the complainer, Zander wondered, his own breathing perfectly attuned to the pace he’d set himself.
He was tired of the inevitability of Jared and Kayla’s problems. Dammit, he was happy and he wanted to relish this rare and precious peace. The tour was going brilliantly, his love life was stellar and everyone should just get along.
“Bullshit,” he gasped.
“What?”
“I said bullshit.” He stopped the machine and counted his pulse. One fifty-seven. Mission accomplished. Reset to a warm-down pace. “You’re doing this because it’s fucking awesome to be a rock star,” he said when his breathing eased. “Be honest with yourself and own it. Sure, you’ll be able to buy more for your family, but your kids fit around the tour schedule and your wife has to watch other women hitting on you. You get the public glory, Kayla’s invisible.”
“I’m always proud to introduce her as my wife.”
“I see that. And kudos
for doing way better than I expected, juggling family life with being a sex object.”
Jared missed the nuances of the compliment. “Tell Kayla that,” he said. “If she just—”
“Adored you, like the fans and groupies do, yeah I know. Life’s a bitch.”
“Jesus, Zee, I thought you’d understand.”
“No, you thought I’d take your side. You and Kayla need to stop drawing battle lines with good guys and bad guys.”
“Forget it; I don’t expect you to understand.” Jaw set, Jared dialed the pace up again, his feet pounding out his frustration.
The trouble was, he did understand. Zander stepped off his treadmill. The good thing about historic London hotels was that gyms were afterthoughts, discreetly tucked away. At three p.m. it was near empty, only a staunch old gent on an exercycle reading the Financial Times.
He gave him a friendly nod as he removed two bottles of Evian from the guest fridge.
“You didn’t see Kayla when she got all dressed up and rushed out to join you last weekend,” he said in a low voice when he returned. “All hopeful and excited.”
Jared scowled. “No, I saw her three hours later after she’d been stoking her mad with liquor and bitching about men with Stormy and Dimity.”
Zander shuddered.
“Yeah,” Jared said gloomily. Stopping the treadmill, he accepted a water and raked a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore.”
“We have another free day in Edinburgh next week. Take her for a romantic lunch or something. Hell, it always works in the movies.”
Yesterday, he and Elizabeth had stolen ninety minutes from Zander’s schedule and visited Benjamin Franklin House—a museum he hadn’t known existed. The founding father of the United States had lived in London for nearly sixteen years. A roll in history followed by a roll between the sheets.
“We’d planned on taking the kids to Edinburgh Castle, then I’m meeting Simone at noon—”
He stopped because Zander was shaking his head.
“Fuck,” he said bitterly, viciously rescrewing the lid on the water bottle. “Kayla’s got into your ear about that too?”