by Tara Leigh
Uncertainty rippled through me as I grabbed at my drink, remembering too late that it was empty. And I wasn’t about to go back inside to refresh it.
“All set. Let’s go,” Shane called, poking his head through the sliding glass door.
I wanted to say that I wasn’t hungry, that I was tired. Any excuse to leave this ill-fated dinner party and return to my lonely hotel room, order room service, and change into pajamas.
But there was something about Dax’s proximity that had a hold on me. A hold that only gripped harder once the five of us piled into the elevator together. It was spacious, as far as elevators went. I stood in front of Dax, his breath ghosting over my neck and shoulders, the heat radiating from him setting my entire back on fire.
I think I held my breath the entire ride, and by the time we arrived at the lobby I was dizzy. I must have swayed a bit, because Dax’s steadying hand landed on the small of my back.
It was as if he’d prodded me with a hot poker.
I jumped, a hiss escaping through my teeth. Thankfully, the joking banter between Delaney, Piper, and Shane was an effective cover for my reaction. I scrambled after them, Dax following. In the underground garage, we were met by two men in dark suits and earpieces. Bodyguards. They directed us toward two black Navigators. Delaney and Shane got into one. Piper, Dax, and I, in the other.
I figured we were in for a long ride, but I was wrong. Five blocks later, we pulled to the curb. Piper got out first. “Let me go in and check on things first. Be right back.”
Once the door had closed behind her, I glanced at Dax. “Is this how you guys always roll?”
His stoic expression cracked a bit. “No way. I’d lose my mind. But with four out of the five of us being paparazzi bait, it makes sense to take precautions.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Travis got to you, didn’t he?”
Dax grunted. “Called to reiterate what Piper said. Reminded us to keep your face off TMZ’s radar.”
My hired guard dog at work. Comforting and yet slightly oppressive.
There wasn’t time to think about it though. The door was pulled open, and one of the suits motioned for us to get out.
Inside, the restaurant was dim and loud, and a woman in a skintight black dress was waiting for us. She brought us straight to a booth in the back, tucked into a corner where the lighting was even worse. Or maybe better, given that I was supposed to be flying under the radar. In my experience New York was more laid-back when it came to celebrity sightings than Los Angeles, but I wasn’t in any position to test that theory.
Shane sat at one end of the U-shaped booth, with Delaney by his side, then Piper. Which left me between Piper and Dax. Of course. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather switch with me?” I whispered to her discreetly. “You know, in case you need to go to the ladies’ room again.”
She shrugged. “I think I’m good here for a little while.”
I’m not! Digging my nails into my palms beneath the table, I managed to keep that comment to myself.
A waitress came over and took our drink order. Another bottle of champagne for Delaney and me, two more beers for Shane and Dax, a ginger ale for Piper, and a large bottle of Pellegrino for all of us. The menu was enormous, and I was content to let everyone else toss out choices we could share family style, participating just enough so that I wouldn’t come off as aloof or standoffish.
Dax was quiet, too, but I was getting the sense that that was his default mode, since no one was really trying to lure him into conversation or seemed at all put off.
So when he leaned down to talk to me—just me—a ribbon of warmth began unspooling inside my stomach. “You knew who I was, didn’t you?” The warm caress of his breath sent goose bumps racing along my skin.
I didn’t bother trying to play coy. Swallowing heavily, my eyes flicked to his before rebounding back to my lap. “I’d have to be living under a rock not to.”
“You also knew I didn’t recognize you.”
I gave a slight nod. “No one would ever put me on camera without my face on.”
His brows pushed together. “What do you mean?”
I sighed, hearing my mother’s voice in my head. Thank god for makeup. Lord knows no one’s going to pay to see that face of yours without it. My eyes were too wide, my face too round, my freckles too prominent (until my mother took me to someone who lightened them when I was twelve), my dimples too childlike. I merely answered with, “Nothing,” hoping Dax would get the hint and drop it.
