by Mari Carr
“You need sleep,” he murmured.
She glanced around the room, and he could see she wasn’t holding out much hope that would happen.
“What would help, Aubrey? Sleeping pill?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve tried them. For some reason, I just get more wired. I usually drink wine, but that only knocks me out for a few hours, and…” She lifted one shoulder.
“And?” he urged.
“Then it wakes me up in the middle of the night and gives me panic attacks.”
“Have you always struggled to sleep?”
She nodded. “It’s been worse since the holidays, but yeah, I’m not very good at sleep. Not even when I was with Doug. I used to drive him crazy. Unlike me, he could sleep for fourteen hours straight without even rolling over. I was so jealous of that.”
“Lay down,” Fergus said, standing up to tug the covers over her before perching on the edge of the bed again. “My Pop Pop used to tell me bedtime stories whenever I had a sleepover at his house. He’d draw all these beautiful pictures in my head until I fell asleep, his words morphing into the best dreams I’ve ever had. I’ll tell you one of them.”
She frowned, and for a second he thought she might refuse, might tell him to get out. She surprised him when she said, “No one’s ever told me a bedtime story.”
Fergus scowled. “Aubrey, I seriously hope I never meet your mother. I consider myself a calm man, and God knows I’d never lift a hand to hurt a woman, but damn if the things I’ve heard about her don’t piss me off enough to think about it.”
Aubrey flashed him another smile, something he didn’t see enough of from her.
“You’ve got a pretty smile.”
He shouldn’t have pointed it out because it faded the second he mentioned it.
Fergus sighed, but let it go. Everything with Aubrey was going to happen in baby steps. “Once upon a time, there was a brawny, handsome Irishman named Patrick.”
Pop Pop had regaled him with countless stories over the course of his childhood—myths, Irish folktales, fairy tales, battles between knights and dragons—all of them filled with adventure and magic. And while he’d loved all of them, Fergus’s favorite bedtime story was about when Pop Pop met and fell in love with Grandma Sunday.
“Patrick tended bar at Scully’s, in a small town called Killarney, all the while dreaming of the day he would come to America.”
“Who’s Patrick?”
“My Pop Pop,” Fergus replied. “I’ll take you to meet him when we get to Baltimore for the last show. My family owns a pub there. Pat’s Irish Pub. It’s the best place on the planet.”
“Ailis has mentioned Pat’s Pub before, and your Pop Pop. He sounds like a character.”
Fergus chuckled. “That’s the perfect way to describe him. He’ll love you.”
Aubrey rolled her eyes. “Doubtful. In case you’ve failed to notice, I can’t even scale up to the part where people merely tolerate me.”
“He’ll love you,” Fergus repeated, piercing her with a look that dared her to contradict him again. “He’ll hear you sing and that will be it. And if you’d let me finish my story, you would understand why.”
Grandma Sunday had been a singer. Fergus had wished countless times he’d had the chance to meet her—even just once—and hear her sing. Pop Pop insisted that Teagan’s voice was as good as her mother’s, and there were times the man swore he couldn’t tell them apart.
Fergus continued telling the story about Sunday and Patrick meeting at Scully’s, about the wealthy man who almost stole her away, about their journey to America and the way they lived happily ever after above the pub with their seven children.
Aubrey asked questions throughout, her eyes getting heavier with each passing minute. He suspected it wouldn’t take her much longer to fall asleep.
“What happened to Sunday?” she whispered, fighting to keep her eyes open.
“She died of cancer a long time ago. Before I was born.”
Aubrey blinked a few times, and Fergus wondered if she was fighting back tears.
“That’s so sad.”
“Yeah,” Fergus agreed. “Pop Pop always said he’d been blessed to have as many years with her as he did, insisting Heaven simply couldn’t make do without one of its most precious angels.” Those words had comforted him as a child, but now, like Aubrey, he couldn’t brush aside the sadness, the injustice of her life being cut so short.
They were silent for a few minutes more, then he rose slowly. “Go to sleep, Aubrey. I’ll be right up front if you—”
“Will you stay here?”
He hadn’t expected her quiet request, but there was no way he’d deny her wish. Aubrey, still shaken from the nightmare, was reaching out to him. And he wasn’t going to let her down.
“Sure.” He stood up, sitting on a plush armchair near the bed. He’d been sleeping sitting up whenever they were on the road, living for the nights when they stayed in hotels and he could recline in a real, honest-to-God, bed.
Aubrey shook her head. “No. Not there.” She scooted over. Then she put two large pillows down the center of the king-size mattress with a small grin.
He chuckled at her down-feather barriers, but exhaustion was winning the day. “Just for a little while,” he said, lying on top of the covers. He was fully dressed—jeans, shirt, socks—and she was perfectly covered, buried beneath the thick duvet.
She rolled away from him and he studied her back, the only light on the bus provided by the full moon and the cars passing them on the highway.
They remained still for a long, long time. He thought Aubrey had fallen asleep. Hell, he was tired enough that he should have been out in an instant, but he couldn’t manage it, couldn’t stop thinking about her…about his unexpected feelings for her.