Instead he made a slow, casual shrug, hiding the fact that he was dragging his thumb along my arm, from my wrist to the inside of my elbow and back again. Invisible to anyone else, but I felt it in my bones. “Tell me why you think I didn’t recognize you?”
I caught Delaney’s eye, pretending to laugh at whatever she just said. Then I angled my face just enough toward Dax so that only he could hear me. “It’s no big deal, okay? I get it. Without makeup, I’m really plain. I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me.” It was why I wore cosmetics and blew out my hair only when I was in Verity Moore mode. Kind of like a reverse disguise.
“Plain? You think you’re plain?”
This time Dax’s voice was a little louder, but the waitress had arrived with half a dozen plates of food—even though we hadn’t actually ordered yet. “From the chef,” she said, making sure to bend low when putting them on the table, her ample cleavage practically spilling out of her shirt.
Dax barely flicked an eye at her.
For the next few minutes we all passed plates and helped ourselves. The restaurant was Pan-Asian, the scent of garlic and ginger heavy in the air. Champagne forgotten, I sampled salmon and shrimp and noodles and veggies, each bite more delicious than the next. We never did get around to ordering specific dishes, but more plates arrived, exchanged with whichever ones were empty.
And about halfway through our meal, I paused, my chopsticks hovering mid-air. I felt warm in a way that wasn’t solely due to the champagne and spicy food, or my attraction to Dax—not that it was returned—but from being around people where the talk was easy and the expectations light.
I could breathe.
I remembered this feeling. When I was younger, when my mother still had hopes that her own career would take off, she would drop me with my grandparents every chance she got. Whenever I was having a tough time with my mother, or the kids at school, my grandmother would open a bottle of sparkling cider and pour it into champagne flutes. Then we’d sit at the little square table pressed into a corner of her kitchen and talk until I felt better. In their tiny, well-loved home, I’d known what it was like to feel comfortable in my own skin. To not be a pawn in someone else’s game. To just be.
But the comfort had been fleeting.
When my grandparents died ten years ago, my world imploded. The walls around me had caved in, trapping me within the rubble.
“Excuse me,” I mumbled to Dax, needing a few moments of privacy before I started bawling.
Scrambling across the seat, I headed in the likely direction of the ladies’ room. Music pulsed through hidden speakers, the base heavy and sensual. All around me conversation rose and swirled, punctuated by staccato bursts of laughter. The atmosphere was sexy but fun, and I felt the sudden dip in my mood smoothing out.
Inside the restroom, I washed my hands and took a few calming breaths.
Pull yourself together, Verity.
Feeling calmer, I returned to the narrow hallway, heading back toward the main restaurant. I didn’t notice the man walking toward me until we were about to pass each other. A shock of recognition slammed into me when our eyes met, the force knocking me against the wall.
Run.
But there was nowhere to go. An enormous potted plant was behind me, and he was blocking the way forward. I shrank back even further, a shiver of apprehension vibrating within my spine.
“Well, well. Tonight must be my lucky night.” His Slavic features were arranged in a look of delight, the smirk I rememb
ered all too well twisting his thin lips.
I forced a strength to my voice I didn’t feel. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m here with friends.” I wanted to scream or kick him in the shins, but I couldn’t afford to cause a scene or draw any attention to myself. Not tonight.
“I thought we were friends.” He inched closer. “Special friends.”
He may have been friends with my ex-boyfriend, but he certainly wasn’t a friend of mine.
The contents of my stomach, the entire delicious meal, soured. “There is no definition of friendship that applies to us.” He only leered, caging me in further and lifting his hand, slowly running the back of his knuckles along my cheekbone. Had it not been for the malevolence in his stare, the motion would have appeared sweet. Reverent even.
The reality was anything but.
And all that fear, that pure terror cooling my veins, turned hot. How dare he? The girl who’d surrendered to him, who had given up rather than fight—she didn’t exist anymore. I smacked his hand away with the back of my forearm. “Don’t touch me.”
His smirk broadened. “Ah, so maybe you’ll fight back this time.”
“There’s not going to be a—”
“Is there a problem?” Dax’s gruff voice was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
The man in front of me—I didn’t even remember his name; Alexei, Sergei, maybe—pivoted on his polished black wingtips, the angle of his body still preventing me from fleeing even though I could see Dax behind him. “There will be if you don’t move on,” he said, his accent even more pronounced.
Dax’s jaw was clenched tight, the vein at his temple throbbing. “Not happening.” Animosity heightened the air around us. “Verity, you want to come back to our table?”
“Yes.” My throat was tight, the word little more than a squeak.
For a charged moment, the music and conversation and laughter that had seemed so buoyant only a few minutes ago turned ominous, like the sound track to a horror movie.
“You gonna let my girl out, or do we have a problem?”
My girl. The words echoed reassuringly inside my ears even though I knew Dax didn’t mean them the way they’d sounded. The way I shouldn’t wish he’d meant them.
Alexei/Sergei blinked, lifting his hands slightly, palms up. “Just catching up with an old friend.” His thick head swung back toward me before he stepped away. “Until next time, Verity.”
The second he left, I felt my knees tremble from relief. Determined not to show it, I folded my arms across my chest and balanced against the wall. “I was seconds away from kicking him in the balls, you know. I didn’t need you.”
Dax gave a slow blink, then coughed to cover his amused snicker. “I’m sure you were, Ronda Rousey. But Piper’s looking exhausted. Pretty sure she wants to head back to the hotel.”
“Oh, okay.” I checked my watch. It was barely ten. “Um, thank you.”
“For what? I just prevented a punk from a well-deserved ass-whooping.” Dax stepped back so I could walk in front of him.
“Well, if that ass-whooping had been caught by someone with a camera, Travis would have my head.”
A minute later I saw for myself why Dax had come to find me.
Piper’s eyes were drooping, and she had an elbow on the table, her chin propped up on her palm. “Ready to go back?” I asked brightly.
“Yes,” came her quick answer, and then she paused. “I mean, if you are. I could totally stay, if you wanted to.”
Delaney rolled her eyes. “Please, take mercy on her before she face-plants in her ice cream.”
Sure enough, there was bowl of pistachio ice cream barely an inch from Piper’s chin. “I’m exhausted, too,” I lied.
As Piper scooted out of the booth, Shane stood. “Great meeting you,” he said. “Knock ’em dead tomorrow.”
“Same here, and I’ll try.” I leaned down to lightly kiss Delaney’s cheek. “Thank you so much for including me tonight. I had a really great time.”
Her aquamarine eyes sparkled as she grinned. “We all did. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed, and meant it. Delaney was under no obligation to hang out with me, like Piper was. But I sensed the tentative beginnings of a real friendship, and I didn’t want to lose that.
Dax followed us out, and I was surprised when he got into the black Lincoln Navigator, too. “You’re coming?”
“What, you think I want to be a third wheel while those two make moon eyes at each other and try to pretend they can’t wait for me to leave?”
“I just meant that you didn’t have to come back with us.” Glancing at Piper, I saw that her head was back and her eyes were closed. If she wasn’t sleeping, she would be in a second. “We’re not hanging out. We’re going straight up to our rooms.”
Dax’s only response was an irritated sigh as he turned his face toward the window. The hotel wasn’t far, though it felt as if we hit every light on the way.
Finally we pulled up in front of the Soho Grand, and I nudged Piper awake. Inside the lobby, people were spilling out from the bar, clustered in small groups. I kept my head down, hoping no one would recognize me.
I could imagine the headline. VERITY MOORE AND DAX HUGHES ENGAGE IN THREESOME WITH UNNAMED WOMAN.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a man that seemed all too familiar. Alexei/Sergei? I glanced up. No, too short.
A few steps later, I spotted a pair of polished black wingtips and my heart stuttered again. Had he followed me? His face was turned away. But no, wrong color shirt.