Fergus replayed the list he’d made after their Truth or Dare game, the one he thought would help him maintain the status quo. Shortness of time, professionalism, and her innocence were all in the cons column. So was the fact he lived in Baltimore and she in L.A.
He glanced in her direction when Aubrey rolled over to face him.
“You asleep?” she whispered.
“No.”
She pulled away the pillows separating them, dumping them onto the floor behind her, then shifted toward him.
Despite every reason he’d just listed for why this was a bad idea, Fergus reached for her, wrapping his arms around her as she nestled closer.
“During the Truth or Dare game,” she started.
It was the first time she’d mentioned it since he’d refused to kiss her. “Yeah?”
“One of your hard limits was that you don’t share.”
“That’s right.” He now understood where her thoughts had drifted.
“But your dads…”
“Share my mother,” he finished for her. “I’m like them in a lot of ways, Aubrey. But in others, I’m my own man. Maybe my lack of willingness to share is because I was an only child. All the toys in the house were mine and mine alone.”
“I’m an only child too.” She paused before adding, “I wouldn’t share either.” She was giving him her truth, letting him know what one of her hard limits was.
Aubrey rested her head on his shoulder, and he placed a light kiss on top of her head.
“Thank you for the bedtime story,” she murmured sleepily.
“You’re welcome.”
“Fergus. I know you said you wouldn’t, but…do you think you could kiss me? Just a good-night one. Nothing more. I don’t know why I need—”
He cut off the rest of her words, his lips pressed to hers. He kept the touch chaste, soft, short.
It was exactly what she needed—and the opposite of what he wanted.
Fergus had known one kiss with Aubrey would destroy him, obliterate all the reasons he had for staying away.
He hadn’t been wrong.
“Feel better?”
She nodded. “For now,” she whispered. “I’m safe.”<
br />
Her words shook him to the core.
While he was grateful that his presence made her feel that way, he couldn’t deny how much the first part of her statement bothered him.
For now.
Aubrey Summers.
She was a virtual stranger.
She was a pain in the ass.
She was broken and scared.
And, as much as it shocked him to admit, she was his.
For now.
Chapter Six
“What’s our bet for tonight?” Ailis asked.
Fergus considered his options, studying the stage. “I’ve made sure she’s seen me standing stage left. Stage right would be the obvious choice, but she’s already figured out I’ll anticipate that move.”
Aubrey—despite all her other precautions to protect the people around her—refused to stop playing the stage-exit game. Every night, she left the stage from a different direction, leaving him to try to guess where to catch her. Sometimes he outsmarted her, other times he didn’t. And while she always managed to find him almost immediately afterwards on the nights she won, it didn’t stop him from suffering several moments of outright panic until she was safely by his side.
He and Ailis had started taking bets—a Collins trait no one escaped—on how Aubrey would attempt to ditch him as she left the stage. He knew the game was Ailis’s way of keeping him from losing his shit over Aubrey’s antics. It had helped the first couple of nights, but his patience was wearing thin. While the stalker had made no attempts to directly approach her, that didn’t mean she was safe. That was something he was going to make damn sure she understood after tonight.
“She could always skirt around the drum set and dash out the back,” Ailis suggested.
“Yeah. She hasn’t tried that yet, but it’s definitely possible.”
“This is her last song. Time to call it. I’ve got ten bucks on the drum-set route,” Ailis said. “So I’ll cover that angle.”
“Okay. I’m betting on this side. I’m going to step out of view, make her think I’ve crossed to the other side and nab her as she leaves.”
Ailis whistled appreciatively. “Bold move. I like it.”
“If we’re both wrong, you’ll get to her before me. Keep her in your sights until I get there. And, Ailis…”
“Yeah?”
“This game ends tonight. Tell Hunter that Aubrey won’t be at the after-party. It’s time she and I have a talk.”
“Good luck.” Ailis gave him an encouraging smile and wave as she moved around to the rear of the stage. Fergus had enlisted her help keeping an eye on Aubrey, since it was impossible to cover all the angles alone. There were other security guards he could enlist, but right now, no one on the crew had been taken off the suspect list. He wasn’t sure he could survive three more weeks like this. He was starting to feel like a dead man walking, moving through most days like a zombie after managing only a few hours’ sleep each night.
“S-sorry, F-Fergus. N-need to run the b-board.” Erick had taken over Dave’s duties, running the control board that activated the flames for Aubrey’s final number. Aubrey had insisted the entire effect be taken out of the show after Dave’s injury, but she was outvoted by Marcus. The control board was repaired and, Marcus’s only concession, constantly monitored by a security guard.
Fergus stepped aside so that Erick could work the controls. Erick’s stutter was more pronounced whenever Aubrey was around, and he flushed bright red anytime she glanced his direction. Fergus understood the man’s response to her. It was easy to be intimidated by her beauty and talent.
Erick’s name appeared on just one of Fergus’s countless lists, as one of three crew members who’d joined the tour after Aubrey replaced Jules. Fergus had taken a hard look at him after Dave’s accident because Erick had access to the control board.
Regardless of those two facts, Fergus had shifted the man lower on the list of suspects. He and Dave had been the best of friends, constantly together prior to Dave’s accident. With Dave still recuperating in the hospital, Erick meandered around like a lost puppy most days.