I thought my nerves would ease once the elevator doors closed with just the three of us inside.
They didn’t.
Staring straight at the panel marking our upward progress, I felt the altitude drop with each floor. By the time the doors opened again, it was everything I could do not to wheeze. Piper went right, waving an exhausted goodbye, her shoes dangling from one hand as she continued down the hall barefoot.
“You okay?” Dax asked, looking at me with concern.
I ignored the question, not trusting myself to speak as I fished in my clutch for the key card. My room was the last door on the left at the end of the hall, Dax keeping pace with me the entire time.
I wanted to believe that Dax was exactly what he appeared to be—a rock star whose sexy swagger and aloof attitude concealed an unexpectedly genuine kindness in his heart.
But my judgment couldn’t be trusted. My instincts had been wrong before. More than once. Internal alarm bells rang until they were a painful roar inside my mind. What if Dax was just another devil in disguise?
Jack. Marko. I trusted them, too.
I had an abysmal track record when it came to men. Why would Dax be an exception? Key card in hand, I whirled around. “If you touch me, I’ll scream my head off.”
He took a quick step back, holding up his own and jerking his chin at the door across from mine. “Whoa there, Rousey. Wasn’t planning on it. This is me.”
My eyes bounced from his face to the card. “Prove it.”
Without taking his eyes from mine, Dax pressed it against the sensor. An angry red light flashed, and I backed up, scrambling to get into my room before Dax could jump me.
He cursed, flipping his card over. I was halfway inside when I heard a chirp and then the inward swing of his door.
I slammed my own door closed, bolting it from the inside.
And then I ran to the bathroom and threw up my entire dinner.
Chapter Seven
Dax
What the fuck just happened?
One minute we were sharing a ride after what had been, with one glaring exception, a truly enjoyable dinner. No press flashing their cameras, no fans asking for selfies. Just an asshole in a hallway, who’d backed off without a fight, although I would have relished kicking his ass.
Growing up, my calluses had been earned by pounding the ivory keys of a Steinway or plucking the strings of a Stradivarius, but you didn’t hang out wi
th Shane, Landon, and Jett without learning how to win a bar fight real damn quick.
Verity had obviously been scared of the guy, but it was impressive—and enticing—to see her act like she was spoiling for a fight, too.
And ridiculous. The girl was a rabbit pretending to be a porcupine. All prickle with the softest middle.
She’d seemed fine in the car and then less so once we walked into the hotel. Inside the elevator, her anxiety had swirled around us, thick enough to choke on. I could hear the rapid rise and fall of her breaths, the grinding of her teeth. And despite the flush rising to Verity’s clavicle, her face was pale.
I’d held my tongue as we continued toward our rooms, telling myself to leave it alone.
Not my girl, not my business, not my problem.
And I’d almost convinced myself of it, too. Planned on raiding the minibar inside my room and finding release though music. I never went anywhere without a guitar. My current favorite, a Rosso Corsa Les Paul, was the only girl I needed.
Until Verity had spun around, pointing her key card at me like it was a prison shank, every ounce of her body bristling with terror and suspicion.
Back at the restaurant, when I’d spotted Verity’s red hair trembling on a branch because some asshole had backed her up against a potted plant—even before I saw her face, before I knew that she wasn’t wearing a flirty smile or an interested expression, before I read the fear glazing her eyes or heard her false show of bravado—I wanted to grab the scruff of his neck and dispose of him like a rabid dog.
And then, when I actually did see the scared expression staining Verity’s flawless features, I wanted to fucking kill him.
But right now—I didn’t know what the fuck to do.
Because what I really wanted was to run my fingers through that flaming red silk that put every other color in the rainbow to shame, pull Verity into my arms, and prove that I would never do anything to hurt her. I wanted to see her look at me the way she had the other day, with an open expression on her face and a saucy grin topping that plump pink temptation of a mouth. I wanted to smooth my palms over her shoulders and down her back, wrap my arms around her waist, and hold her close.