Erick fired off the cannons with skill, the board functioning perfectly. Aubrey held the final note, the flames lighting the stage so brightly, it almost hurt to look.
Fergus stepped behind a large speaker as her song ended. The screams and applause of the crowd were deafening. Tonight had been one of her best shows yet.
Fergus held his breath, hating that he was playing her game this way. He shouldn’t take his eyes off her, not even for one second, but she was forcing his hand.
The more he considered it, the more annoyed he became. Of course, a lack of sleep wasn’t helping his state of mind either.
He counted to five, intent on stepping back around the speaker, when Aubrey appeared. She glanced around looking for him, her eyes widening when she spotted him and realized he’d guessed her path.
Rather than admit defeat, she sniffed in true poor-sport fashion, then walked on. There were dark circles under her eyes too, even despite the heavy stage makeup she was wearing.
Neither of them had slept well the past few nights. He’d returned to the jump seat the night after her nightmare and remained there whenever they were on the road. Aubrey was back to avoiding her bedroom, drifting between dozing fitfully on the couch and pacing the bus like a caged animal.
It had been four days since she’d let him hold her, and then, in true Aubrey fashion, she’d retreated again. Treating him once more like a guard dog, a stranger.
She was frustrating, infuriating…beautiful.
It was a bad time to start this conversation. Neither of them was in a great frame of mind, both running out of steam.
Sadly, recognizing that didn’t calm his mood.
“No after-party,” Fergus said, falling into step next to her.
“What?”
“You’re going to your dressing room, changing, then you and I are taking the van back to the hotel and having a long talk.”
Aubrey frowned. “Listen, Fergus, you don’t get to dictate to me about what I can and cannot do after—”
“Don’t bother finishing that sentence.”
Fergus opened the door to her dressing room, pushing her inside and following her.
His patience had reached its limit.
“How dare you manhandle me! I’m telling you right now, Fergus—” she started.
“That little game you’re playing is over. No more cat and mouse. Understand?” Fergus was proud of how calm and quiet and steady his tone was, considering he was itching to pull Miss Aubrey Summers over his lap. Part of him got the feeling she was playing the brat simply to provoke a response from him.
Problem was, they both knew what that response would be. And as much as Aubrey might want him—physically—she wasn’t ready for what he wanted emotionally.
Her eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you are?”
“I’ll tell you exactly who I am,” Fergus said. “I’m the man who is busting his ass to keep you safe despite your desire to throw yourself in the path of danger.”
“You’re kidding, right? I play by your rules every second of the day, hiding on that bus or in a hotel room day and night! The only time I don’t have you dogging my every step are those two minutes when I leave the stage. That’s the only thing I have control of these days, and I’m not giving it up! If you don’t like it, tough.”
If Fergus were a different sort of man, he might have responded to her taunt a better way.
As it was…
He gripped her waist and spun her toward the door, pushing her back against it.
He wanted to kiss her. Every instinct was driving him to it. Hell, Aubrey wasn’t even fighting.
She lifted her face to him, then licked her lips invitingly.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmured.
Aubrey didn’t smile, didn’t respond to his confession. Her breathing was rapid, her chest rising and falling, drawing his attention to her
cleavage, displayed perfectly by her low-cut sequin dress.
“I want to kiss you, Aubrey.”
“Do it,” she whispered.
He shook his head just once. “I also want to bend you over that makeup table, lift this dress and spank your ass.”
“Do it!” she repeated.
Fergus fought for control. He never struggled to keep emotion out of the bedroom, always remaining calm, stoic, precise, completely in charge—of himself and his lover. He prided himself on it.
It wouldn’t be that way with Aubrey. She was the queen of extremes—one moment, hell on wheels, a bitch to be reckoned with, the next, sweet, fragile, broken.
Fergus cupped her face, forced her gaze to meet his, so she would understand exactly what she was inviting. “If we go there, you’re mine. Completely.”
She blinked but didn’t reply. Instead, her eyes dropped to his lips, and hers parted slightly.
Before he could kiss her, there was a knock at the door.
They moved apart slowly, both breathing heavily.
“I…” Aubrey ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes no longer filled with desire. Now they were clouded, confused. She frowned. “That can’t…”
“Happen.” One word had never hurt so much to speak, but Fergus couldn’t deny the truth of it.
There was another knock, this one louder.
Fergus opened the door to find the tour manager, Marcus, standing there.
“Oh, Fergus. When I didn’t see you at your post, I got worried.” He looked beyond Fergus to Aubrey, clearly confused to find her bodyguard inside the dressing room rather than standing outside the door. “Everything okay in here?”
Fergus nodded as Aubrey stepped next to him.
“Everything’s fine,” she replied, her voice somewhat shaky.
Fergus couldn’t fault her for it. He was feeling off-kilter too. He’d been attracted to countless women in his life, but nothing that came close to what he was fighting here. He wanted her more every day, until it was a need that bordered on desperate.
“Good,” Marcus said, glancing down the hallway. “I was afraid perhaps Doug had managed to make his way in here.”